#It's not impossible but never seen it before

[sweetismei]

Synopses: In the middle of an ordinary night, you and Sophia realize you were never just friends. Small gestures and glances reveal what was hidden, transforming your friendship into something more.

Pairing: Sophia Laforteza x fem g!p reader.

Warnings: NSFW CONTENT. Unrequited feelings (at the beginning), mild angst, sex with a plot at the start, masturbation, dom!Sophia, sub!reader, unprotected sex. MEN & MINORS DNI.

A/N: English is not my first language soo please be gentle w me sweeties 🩷

The room was wrapped in a calm, quiet feeling, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV. The movie’s images danced across the screen, but you barely paid attention. It was just background noise, a constant hum filling the spaces between silence, though with Sophia, silence never felt heavy.

The couch felt smaller than it actually was. Or maybe it was just the way she settled close to you, leaving barely any space between your bodies. The warmth radiating from her passed through the thin blanket forgotten between you, a subtle heat she probably didn’t even notice, but impossible for you to ignore.

Your gaze drifted toward the TV, trying to focus on the movie, but inevitably, it kept wandering back to her. Always back to her. The soft outline of her face lit by the shifting colors on the screen. The distracted way her fingers toyed with the edge of her shirt. The slight parting of her lips as she held her breath during a tense scene. Small, everyday details—but to you, they hit deep.

It felt strange. You’d shared this space so many times before. You’d laughed till you cried, argued over movie choices, fallen asleep tangled up without ceremony. It was always normal. But now? It wasn’t. Every gesture carried a weight you’d pretended not to notice before.

Time seemed to slow. Every second stretched out, like the night was deciding to last longer than it should. And for some reason, you didn’t want it to end.

You tried convincing yourself it was just nostalgia. That it’d been a while since you’d seen each other like this, no rush, no audience, just the two of you. But deep down, you knew there was more, even if you’d never admit it to yourself.

You pretended to watch the movie. Pretended not to notice how your heart sped up every time her shoulder brushed lightly against yours. Pretended those feelings were just silly tricks of your mind, and that they’d fade away.

But one week passed. Then two. Three. Suddenly, months had slipped by, and nothing had changed.

And that night, it seemed like it wouldn’t change either.

Until Sophia moved again.

She pulled the blanket up, covering both of you, and that simple gesture sent your heart into chaos. Her arm brushed against yours once more, lingering just a bit longer this time. You held your breath, hoping it was just a coincidence, like your heart was trying to convince you of something that was staring you in the face.

The movie continued on the screen, but the whole world felt like it stopped at that touch. You could feel the warmth passing through the fabric, the blood rushing fast in your veins, your heart beating harder than usual.

Still, you never thought about pulling away. It was like your body had made the decision for you, refusing to give up that closeness, even if it made you restless.

To be honest, you weren’t happy about falling for her again. You were terrified. Sophia had been your best friend for as long as you could remember—how could you develop feelings for someone like that?

That was one of the main reasons you denied your feelings to yourself — as if your heart refused to accept that you were falling in love with your best friend. That just wasn’t right, was it?

It was agonizing, painful.

You wanted to run far away, somewhere no one, especially not her could find or hear you. It was like being chained by a thousand heavy chains, and the only way to break free was to disappear completely.

It was like having a fire burning inside your chest, but no way to scream; like every heartbeat was another knife reminding you how wrong it was, how you could never have her.

You thought the only way out was to finally accept your feelings and confess to Sophia. But who knew if she’d feel the same?

What if she didn’t, and it ended your friendship? Losing her completely would hurt ten times more than keeping your feelings locked inside, because if it ever exploded, only you would feel the pain.

What you didn’t realize was that Sophia felt the same.

She carried a confusion just as heavy as yours, but was an expert at hiding it. She never let it show—at least not in words. On the outside, she seemed calm, like everything was in its place. But inside, it was different. Every time her eyes met yours, the ground beneath her wavered.

It was a constant battle. Her mind told her she shouldn’t, couldn’t risk it, friendships aren’t supposed to be tested like that. Yet her heart didn’t listen. It raced every time you smiled, every time your hand came close, every time the silence between you stretched beyond what felt normal.

Sophia did everything to convince herself it was just normal affection, simple friendship. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t. Every innocent gesture, every touch that lingered a second too long was a silent attempt to get closer without confessing, scared you’d want to end what you had.

That’s why, at that moment, she let her head fall gently on your shoulder.

She said nothing, didn’t change her expression, but inside, her heart was pounding uncontrollably just because she was that close to you.

She did it because she wanted more than she could admit. Because it was the only way she found to feel you near without breaking the silence with words you might not accept.

The light weight of her head on your shoulder seemed casual, almost ordinary. Friends did that all the time, right? At least that’s what anyone else would think. But you knew that behind that gesture, there was so much more.

Sophia was fighting in silence. Pretending to be calm while her chest burned inside. She did it because she couldn’t find another way to get close without confessing what was burning in her heart. She didn’t want to put it into words, didn’t want to risk turning it into something she couldn’t take back.

So she let the gestures speak for her.

She rested her head on your shoulder like someone seeking shelter, but what she really asked for was more.

A little more time. A little more of you.

Her heart beat fast, each thump stronger than the last, and still she didn’t pull away. She stayed there, still, as if scared to lose that moment if she moved.

And you felt it.

She didn’t have to say a thing.

The way her breath mixed with yours, her eyes slowly closing as if trying to hold on to that moment, how her body seemed tense on top of yours, said everything the words couldn’t.

There, in that room, bathed in the flickering TV light, the line between friendship and something more didn’t exist anymore. There was only the heavy silence of two people who no longer knew how to pretend.

The weight of her head felt so natural it could be mistaken for carelessness, but Sophia knew there was nothing careless about it. She shifted a little, and you felt her breath against your skin—warm, uneven.

For minutes, you just stayed like that, almost motionless, as if any tiny movement either of you made could trigger an earthquake.

Then you noticed the subtle movement. Her fingers, which had been resting in her lap, slowly slid over to find yours. A gentle touch that could be explained away as another coincidence.

But it wasn’t. You just didn’t know it yet.

The silence grew thicker. You didn’t pull away, and Sophia took the chance to let the tips of her fingers rest fully on your hand. No rush, just a barely-there boldness, almost invisible.

Your heart sped up.

And hers did too. You knew it. You felt it.

Gradually, her fingers moved, testing boundaries, until finally intertwining with yours. She didn’t look at you. Stayed there, head on your shoulder, calm face—but the gentle squeeze and the warmth of her palm on yours said everything she was trying to hide.

The movie was long forgotten, shadows from the TV light dancing freely in the room.

There was something there, something no words could explain, but it pulsed between you like a shared thought, like something inside you both saying there was something happening, right there, right then.

It wasn’t just the heat of her skin against yours, or the entwining of fingers. It was silent, almost invisible but loud enough for both of you to feel.

The silence in the room became an accomplice. No exchanged looks, no obvious gestures, but still it felt like every thought of yours found its echo in her. With every heartbeat, you knew she knew. She was listening.

Nothing was wrong, yet everything felt too loud. The warmth of your joined hands seemed to carry secret messages, and for a moment, it was impossible to tell where your feelings ended and hers began. As if, without a single word, you were both confessing everything just through that touch.

Her body heat, once only felt by your skin touching hers, seemed to spread into the room, wrapping everything around you like the air itself was slowly getting heavier—not in a bad way.

Your breathing slowed, became more aware, as you noticed a subtle shift in her posture, an almost imperceptible movement but full of intent. She rested her head more firmly on your shoulder, leaning in just a little more.

Then, almost without thinking, as if her body was programmed to do it, her hand slid from yours down to your waist. The touch was light, a wave of heat sparking tingles through your entire body. Your heart raced, your skin probably flushed, and Sophia noticed, but neither of you dared say a word.

You felt her warm skin against yours, her arm resting so naturally on your body no longer feeling casual, more like an invitation, like she was calling you for something more, even without saying a single word.

Time stopped. Each second stretched into an eternity, those invisible gestures of held-back desire. No rush, no urgency, like the universe was conspiring to let your bodies finally say what words couldn’t.

Then, as if answering a question neither of you had the courage to ask, her hand slowly rose, fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.

You turned your face toward her, meeting her eyes—those deep eyes you’d hesitated to look into, now filled with a desire that beat just as strongly as yours. The space between you shrank almost to nothing. For a moment, you stayed still, breaths nearly mingling, so close that any slight move could be dangerous.

You felt her warm breath brushing against your lips, not quite touching yet. It was like you were both just waiting for one to make the first move.

Then, almost without realizing it, Sophia leaned in a little more. Her lips softly met yours, a timid touch but enough to ignite a fire inside.

You didn’t pull away. On the contrary, as if you’d both been waiting for this moment forever, you stayed pressed together, savoring the first contact. The kiss started hesitant, gentle, but with every second, your courage grew.

Your hand moved up to the back of her neck, feeling the heat of her skin under your fingers. Sophia let out a soft sigh against your mouth, like that simple gesture had broken down the last walls between you. The kiss deepened—still tender, but firmer now—as if you both wanted to explore every inch of it.

The world around you disappeared. The movie’s sound became just background noise, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the heat spreading with every movement of her lips.

Sophia slid her hand around your waist, pulling you a little closer. The blanket slipped down, but the warmth between you was enough. Your bodies fit together effortlessly, like you were made for this.

Each kiss came a little more intense than the last, still respectful, but charged with everything you’d held back for so long. And when your lips parted just enough to welcome her in, a shiver ran down your spine, making it clear there was no turning back.

Sophia’s mouth savored your kiss like she’d been waiting forever for this. Her hands roamed freely over your waist, gently scratching with her nails, sending tingles over your skin.

Your mouths moved in perfect sync, like a silent melody playing in harmony with your kiss.

She tilted her face just enough to deepen the contact, and when her tongue sought entrance, you didn’t hesitate to let her in. The touch was slow and steady, invading with a confidence that made your whole body shiver. The kiss was no longer delicate; it was deep and burning, like she was finally taking what she’d desired for so long.

Her taste mingled with yours, and every movement of her tongue was deliberate, carried out with a calm that only heightened the tension. Sophia explored your mouth like she was rediscovering familiar ground, eager to taste every detail again.

Her nail lightly grazed your waist once more, sliding down a bit, and you arched against her, unable to hold back your reaction. That gesture drew a brief smile against your lips before she deepened the kiss even more, dominating every second, every breath you let out.

Your breaths mingled, hot and quick, and you could feel her heart pounding against the chest now pressed to yours. The arm wrapped around your waist tightened, pulling her even closer, erasing every bit of space between you.

Sophia bit your lower lip gently before kissing you again—deeper, more intense. The heat between you was impossible to contain. Her fingers still traced your waist when, without warning, she pulled you firmly, making you sink deeper into the couch.

Then, as naturally as breathing, Sophia swung a leg over you and settled into your lap. The weight of her body, the heat, the way she fit perfectly against you made your heart race in a nearly painful way.

Your mouths never parted. The kiss just grew more urgent, more desperate, her tongue exploring yours, leaving no room for refusal. Sophia had complete control, while your nails lightly scratched the back of her neck, sending chills down her spine.

Her hips settled against yours, and the friction was enough to force a muffled sigh from you. Sophia smiled against your mouth, as if she’d been waiting for exactly that, and pressed even harder, slow, deliberate movements making you lose whatever control you had left.

One hand left your waist and traveled up your chest, stopping at your shoulder before sliding to your neck, gripping firmly to deepen the kiss even more. Her tongue ruled yours, alternating between soft and forceful strokes, leaving you utterly surrendered beneath her.

You could feel your arousal growing, throbbing against her, and Sophia didn’t ignore it. On the contrary—she adjusted her hips on purpose, rubbing gently against you, drawing another muffled moan. The sensation was so intense you felt like your body might explode at any moment.

She parted her lips just enough to rest her forehead against yours, breathing heavily but relentless. Her eyes now dark with desire, locked onto yours before she kissed you again, even hungrier, like every second away from your mouth was unbearable.

The kiss deepened with every second, and you lost track of where your breath ended and hers began. Sophia moved on your lap with precision, her hips pressing subtly against you, enough to make your skin burn.

Her hands, once steady on your waist, started exploring more boldly. They slid slowly down the hem of your shirt, her fingers tracing hot lines along your body. The touch was light but deliberate, sending shivers down your spine.

She smiled against your lips, pleased with your reaction, and deepened the kiss, her tongue claiming yours in a slow but hungry rhythm. One hand climbed your chest, pressing lightly before resting on your shoulder, holding you captive beneath her. The other slid down calmly to your thigh, squeezing firmly as if testing your limits.

The heat from her body was overwhelming. You could already feel your erection throbbing against her, and Sophia noticed, moving her hips again, more deliberately this time, drawing a low moan from you that she swallowed in the kiss.

“I knew it…” she murmured between kisses, her voice husky, almost a whisper against your lips.

Before you could answer, she took your mouth again, more intense, more demanding. Her movements on your lap deepened, increasing the pressure with every stroke. Her nails lightly scratched your waist, and Sophia let out a sigh that made her whole body tremble.

The hand on your thigh slid closer to your hip, the pressure increasing with every inch, as if she knew exactly how close you were to losing control. Your bodies moved in perfect sync, like you’d both been waiting for this moment for far too long.

She pressed her body even closer to yours, her hips grinding firmly against your aching erection, and her breath, heavy against your lips, confirmed she couldn’t hold back either.

“I… want you,” Sophia murmured, steady, before capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss.

Her hands slid down from your waist to the waistband of your pants. You gasped against her lips, but Sophia didn’t stop—in fact, she used your reaction to deepen the kiss, her tongue taking over in hot, precise movements.

She moved on your lap, pressing her hips against your already throbbing erection in a way that made you let out a low moan, which she swallowed with a smile against your mouth.

“You’re already so ready for me…” she whispered, her voice heavy with desire, as her hand slid over the fabric, lightly squeezing your bulge.

Your whole body trembled. You grabbed her waist, trying to keep up, but Sophia stayed in control, guiding every move like she knew exactly how crazy she was driving you.

She began to grind slowly in your lap, creating a delicious friction that made you gasp loud. The heat of your bodies together, the uneven breathing, the feeling of her hand pressing deeper and deeper… it was unbearably good.

With a firm gesture, Sophia broke the kiss just enough to look you in the eyes. Hers were dark, pupils dilated, burning with desire.

“I want to feel you, baby,” she said without hesitation, before kissing you again with even more hunger, her hand slipping inside your pants to finally touch your hot skin.

The direct contact made you moan involuntarily, and Sophia smiled against your lips, pleased. Her fingers wrapped around your shaft, starting slow, torturous strokes, while her hips kept pressing against yours, every rub driving you wilder.

Her touch was like fire. Sophia’s fingers gripped you firmly, exploring every inch while her mouth never left yours. You moaned against her lips, and she smiled satisfied, squeezing a bit more before settling into a slow, teasing rhythm.

“I always imagined what it would be like to feel you like this…” she murmured against your mouth, her voice low and husky as her thumb traced slow circles over your already wet tip.

Her hips kept moving on your lap, increasing the friction. You grabbed her thighs, trying to pull her closer, but Sophia caught your wrist, holding it firmly against the couch.

“No.” Her gaze was firm, commanding. “Let me do this.”

You barely had time to respond before she claimed your mouth again, hotter now, her tongue dominating yours as her hand sped up slowly, pulling louder moans from you.

Sophia pulled back just enough to bite your neck, sucking hard until she left a mark. The shock of pleasure ran through your body, and she used it to speed up her hand, learning every reaction like she wanted to memorize them.

The heat of her body against your cock, even through the fabric, was maddening. Sophia rubbed herself against you with sure movements, the friction making her sigh heavily against your ear.

“I want to feel you inside me.” Sophia whispered, her voice thick with desire.

Without breaking eye contact, she slowly lifted herself, still sitting on your lap. Her fingers moved to the waistband of her own pants, undoing the button with a slow, teasing patience, like every move was calculated to drive you even crazier. You barely breathed, watching as she slid down the zipper and pulled the tight fabric down her thighs.

With every inch revealed, your excitement grew, and Sophia knew it—you could see it in the slight smile on her lips. When she finally freed herself from the pants, she tossed them aside carelessly, left only in panties on top of you.

“Better, right?” she teased, grinding slowly against your erection, the thin fabric now the only barrier between you.

The friction was delicious and unbearable at the same time. You moaned softly, and Sophia brought her face close again, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss, her tongue mercilessly exploring yours.

As the kiss deepened, she slid her hand to the side of her panties, pulling them aside with a firm motion, no hesitation. The warmth of her bare skin brushed against yours, wet and hot, and you lost your breath for a moment.

Sophia smiled against your lips at your reaction. She took hold of your cock with one hand, slowly aligning it with her entrance while the other braced on your shoulder to keep control.

“Now, yes,” she murmured, before sinking down onto you all at once, letting out a low moan as she filled herself.

Her tightness was perfect, warm and wet wrapping you completely. Your entire body trembled, and you instinctively grabbed her waist, but Sophia caught your wrist again, holding it firmly against the couch.

“I said… let me do this.”

She began to move slowly, her hips sliding against yours in a slow, teasing rhythm, the couch creaking softly under the motion. Your moans and hers mingled with the wet sounds of your bodies meeting, growing louder with every second.

Sophia rode you in an ever-stronger rhythm, but she always slowed down suddenly, like she knew exactly how close you were to the edge. The mischievous smile on her lips made it clear she was enjoying your agony.

She placed her hands on your shoulders, rising up a bit, and the movement made you sink even deeper inside her. Her hoarse moan echoed through the room, heavy with pleasure.

“Fuck… like that…” she gasped, biting her own lip.

You took the chance to slide your hands down her thighs, squeezing hard, feeling the warm skin beneath your fingers. Sophia let you, but then she leaned down again, trapping your wrists against the couch once more.

“I told you to let me handle this… remember?” she whispered against your mouth, and immediately kissed you with hunger, her tongue invading yours as she slowly ground against you, almost torturous.

Each time she sank down, the wet sound filled the room, mixed with broken moans. The couch creaked, but you didn’t care anymore.

Sophia broke the kiss to trail her mouth down your neck, sucking hard, leaving hot marks on your skin. One of her hands squeezed your chest, her nails lightly scratching your nipple, while her hips kept a slow, deep rhythm, making you moan loudly.

“You look so beautiful like this…” she murmured against your skin, her voice hoarse with pleasure.

The pace picked up again, firmer this time. Sophia rested one hand on the couch back behind you, the other gripping your waist to keep the perfect fit, going all the way down with every thrust.

You arched your body against hers, lost in pleasure, and Sophia took the chance to bite your shoulder, moaning along with you.

When she sensed you nearing your limit, she slowed down again, grinding slowly with you fully inside her, like she wanted to drive you crazy.

“W-why are you stopping?” you asked, surprised by the sudden pause.

“Not yet…” she whispered with a smile, looking into your eyes. “I want to hear you beg.”

She circled her hips slowly, the delicious pressure unbearable. You couldn’t control your moans anymore, gripping her arms tightly.

Sophia kissed you again, deep and slow, then quickly picked up speed, riding hard, the sound of your bodies slapping echoing loudly.

The pleasure built in waves, stronger and stronger, and you knew you couldn’t hold on much longer. But Sophia still wanted to prolong it, keeping absolute control, leading every second like it was a game only she knew the rules to.

Her rhythm rose and fell like torture, and each time she slowed, you let out a frustrated moan.

“Please…” you whispered, voice breaking.

Sophia chuckled softly against your mouth, grinding slowly, her heat tightening even more around you.

“Please what?” she teased, eyes half-closed, lips just inches from yours.

“S-stop teasing me… let me come…” you moaned, clutching her waist, trying to make her speed up.

She bit your lower lip, pulling it gently before kissing you hard, ravenous.

“Not yet,” she murmured against your mouth, moaning low. “I want to hear you.”

Sophia sank all the way down, moaning loudly, grinding in slow circles, making you shiver all over. Your cock pulsed inside her, at the edge, and her mischievous smile showed she knew.

“Fuck, Sophia…” you gasped, your head thrown back.

She didn’t answer, just kept speeding up, her hips slamming harder against yours, the wet sounds echoing through the room.

Your moans mixed together, loud and desperate. Sophia planted her hands on your shoulders, riding now at a frantic pace, each thrust harder than the last.

“That’s it… I want to hear your beautiful sounds,” she whispered, biting your ear.

“Hm, f-fuck… so tight…” you replied between moans, gripping her waist, pulling her closer.

Sophia gasped, sinking all the way down and grinding there, her heat squeezing you almost painfully. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling you throb inside her, then opened them to stare at you again, her gaze dark, taken over by pleasure.

“Fill me up, y/n… I want it all, now.”

The plea was low but enough to take your breath away. You moaned loudly, and Sophia kissed you fiercely, her tongue dominating yours as she rode faster, deeper.

The couch creaked loudly, bodies pressed together, the scent of sex thick in the air. You no longer knew where your body ended and hers began; there was only heat, pleasure, and the certainty that you were about to explode.

Sophia’s pace was relentless now. Every time she sank down, you moaned loudly, unable to hold back. The couch groaned beneath you, and the whole room seemed to spin with heat and the scent of sex.

“That’s it…” she gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders. “So deep…”

You held her waist tight, helping guide the movements, desperate for more.

“You’re gonna make me come…” you whispered, breathless, eyes closed in pleasure.

Sophia pressed her mouth to yours, kissing hard, and answered between moans:

“Then come with me… I want to feel you unravel inside me.”

She sped up even more, her hips pounding against yours in a frantic rhythm. Each thrust made your whole body tremble, and you knew you couldn’t hold on any longer.

“F-fuck… Sophia… I’m close…” you gasped, burying your face in her neck.

“That’s it, I want to feel everything,” she moaned with you, breathless, grinding at the end of each thrust to pull every last bit of sanity from you.

The heat of her body, the unbearable tightness, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding—all blended into a whirlwind. And then, finally, the wave hit you.

You moaned loudly against her mouth, your whole body trembling as you came hard inside her. Sophia arched against you, moaning with her mouth slightly open, soon melting as well, gripping your cock tighter as pleasure took over.

“Fuck…” she gasped, grabbing your face to kiss you again, even as moans still escaped.

You moved desperately, stretching out every second of the explosion, bodies pressed close, heat spreading to every inch.

Until finally, the motions slowed, and Sophia collapsed against your chest, breathless, her heart pounding against yours.

The room fell silent again, but now filled with the echo of everything you’d just shared.

Sophia stayed lying against your chest, still breathing heavily, while you stroked her sweaty back. The silence was filled only by the sound of both your heavy breaths.

She slowly lifted her face, lips still red from the kisses, and gave a small smile before pressing her mouth to yours in a slow, lazy kiss, but full of everything that still pulsed between you.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” she murmured, resting her forehead against yours.

You smiled softly, still breathless, and tightened your hold on her waist a little more.

“Now I do.”

And there you stayed, tangled up, as if the whole world could wait for you.

[danitcx]

More Human Than You Think

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: She was just supposed to do the interview Clark couldn’t attend. That was all. Just questions, answers, and a photo with Superman. But something about the way he looked at her… the way he spoke about Clark… made everything shift. And maybe, without knowing it, she gave away more than she meant to.

Warnings: No explicit content. Lots of fluff, shyness, accidental confession, secret identity, romantic tension.

WC: 3,686 words

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You looked at your reflection in the elevator glass one last time before reaching the rooftop. You had chosen the most professional outfit your closet allowed: light beige dress pants, straight-cut, paired with a matching blazer and a short-sleeved white blouse with a high collar, perfectly ironed and fitted to your body without losing formality. Your heels, also beige, made barely any sound with each step. Your hair was tied in a low bun, with a few loose strands framing your face. And your handbag was elegant, small, cream-colored.

You sighed.

It was the most formal thing you had. The most professional. And even though your stomach twisted with nerves, you couldn’t wipe away that faint smile that kept appearing. You were about to interview Superman. No less than Superman. And you knew that if the interview went well, your name could end up on the front page… right where you’d seen your coworker Clark Kent’s name before.

Clark… Of course you owed this to him.

He was the one who always got direct interviews with Superman. No one knew how he did it. But this time, Perry White had requested that the Daily Planet at least be visible in the background. And Clark had managed it… until the night before, when he texted you saying he was very sick and wouldn’t be able to make it. He ended the message with a sentence that still made your heart flutter:

“I trust only you with this.”

You accepted, of course. Though your first reaction was to worry about him. More than anyone, you had watched him since you both started working there. Silently, you had fallen in love with Clark with almost absurd devotion. Lois had noticed, she even encouraged you to talk to him, but you always refused with a nervous smile. Because, come on… it was Clark. The kind guy, always smiling, bringing coffee for everyone and helping even when he didn’t have to. You were probably just confusing his kindness for something more.

So you settled for having him close. Even if it was just as a coworker.

But that night, standing in front of you, would also be Superman. And although you looked like a background fangirl at a K-pop concert, the truth was you admired him beyond the superficial. Yes, he was handsome. Impossibly handsome. But what captivated you was the other stuff: his way of saving humans and animals alike, his calmness, his humanity… More human than many humans. Though they called him a metahuman, some even considered him a threat. You didn’t.

You took a deep breath as you opened the rooftop door. Luckily, it wasn’t windy. The air was warm, steady. You closed the door gently. No one knew he would be there. That’s why, after your shift, you had snuck back to your apartment and returned just for this moment. The buildings at that hour were already empty. Just you… and him.

You checked your phone. Still no response to the message you had sent Clark during lunch: “The interview will be soon. How are you feeling? If you need anything, let me know.”

“Good evening.”

The voice behind you was soft, deep, with a warm tone you recognized instantly. You turned slowly… and there he was. Floating. Hovering effortlessly in front of you, his cape gently billowing behind him, lit by the golden lights of the city.

Superman.

“Good evening,” you managed to say with difficulty, trying to sound professional. You never imagined being so close to a man who literally defied gravity. “You must be waiting for Clark. He said that…”

“Yes,” he interrupted gently, landing, his boots touching the ground with a soft sound. “I got an email.”

“You have an email?” you asked, surprised, before you could stop yourself. He smiled, with that almost unreal warmth that made your chest tighten.

“Sorry. Please, have a seat,” you said quickly, pointing to the chairs you had set up earlier that morning. Two simple chairs, facing each other, with the golden globe of the Daily Planet in the background.

“Clark said he could trust you,” he said as he sat down. “He… really appreciates you.”

Your heart gave a little jolt.

Clark talked about you to Superman?

“Clark has always been kind to me. We're just coworkers,” you murmured, not knowing why you felt so exposed. “But I’m not here to be interviewed by you,” you added, which caused a soft, genuine laugh from him.

“You're right. Go ahead, please,” he replied.

You nodded, turned on your pocket recorder, and opened your notebook.

“Let’s begin,” you said, forcing yourself to keep a formal tone, though your fingers trembled slightly. “Thank you again for doing this,” you began. “I know you’re usually very private, so… I really appreciate it.”

“Clark insisted,” he said with a smile. “But I’m doing it because I believe in the importance of what is said… and how it’s said.”

“Then I’ll start there. How do you decide when to speak and when to stay silent in the face of international crises?”

“Every word can carry political, military, or emotional weight. Sometimes, silence is also a message. But when I speak, I try to do so with hope… not fear.”

“What has been the most difficult moment you’ve faced during a mission?” you asked.

Superman hesitated.

“Saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he finally answered. “People who are so hurt by life that they believe they don’t deserve help. That… hurts more than any blow.”

You fell silent for a moment, touched by his honesty.

“How do you deal with loss? With… what you can’t save?”

The sadness that appeared in his eyes was so human that you almost forgot you were standing in front of a symbol.

“With memory. I remember their names, their faces. I pray for them. And I keep going… because stopping would mean failing them again.”

Your fingers stopped writing for a second.

“Lastly,” you said, looking up, “this is a slightly more personal question. Clark mentioned that you save lives equally, without distinctions, and that moved me. You give each life a deep value. Why do you do that?”

Superman remained silent, but not out of discomfort. It seemed he truly wanted to find the right words.

“You said it yourself. They’re lives. Each one has a universe inside, dreams, fears, laughter, people waiting for them at home. It doesn’t matter who they are or where they come from… everyone deserves to be saved. Because the simple fact of existing is reason enough.”

You put away the recorder and looked at him with a calm smile.

“And that makes you more human,” you said softly, but firmly.

The surprise on his face was clear. But also something deeper. Gratitude. As if no one had ever told him that before. As if, for a moment, you had touched something no one else could reach.

“Thank you for your time. Really. I hope I didn’t take too much of it. Maybe I’m not Clark but…”

“You did a good job.” His response was quick, and when you looked at him, he smiled at you. For a moment, the way he said it reminded you so much of Clark that you let yourself be carried away. “Clark mentioned you were a big admirer of mine,” he added, lowering his voice slightly.

“Oh, of course… but don’t think I’m going to throw myself at you right now,” you replied with an amused smile.

He let out a genuine laugh. Deep. Warm.

“Is that… what you want?” he teased, without losing that charming expression.

“No… no, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” you stammered nervously, searching your bag for your camera to distract yourself. “You’re Superman. But I… I’m in love with someone else.”

He didn’t answer. But if you had looked at him in that moment, you would’ve seen how his face changed subtly. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his lips parted. Surprised. Almost disappointed. As if he wasn’t expecting that answer.

When you finally looked up, he had already recomposed himself, as if nothing had happened. His expression was neutral again. Almost too much.

“May I?” you asked, raising the camera. “I need the Daily Planet world to be visible in the background of the photo. It’s to visually justify the interview.”

He nodded with a slight tilt of his head.

“And… that someone you’re in love with… do they work here?” he asked suddenly, taking a few steps but without taking his eyes off you.

You didn’t notice. You were focused on adjusting the lens, searching for the ideal light.

“They do,” you replied, without thinking too much. “But I can’t say who.”

“No?” he repeated, pretending to be offended. “Do you think Superman is a gossip?”

You laughed at the joke, not noticing that, even though he was still smiling, it hurt him a little more than he wanted to admit.

“Not at all,” you said playfully, still looking through the viewfinder. “There it is… give me a second.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Just the click of the settings.

And then, without thinking too much, you said:

“Just imagine if you went and told Clark that I’m in love with him…”

You took the photo.

The flash lit up his face just as his eyes opened wide. Disconcerted. Vulnerable. As if a ray of truth had been fired into his chest.

You lowered the camera and checked the image, unaware of everything.

“I need you to smile, for the photo,” you said, not noticing the storm of emotions you had just unleashed.

But you didn’t know what that phrase had caused.

Superman… no, Clark, smiled. He truly smiled. Not forced. Not out of protocol. He smiled as if his soul had lit up. As if his whole body was vibrating from within.

An absurd, warm, and sweet happiness flooded him completely. You. You were in love with him. With Clark. And you had just told him… without knowing it.

And you took four more photos of him, one after the other, not realizing you were capturing a moment he would treasure forever.

“All done,” you said when you finished, carefully lowering the camera. “Thank you very much. It was a pleasure meeting you… but I have to go.”

“Of course…” he said, taking a step back, still smiling. “It was also a pleasure meeting you… but, if you’d like… I can walk you home.”

You looked at him, surprised by the offer, but gently shook your head.

“Don’t worry. It’s still early, it hasn’t gotten dark. Besides… you have to protect the city, right?” you smiled, lowering your gaze with shyness. “And I’m not going to my apartment. I’m taking some dinner to… Clark.”

Your voice softened at the end, almost like a whisper, as if saying his name that way revealed more than you wanted to admit. Because no one —except Lois— knew you were in love with him.

“Oh…” he murmured, almost breathless. “You’re going to see him?”

You nodded, adjusting your bag.

“Well… say hi to Clark for me. I hope he gets better soon.”

“Well… send my regards to Clark. Hope he recovers soon,” he said with a voice that tried to sound casual.

You said goodbye with a smile and began to walk away. You didn’t see him stay there, motionless, watching you leave as if the world became more beautiful with every step you took.

As you walked through the city, you carefully put away your camera and the photos, making sure nothing got lost. You decided to stop by a pharmacy first: you bought cough medicine, a box of lemon tea, and a jar of honey. Then you went to a homemade food restaurant called Ma’s Kitchen, where you knew they made one of Clark’s favorite dishes: meatloaf with mashed potatoes and garlic bread. For yourself, you ordered a club sandwich you had been craving since the morning. Everything to go.

You were hungry, but the idea of not having dinner alone excited you more. It was the perfect excuse to see him. You had never been to his apartment before, but this time you couldn’t resist. You had missed him at work. You were afraid his cold might get worse. And you wanted to be close.

When you arrived, you stood in front of the door, hesitating to knock. You finally did. Once. Twice. You heard strange noises on the other side. What if he was so sick he didn’t want visitors?

And just when you were about to leave so you wouldn’t bother him, the door opened.

Clark appeared on the other side. His hair was messy, he was wearing an open robe that showed a simple white T-shirt and dark green plaid pajama pants. His glasses were slightly crooked, and a loosely wrapped scarf hung from his neck. He was smiling… but he immediately looked away, and his face fell as if he had forgotten something important.

“Hi. Cof,” he coughed strangely, very unconvincingly. You had no idea that Clark had flown at full speed to make sure he got there before you, changed clothes, and put on a sick expression… which he had clearly forgotten to rehearse.

“Hi, Clark,” you greeted with a soft smile, not noticing anything odd, just worried about him. You watched him closely, his cheeks were slightly flushed—was it from the effort? The heat? Or because of you?

“Sorry to interrupt. You must be really sick… but I brought some medicine and, well, I didn’t know if you had dinner yet. But if you’re tired, don’t worry. I can leave everything and let you rest. Maybe I should’ve warned you first…”

“No, no, come in,” he said quickly, stepping aside. “I’m feeling a bit better. Cof.”

He repeated the cough, as if he believed saying it at the end of the sentence made it more believable. You gave him a compassionate look, not questioning anything. He just watched you walk in with your bags, unable to stop smiling… because you were there. Because you hadn’t gone home. Because you had come to see him.

He let you in, pointing the way to the kitchen. The place was clean, too tidy for someone who was sick, but that didn’t surprise you. Clark had always been meticulous.

“I left everything here,” you said, placing the bags on the table. “These meds help me when I’m sick, and the ginger tea is awful, I know, but if you add honey, it’s tolerable. If you want, I can make it for you…”

Clark looked at you with a sincere smile, nodding gratefully.

“How did the Superman interview go?” he asked suddenly, with a natural tone that sounded almost rehearsed as he sat down.

“Good,” you replied while unpacking the dishes and serving the food. “He was kind. He answered everything I asked. You could tell that… it’s not just strength. He’s very human in some of his answers.”

Clark looked down, as if the compliment affected him, though a smile escaped him.

“Yeah… let’s say he likes to know things. Even if they’re not always his business.” He scratched his neck, pretending to be uncomfortable. “Did he say anything… about me?”

You simply shook your head, though your cheeks lit up. You couldn’t help but think about the moment when, in front of Superman, you confessed that you liked Clark Kent. It still embarrassed you.

“No, he didn’t say anything,” you lied quickly, looking away and pretending to check the bags. “I just talked to him… took some pictures. Nothing important.”

“Thanks for this… really.”

“Eat. It’ll make you feel better,” you said, changing the subject. “Perry said it’s okay if you don’t go in tomorrow. You should rest all weekend,” you added as you sat in front of him.

Clark silently cursed himself. That lie —being sick— now kept him away from you all Friday… and maybe the weekend. And that meant not being able to ask you out like he had been planning. But amid the guilt, a spark of happiness appeared when you looked at him, a little shy, a little hesitant.

“If you want, I can bring you dinner again tomorrow,” you said as you gathered the wrappers. “And I can tell you how my article turned out and what Perry said.”

Clark looked up immediately, with eyes so wide and bright they almost lit up.

He nodded softly. “I’d love that.”

There was a warm brief silence as you finished your meal.

“You know?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “My grandma used to swear that the best remedy for a cough was wrapping your feet in hot mustard and putting on thick socks.”

Clark looked at you, confused. “Mustard… on your feet?”

“I swear. And then she said you had to sleep with a slice of onion on your neck.” You laughed, remembering the scene.

Clark laughed too, though the image caused him a mix of horror and affection. “Please tell me you’re not bringing me onions tomorrow.”

“Jokes aside, Clark…” you murmured, lowering your voice a little. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He swallowed hard. He knew he wasn’t acting sick very well, but your sincere gaze disarmed him.

“I’m okay. Just… tired, I guess. But thank you for worrying.”

When you got up to say goodbye, you gave him a playful little punch on the shoulder. He blushed like a teenager, looking down, both delighted and nervous.

“Get some rest, okay?” you said, this time with a sweetness in your voice as if you’d cared for him your whole life. “And if you feel worse during the night, don’t hesitate to call me. Really, Clark. Anytime.”

He looked up slowly and nodded, grateful, with that tenderness in his eyes that almost made you stay a minute longer.

“See you tomorrow,” he replied.

You left the building not knowing that, from his window, Superman was still watching you. He flew at a safe distance, quietly keeping watch until he saw you enter your building. He was fascinated by how beautiful you looked in that coat.

And then he understood.

You had friend-zoned Superman. His most iconic version. Because to you, only Clark Kent existed. Only he lived in your mind. Only he was the one you liked.

The man who blushed when you smiled at him. The one who walked with you through the newsroom and offered you his coat if you felt cold. You had chosen him. His most real part. His clumsiest, most human, most vulnerable version.

Because while the whole world dreamed of flying among the clouds, you had stayed on the ground… to walk by his side.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. A thousand catastrophes could come, a thousand responsibilities, a thousand exhausting days. But if you kept looking at him the way you did today, if you kept bringing him tea and offering to have dinner together, if you kept wanting to take care of Clark Kent…

Then he was the luckiest man on the planet.

He couldn’t wait to ask you out. To tell you that he had chosen you too. Long before you even knew it.

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💌 I take requests occasionally! If you have an idea, feel free to send it my way. I’d love to bring it to life 🤍

[drafts-and-delusions]

Beach Day Discovery

Tags: fem!reader, fluff, slight thirst, first vacation together, navel piercing reveal, boys being stunned

this is purely for self-indulgence bc i got a navel piercing

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Jinu

He’s still spreading out your shared towel when you peel off your shirt and toss it into your bag. His eyes flicker up without thinking—then freeze.

The little glint of silver on your stomach catches the sun just right.

He stares. Says nothing. Then, slowly, his head tilts.

"You’ve had that the whole time?"

You smirk. "Several months now, actually."

He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to smile. "It suits you."

Later, you catch him sneaking glances. He doesn’t touch—it’s not like him to be bold in public—but the way his eyes keep drifting down says enough. He’s curious. Dying to ask. Maybe even tempted to find out how it feels under his fingertips.

Romance

You stretch your arms above your head as you peel off your shirt, the breeze kissing your skin. The sun hits your navel piercing in just the right way, subtle but impossible to miss.

Romance notices immediately.

His eyes flick down, then back to yours. Calm, unreadable—but his gaze lingers a second too long.

"That new?"

You shake your head. "Had it for a while."

He hums. A slow smile pulls at his lips. "You’ve been keeping secrets."

"It’s not a secret. Just never came up."

He steps closer. Not too close. But enough for you to feel it.

"You should show it off more often," he says quietly. "Or just show me. Alone."

Abby

He’s minding his own business, sipping from a coconut, when you shrug off your cover-up.

A second later, he chokes.

You hurry over. "Are you okay?"

He waves you off, coughing. "Yeah, yeah, I just... wasn’t expecting the... uh."

He gestures toward your stomach like the sight physically knocked him off balance.

"Oh. The piercing?"

He nods a little too fast. "That. It’s cute. You’re cute. I’m fine."

Spoiler: he’s not.

He spends the rest of the day trying not to look again, then failing completely and pretending he wasn’t. When you tease him, he gets red all over again.

Mystery

You slip your shirt over your head and barely get it into your bag before you feel it—his gaze, sharp and focused.

You glance over.

He’s staring. His eyes drop to your stomach, then flick back up.

"You pierced your navel," he says like he's confirming something unreal.

"Mm-hmm."

He nods. Says nothing else.

You think that’s the end of it... until you’re rubbing sunscreen onto your stomach and notice him zoning out. Not even blinking.

When you raise a brow at him, he turns away like nothing happened.

His ears are red. You don’t miss that. But not before you catch the faintest shade of pink in his ears.

Baby

You’re the first to run into the water, kicking up salt and sand in your wake. He chases after you—then skids to a halt.

"Wait, hold up. What’s that on your tummy?"

You grin, lift your shirt slightly. "Like it?"

He gapes. "That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Immediately tries to act cool, but he’s blushing and making a mess of his words. Ends up splashing you just to hide his face.

Later, while you’re lying on your towel, he leans over and goes, "So like... does it hurt if I touch it? Or is that off-limits?"

You roll your eyes. “Behave.”

[cece693]

TAMARANEAN TROUBLE (AND A JEALOUS BIRD)

pairing: nightwing x male reader synopsis: Meeting your boyfriend’s ex was never easy, especially when she’s a literal goddess. But turns out she’s way more charming than you anticipated—and your new friendship with her starts to drive Dick a little nuts.

You had expected to feel a little awkward meeting his ex. After all, how often does someone casually meet the woman who used to date the guy you’re currently in love with—especially when that woman was the embodiment of alien royalty, radiant warmth, and god-tier beauty?

What you hadn’t expected was how nice she was.

“So you are Y/N,” Starfire said, floating slightly off the ground as she smiled at you with a kind of sunshine-bright sincerity that made it impossible to dislike her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the one who makes Grumpy-Wing less grumpy.”

You laughed a little. “I—uh—thanks? It’s great to meet you too.”

And it was. But damn, she was...everything. Kind, smart, powerful, beautiful. You'd seen the pictures of her and Dick back in their early days—smiling, shoulder to shoulder, picture-perfect in ways that belonged on magazine covers and cheesy soap operas. Even now, years later, they moved around each other like they still shared an orbit. Not romantic—not anymore—but familiar.

And as the three of you moved through the Titan Tower that weekend, helping out with some team reconvening for a threat that thankfully didn’t escalate, you couldn’t help the thought that rooted in your head like poison ivy.

Why did you guys even break up?

They had chemistry. A history. Years of shared battles, shared glances, and emotional highs and lows. And you? You were just the guy Dick dated now. The guy who sometimes stumbled through fight choreography, who needed more coffee than sleep, and who couldn’t fly—unless you counted being thrown by a meta.

You didn’t voice it.

Of course not.

You smiled and teased, joined in the banter. But the seed had been planted. Every time she touched his arm affectionately or burst into laughter at something he said, it watered itself.

And Starfire? She was always so genuine with you.

“You are most humorous,” she beamed after you cracked a joke. “Dick never laughs that way. It is endearing.”

You blinked. “Thanks. I think.”

One afternoon, while Nightwing was busy coordinating with Cyborg, you and Kory found yourselves lounging on a terrace overlooking the bay, bathed in sunset light and quiet.

“You seem troubled,” she said gently, sipping something fizzy from a glass she probably made sparkle with her fingers.

“Nope,” you said. Then: “...Okay, maybe.”

She tilted her head. “Is it the comparison?”

You froze. She was looking at you with those big green eyes, not with judgment, but understanding. That made it worse somehow.

“I—what?” you asked, a bit too fast.

She smiled. “It is a natural thing. I have known Richard since he was very young, but that is no threat to what you share. If anything…” she leaned in a little, voice low, mischievous. “You and he are very hot together. It makes me wish I had taste in better timing.”

You stared.

“I mean it,” she went on, her smile widening as she leaned back. “Your dynamic is delightful. You challenge him. He softens around you in ways he never did before. And aesthetically? Glorious. Your hair alone could inspire three songs.”

You snorted. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I am complimenting,” she said innocently. “Unless you are open to being flirted with. In which case, yes.”

That was how you and Kory became best friends and when Dick began to act funny. Not in the ha-ha kind of way—no, you’d take goofy knock-knock jokes over what he was doing now.

First it was subtle. He started appearing in rooms he had no business being in. You’d be lounging in the common room, scrolling through Kory’s latest intergalactic memes, and suddenly Dick would appear with a clipboard, muttering something about “inventory checks.”

“In the living room?” you’d ask, raising a brow.

“Important living room supplies,” he’d mutter, shuffling cushions and trying very hard not to glare at your legs draped across Kory’s lap.

Then it escalated.

If Kory threw an arm over your shoulders in the hallway, Dick would suddenly need to “discuss patrol assignments.” If you so much as laughed too long at her joke, he’d swing by like a vulture in a domino mask, kissing your temple in a move so obviously territorial, it practically growled.

Kory noticed. Of course she did. She was a warrior, a princess, and now, your best friend. She took great delight in making your boyfriend squirm.

“Hello, Dick,” she would purr every time he showed up mid-conversation. “We were just discussing how your partner’s biceps have grown. He is becoming so sturdy.”

Dick’s eye would twitch. “Great. Love that. Very…sturdy.”

You tried to hide your smirk. Tried.

It all came to a head one evening while you and Kory were testing out her new “Earth-style fashion experiment.” Somehow, this translated into you wearing a sleeveless mesh top and Kory bedazzling your boots while perched upside down on the couch.

Dick walked in.

Paused.

Looked at you.

Then said, “Cool. When’s the drag show?”

You and Kory wheeze with laughter.

“Oh come on,” Dick huffed, folding his arms. “You two are literally one hair braid away from running off together.”

Kory beamed. “Do you give us your blessing?”

“I—what?! No—that’s not—” He pointed at you, then her, then back again. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You stood up, sauntered over, and poked his chest. “Doing what, Grayson? Having fun without you?”

“You’re flirting.”

“She started it,” you said.

“And he is adorably receptive,” Kory added.

Dick groaned. “Unbelievable. My boyfriend and my ex-girlfriend are best friends and now they’ve unionized against me.”

You grinned and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hey. I’m still yours, y’know.”

He tried to stay mad. Really, he did. But the tips of his ears turned red, and his lips twitched upward despite himself. “Yeah. I know.”

Kory stood as well, looping an arm around each of your shoulders. “Do not worry. I will not steal your sparkly boyfriend.” She paused. “Unless you break his heart. In which case I will destroy you and then marry him on a moon garden beneath three suns.”

Dick stared. “That’s…oddly specific.”

“She’s been planning it,” you said, nodding seriously.

Kory winked. “I have the dress picked out.”

[enitnelavvalentine]

His girl

*Thunderbolts Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader

Summary: You came into his room one night hoping for relief and..i guess he came in you (i’m so funny.)

Warnings!: Clit play, Needing help with finishing, Implied sex, Cum and mentions of cum, Masterbation, …not..sure..what else to say..

Notes: This is in-fact my first fanfic so it might not be the best but i hope someone enjoys it.

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You felt something stirring in your stomach, the need to touch yourself.

“It’s 12 in the morning, do not.” You told yourself, but unfortunately, it could not seem to go away. Trouble sleeping was not new and it was a real problem but tonight, things were a bit different with a slightly different path then staring up at the ceiling for an hour. Eventually you gave in with a sigh, closing your eyes and slowly running your hand down your body. Your fingers quickly reached your clit, breath hitching and body twitching. You were eager to get it done quickly. “Cum then go to bed, no seconds, just a quick quiet session.” You muttered under your breath. Two fingers gently circled your nub as you relaxed into your pillow. Never had you fingered yourself, found this more effective than something that seemed like it would take a good while.

After 20 minutes of trying to get where you so desperately needed to be, frustration and desire had risen. You sat up and thought of any other way you could make this disappear. Then, an idea raced into your head, Bucky.

You’d always see girls in and out of his room since everyone moved into the tower and in your head, what was one more? Friends or not, you needed it.

Footsteps approached his door before knuckles knocked softly against it. A small creak was heard when the door opened to reveal Bucky standing there and staring down at you with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. You then opened your mouth to say something until you remembered you had no absolute plan of what you wanted nor what to say. Bucky raised his brow while you were mentally panicking.

“Hey..there…” You smiled awkwardly as the embarrassment and awkwardness seeped into the tone of your voice.

“Hey.” Bucky replied casually.

“My god, had he always been this sexy?” You thought while looking up at him, without thinking, your legs pressed tighter against each other. Lucky for you, he noticed and you could feel the tension shift.

“Bucky I need a favor.” You spoke up, completely unaware he had noticed your movement. You needed to be brave, get release, or you were going to explode and not in the way you had hoped.

“Hm?” Bucky replied, moving a little closer to you.

“Listen- I-I need you to help me cum.” You sputtered out and mentally cringed at how this ten word conversation was going. A tinge of blush creeped up your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Oh is that so sweet girl?” Bucky replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. His arm hooked around your waist within seconds and a quick gasp flew out of your mouth as you nodded.

“I’ve seen girls come around your room- what’s one more?” You mumbled softly, now facing his chest.

“You think i’m a player sweet girl?” Bucky leaned in and asked with genuine concern, the previous heat leaving the moment.

“Yeah, I do.” A small wave of disappointment left your mouth as you spoke.

“Listen,” Bucky replied fast before pulling you impossibly closer, one arm around your waist while his other arm had a soft caress to your cheek with his calloused fingertips. “I’ve had my eye on you the first time I saw you trip up stairs and look at me with pure embarrassment. All those girls? They came in my room because the PR said i needed to look nicer and hired people to do that. Inconveniently, they were all women. If we do this, I don’t want it to be a one time thing. Because I am so in love with you sweet girl.” Bucky whispered against your ear softly as he spoke.

You were completely shocked, you, out of all people, he wanted you. I mean yeah you were gorgeous but you were an absolute dork and everyone knew it. Yet you were absolutely down.

(will post next part soon sorry!!)

[onaswife]

Your reflection, my secret.

Couple: Alexia x reader

AU!Omegaverse, Omega x Alpha

Note: with the help of @futbolfatale and @sachanobie were my great beta readers. First story over 5k (9,4k) words since I started writing. I hope you like it and sorry if there are any mistakes, I'll fix them this afternoon!

Summary: They met at La Masia when they were eleven. At first, Alexia couldn't stand her. Then, she couldn't be without her. They grew up together. They fell in love. They separated.

Years later, fate brings them together again in the place where it all began: FC Barcelona. But this time, there's more than one open wound… and a little girl with the eyes of an Alpha who never knew she was a mother.

2005, February.

It would be your first year at La Masia. You had always dreamed of being able to play soccer and appear on television like Messi, Thierry, or Ronaldinho. Alphas that are bigger and stronger than their competitors. You dreamed of being like them, shining on the field like they did, and winning as many trophies as they seemed to. 

Your parents had received a new job opportunity in Barcelona, near La Masia, so you were quite excited to see this magnificent place, which was like a dream come true for you.

"Mommy, can we go see a Barcelona game?" you asked as you passed a large advertisement for the men's first team, unable to take your eyes off it, as if hypnotized by it. "I don't know, honey. I don't know if your father can take you," you nodded with a small, sad smile on your face.

You knew it was a nearly impossible choice to make. Your parents didn't earn much more than they needed to survive with you, so you had learned over the years not to ask for more than they gave you. Although you knew they both had good jobs, you preferred not to ask for much.

You continued walking through the vast, endless streets of Barcelona, enthralled by the sight of so many colors and so many smells. The smell of salt coming from the sea, the smell of bread and coffee that filled the streets, and the roses that were everywhere. Being an alpha means you have a heightened sense of some when compared to betas and omegas. Being able to smell even the tiniest details helped make everywhere you travel just a little bit more magical. Though it was a landscape that unconsciously made you smile. It wasn't as if the place you lived before wasn't as beautiful. They lived in a colorful city too, but it was a totally new experience in Barcelona, where the sun seemed to rest without a schedule above your head.

You were lost in your thoughts as you listened to your mom talking about what she would make for lunch and telling you about interesting things she had seen during those days. You looked up, and it was, in your opinion, the best decision.

You saw two things: first, the large letters indicating you were passing outside La Masia, and second, a girl who seemed to be the same age as you, with dark hair tied in a high ponytail, a height similar to yours, although she seemed a few inches taller.

You looked up at your mother, who was watching your dreamy gaze from above. "Someday you'll get there... with your father, we'll do our best, love." She squeezed your hand and continued walking by your side, with a firm step.

That day, you couldn't stop thinking about that girl, about how she seemed to own the place. You wanted to be her friend and be able to play with her, since you could tell how good she was at playing, you could see it in the confidence she exuded.

As evening fell, you walked back. You were alone, not very welcome at your new school, being a foreigner and not fluent in either of the two languages spoken in the city. You knew how to speak two languages, or rather, three. Your mother was Italian, born in Sicily, while your father was French, born in Montpellier. They met in Sicily when your father went on vacation there before starting university, and there he fell madly in love with the Italian girl with beautiful eyes. Although he didn't know any Italian (only Ciao and Salve, which were basically the same thing), they both fell deeply in love, regardless of the language barrier. This led to both languages being spoken at home. Later, you learned English at school, and you became more interested when you saw that the soccer players spoke more English.

You passed by the side of a soccer field, near where your mother bought the delicious pastries they used to eat for dessert at dinnertime. You watched with excitement as boys and girls played there, all wearing shirts of one of your Barcelona idols, having the fun you so wanted to.

You sighed, ready to continue walking home, until a really sweet-looking lady approached you, speaking Spanish to you, which you didn't understand at all. She seemed really confused when she didn't get a response, and you were afraid she might get angry and yell at you. Instead, she just pointed at the court, followed by a "play" sound.

You looked at the lady, then at the court, back at her, and back at the court one last time. She saw the doubt in your eyes, so she gently grabbed your arm and led you to the others. 

You enjoyed that day like never before, until it ended. Your mom arrived, worried.

As soon as she saw you, she ran to hug you worriedly, examining you from head to toe while you giggled at the tickling she was doing. "Mom, I'm fine. The lady there let me play." Your smile had never been brighter than it was in that moment, making it impossible for your mother to stay mad at you.

She grabbed your hand as soon as she stood up and walked toward the kind woman from before. They exchanged a few words you didn't understand while they both laughed. You managed to understand that your mother had mentioned your name, and the lady was looking at you with a kind smile.

They stayed talking for about 20 minutes while you looked at the pitch. Your mood had really changed just by playing 30 minutes of the game, where you had scored 4 goals and provided 2 assists, in addition to nearly saving a spectacular goal that your team had almost scored. You looked at your mother, who seemed to be saying goodbye to the other woman, until someone, a tall man with black hair, approached you. The man looked like some kind of coach, with a cap and some papers under his arm.

You exchanged a few words. Mom looked at you happily, and the man smiled at you before leaving.

The walk was silent, but not awkward. You were worried that maybe someone had said something bad about you to your mother, while your mother was waiting to be able to break the news as soon as your father got home.

They arrived, but not before buying your favorite cake. As soon as they entered, you saw your dad sitting on the couch waiting for them with a big smile on his face. You let go of your mother's hand and ran to hug him. The normal behavior for a young alpha wasn't to be so cheerful, but with your parents, it was impossible not to be. They both loved and adored you with all their being, and you returned them with all the love you could.

"Mommy told me she was worried because you hadn't arrived," he whispered against your hair, leaving soft caresses on your back as you excitedly told him about your day, skipping school almost the entire day and only telling him about the game you had. He looked at your mother as she approached to greet her, and they both listened attentively as you talked nonstop, until you got out of your father's arms and began showing them how you had scored the goals you had.

You liked afternoons like this, when your mother didn't have to work late and your father came home early, telling you about his day or simply listening to you chatter about everything you'd seen during the day.

"Our little girl was seen by important people today," your mother finally spoke as you and your father sat at the table, staring with the same expression at the food your mother had placed in front of you both. "And they have a really good offer, which I know Y/N will like." She caressed your hair, and you instinctively looked at her, your mouth full of food and your eyes dreamy.

"So? Tell me more." Your father was in the same condition as you, his mouth full and his eyes full of anticipation for the new news.

"After the game today, a man approached us and..." He stopped as he began to put things in the refrigerator. You looked at your father, who was almost eager to listen.

"Please finish telling us," you both shouted in unison, practically in tears. Your mother finally returned to the table and sat down with you. "What was I telling you? I forgot," she had a mocking smile on her face, knowing what was making you lose your patience. "Someone saw our daughter playing, and what else?" your father explained and asked as he took your mother's hand. You did the same, looking at her with palpable anxiety on your face.

"Oh, yes."

"Oh, yes, what?"

"He was a recruiter," she answered simply enough, making you squeal in your seat while your father looked at her excitedly. "Recruiter of what, love?" You looked at your father with a look of disbelief.

"So he can join us in collecting garbage..." your mother responded sarcastically as she looked at him. "Soccer recruiter, love." You jumped out of your seat, looking at her expectantly.

"Where's he from, Mommy? A local team wants me to play? Did you hear, Daddy?" You spoke quickly, the excitement that seemed to rush through your body in a second.

"Barcelona, well, he said he was from La Masia."

You remained silent, your skin prickling, and you stared at a fixed spot on the table, where the food was getting colder with the passage of time and your emotions. They both knew you, so they waited for you to process the news. When you finally did, you started screaming and running around.

You calmed down a few minutes later and began to cry in your mother's arms as she stroked your hair. "I told you you'd make it, love, you're the best," she murmured, placing a kiss on one of your tear-stained cheeks. "This deserves a big celebration. We have to tell your grandparents."

That February 19th was the official day of your debut in professional soccer.

Being eleven years old and moving to a country whose language you don't understand isn't easy. It was even less so when you were the only French girl among dozens of Catalans who seemed to have known each other forever. But you didn't let that intimidation come your way. From the first day at La Masía, you ran through the hallways, greeting everyone with great energy, your accent strong, and your smile even bigger. You didn't understand a word anyone was saying, but that didn't stop you.

Alexia looked at you from afar, frowning. "That new girl spoke strangely, was too loud, and always wanted to hug everything," she murmured to her younger sister. For the first few weeks, she ignored you or simply pretended you didn't exist. Sometimes she would comment to Alba that the French girl was crazy, that she laughed at everything and spoke as if the world should understand her. Sometimes she would even refer to you as "French..." followed by an adjective for you.

But there was something... that caught her attention.

The way you trained seriously even though you didn't understand the instructions. How you celebrated every goal your teammates scored as if it were your own, how you laughed even when you lost.

Your parents' story seemed to repeat itself with you.

Your first interaction was during training. The team was divided into two teams of 7 to test their teamwork. You ended up on the same team as Alexia.

Both of you wanted the ball, but neither of you was willing to let it go. You were playing well, but it bothered you to hear Alexia yelling at you in Catalan to let her shine.

"Pass it!" Alexia yelled.

"You're marked," you replied.

"Do it anyway!"

"No!"

She kicked the ball away from you with a clean kick. She dribbled arrogantly, and you felt your face boil as she watched Alexia shake off both of her markers, but missed miserably on goal.

"Stubborn French girl," she muttered without looking at you, and you clenched your fists.

"Catalan autoritaire," you said, even more quietly. (Bossy Catalan)

The other girls laughed at the little argument.

You really tried to get along with Alexia. She was one of the few girls your age. Most were younger, and the others were about to make their debut with the first team, which frustrated you. You didn't know what else to do to make Alexia like you.

But nothing seemed to be enough.

Every attempt to fit in with Alexia ended in frustration. You didn't fully understand what she was saying, but you could read her gestures, her averted glances, her cold silences when you sat next to her in the cafeteria or on the bus. You had tried everything.

You had heard her tell one of your teammates that you were "too much," that you were always on top of her, that you didn't know when to stop. So you stopped talking so much, lowered your laughter, and held back in practice. Even when you scored a goal, you just raised your fist in silence. You stopped running up to your teammates to hug them, even though the urge to do so was still there in your chest.

You changed, you molded yourself, just to fit in with her. To please her. Until one afternoon, in the middle of practice, you realized how ridiculous it was.

Alexia had yelled at you again. You didn't know exactly what she said, but you immediately understood the annoyed tone. And then you stopped. With the ball still at your feet, you stared at her.

"Je suis fatiguee de ça," you muttered angrily, barely audible to the others. (I'm tired of this.)

She frowned.

"What?"

"I'm tired!" you blurted out, kicking the ball hard into the empty net.

That was the day you decided that if Alexia didn't like you the way you were, then there was no point in trying anymore. You went back to being yourself. You spoke loudly, laughed at silly things, and celebrated every play. The younger girls adored you. And Alexia... well, Alexia started looking at you differently, but she was still trying to keep her distance.

You entered the locker room happy about winning against Espanyol, a crushing 5-0 victory in your favor.

You had assisted two goals and scored two more, which made you quite happy. Therefore, you had started speaking French while explaining to your other teammates how excited you were, and they listened attentively even though they didn't understand a single word.

Alexia, on the other hand, was annoyed. She had missed a few passes, had a shot on goal that didn't even come close to landing, and felt beyond stressed seeing your overwhelming happiness.

"Això no és frança," she said as she passed by you and shoved you with her shoulder, making you frown. All the other girls on the team seemed dazzled by the victory, and Alexia seemed to be going through the worst defeat ever seen by humankind. (This is not France)

"Toujours aussi belle, Putellas." you replied back, watching her roll her eyes at your response. (As charming as ever, Putellas)

You felt the atmosphere in the locker room change; now there was a little more tension in the air, which you hated. You quickly grabbed your things and went straight to the showers, with the sole idea of being away from the brunette who was making you angry.

Unfortunately, you had to learn to live with her.

The rooms at La Masía weren't big enough, so you often had to give up sleeping alone to receive a bunk bed in your room and learn to socialize with the person who would now be your roommate.

In your case, and with your luck, you ended up sharing a room with Alexia Putellas.

"J'ai le droit de choisir dans quel lit je dors, c'était ma chambre" you argued as you picked up her suitcase and placed it on the floor, lying down on the bottom bunk. (I have the right to choose which bed I sleep in, this was my room.)

Alexia let out a grunt as she picked up her suitcase again, placing it almost on your lap. "Sí, però jo porto més temps aca." Her gaze was challenging, one eyebrow raised as that mocking smile returned to her lips. (Yes, but I've been here longer.)

"C'est peut-être pour ça qu'ils t'ont pris ta chambre, parce que tu es vieux" you muttered as you settled in, turning your back on her and accidentally knocking her suitcase to the floor again. (Maybe that's why they took your room away from you, because you're old.)

"Francesa sense modals" (French without manners)

"Catalan agaçant" (Annoying Catalan)

That same night, just as you were falling into Morpheus's arms, Alexia threw a pillow from above, landing right on your face.

"You're snoring. How annoying."

You groan, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back, hearing a groan coming from above.

"You're literally snoring like a donkey, shut up!"

Training was always physical; you had to learn how to play well with your body without committing fouls, how to make good tackles. That's why it wasn't unusual for you to end up with bruises after practice.

You never got angry when you were fouled; after all, everyone was learning to be better soccer players together, and to be better, you always have to make more effort and know how to fall and get back up again.

Although, of course, you didn't get angry with the girls who weren't Alexia.

You were in the regular rondo, just finishing training to go to class.

You had squeezed yourself between two defenders; you were closer than ever to scoring a spectacular goal.

You were...

Until you felt a pain spread from your shin up, leaving you lying on the ground while you clutched your foot, pain clearly shooting through your face. She, on the other hand, looked down at you, her face not showing much emotion.

"Deixa de fer espectacle i aixeca't, ni tan sols t'he pegat fort." you growled as soon as you heard her voice, because of course, who else would be more than happy to knock you down with the excuse that she was defending the goal. (Stop putting on a show and get up, I didn't even hit you hard.)

Again, you didn't understand anything she said, but judging by her tone of voice, you knew she must be downplaying your pain, maybe calling you overreacting.

You stood up while trying to plant your foot firmly, feeling a cramp run through your leg, but you continued anyway.

You were fighting for a ball, Alexia hovering behind you, ready to stop your advance and maybe knock you back to the ground. You spun around, stepping on the ball and throwing it back, causing it to pass between Alexia's legs.

"catalan lent" you muttered as you passed her, watching her face turn red with embarrassment. You, on the other hand, kept running. This time, you wouldn't let her slow you down. (slow Catalan)

Your team ended up winning the round. You seemed to have won more than that, watching Alexia retreat, fuming from her ears. A triumphant smile spread across your face.

Even so, you limped past her, your ankle still hurting when you put your foot down, but you pretended as best you could that it wasn't true.

The day continued normally, with a bit of pain and not being able to understand much of the class. You'd been here for at least two months and still didn't understand any Spanish or Catalan. It made you feel stupid not being able to learn another language, even though most of your classmates already knew how. Besides, they'd given you a personal tutor to help you learn the language.

It was already after 10:00, the time they had set for bedtime. You sighed, trying to understand for the eighth time the paragraph you had written in Catalan in front of you.

"Podries apagar la llum? Hi ha alguns que si volem dormir" you heard the angry voice of the girl upstairs. You quickly wiped the tear of frustration that left your eyes and threw your book against one of the desks they had set aside. Then you turned off the light next to your bed and settled in to sleep. (Could you turn off the light? There are some of us who do want to sleep.)

The next morning, you tried to ignore her, not listen to what she had to say. And it worked, until it was time to take a shower.

"Podries apurar-te? vull banyar-me també i ja portes aquí com 2 hores" you heard Alexia yell from outside the bathroom. You had only entered five minutes before she started screaming like a crazy woman. (Would you hurry up? I want to take a shower too, and you've already been here for two hours.)

You sighed, sitting on the toilet lid, while your left foot rested on the edge of the tub. It looked a little ugly, bruised near the bone, and seemed to be swollen. You stared at it for a few more seconds. When you reached out to touch it, the omega outside screamed again, causing you to jump and hit your ankle. You groaned at the sharp pain that shot through your foot again.

You took a quick shower before heading out to your room, where your clothes were waiting for you. You didn't even look at the girl who shared your room, just walked past her, bumping her shoulder with yours while limping slightly.

One way or another, you ended up on the physio table while they checked your ankle. The coach had seen you limping and kicking with less power during training, making him suspicious and sending you for a checkup.

You didn't say a word when the physiotherapist began to gently press on your swollen ankle, the one you'd been trying to hide for a few days. You pressed your lips together, determined not to show any pain. You were an alpha; you couldn't cry over such minimal pain. Besides, it was already humiliating enough to be sent to the physios in front of everyone, especially when you'd tried to prove you didn't need anyone's help.

The bandage was already halfway across the table when you heard footsteps approaching. You thought it was the coach, maybe one of the girls waiting for her turn for physiotherapy. But your body tensed at the sound of that voice.

"Tu també ets aquí, Alexia?" someone said from the other table. It was Laura, another great center back on the U-12 team, one of the few who had also arrived from outside Catalonia (Are you here too, Alexia)

"Només tinc un punt tens a l'esquena," Alexia replied in her usual tone. (Just a sore hip.)

You didn't turn to look at her; you focused on the white ceiling, counting the imperfections in the paint so you wouldn't turn around and throw something, an object, or a word at her. You held your tongue to avoid further fights.

"Saps que ha estat coixejant des de dilluns, oi?" Laura continued, this time in a softer tone, more curious than accusatory, as she nodded toward you. (You knew she had been limping since Monday, right?)

Alexia didn't respond immediately. The sound of Velcro tightening the bandage filled the silence.

"No ho sé, estava jugant normalment, només vaig fer una entrada neta." She defended herself in a subdued voice, hoping to end this awkward conversation and get help quickly. (I don't know. I was playing normally, I just made a clean tackle.)

"Anyway, I should have said that before," Laura added with a sigh. Then, as if she couldn't help it, she added, "Although I think she didn't want them to see her as weak."

You understood that, and from the way your jaw tensed, it was clear it affected you too. You turned your head just a bit, just enough to catch a glimpse of Alexia, who was sitting with her leg dangling, not looking at you, but clearly listening to everything.

Her eyes lifted at the same time as yours. They met for a second. There was no mockery, but no regret either. Just that distant coldness, as if your presence was a constant nuisance.

"Maybe I didn't want certain people to know," you said quietly, in English, with a venomous edge.

Alexia frowned, obviously not understanding anything, but knowing it was coming from you.

"What?" she asked defiantly.

"Exactly," you whispered with a forced smile as you got off the table. The physical therapist ordered you to skip training for a few days, to go to classes, and to apply ice every few hours if the swelling and pain were still there.

You limped out of there, thanking him and not looking back, but knowing her gaze was following you.

The days seemed empty without training. You were restless without the constant exercise. You never really thought about how much you needed the release. It’s taught that young alphas need physical release, otherwise they can lash out at those around them, often physically. It was never something you had to worry about until now. All this pent-up energy is making you jittery.

Lessons are even worse; you can’t seem to focus on anything your teachers are saying. By the time you make it back to your room, your brain is buzzing. You find yourself knocking into objects you normally would have avoided easily. Your room is quiet, and Alexia sits on her bed, book in hand. The title is in Catalan, making it unintelligible to your French eyes. Alexia doesn’t even look up, which you guess could be preferred when compared to her usual snide comments. Her scent is calmer than usual and is missing the tang of sweat that often clings to her skin.

You take a seat at your desk, flipping open your maths book. You turn to the homework for the evening and have to think back to class. The equations on the page look completely unsolvable. You can’t seem to recall anything your teacher said about the subject. You flip back to the page before, but that seems to be of no help either. After spending five minutes staring at the page, you let out a quiet sigh. “Are you just going to stare at it until it solves itself?” Alexia’s voice shocks you. You had almost forgotten she was there. You hum noncommittally; you don’t want to engage in an argument with her. “You need to find the LCD,” you say, looking back at her. She hasn’t even looked up from her book. “ What?” 

“The lowest common denominator. Look at the first question, 1/5 + 4/10, it would be ten, so you have to times the 1/5 by 2. It becomes 2/10, then you can add it to the 4/10.” Her explanation does make sense, but you won’t admit that to her.  “I completed this unit last week,” she adds almost as an afterthought, though you know it was just to show off. You quickly write down 6/10 and move on to the other equations. Maybe Alexia is really a nice girl with a tough shell. She could have been testing you this whole time to make sure that you deserved to be her friend.

Scratch that whole maybe she is actually kind inside thought. Her ‘’nice’’ behavior lasted all of 5 days, then she was back to her old habits. You had been dealing with her nasty comments and overall bad attitude towards you for long enough. She has no right to treat you with such disrespect like that. You had never done anything to her in your time together.

You walk into your shared room to find her sitting at her desk, feet kicked up, still reading that dumb book from the other day. You push the door shut hard behind you, causing a shiver to travel down Alexia’s spine. You can see the way it moves over her skin. “Did you really need to do that, drama queen?” Alexia’s words are barely audible, but you still pick them up. A side effect of being an alpha, you suppose. “Excuse you.” You whip around, hand on your hip.

 “You heard me.” 

“Oh, I heard you, but you are going to wish I hadn’t.” You growl, stepping towards her.

“You can’t touch me. You’ll get expelled. It’s in the handbook… Oh, you probably couldn’t read that, you French brat. Since it is in Spanish”

“Je vais te tuer.” You growl, tackling her to the ground, taking her chair to the floor with you. She lets out a scream so loud you can feel your ears pop. (I’m going to kill you)

Before you can get more than a few hits in, someone is pulling you off of her and out of the room. 

You really thought everything had changed. Alexia had been a new person to you, helping you with your math homework and seeming willing to help you with anything you needed.

It was like that until your ankle healed and you were playing normally again.

Your ankle was better. Not perfect, but strong enough to return to the rondo. You ran more cautiously, still a little tense, but you felt more confident with each pass. The ball rolled toward you. You controlled it immediately, spun, and darted between two defenders. When you looked up, you already knew who you were up against.

Alexia.

Part of you thought she would step aside, like she had the past few weeks. That she would still be the same person who explained to you that vermell was red and that in decibels, Alexia meant "my name is Alexia." But no. She bumped her shoulder into you and put her foot in just at the right moment to block the ball.  It wasn't a violent tackle; it was precise and firm. And it knocked you to the ground.

The whistle didn't blow. It wasn't a foul.

You rolled on the ground, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you looked up, she was already walking away, the ball at her feet. She didn't even look at you.

You didn't need to either.

"Clair..." you mumbled in your French, your voice thick with disappointment. "Back to the same old thing."

You didn't look at her again for the rest of the training session. She didn't come near you either.

When the session was over, you went straight to the locker room, avoiding letting her notice how your eyes were starting to burn, though not from physical pain this time.

Later, in your room, you returned to your old routine: ignoring her.

You silently opened your language books, pretending not to notice her presence.

But she did speak.

 "No és personal." That was all she said, sitting on the top bunk, her back against the wall, as if she didn't care much about explaining. (It's not personal.)

You didn't answer. Because for you, it was.

Alexia had been the only one who had seriously tried to help you during those difficult weeks. You had begun to trust her, really. And she, as soon as you returned to the camp, treated you as always.

Like competition.

Like an obstacle.

Like just another nuisance.

And you didn't understand. You didn't understand if it was because you were alpha. Or because you weren't Catalan. Or simply because you were you and she already hated you.

You only knew one thing: you weren't going to trust her again.

Even though something inside you, deep down, hurts more than your injured ankle.

New day, same routine. You woke up listening to Alexia complaining about your "messiness" (you had a pair of slippers lying next to YOUR bed).

"No pots ser més endreçatda? No t'aixecaràs?" she said as she stood beside you with her arms crossed, looking judgmental. (Can't you be more tidy? Aren't you going to get up?)

Alexia grunted, trying to pull the blanket off you while muttering in Catalan.

You recognized her instantly: her usual irritated tone, that half-anger-half-passive contempt. Her words were still difficult to understand, but you knew exactly when she was criticizing you. She could have said "good morning" like any normal person, but no, Alexia Putellas had to start the day with her favorite routine: annoying you.

From your side of the bed, you barely gave her a fleeting glance, still half asleep.  Your hair was a mess, your face buried in the pillow, and you had no desire to interact with her. Without a word, you rolled over and wrapped yourself tightly under the blanket as if you could disappear from the world. Or at least from it.

"Ugh, you're so annoying..." Alexia grunted impatiently.

You heard her getting closer. Too close.

Suddenly, a sharp tug on the blanket made you grip the edges tightly. She was trying to pull it off you as if it were a personal battle.

"Stop!" you protested quietly, not moving, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Desperta't ara!" she muttered under her breath, still tugging, frustrated. Her voice was low but intense, as if she didn't want the other girls to hear her. (Wake up now!)

"Tu n'es pas ma mère!"  you snapped in French (You're not my mother!)

"You're not my mother," she snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, "perquè si ho fos, et faria saltar-te l'esmorzar per mandra." (because if I was, I'd make you skip breakfast for being lazy.)

You didn't quite understand, but the intonation was clear. A mockery. Something with "breakfast" and "lazy." The tone was enough to make you want to throw a pillow at her.

She gave one last tug at the blanket, managing to partially uncover you. It was then that you sat up abruptly, your hair disheveled and your eyes squinting in sheer annoyance.

"What's wrong with me, huh? Why are you always on top of me?  God, you seem obsessed with me."

Alexia crossed her arms. Her Barça pajamas were a bit too big for her, and the brown lock of hair that always escaped from her bun fell over her left eyebrow, right where she frowned.

"Because you're a mess," she replied, with that coldness that characterizes hers.

"And what are you? The captain of the world order?"

"Almenys jo no faig que la nostra habitació sembli un camp de batalla…" (I don't even make our room look like a battlefield…)

"I don't even understand what you're saying!" you exclaimed, fed up. "You always talk as if I'm not here. As if it weren't even worth learning how to communicate with me."

That stopped her.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Tension hovered between both beds, between the floor and the walls of that shared room that seemed smaller every day.

Alexia looked at you, and for the first time, she didn't seem to have a quick answer.  Her expression changed, not much, but enough for you to notice a slight hesitation. But she didn't say anything.

Instead, she turned around, grabbed her towel and toothbrush, and left the room with short, quick steps.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her.

You sighed, lying back down. You hated that your day started like this.

You hated even more how much that Omega managed to affect you.

And so the routine continued. Alexia  bothering you, showing the other girls that she bothered an Alpha without consequences.

She felt like the queen of the place, wherever she went within La Masia.

You stared at where Alexia was standing.

You had asked permission to nest in a remote, hidden spot, not wanting to suffer any more shame from missing your parents and the smell of home.

But of course, Alexia had to find it and destroy it. Your mother's jackets were thrown inside a black bag, which they normally used for trash. You saw Alexia lift up your father's shirts, ready to throw them out with the rest of the clothes. You felt rage course through you, and in that moment, you understood the saying about "seeing red."

You approached with long strides, your breathing ragged and your fists clenched tightly. You stood behind her, and in a voice you'd never heard before, you spoke to her.

"What do you think you're doing with my things?" Your voice was authoritative. Even though you mispronounced the Spanish words, they sounded more threatening than ever.

Alexia stood stock-still, unmoving, fear creeping down her spine. She turned slowly, seeing your darker eyes and how you seemed ready to attack her. You, on the other hand, grabbed the things from her hands and then pushed her, throwing her aside so you could grab all of yours.

"You really like ruining everything around you. I don't know how you can pretend to be the best player when you're the worst human being," you spoke in a still furious tone, your eyes beginning to sting with tears of frustration, as you tried to calm yourself down so you wouldn't do something you'd regret.

"It's not authorized…"

"I don't care what you think, Alexia. I had permission to do it, but of course, Miss "I Like to Ruin Everything" had to show up and throw her typical tantrum," you said scathingly as you finished picking everything up. "Go to hell, Alexia, you're the worst human being."

You walked past her, pushing her shoulder harder than usual, knocking her to the ground. Before, you'd usually turn around to check on her after pushing her, but now you just kept walking without stopping to think about her and how she was doing. Alexia stood there, sprawled on her butt on the cold ground as she watched you walk furiously away with your parents' things under your arms, and for the first time, she felt truly guilty for making you feel that way.

This time, you came first, nothing more than letting yourself be trampled by a Catalan gâté. (Spoiled Catalan).

A week had passed since that incident…

Since the day you pushed her and left her lying on the ground, Alexia hadn’t bothered you again. No more comments about your shoes, no smug glances in the dining hall, no shoves during training. She didn’t even say anything in the shared room. She almost seemed... ashamed. For the first time since you'd arrived at La Masía, she seemed... absent. Not physically, of course, she was still at training, in the dining hall, in the dorm. But she wasn’t all over you like before, and that confused you more than you wanted to admit.

You, for your part, had rebuilt your little nest in another corner, this time in an even more hidden spot, with your parents’ clothes carefully folded and protected, far away from Alexia Putellas’ hands.

But she wouldn’t stop looking at you from afar. From the dining table or the opposite bench in the locker room. As if she wanted to approach but didn’t know how.

It was one afternoon, during practice on the smaller pitch, when she finally did. It was after you finished gathering your things, sweaty and tired, ready to head to the showers. She blocked your path. Her expression wasn’t arrogant this time, she looked... nervous.

“Hey,” she started, lowering her gaze. “I wanted... to say I’m sorry.”

You said nothing, simply looked at her with a frown. She went on, speaking a bit faster:

“I didn’t know you had permission to make that... nest. I didn’t know those were your parents’ things. I shouldn’t have touched anything.”

The silence that followed was cold and sharp.

“And you think that’s it? ‘I’m sorry’ and it’s all okay?” you spat, taking a step toward her. Alexia stepped back a little but held your gaze.

“No. I don’t think it’s okay. I’m just... trying to change.”

Your laugh was bitter. “Change? Why now? Because you can’t stand that I don’t react the same anymore?” Alexia opened her mouth, but you cut her off before she could speak: “What do you want from me, Alexia? For me to applaud you for apologizing? To forget everything you did? How alone you made me feel? How humiliating it was to see the others laugh while you dragged me down?”

Her expression hardened, hurt. “I had hard things going on too. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m just a kid, just like you…”

“No, Alexia! Don’t give me excuses!” you shouted, voice trembling. “You have no idea what it was like to come here without speaking the language well, without knowing anyone, without having my parents, the only people I could speak to freely without being afraid they’d laugh at my accent. And you decided I was the perfect target... and now you say you didn’t know how to handle it?”

There was a moment of silence. The field was nearly empty at that hour, only the distant thud of a ball could be heard. “Why do you hate me so much?” Alexia asked quietly, as if she didn’t want to hear herself say it.

“Because you made me hate my happiness... my identity.”

Alexia swallowed, pressed her lips together, and lowered her gaze. She wanted to say something else, but this time, you didn’t wait. You turned around and started walking toward the locker room.

“Wait!” she called out.

You didn’t stop.

“Please! Give me a chance! Just one... please.”

You stopped in your tracks. Hesitated for a few seconds as the cool afternoon air brushed your face. “One. And if you ever break something of mine again, physical or emotional, I swear I won’t ever speak to you or look at you again,” you said without turning, but loud enough for her to hear.

Alexia said nothing more. But you could feel she smiled right behind you. Not a smug smile, but one of relief. Because for the first time, she had the chance to show you that she could change. That maybe, just maybe, not everything was lost between the two of you.

But you weren’t ready to trust her yet. Not just yet.

It had been about three days since that exchange of words between you two.

Three days since Alexia seemed to change, and all she did was make you uncomfortable.

She stopped making biting comments, no longer waking up and yelling at you to get up. No, now she would simply shower first and then gently tap your shoulder, followed by a quiet, "The shower is ready for you."

You couldn't deny how tense this sudden change in her made you. Her tone of voice had shifted, it was almost the same one she used with her sister or with her other friends, which left you utterly confused.

You got up slowly, savoring the silence you hadn't realized you'd been needing so badly. You took a moment to look around the room, the sun already warming as it poured through the window beside your bed.

You stared out the window, watching how the first rays of sunlight lit up the training fields, making them appear golden. There was something you cherished more than anything else, being able to take your time and appreciate things. The stars at night, the way the sun set, and even waking up a bit earlier to watch the sunrise slowly—it all gave you a sense of peace.

You started your morning routine as you did every day. First, you went to the bathroom to do your business and take a shower.

After that, you got dressed and walked toward your study materials. But something interrupted your routine.

If I ever made you feel alone, today I want you to know that loneliness weighs heavier when you're the one who causes it.

You stood still, staring at the note resting on one of your Spanish books. You didn’t move, simply frozen, looking at Alexia’s neat handwriting.

That was the beginning, Alexia’s written words, found in every corner of your room.

You were about to go to bed after a long day. Alexia had plans to watch movies with some friends, so you'd be alone for the next two hours. You walked slowly, wrapping your shoulders in your blanket, heading toward the bed.

You pulled back the covers, and one of your pillows lifted just enough to reveal a folded piece of white paper written in black ink, standing out among your bedding. You moved closer, and with that same slowness, you picked up the note between your fingers.

I’m not leaving it because I think I deserve forgiveness, I’m leaving it because I don’t know how to say it out loud. I’m sorry for the silence, for the laughter I stole, and the hurt I caused you.

Neither note had a signature, but to you it was obvious who had written them. It had to be Alexia—she shared the same room, had access to all your things, and no one else could’ve done it.

And that was just the beginning—notes started appearing everywhere. Inside your shoes that peeked out from under the bed, inside your pencil case among pens and highlighters, inside your textbooks and notebooks, in the bathroom near the shower, in your wardrobe. They were everywhere. And even though part of you wanted to be mad at her, you felt a strange warmth blooming in your chest.

No matter how much you tried to hate her… You were starting to tolerate her, and maybe, even crave her presence.

Days passed, and the notes didn't stop.

At first, they seemed strange, even invasive, but little by little, they became part of your routine. You almost began to search for them unconsciously, as if your fingers were leading themselves to the most unlikely places: under the chair cushion, inside the sleeve of your jacket, or in the back of your Catalan notebook. And every time you found one, you stopped. You took a deep breath. You read. And you felt something inside you soften, something you had held tense since you arrived at La Masía.

Some notes were brief, others a little longer. Some sounded like apologies, others like confessions, others simply like loose thoughts that she couldn't seem to share out loud.

One of them, written in shakier handwriting than the previous ones.

There are times when I want to talk to you, but I don't know where to start. Sometimes all I get is anger because I'm scared. You... you scare me, and I don't know why. But you also make me laugh. And when you're not around, I miss you.

You found that one in your water bottle the night before a game.

And you, without knowing why, put it in your backpack. Not to read it later. Just... so you wouldn't lose it.

You started to change with her too. Not drastically or obviously. But you could see it in your gestures. You no longer closed your eyes so much when Alexia entered the room. You no longer answered her with monosyllables. In fact, a few nights ago, while you were both eating some snacks you had taken from the kitchen, you were both laughing. You laughed when she tried to ask for more bars and choked on her laughter, making you laugh even harder.

The truth is, there was a part of you that wanted to ask her about the grades. I wanted to know if she wrote them alone or if she was inspired by something, if it was harder for her to let go or think about what to say. But you didn't. Not yet.

Because there was something special in that silence. In that secret language that seemed to form between you from the remains of a relationship broken too soon.

And that night, just before going to sleep, as you stirred your sheets with a tired sigh, you found another note. A smaller one this time.

I don't know how to apologize. But if you let me, I can try to be better to you, every day. -A

And this time, you didn't just keep it. You fell asleep with the folded note under your pillow.

It was November, and the sky outside was cloudy, but it wasn't raining. It was just that quiet chill that made the hallways silent and the air a little slower. The bedroom lights were off, except for the dim lamp on your nightstand, whose golden light fell on the two figures sitting on the bed.

You both shared a large blanket up to their waists, their legs crossed, shoulders almost touching. Each held an identical juice box with a straw, the kind you'd adored since you arrived, and which Alexia had learned to hide to surprise her on days like this.

"They're cold," you murmured with a lazy smile, taking a slow sip of your juice.

"I left them by the window so you'd like them better," Alexia replied, shrugging as if it were obvious. Then she glanced at her. "You like it when they're like this, don't you?"

You nodded, unable to hide your surprise. "Yeah... how did you know?"

"You said it once," Alexia replied, lowering her gaze to her own thoughts. "A long time ago. I wrote it down in my head... like other things about you that I thought were important to remember," she said as a sweet smile began to appear on her face.

You watched her for a few seconds; you didn't say anything, but the silence was comfortable, familiar.

The sound of a long breath enveloped you, while the dull walls of the bedroom were filled with that warm tranquility that only happens to someone who has already become home.

"You know what I like to do sometimes?" you whispered, tilting your head at her. "Look at the stars."

"The stars?" Alexia looked at you, genuinely curious.

"Yeah... when I lived in France, we used to go out into the yard with my parents and lie on the grass. We didn't talk much. We just... watched. I like that. It's like everything is so vast and peaceful at the same time." You took another sip of juice, smiling to yourself. "You can't see them here almost ever."

"We could still watch," Alexia said suddenly, with quiet determination. "Even if there aren't any stars. We can still try."

You turned your head toward her. "Why watch if there aren't any? Wouldn't it be a waste of time, do you think?"

Alexia snorted as she paused to sip her juice. "That's all behind me. I guess it's nice to have a moment like this."

They were silent for a few seconds. The juice straw fizzed with the last sip. You smiled through pursed lips. "That sounds so much like you," you murmured, not wanting to share a look for long. It made your heart beat a little faster.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "And what am I like, according to you?"

You hesitated for a few seconds, your eyes lowering to the blanket you shared. Your fingers played with the empty cardboard box.

"Sometimes you're clumsy with words, but you don't forget anything important. You act tough, but you care more than anyone. And... well, you give me my favorite juices when it's cold."

Alexia looked at her as if she didn't know what to do with everything she was feeling. "And you" now it was her turn "you're the only thing that makes me stay in this bed without complaining. Even if it's messy."

You both laughed softly. But something settled between them in that moment. Something soft, warm, strange.

Neither you nor Alexia knew what it was exactly. They couldn't name it; they only knew they wanted to stay there, like this. A little longer.

They thought it was friendship. Just friendship.

So you both ignored it. You kept it to themselves. You disguised it with laughter and deep conversations for both of you. Because, at eleven years old, no one had explained to them what it meant to want someone to never stop looking at you as if you were the brightest star in the sky.

But of course, not everyone can have a happy ending, right?

It was early December, three days before the end of term and the end of vacation, when all the girls received the news.

The U-12 girls' team would be folded.

No more games with Barcelona, no more laughter in the cafeteria, and worst of all... no more chatting until midnight with Alexia while gazing at the stars.

The news was a crushing blow to you. Like a punch straight to the pit of your stomach that took your breath away and left you constantly dizzy. You didn't know how to handle the situation, not now that everything seemed to be going so well with the omega, who was finally starting to love you... even if it was just as a friend.

That night, both of them arrived at the room at the same time. You were coming from extra training. Alexia, from a physio session. They looked at each other in silence, unsure how to talk about what they both knew already.

It was you who opened the door. Tears were beginning to sting your eyes. You let Alexia in first. Then you entered, gently closing the door behind you.

Alexia sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. You stood for a few seconds, staring out the window before sinking down onto the bed with a shaky sigh.

"I don't want this to end," you murmured, almost without a voice.

"Me neither," Alexia replied softly.

There was a long silence. Only the faint hum of the heater filled the room.

"So what are we going to do now?" you finally asked, without turning around, your eyes fixed on the dark sky that didn't show a single star.

Alexia didn't respond immediately. She just got up, crossed the room, and sat next to you on the bed. Her hands were cold. She placed them on her knees, uncertain.

"We can..." she swallowed. We can make the next three days worth it. As if they were the last. Because... they are, aren't they?

You turned to her. Her eyes were red. You couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from unshed tears. Maybe from both.

"I don't want to forget you," you confessed, your voice breaking. It was the most honest thing you'd said in weeks.

Alexia looked up at you. Her chin trembled a little before she let out a small sob, brief, but strong enough to make you break down too.

The two of you hugged. An awkward embrace, kneeling on the bed, as if the whole world were crumbling in your arms.

"I won't forget you," Alexia promised against your shoulder. "Even if years pass. Even if you live in another country."

You didn't respond, just closed your eyes. I wish it were true. I wish time wouldn't do what it always does.

They didn't sleep well that night. They laughed. They cried. They told each other secrets they'd never spoken out loud. And the following days were as if they were in a movie: full of improvised memories, of almost desperate laughter, as if they knew they were clinging to a thin thread that would soon break.

Three days later, Alexia said goodbye with a long hug, as if she could memorize your shape. "See you soon," unaware that that "soon" would turn into six years of distance.

You left for France, to your grandparents' house, where a small local soccer school offered you a new opportunity. Life went on.

So did time.

And in 2011, now seventeen, your steps brought you back to Barcelona. You had grown. Changed. But there was something that hadn't.

And there she was.

Alexia.

Taller, more confident. But when you saw her, you knew: she still remembered how your favorite juices tasted when it was cold.

And you still remembered that, once upon a time, she promised you she wouldn't forget you.

[hatethysinner]

okay… soooo i just thought about this. you know how vampires burn in the sunlight, right? well, what if redder was a seamstress, or gave remmick an outfit that lets him go outside and spend time with her. just imagine: reader pulling a long-sleeved shirt over his toned torso, eagerly putting a wide-brimmed cap on top of his messy brown curls with a sort of excitement she hadn’t felt in a while. at least, not since he kissed her for the first time…

sorry, i got a bit carried away!!! but id love to see ur take on this <33

ʀᴇɪɴᴄᴀʀɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʙɪʀᴅ

ᴡᴄ: 2.4k

ᴀ/ɴ: title from my fav's newest album! this was so cute oh my god anon you are a genius. i ADORED writing this like AHHHHHH sometimes fluff just hits so good and this was one of those times! this man is the biggest softie in the fucking world and i will die on that hill. i feel like the spirit of shakespeare REALLY possessed me the entire time i was writing this because as i proofread i was like what the fuck was i cooking.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: toothrottingly sweet fluff, very light use of gaelic, stretching vampire laws obviously, emotional!remmick because he literally hasn't gotten to see the sun in centuries

You’d noticed it long before he ever said a word.

The way Remmick’s gaze lingered on the pale rectangles of sunlight that slipped through the curtains in the early morning.

How he tilted his head ever so slightly toward the warmth as if he could catch it through the veil of shadow he kept himself wrapped in.

Even the smallest things—the dust motes drifting golden in the air, the warmth of a sunbeam crawling across the quilt—held him captive in a silence so soft it ached.

He never touched it, of course.

He couldn’t.

But you watched his eyes follow it like a child longing at a window, and your heart pinched tighter every time.

At first, you thought he didn’t notice you noticing.

He always acted so composed, so careful in how he moved through your home.

But there were moments—small, quiet ones—when his control slipped.

When he’d tell you stories of green Irish fields so bright you couldn’t look straight at them, or describe the way the sea glittered like spilled silver on long-ago mornings. You’d lie together by lamplight, his arm heavy around your waist, and his voice would soften as he painted pictures of dawns he hadn’t seen in centuries.

“Smelled different then,” he’d murmured once, lips brushing your temple. “The air, I mean. In the mornin’. Crisp. Like breathin’ in a hymn.”

You’d felt his smile against your hair, but his eyes had been far away.

That was when you made the promise.

One hand on his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt, you whispered it into the quiet:

“One day, I’ll give it back to you. The sun. You’ll feel it again.”

Remmick laughed, gentle and a little sad.

“Ah, mo ghrá, don’t be fillin’ yer head with impossible vows.”

But you hadn’t let him brush it off.

You repeated it often, with the stubbornness he claimed you were born with. Every time you caught that yearning shadow cross his face, you told him again:

“You’ll see it with me.”

And every time, he just kissed you and called you foolish.

Sweet.

But foolish.

Still, you kept the promise alive.

Because you couldn’t stand the way he looked at the morning light like it belonged to everyone but him.

Today, though, you’d finally made up your mind.

The shirt had taken you weeks.

Longer, if you counted the days you spent sketching at the kitchen table while he teased you for furrowing your brow so hard you’d give yourself wrinkles.

It wasn’t just a shirt, not really.

It was layers stitched with careful, secret seams.

Fabric you’d traded dearly for, tested against every lamp you could coax to glow its brightest.

Long sleeves, lined with a weave so fine it shimmered faintly under the lamp.

A high collar that would button just right against his throat.

And the hat.

Wide-brimmed, soft enough to shade his face without feeling heavy.

You’d tried it on in the mirror more times than you’d admit, adjusting and tugging until it sat just so.

Perfect.

Perfect for him.

When you brought it out, your hands were trembling with more than just nerves. Excitement bubbled in your chest, bright as the very sunlight you wanted so badly to share with him.

He looked up from the chair by the hearth, where he’d been pretending to read.

The moment his eyes caught yours, you felt the warmth in them before he even smiled.

“What’s this then?” he asked, setting the book aside as you crossed the room with the bundle folded carefully in your arms.

His voice was curious, soft with affection, though a touch wary.

“Looks like ya’ve somethin’ up yer sleeve, darlin’.”

“Not up my sleeve,” you teased, laying the bundle on his lap.

“For yours.”

He arched a brow, but you could see the faintest trace of a grin threatening at the corner of his mouth as he unfolded the fabric. His fingers stilled against the shirt, tracing the stitching like it might unravel if he wasn’t careful.

“Y’made this for me?” he whispered, so quietly and so reverently you might’ve thought you’d just handed him something holy.

Your heart swelled.

“Try it on.”

He looked like he might protest—eyes darting between you and the shirt, lips parting with hesitation.

But whatever words he might have said faded when he met your expression. He sighed softly, giving in, and began unbuttoning his own shirt with careful fingers.

Your breath caught when the fabric slipped from his shoulders.

No matter how many times you’d seen him like this—bare arms, lean torso, pale skin that looked carved from moonlight—it never stopped tugging at something deep inside you.

He caught you staring, of course, and the smirk finally broke free.

“Like what ya see, do ya?”

You rolled your eyes, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Just put it on.”

Remmick chuckled, low and warm, and slipped the shirt over his head. You stepped closer, fussing with the collar, smoothing the fabric across his chest until it lay just right. He let you, his eyes never leaving your face, his smile softening with every careful tug of your hands.

When you picked up the hat, he laughed quietly, but there was no mockery in it.

Only tenderness.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, ducking his head so you could settle it over his head, “yer gonna be the death of me. Not that I’ve anythin’ left to lose.”

“Don’t say that.” Your voice caught, sharper than you meant it to, but you didn’t look away.

You adjusted the brim, brushing a stray curl back into place with a touch you hoped he couldn’t feel shaking. “This isn’t silly, Remmick. You deserve to feel the sun again.”

His eyes flickered, that strange, ancient red glint beneath the blue, before he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“If only ya knew what that promise does to me.”

“I do know,” you whispered, tilting your face up to meet his, voice steady though your heart beat fast enough to burst.

“I know, Remmick. And it’s time you realized I mean it.”

Before he could argue, you caught his hand in yours and tugged gently, guiding him toward the back door, pulse drumming louder with every step. He hesitated, a flicker of surprise flashing through his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.

When you reached the threshold, you swung the door open with more drama than necessary, as though the grandness of the gesture might loosen him up a little bit. The hinges groaned softly, the cool morning spilling in like an invitation.

You turned then, pressing both palms against his chest. The rise and fall beneath your hands was quick, shallow, his breath caught between nerves and longing. His eyes searched yours, luminous in the soft light, wary in a way that made you ache for him.

“Don’t let this pass you by,” you said, thumb brushing faint circles over the fabric you’d stitched for him. “Not this. Not now.”

He swallowed, the motion tight under your hands. You laced your fingers through his, warm and certain, and began to step backward, coaxing him with you.

Step by step.

Past the doorframe.

Onto the covered porch where the shadows still offered him refuge.

But just before you could draw him fully out, his grip loosened and slipped from yours. You blinked at the sudden absence, at the way he halted there on the edge as if the world before him was a cliff instead of a yard gilded in sunlight.

His face—oh, you’d never seen him look so torn. Not when he told you stories of hunger. Not when he admitted how long it had been since he’d touched daylight.

He looked nervous. Terrified. Caught between the safety of the dark and the impossible pull of the light.

So you didn’t push.

You stepped down into the grass instead, the cool morning dew dampening your bare feet, and turned back to him with your hands outstretched.

The world was breathtaking.

The sun had only just risen, spilling its first golden light across the yard, each blade of grass crowned with droplets that shimmered like scattered diamonds. The breeze tugged softly at the hem of your dress, setting it fluttering around your ankles. The air smelled of earth and lavender and something sweet you couldn’t name, the kind of morning that begged to be held close.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you waited for him.

“Come on,” you called softly, not urging, not pleading—just waiting, hands open and ready.

On the porch, framed by the doorway, Remmick stood frozen. His eyes drank in the light like a man starved, like it was already burning through him even from a distance.

But still—he didn’t move.

Not yet.

“Remmick,” you whispered, the word trembling in the space between you. “It’s going to be okay.”

His eyes flicked to yours, wide and glistening, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face before the world shifted forever. He didn’t answer. Just closed his eyes slowly, lashes damp, and gave the smallest nod you’d ever seen.

He tilted his head down, breath shaking as though each inhale was a battle, and then—he stepped.

One foot down onto the stair.

His hand clenched tight against the railing, knuckles whitening, as though the porch itself might try to pull him back. But the moment his sole brushed against the cool wood, nothing happened. No fire. No pain.

He swallowed hard, another shudder running through him, and moved the second foot forward.

Another step.

Then another.

And suddenly he was standing in the grass, the dew now dampening his feet too, the early light spilling across his shoulders.

His body jolted as though it couldn’t hold the sensation, like the touch of the sun was a language he’d forgotten how to understand. His lips parted, breath rushing from him in a broken sound, and then he was moving.

Straight for you.

So direct, so sudden, your heart leapt—half in joy, half in the startled fear that he might barrel you over.

But he didn’t.

He stumbled into your arms instead, a man unraveled, clutching at you with a desperation that felt centuries old. His whole frame shuddered against you, the strength of him trembling like a leaf in the wind.

And then the sobs came.

Deep. Guttural. The kind that tore out of him raw and unbidden, like the weight of a hundred lifetimes had been pulled loose all at once.

He pressed his face into the curve of your neck, shaking so hard you had to brace your stance to keep the both of you from falling. His hands fisted the fabric of your dress, knuckles brushing against your sides as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t hold you tightly enough to anchor himself through the storm.

“Thank ya,” he choked, the words shattered and low, broken apart by the force of his sobs. “Thank ya… thank ya, love… God, thank ya.”

You held him tighter, one hand sliding into his hair, damp from the breeze, the other rubbing slow, steady circles over his back. Your own throat ached with the threat of tears, but you kept your voice soft, steady, like a lullaby meant only for him.

“You’re alright,” you murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He shook his head against your shoulder, breath ragged, and clung harder. “I never thought—I never thought I’d—” Another sob broke him mid-sentence, his chest heaving against yours. “It’s been so long… so damn long…”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, Remmick. But you’re here now.”

The sun crept higher, the light spilling over him like an embrace, painting his hair in shades of gold you’d never seen before. It kissed his skin, brought warmth to the pallor that had clung to him for centuries, and you swore you could feel the life seeping back into him through every trembling breath.

He wept harder at that, as if the sun itself was too much, as if the gentleness of it hurt worse than any burn ever could.

“I thought I forgot,” he whispered against your skin, the words muffled but raw. “Thought I lost the memory of it… but it’s—” His chest heaved again, shuddering. “It’s beautiful. God, it’s beautiful.”

You kissed the side of his head, your lips brushing the damp curls plastered to his temple.

“I told you,” you said softly. “I told you one day.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes bright with tears, cheeks wet, his entire face open in a way you’d never seen before. There was no mask, no playful smile to soften the truth of him. Just raw gratitude. Just devotion.

And then, trembling hands lifted to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your skin so reverently it made your chest ache.

“You kept your promise,” he breathed.

“Always.”

“Mo ghrá...”

For a long moment, you only stood there—him clinging to you like you were the last thing tethering him to the earth, you holding him as though you could shield him from the centuries of darkness he’d lived with.

The breeze caught your dress again, swirling the fabric softly around your legs, and you felt the warmth of the morning finally seep into your bones. The air smelled alive, green and fresh, like beginnings instead of endings.

Remmick’s sobs quieted gradually, though his body still trembled in your arms. He buried his face in your shoulder once more, whispering between shallow breaths.

“I don’t deserve this.”

“You do,” you said firmly, smoothing a hand through his hair. “You do, Remmick.”

He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, muffled against your skin. “If this is a dream, don’t you dare let me wake.”

“It’s not,” you promised. “This is real.”

You felt him smile against your neck, faint but there, and your heart swelled so full it almost hurt.

The sunlight bathed you both, the warmth settling over his trembling frame, and you held him tighter, whispering again and again that he was safe. That he was home.

And as his tears finally slowed, he tilted his head back, eyes closed, face tipped toward the morning sky as though he couldn’t bear to waste a single second of it.

Your fingers threaded through his, squeezing gently.

And for the first time in centuries, Remmick let himself stand in the sun.

[araswritingblog]

Date Everything characters with a player who has selective mutism part 2

Characters: Dolly, Dasha, Mateo, Airyn, Dorian, Luke Nukem

(The reception to part one was lovely, thank you for all the kind words! This was written as a form of self comfort so to see others finding comfort in my writing is really lovely. As with my first part, this was written based on my own personal experience with selective mutism so it might not apply to everyone.)

Dolly

Aren't you just the sweetest thing?

Likes quiet, gentle types as they aren't pushy or tumultuous.

You're her favorite student: a fantastic listener, always willing to learn, writing down your questions for her.

She loves that you try to engage in discussions with her even when you can't find the words to say out loud; a pencil and paper are good for more than just taking notes after all.

You are the perfect research partner to take to archaeological sites because you approach things with respect and quietude. She finds that she actually enjoys these trips more when you're there to hear her thoughts and theories.

If you feel confident enough to share your own insights she will nod along encouragingly, praising your good ideas and gently correcting you on the more farfetched ones.

Appreciates how reflective you are, it makes for more stimulating intellectual conversations as she knows you consider your words thoroughly before speaking.

It may take you a while to become comfortable talking to her as her intelligence and self assured demeanor can be intimidating at first, but with enough reassurance she manages to get you to open up.

Enjoys quiet intimate moments with you, especially reading together with Lint Eastwood snuggled between you.

Gives excellent pep talks when you're feeling low.

Dasha

Thinks you are absolutely adorable.

Explain your situation to her and she understands immediately.

Steps up right away: you want to write instead of speaking? Dasha will write too! You want to help another object but are too anxious to talk to them? For all intents and purposes, Dasha's your voice now! Want help becoming more confident when speaking? Dasha's great at helping!

Uses practice dates as a way to improve your social skills.

If you manage to talk your way through the date, even if it's just a little bit, she'll be so pleased with you: you're improving, that's great!

Will lift you up and try to make you giggle and/or squeal. It's not her fault you make the cutest little noises.

When she notices you've been smiling and vocalizing more around her, her heart swells. She's seen all the effort you've put into improving yourself for the sake of everyone in the house and she's deeply touched by that.

When you finally work up the courage to ask her on a proper date she's the speechless one, you've never seen someone turn so red. She accepts of course, she would be a fool not to after how many times she's fantasized about this moment.

It's almost impossible to feel sad or insecure with Dasha around, she's always there to pick you up (literally and figuratively; often both at the same time).

If you're able to speak to another dateable on your own, brace yourself for the biggest bear hug imaginable. In her eyes, every word spoken is a huge leap of progress and she couldn't be more proud.

Mateo

Takes him no time at all to understand and grow accustomed to your silent manner.

He takes a very gentle approach when interacting with you, always incredibly patient with you and your needs.

Never makes you feel pressured to vocalize. He's happy to communicate in whichever way is most comfortable to you.

Admires how you push yourself to help others even if you're too anxious to talk to them.

Especially grateful when you set aside time to help with the inanimals.

In your silence you have grown very observant and attuned to your surroundings, so finding Davi when he runs off is a breeze. You actually find it quite fun to focus on a task that doesn't involve talking to others. After you return with Davi Mateo becomes especially soft with you. You're something special (not to mention cute) and he doesn't want to let that go.

Interacting with animals has always been easier for you; there's less expectation or judgement. Because of this you're able to speak to the inanimals without trouble: cooing at them, telling them they've done a good job, comforting them when they get hurt. In fact, while he's heard you say a few words here and there, this is how Mateo first hears you properly speaking:

One of the smaller inanimals snagged a thread on a piece of furniture and you were patching them up, soothing them with your soft, sweet voice and delicately placing them back onto the ground with a cheerful 'Good girl!'

That's the moment it truly sunk in just how precious you'd become to his world.

You're still in that state of comfortable affection when you look up at him and say hello. He can't help the adoring smile that crosses his face as he pulls you into his arms, thanking you for helping out his little friend.

Doesn't patronize or make a big fuss about you talking, although his smile does seem just a bit brighter when you do choose to use words instead of silent communication.

You find yourself naturally becoming more vocal with him as the time goes by, conversations don't leave you exhausted, they just seem to flow naturally, and as a result your overall confidence when speaking seems to improve. It's gradual, but you find yourself able to talk to some of the others in the house, especially when you have one of the inanimals with you (they provide a perfect topic for conversation, and a perfect excuse to leave when you start to feel awkward)

Always there to cuddle if you feel overwhelmed, or on days when it feels like your throat's been barricaded shut. You're always at home in his arms. And if he's ever busy, you're free to snuggle with all the inanimals you want (they absolutely adore you).

Airyn

...

She's already in love with you from the moment you meet.

You understand the importance of letting yourself breathe without unsettling the air with meaningless chatter, and that makes her feel seen. Recognized. Respected.

The few words you do speak are spoken with reason and often give her a new perspective to consider, you are thoughtful, you do not waste the air with unnecessary contrivances, you actually interest her. She's always sure to respond.

She only speaks to you when spoken to, otherwise she's happy just enjoying the silence. You feel safe in these silences, enjoying the company of another with out the pressure of words.

Your relationship is a pure mutual understanding. Uninterrupted tranquility.

When you realize her the dynamic shifts entirely, though not in an unwelcome way.

You still never feel the pressure of carrying a conversation, but now it's for the simple fact that even if you wanted to speak you probably wouldn't be able to get a word in.

She can and will talk you to anything and everything, always with the most eager, dreamy smile on her face, not just because she enjoys talking, but because she enjoys talking to you. She's truly beautiful like this.

If you want to shut her up for a few seconds just give her a kiss. It's always sure to leave her breathless, in a way she never thought could feel so good.

You use those few moments of quiet to let your own voice be heard, and heavens above is that her favorite sound (she can't wait to tell you all about it once you've finished speaking).

But for now she'll listen. She never forgot how to listen.

Dorian

So incredibly understanding.

Never pushes you to speak if you don't want to.

One of the first objects in the house you feel comfortable speaking to: the upfront way he offered his friendship right from the get-go made you feel safe, like you'd already known him for a while (which you sort of did, in a technical sense).

He always seems to know what you need from him whenever you approach. Your questions get answered without you having to ask them.

Admires your willingness to help others and the courage it takes for you to push aside your anxieties when doing so.

You have a very difficult time saying no and expressing boundaries and thus often find yourself feeling cornered into doing things you'd rather not. But don't worry, Dorian has become quite adept at reading your expressions and body language and will immediately step in if he notices you looking uncomfortable.

Quite protective: he doesn't want you being used by the wrong sort.

If you whisper to him that you need his help with someone he'll be right there at your side, ignoring the fluttery feeling he always seems to get at the rare sound of your voice - this proof of your trust in him.

A steadfast companion, not to mention incredibly soft on you - he finds your gentle and friendly, albeit hesitant, approach to others endearing.

Once you've interacted with all of his forms he can no longer deny the strong attachment he's formed to you; the genuine kindness and patience you've shown, the dedication to truly getting to know him despite your anxiety, you have no idea how much that all means to him.

He feels fulfilled in the knowledge that you trust him deeply, and he can trust you just the same.

Luke Nukem

Definitely thinks it's some cool 'silent killer' thing. He barely even bats an eye.

Encourages you to write all your notes to him in code (yes you do spend a full session with him inventing your own secret code; can't risk any swarmers deciphering your communications).

Initially you feel too awkward to explain the true reason for your silence so you play along, and honestly, it's pretty fun. The escapism of stepping outside of yourself and becoming a 'ranger' actually makes the socializing easier.

Luke's authority and... muchness still sort of scares you away from vocalizing, but you'll find your voice eventually.

When he opens up to you following the magnetron incident, you find his vulnerability gives you the courage to speak on your own dishonesty/omissions. You express to him the truth behind your silence, the paralyzing fear that comes with talking to others, the heavy loneliness of not being unable to express yourself.

When you turn back to him, his wide eyes are full of tears and before you can speak another word you're wrapped in a bone crushing hug. He babbles into your hair about how he's never met another person who understood the crushing weight of isolation and the terror of not being able to trust those around you (you never know who might be an enemy). You're comrades for life now, ranger; the secret of your voice is safe with him.

Yeah... he still doesn't quite get it but he cares and that's what's important.

He's honored that you trust him with your voice, and only thinks you're even cooler and braver now that he knows your truth (or at least his twisted version of your truth).

Tell him you love him. Go on. Use your pretty voice and tell him. You've never seen a man look so frazzled. He's buzzing. Literally.

Say anything to him and his day get's brighter. No amount of powercrank could give him the high your words do.

(Thank you again for reading! If you want to see any characters in part three let me know!)

[whorerificstuff]

Part III: “A Second Chance”

Wink Wonk

The house was still...too still. Not just quiet, but hollow, like a shell once filled with life but long since abandoned by it.

He had tried to survive.

He really did.

He endured the nights that never ended, the memories that cut deep, the sound of laughter that haunted the walls. He carried the weight of two lost lives every day, every hour, every breath. Until one night, with trembling hands and a heart too heavy to carry alone, he gave in.

He didn't leave a note. What was the point? The world had already taken everything from him.

He closed his eyes, surrounded by darkness, expecting nothing.

But then-

Warmth.

A soft breeze. The smell of sunlight filtering through curtains. The weight of a comforter.

He jolted upright, breath ragged.

Alive?

His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His hands were whole. He was in bed. Their bed. Everything felt too real. Too vivid to be a dream, yet too impossible to be true.

Then he turned his head.

The space beside him. empty.

Just like before.

His heart dropped. A cold dread shot through his body as he reached out, only to touch cold, wrinkled sheets. “No,” he gasped. “No, not again…”

He threw the covers off, stumbling out of bed.

His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

But then-

Clanging.

Pots and pans. The soft hum of a voice. Something burning.

He froze.

The kitchen.

He moved, half-sprinting down the hall. Each step was a lifetime. Every breath was a war between hope and fear. His mind screamed this wasn’t real-but he saw her.

Standing by the stove. Hair pulled into a lazy bun. Humming tunelessly, swaying slightly as she flipped over pancakes, her swollen belly visible beneath the thin fabric of his oversized shirt.

Pregnant. Heavily.

The child, still inside her.

She turned at the sound of his frantic footsteps. “Oh! Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, smiling. That smile. The one that once healed him, shattered him, and now glued him back together.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.

She blinked, confused. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked, hurrying over as fast as her heavy steps allowed. She knelt before him with effort, placing her hands on his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

He grasped her face like she might vanish if he let go. “You’re real,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’re alive.”

She gave a soft laugh, brushing tears off his cheeks with her thumbs. “Of course I’m real. What kind of question is that?”

He pulled her into him, resting his forehead against her belly. The round, warm curve of it felt real. The heartbeat inside,alive. “I thought I lost you,” he choked.

“You didn’t,” she said, voice calm. “We’re right here.”

She kissed the top of his head, then gently helped him back up.

She guided him to the kitchen table. His legs were still trembling, but she made sure he sat, placing a warm cup of tea in his shaking hands.

“You had a bad dream again, huh?” she asked softly, placing a plate of burnt pancakes in front of him with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Blame the little one for distracting me. They’ve been extra kicky today.”

His eyes never left her.

Her movements. Her voice. The small grunts of effort. The way she spoke to the child in her womb like they were already here.

His mind screamed that it wasn’t possible.

That he had died.

That this was some cruel trick of the afterlife or worse, a hallucination before fading away completely.

But the warmth of the tea. The sound of the baby kicking. The aroma of breakfast and burnt batter. Her laugh-they were all real.

Or felt that way.

He had another chance.

He didn't understand how.

He didn't care.

But something in his chest twisted, knotted with dread. He’d seen this play out before. The growing belly. The excitement. The nursery. The night she wasn’t in bed.

He knew what came next.

This wasn’t just a dream. This was a warning.

His jaw clenched.

He couldn’t let it happen again.

Not again.

From that day on, something in him changed.

He didn’t tell her what he’d seen. How could he? He didn’t want to scare her. She was glowing with joy, preparing for a future he wasn’t sure they’d reach.

But he watched. He listened. He never left her side.

He installed extra locks on the doors. He made sure her phone was always charged. He memorized every emergency number. He learned how to deliver a baby at home, just in case. He kept notes, tracked her every symptom, every movement, every meal.

She laughed at first, telling him he was overreacting. “You’re acting like I’m made of glass.”

But he would only respond with a smile and, “I just want to be ready.”

He didn’t sleep much. He sat by her bedside, watching her breathe. Every twitch, every sigh made his stomach twist.

One night, she stirred and caught him staring.

“You’re worried again, aren’t you?”

He nodded slowly.

She reached out, placing his hand on her belly. The baby kicked.

“You feel that?” she asked with a small smile. “That’s our future.”

His throat closed.

But the words that slipped from him were soft, terrified: “I’m scared I won’t be enough.”

She shook her head. “You’re everything.”

He swallowed hard, forcing down the tears.

But deep inside, paranoia dug its roots. Every day brought him closer to a moment he remembered too clearly. The birth. The hospital. The silence.

He wouldn't let it happen again.

He couldn't.

He didn’t know how he got this second chance.

But he’d protect them.

No matter the cost.

[purr269962]

Hii💕

I saw your tsukishima fic and I am invested to say the least! Would you be open to write more oneshots for him? If yes, maybe the beginning of their relationship and how his teammembers/friends reacted?

Tyyy and have a nice day/night!

YES OF COURSEEEEEE

‘meeting his teammates’

-masterlist-

661 words

feels strange not writing abt genya for once BUT HERE WE ARE i hope you enjoy!

also super short i’m so sorry

you had been dating tsukishima for about two weeks now. you knew he played volleyball, only really knowing yamaguchi yourself.

it was a chilly fall day when the dismissal bell rang. you packed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, noticing how your boyfriend left one of his notebooks on his desk. you look around for yamaguchi, but he already left.

you hum and think about where he could be, getting an uneasy feeling in your stomach when you realize he’s at practice.

you’d never met any of his other teammates, only knowing that they’re apparently very annoying from how tsukishima talks about them.

maybe you could just give it back to him tomorrow? no… he needs it for his homework tonight. could you just give it to him after practice? no.. you didn’t feel like waiting.

you finally sigh and start your way towards the gym.

—

*slam!*

“nice hinata!” tanaka barks

hinata beams and rubs his tingly palm against his cheek.

“you’re a weirdo.” tsukishima mutters, facing the net

“i like the way it makes my hand feel! like it’s on fire or something!”

“what the hell?—“

you peer into the gym, biting the inside of your cheek. you’ve seen these people before. you had a class with the orange haired one… until he got moved into a lower one after two days.

you jump when a girl appears by the door. “looking for someone?” her voice is smooth

“uhh.. yeah- tsukishima—“

“KIYOKOOOOOO!!~~” a voice sings out and stops once he lays his eyes on you.

it’s a short boy with brown hair and a blonde streak in the front. his eyes widen impossibly large. “WHOS THAT?” he shouts, making everyone turn their attention to you.

even tsukishima. he looks like he just got punched in the stomach when he sees you in the doorway with his notebook.

“hey tsukki isn’t that your notebook?” yamaguchi says kindly before shutting up when he sees tsukishimas terrified face

a bald-headed boy and the short one from before bound up to you behind kiyoko

“who’re you?” the bald one

“you’re cute!” the short one says

“leave her alone” tsukishima wriggles his way between the two, shoving them out of the way before he blocks everyone’s view of you with his tall stature

“you forgot this” you hold it out and he takes it

“…thanks…” his face is red and it’s clear he’s embarrassed

“why are you guys not going through the drill??” a tall third year with brown hair comes up with a furious look on his face

“can you guys just mind your business?” tsukki snaps, turning his head to look at them.

they all piece it together. his red face and ears, your bag having a keychain that they’ve seen on his before, the tension.

“IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND???!” hinata squeals and everyone goes nuts

“girlfriend?!”

“hah! didn’t know you had it in you buddy!” a clap to tsukishimas shoulder

“aw she’s cute too!”

as everyone interrogates him, you spot yamaguchi and wave shyly. he waves back with a smile.

“how long?”

“how did she fall for such a dense guy like tsukishima, huh??”

a long, loud whistle, silences everyone

“what the hell is going on?” the coach in his tracksuit stomps over

“tsukishima has a girlfriend!” sugawara puts his hands on the tall boys shoulders

“…” coach ukai’s face is utterly dumbfounded “so? get back to your drills! our scrimmage with nekoma is in three days!” he lifts the whistle to blow it again before everyone groans in protest, already walking back to the court

tsukishima adjusts his grip on the notebook before looking back at you “see. annoying.”

“i can see that now. sorry for interrupting..”

“it’s- whatever. i’ll text you when practice is over.”

you nod

“and thanks” he nods his head and turns around before jogging to his bag.

“bye kei!” you call out and he tenses

“SHE SAID HIS FIRST NAME!!!” everyone shrieks out

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - The Team's Favourite Fics

meet the new team and read their favourite fics!

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let us know and we will remove it immediately, no questions asked. we have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop us a message🤍

have a pairing you want us to do next? head to the inbox and let us know!

don’t forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

Thank you all so much for sharing our help needed post! I am so thrilled to say we are up to a full new team. A team with a diverse set of beloved ships and tropes and favourite pairings and teams. It's going to be fun!

Let's get this show on the road!

Gen (Mark/Sebastian, Charles & Sebastian)

The Road to Parenthood by @beensinning | Not Rated | 283k

@ashzerog19's favourite fic

23-year-old Red Bull driver Sebastian Vettel adopts a young Charles

This fic is the perfect mix of a lot of tropes that I like like found family, fluff, hurt/comfort and kid fics. It's an emotional ride but that is oh so enjoyable. The way the characters are written and real events are rearranged to fit this fictional timeline is just so thoughtful and cohesive, it's incredibly good!

Alex/George

nothing but teeth by @janinaduszejko | E | 25k

@wunderlichkind's favourite fic

Alex reveals he‘s done bits with guys before. George is of course pining for him horribly but doesn‘t realize it yet. He keeps obsessing over it and then essentially asks alex to _show him_ and it‘s just very repressed and very very good!

wow this is simultaneously a great and an impossibly hard way to start into this discord! there are so many fics incredibly dear to me in the f1 fandom 😅 but going by my most frequent reread i‘ll nominate this amazing fic.

Carlos/Oscar

life in a hologram by @lealu | E | 56.5k (wip)

@killjoythereader's favourite fic

Carlos is a dependable field agent. Oscar is the unnervingly calm new recruit. Posing as fiancés at a billionaire’s wellness retreat wasn’t on Carlos’ bingo card for the year, but missing persons don’t investigate themselves.

here’s my rec! i know WIPs aren’t for everyone but this fic is well worth the wait. it’s suspenseful, sexy, and a true slow burn. i keep wanting to unravel the mystery, but i also don’t want the story to end.

Happy Death Race by @powerful-owl | E | 56k

@lydia-petze's favourite fic

Oscar is in a time loop and Carlos won't stop dying.

Time loop fic can be wonderful for distilling what is most important to a character. Oscar's personality is pulled back layer by layer as he strives desperately to keep Carlos alive loop after loop, only to fail over and over. Carlos himself is written perfectly as the good natured, goofy yet wise weirdo he presents himself as on camera. The story is structured intricately, layering and building and calling back on itself as the loops build. It's also unexpectedly hilarious for a story about one character who dies a lot and another who is being actively traumatized by it. It's not an outright comedy by any means, but the lighter moments keep the darker themes from ever getting too heavy to read.

His mum picks up his feet, sits, and puts them back down in her lap. Oscar kicks at her a little. “Rejection is never easy, love.”Oscar cranes his neck to glower back at her. “What?” “I’ve had my heart broken by heaps of men who looked like Carlos Sainz.” Oscar yearns for a camera to stare directly into. “I wasn’t rejected, oh my god. But thanks for the vote of confidence, mum.” “You haven’t told him?”Oscar sits fully up. “How are our only options here rejection or silence?” “Because if things were going great, you wouldn’t be here! And have you seen that man? He looks like a fuck up in the dude factory, like they accidentally set the handsomeness threshold too high. He’s right on the edge of something the human brain can’t comprehend, like that Sandra Bullock movie with the blindfolds—” “Oh my god.” “You’re a smoke show, love—” “Never say that again.” “But that man looks like he’s exclusively dating nepo baby boob models.” “What are boob models?” ‘The people he dates!”

Charles/Pierre

with strong hearts full, our souls unite by @hourcat | M | 12.6k |

@boxboxbrioche's favourite fic

Charles is an artist, Pierre is his best friend, and there is a Green Lantern who keeps on popping up in their life.

I first read this fic when it was published - over two years ago(!!!!!) It is a masterpiece of its genre. Secret identities, danger and baddies, and conflicting crushes that turn out to not be so conflicting afterwards. The author's ability to write realistic and fun dialogue is second to none, and the story is just so beautifully written. The reason I chose it as my number one favourite fic-apart from the fact that it's a MASTERPIECE- is that I find myself thinking about it so often, even two years later. When I'm at my local art store, when I'm doing chores, when I'm on long walks. It comes back to me, and I read it all over again, and I love it just as much as I did the first time. It has stayed with me, which I think is the mark of a truly fantastic piece of fanfiction. ❤️

Lance/George

Kamikaze by @pitconfirm | George/Lance | E | 12.4K

@lil-shiro's favourite fic

George has hated Lance for as long as he's known him, and Lance has never seemed to care. However, it turns out there are other ways to get a reaction. Or: What happens when you start hooking up with the guy you hate. Set in 2023 with great characterization of Lance and George. If you want to get into Glance, this is THE fic you have to read.

Absentmindedly, he pauses to massage Lance’s scalp, causing the boy to hum in satisfaction. He’s quite sweet when he’s not talking. “You know I’d let you fuck me, right?” Lance says, casually breaking the silence.

Lando/Oscar

you're burning up, i'm cooling down by @foggieststars | E | 12.3k

@maaxverstappen's favourite fic

Lando and Oscar have an understanding, Oscar doesn't get to come until Lando decides he's been good enough.

It’s a little known fact about me that this is my fav fic ever (I mean, I stalked Wren trying to find her socials to gush about it to her). It’s obviously hot as hell but it’s also so tender and the characterisation is unlike any other. This landoscar will forever be the blueprint of all landoscar to me and all 3 parts are fabbbb <3

He teases Oscar about it, sometimes. How badly he wants it - to win, to be good. Lando asks him if he ever gets hard in the car out of some twisted desperation to please people. He loves thinking about Oscar’s muscled thighs clenching together in the car, vibrations running through his whole body, sparking little points of contact. So Lando lets the little game drag on into the race build-up sometimes, when Oscar is okay with it.

i know this little chapel on the boulevard by @mathsgeek314 | T | 19.8k

@muffininthepitlane's favourite fic

A wedding planner and a florist fall in love while working on a bunch of weddings together, featuring mutual pinning, a lot of it. And cameos from other drivers as they’re the ones who get married and need a wedding planner.

“What did you bring me?” “I brought you, um,” Lando pauses to peer into the bags, “A BLT and a chocolate muffin.” “A BLT?” “Well there was no way I was buying you your usual – if you want a bagel with frickin’ salmon on it, you can buy that yourself.” Oscar lets out a quiet laugh. “And the muffin?” he asks. Lando lights up. “Yeah! You always say they look really nice but you keep talking yourself out of buying one, so I bought one for you. Can’t change your mind if I’ve already bought it.” Oscar can’t stop himself from smiling at how proud Lando looks of himself. “What?” he whines, “What are you laughing at?” “Nothing, don’t worry. Thank you for bringing me food, mate.” Oscar ends up getting lost in his work for another twenty minutes after Lando leaves before his stomach grumbles again and he remembers he does still need to eat. He pulls out the chocolate muffin and smiles at it before opening the other bag. He blinks. Inside the bag is a salmon and cream cheese bagel.

Max/Oscar

Eat Them Alive by @drivestraight | E | 57k

@kingkestrel favourite fic

Oscar lost Lando a championship and left McLaren. There was still a year in between. Or, Oscar ascends to RedBull racing godhood and smites down everyone in his path.

To me, this fic is the pinnacle. I keep thinking about this work after the fact, specifically Oscar's quiet to others but encompassing to himself ruthlessness and how his whole relationship with Lando is based on the fact that he thinks he's the same.

I keep seeing interviews from people Oscar works with and how they describe him as internally hungry but outwardly calm and I keep thinking back to this fic. About how much drive and fire burns inside that only people the same as him notice… Max notices.

He puts his hand on the nose and he won’t find out until he’s doing his interviews in the pen, that h9e was covering the 8 in the 81. People think it was a statement. To Oscar, it was an act of reverence.

[bug-hearted]

“Oh, my God!” Solace hissed, jumping, wings rustling against the bushes. There were dark, round, doe-like eyes glaring at him. There were not supposed to be dark, round, doe-like eyes glaring at him.

“No,” Doe-eyes said. “Just an angel.” A smirk.

Ah. That made sense. Said creature had the brightest wings, a blinding ivory against the dark shadows in these bushes. When the light hit them just right through the leaves, they shined almost pearl-like. Incandescent.

Except that smirk.

That was— charged. There was something curled behind it, something cold and almost dark that Solace never would have seen on an angel.

Breathtaking.

“What, never seen an angel before?” Doe-eyes said. It was then that Solace realized he’d been staring. Quite shamelessly.

Because how could he not?

Solace scoffed. “Um, no,” he drawled defensively. “I’ve been… around.”

Doe-eyes’ gaze bore into him. He felt like he was being studied. Examined. Picked apart, like a carcass about to be skinned to bone.

Doe-eyes was… staring, too, Solace realized now. Not that he knew how to feel about that.

He looked scrutinizing—like Solace was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. He began to squirm under the attention, heart hammering against his chest.

This was an angel, for God’s sake! Solace couldn’t afford getting distracted! Not when he had—

“Are you just going to creep around in these bushes? Because I’ve got a job I need to do.”

Doe-eyes rolled his eyes. “By all means, demon,” he said, and there it was again! That stupid smirk playing on his lips, casual and light as if the word demon didn’t almost make Solace flinch. “Although, it does seem to me you were creeping around these bushes first.”

“Whatever,” Solace huffed. “I’m going now.”

“Again,” Doe-eyes huffed to mimic him, “by all means.”

Solace began to lift himself up to his legs, turning his gaze to the Garden. He had a job, and a plan—a good one, at that. It would be a shame if someone thwarted it.

Huh.

Solace turned back to Doe-eyes, still just sitting there, brows furrowing in confusion. “Aren’t you meant to, like, thwart me?”

Doe-eyes raised an eyebrow. “Yes.” And? his face asked.

Solace dragged a hand down his face. This angel was impossible. He didn’t realize it was even… well, possible, for an angel to be difficult. “Why aren’t you thwarting me?”

Unimpressed, Doe-eyes’ mouth opened to answer, then closed again. Then, after a half-second of hesitation, a wide, sly grin sprawled across his cheeks.

“Much more entertaining watching you try to hype yourself up for whatever you’re about to do.”

“What does that mean?” Solace asked, when what he really thought was Heavens above, the Angel has dimples.

“That means you’ve been here for days, stalking the humans, all nervous and bumbling like an idiot who doesn’t actually want to do what he says he’s here to do,” Doe-eyes said, self-satisfied.

“Well! I! Want to, but the timing is just—”

“You haven’t actually given me anything to thwart, you know?” Doe-eyes said, pressing the back of his hand to his lips as if curtly muffling a laugh. Infuriating. Utterly so.

“What—!” Solace huffed. “I’ll! Show you!”

“I’m sure you will.”

Oh, this angel was very irritating. Solace would show him! He could be evil! He could be the demon he was supposed to be! He could do this—could do his job and not get his friends demoted in the process.

Solace shivered. He did not need his friends getting demoted. He knew what jobs were given to the lower-class demons. Paperwork.

He very pointedly ignored the voice in his mind screaming good luck pulling yourself together enough to focus, instead giving Doe-eyes a grunt and a death glare (which didn’t work, only serving to make Doe-eyes’ smirk more smug).

Solace decided, then, that he rather disliked angels—no, no, just this specific one.

[miseria-fortes-viros]

listen i’m pretty strong emotionally and i can probably handle a lot more than the average person can when it comes to shit like that but sometimes something small will strike me inexplicably and i’ll suddenly have the same paper-thin composure i had when i was nine and people kept telling me to stop crying and grow up. like last night my cat brought another mouse in through the hole in the screen door and usually when she sets them down i can fawn over how fast and scary she is while i gingerly pick them up and set them back outside, because usually they’re terrified but otherwise unharmed, but this time i was in the middle of cooking and didn’t manage to get to it before it got over its shock and disappeared under the couch. and neither of my cats can get under there, and any mouse would know that, really, so there was no chance it would come back out, so i had to tell my mother and she came down with a pack of mousetraps. she opened them and had me help her set one up (she stuck the handle of a dirty fork into my jar of peanut butter. irrelevant but continues to perplex me. what the hell mom. my peanut butter). i didn’t want to put it out right away because it had only been half an hour and one of the cats might catch it again and then the problem would be solved, but even though i have my own space it’s still in my mother’s house and she wasn’t about to let mice run around freely. she reminded me that traps kill almost instantly as she stuck it under the cabinet in my living room, near the couch, and i tried to forget about it.

the trap went off while i was folding laundry in the next room. it was louder than i thought it would be, so it must have been like a gunshot to littler ears. everything seemed quieter in the moment right afterwards. and i didn’t want to but i got down on the floor in my living room anyway and shone my flashlight under the cabinet, and sure enough the trap had not gotten the mouse by the neck but instead had snapped shut on a hind leg, grotesquely twisted up and over in a way that would surely be fatal after a while, and little black eyes stared right at me like it knew i had done this, and a spot on the top of its head pulsed with its heartbeat, hinting at an even more sinister injury that was invisible to me. i called my mom down and she used a paper plate and a piece of cardboard to drag it out because she didn’t want to see it—what a privilege it is to not have to look the things we hurt in the eye—and it started squeaking right when she was trying to get all of that into a plastic bag, shock wearing off for the second time in only a few hours. i wiped a tiny red handprint off the floor and my mom took the mouse outside to drown it.

i keep thinking about bones smaller than toothpicks and even easier to snap, and about beady black eyes that had never seen blood before, teenage boys broken and bleeding while their lungs fill up with water, thousands of mice that probably die exactly like this. i think about snap traps and glue traps and poison and how nobody ever has catch traps, because people would rather deal with blood and guts than run the risk of a released pest returning, and about how that tiny thing might still be running through the grass now if i had been a few seconds faster finding a place to set the spatula down. and inevitably someone will say this is why you have to keep your cats inside and to that i say first of all, it wasn’t even hurt when she brought it in, they never are, she just wanted to show me, and secondly, you try keeping former barn cats inside, it’s impossible; at least if i allow them out they’re willing to stay where i can see them. they’re the ones that are kind enough to play and release. we’re the ones that kill without reason and then throw out the bodies after. but i patched up the hole in the screen door with cardboard so now they can’t come back in without knocking, per se. that should keep live mice out for a while. but there’s still a tiny spray of blood under the cabinet in the living room, too inconvenient a place to clean, and so it will remain there long after everyone’s forgotten where it came from. i keep tearing up at my desk over this damn mouse. on my way home from work i will stop and buy catch traps, and when i get home i’m tossing the rest of the snap traps away. i don’t care. or maybe i care too much. too sensitive. grow up.

[ourseasone]

chapter 003 ✽ i wake where i once watched

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It had been over a week since you opened your eyes in that impossibly large hospital bed, blinking against the sterile white ceiling as if trying to wake up a second time — this time, for real.

You’d spent three full days there after regaining consciousness, tucked away in a private suite that looked less like a hospital room and more like something pulled from a luxury hotel brochure. Polished marble floors, soft ambient lighting, even a discreet little chandelier — everything about the space screamed opulence in a way that felt wildly disconnected from your old life. A world where hospitals were loud, crowded, and smelled like disinfectant.

Here, it was quiet enough to hear your own thoughts — which wasn’t exactly comforting.

Because you hadn’t stopped thinking since you woke up. Your mind spun constantly, trying to untangle the absurdity of your situation: where exactly were you? What had happened after you hit your head? And more unsettling than anything else… who were you now?

Not a single answer came easily.

During those first three days, you had only two consistent visitors. The woman who introduced herself as your mother had an elegance to her — the kind of elegance that came with generations of wealth and a perfectly curated wardrobe. She smiled like someone who had spent years rehearsing how to be a mother in public. And then there was the little girl, your 'younger sister', with round cheeks, bright eyes, and a laugh that seemed almost too cheerful for a hospital room. Yeonju spoke to you with warmth and your mother with ease, like they’d known you their entire lives.

And yet, they were strangers.

Strangers wrapped in the skin of familiarity. They knew your name, your favorite foods, the exact way you liked your orange juice. But you didn’t recognize them at all. Their presence was oddly comforting and deeply alien at the same time, like watching reruns of a show you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen, but can still guess the next line.

Eventually, the doctor — who might as well have been a celebrity with how polished he looked — deemed you stable enough to return 'home'.

Except… home wasn’t home.

Calling the place a house was laughable. Mansion didn’t even feel like the right word. The estate was so sprawling, you were convinced it needed its own zip code. Multiple wings, wide marble staircases, ornate hallways lined with modern art and minimalist furniture that probably cost more than your family car — everything felt… curated, excessive, and way out of your depth.

In those early days, you got lost more often than you’d care to admit. Sometimes it took three different staff members (footmen, butlers, maids) to guide you back to your room. Each one treated you with a reverence that made your skin itch. As if you were something sacred. Or dangerous.

Still, amid the absurd wealth and dizzying unfamiliarity, there was one thing that anchored you.

Your bedroom.

It had changed, yes — bigger, fancier, now with its own sleek bathroom and a view that overlooked a perfectly trimmed garden with fountains and statues, but at its core, something about it remained… intact. The layout was eerily similar. Your desk sat in the same spot. The worn corner of the rug. Even the place where you’d tripped and cracked your head was still there, untouched. Like the room had been frozen in time, waiting for you to come back.

That small piece of continuity kept you from unraveling completely.

Well — that, and the trophies.

In your old life, you’d racked up a respectable number of medals and awards, mostly for sports. But here? You had an entire room dedicated to your so-called 'achievements'. Shelves upon shelves of trophies, plaques, certificates in heavy gold frames. Not just for athletics — though there were plenty of those — but for things you had never even touched before. Advanced science fairs, piano recitals, national writing competitions, chess tournaments, robotics. You name it, you’d apparently conquered it.

And every single award was for first place.

The you of this world wasn’t just smart or talented — you were a prodigy. A golden boy. The kind of person you build legacies around.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Young Master,” came a soft voice from the hallway, gently pulling you back to the present. “Are you ready? The driver is waiting for you.”

Lily stood in the doorway, hands clasped politely in front of her. Her auburn hair was styled in an elegant bun that never seemed to fall out of place, and her uniform — simple but tailored — was spotless as always. She looked calm, composed, and quietly capable. According to what she’d told you, her mother had been your nanny growing up, and you had personally requested that Lily take over once she was of age. She’d been by your side ever since she turned eighteen.

You gave her a short nod, then glanced once more at your reflection in the tall mirror beside your dresser.

The school uniform fit you well — a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with a sharp collar, a navy-and-silver crest stitched neatly above your heart. Your name, embroidered in dark blue thread, stood out in clean cursive just beneath it. Navy trousers completed the outfit, and your black backpack leaned casually against the bedpost, waiting to be picked up.

The school logo caught your eye.

Something about it made your stomach twist — not with fear, but with a strange sense of déjà vu. You didn’t recognize the design outright, but it tugged at something deep and blurry in your memory. Like a dream you couldn’t quite grasp.

“I’m coming,” you said, slinging the backpack over one shoulder.

Your fingers slipped absently into your pocket — a habit from your old life — and you walked out, following Lily into the hall.

Your footsteps were muffled by the soft, pale gray carpet. The walls around you were pristine, decorated with tastefully modern frames, abstract canvases, and sleek, inlaid lighting. It was the kind of hallway you’d see in a magazine spread, not a place where anyone actually lived. Everything looked perfect. Immaculate.

And yet, to you, it felt cold. Like a showroom.

As you passed through the seemingly endless corridors, your eyes wandered — not for the first time — to Lily’s polished silhouette, her posture graceful and self-assured. She knew her way around every inch of the mansion. You, meanwhile, were still mentally mapping out where the second staircase was. Finally, you reached the massive front entrance. The double doors stood tall, carved from dark wood, with brass handles that gleamed under the morning sun spilling through the overhead window.

Waiting patiently at the threshold was Kai — a German Shepherd so majestic he could’ve starred in a movie. His coat gleamed with health, ears perked, eyes alert. As soon as he spotted you, the dog let out a cheerful bark and trotted over, tail wagging like mad.

Kai was your dog. In this world, anyway.

Back in your old life, you had begged for a dog every year, only to be told no — too expensive, too much work. But here, your wish had apparently been granted. And Kai wasn’t just real — he was perfect.

You crouched to scratch behind the dog’s ears, grinning in spite of yourself.

“Wish you an excellent day, Young Master,” Lily said softly behind you.

You stood, brushing off your pants, and offered her a faint but genuine smile.

“Thanks, Lily.” Then you turned back to Kai and gave him a fond pat on the head. “Be a good boy, yeah? I’ll be back before dinner.”

Kai responded with another happy bark, nuzzling into your legs before trotting back to his usual spot by the door.

You gave Lily a small wave, then stepped through the doors and into the fresh morning air. It was crisp and cool, laced with the scent of manicured hedges and summer flowers. At the foot of the marble steps, a sleek black sedan was already waiting. The driver, Mr. Kang — a quiet, stiff-backed man with silver-rimmed glasses and an immaculate uniform — opened the door with a respectful bow.

“Good morning, Young Master.”

You dipped your head in return — not as deep, but still polite. “Good morning, Mr. Kang.”

Technically, you were just a teenager, but the words carried the weight of someone who’d lived through one life already. Old habits died hard, and one of them was knowing when to show respect — especially to elders.

And Mr. Kang? The man had the look of someone carved out of tradition. White-gloved hands, posture like a steel rod, and eyes that had probably seen more than they let on. You had overheard one of the house stewards mention that Mr. Kang had served the family for decades. A lifetime of service. Even now, as you held the title of 'Young Master', the idea of treating the man casually felt wrong. Like wearing shoes on a temple floor.

Mr. Kang closed the car door with a soft click, then moved around the sleek black sedan with the kind of efficiency that made it look choreographed. Seconds later, he was behind the wheel, and the engine hummed to life — not loud, not flashy. Just smooth. Understated wealth. Like everything else here.

The car glided down the estate driveway and out through tall wrought-iron gates. The trees lining the road swayed gently in the morning breeze, but you weren’t really looking. Your eyes were on the window, sure, but your mind was miles away.

You didn’t even know where the school was. What it looked like. Who was waiting for you there.

It was strange. Waking up in someone else’s life. You’d gotten your body — same face, same name, same voice — but none of the context. No memories. No inner compass to help you navigate this world. It was like being thrown on stage in the middle of a play and expected to know your lines.

At least the name had stayed the same. A small mercy. Something familiar to anchor yourself to.

You yawned loudly and slumped deeper into the plush leather seat, one leg stretching out until your heel brushed against the opposite door.

“I really don’t feel like going,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Up front, Mr. Kang’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. A glance. Nothing more. He didn’t comment, didn’t even shift in his seat. He was far too professional to engage in teenage sulking, and you could appreciate that.

The silence in the car felt oddly comforting.

You let your thoughts drift, unspooling in slow, tangled loops.

You remembered that space — the black void, endless and quiet — right after you’d died. It hadn’t been terrifying, exactly. More like… empty. Still. Then came the questions. No body. No voice. Just thoughts being weighed, one by one, by something bigger than you. The questions hadn’t made sense at the time. And yet they’d felt important. As if the answers mattered. As if they determined… something.

At the time, you’d assumed that whole exchange had been a kind of screening. Some cosmic sorting hat deciding where you’d go next. You’d expected systems. Some rules. Or even, maybe, powers. You’d hoped for some kind of logic. A mechanic. An explanation.

Instead? Nothing.

No magical runes glowing under your skin. No sword stuck in a rock, waiting for you. No floating menus or stats. Not even a “congratulations, you’ve reincarnated!” splash screen. Just… life. A ridiculous, gilded, absurdly luxurious life. With staff. And a mansion. And a perfect dog.

You had whispered 'status' under your breath like an idiot at least fifty times. Had squinted at your hands. Checked mirrors. Waited for your inventory to pop open. Nothing. No monsters. No chosen one. No prophecy. Not even a hot villain with ambiguous morality and suspiciously good eyeliner. You’d even, in a brief moment of desperation, wondered if you’d landed in some kind of otome game. But so far, no one had swooned into your arms or confessed under a cherry tree. No pink-haired classmates. No dramatic love triangles.

Just… reality.

A reality where you were rich, important, talented, and apparently admired.

But, honestly, you could live with that.

Maybe it wasn’t the adventure you expected. Maybe there wasn’t a demon king to defeat. But this life came with a private driver and a dog named Kai who loved you unconditionally.

It could be worse.

“We’ve arrived, Young Master.”

You blinked, startled. You hadn’t even noticed the car slowing. The door was already open. You coughed once, trying to collect yourself before stepping out. Your hand brushed down your shirt automatically, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle.

“Thank you, Mr. Kang,” you said, voice a little more formal now, out of habit.

“I wish you a pleasant day,” Mr. Kang replied, bowing slightly before returning to the driver’s seat.

You nodded, then stood still for a moment, watching the black sedan pull away. It disappeared down the tree-lined road in seconds, leaving you standing in front of a familiar-looking gate. Very familiar.

Your stomach dropped.

No, wait—

Your eyes lifted, locking on the metal sign mounted above the gate. The name hit you like a punch right to the chest.

Byuksan High School.

What the actual—

Your heart stuttered. Mouth dry. You didn’t even hear the other students — the murmurs, the whispers, the stares. They barely registered. Because you knew this place.

The gates. The shape of the main building. The subtle cracks in the front steps. Even the rusted patch on the iron fence — every detail was burned into your memory.

And that sign. That name.

You weren’t just in some generic rich-boy life.

You were in Weak Hero Class.

Not something like it. Not inspired by it. The actual goddamn world of the k-drama you’d finished the night you died. The same world that lived in your head rent-free for years.

Your entire body tensed. Every nerve on high alert.

How the hell had you not realized it sooner?

You weren’t just in a world that resembled your own.

You were in the story.

And now, the real question slammed into you like a freight train ; Which character am I?

previous masterlist note

note ∘ ∘ ∘ IT TOOK ME SO SO LONG OMG I'M SO SORRY 😭 i'm honestly kinda embarrassed to post this tbh... and the chapter ended up being really short... buuuut the good news is the interesting stuff finally starts in the next one!!!

taglist ∘ ∘ ∘ @suunani @slovesyouuu @starrykie @pedifero @iluvkyo @yuuuumii @naelvze @chaotic-world-if-the-j @leftpoetrymoon @aple-piie @exodiam @odevote118 @dumbisme @daichiwkmi @killerd1 @nxxav3rs3 @kamiliora @blodwyn4u @cloudch4n @b0orf @onigiri-miyas @yourfavoritefreakyhan @alex--awesome--22 @miellette @to4sterz @lovely-venusss @ruruyinn @itsonlystatic @woowrld (let me know if you wanna be added!)

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎLong Day౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x clark kent thank you @phantomamour for proofing!! <3 eight hours without clark and you think you're going insane

When the familiar sound of keys jangling at the door handle sounded, you perked up, setting your book aside and sitting up like an excited puppy. How were you supposed to know a day off without Clark would begat so much longing?

He'd been so excited for you last night, telling you over and over that you needed plenty of rest in your condition and pulling up a highlighted passage from one of his dozens of pregnancy books as evidence. You let it all go through one ear and out the other, his rambling a soothing lull that quieted your brain. The second his suspicions had been confirmed by the second line on a drugstore test, he'd been like this. Protective- more so than usual. Some may find it overbearing- you found it darling. It had seemed impossible to love him more and yet here you were.

He gasped and cooed over each new development, from your swelling tummy to your aching feet. Clark had seen space and aliens and power beyond the comprehension of the human mind, but he was stunned by the growing life inside you. It fascinated him to no end. Periodically, he'd come home and slide his phone into your lap, a screenshot displayed. "She's the size of a lemon," he'd said proudly yesterday. Then his brow had scrunched, frame of his glasses digging into the hollows of his eyes. "I'm gonna put lemons on the grocery list. 'S really good for you right now." You'd had to steer him away from some of the conspiracy theories when he started dragging the couch back while you were sitting on it because the baby shouldn't be too close to the television.

In theory, personal time was a good idea. On days off past you'd relished the feeling of an empty apartment, even looked forward to it. Today, however, had been a struggle.

First of all, Clark's spot in bed was already cold when you woke up. He left you a note on your bedside telling you to have a good day and eat the fruit he'd cut up for you and left in the fridge. You reluctantly got out of bed and slithered to the kitchen, an aching in your heart reminding you that he wouldn't be home for hours.

You wanted to call, but refrained. Surely he must have a busy day like always. It shocked you how much you missed him. Of course you always wished you were with him, but never on this survival-based level. Trying to distract yourself, you turned on your favorite show, took a bubble bath with lavender, pulled out your laptop to browse a few of your favorite designers' websites. You even ended up ordering a few things, hoping retail therapy would cure whatever was wrong with you today. Needless to say, it was pointless.

Your eyes flicked to the clock every few minutes, wondering if time had ever moved this slowly before. Distracting yourself making lunch had been a bust. Noodles and marinara boiled faster than you remembered. You tried everything you could think of to fill your afternoon. Reading, movies, doing one of the face masks Clark had picked up for you. You gave yourself a blowout even though it made your arms sore, and put on pretty lingerie and one of your short pink comfy dresses that made your belly stand out just the slightest bit more. When there was still an hour left until he came home, you finally gave up, putting a book in your lap and flopping onto the couch, trying to focus on the words in front of you.

So, to say you were excited when you heard the keys in the door, and his cheerful whistle was an understatement.

The second the door opened and Clark walked through, you were floored. Were you just desperate, or more observant? He didn't look any different than he usually did when he came home. Curls messy, suit jacket folded over his elbow, sleeves rolled up. He took off his glasses too once the door was shut, turning to you with that big sunshine smile you'd been craving all day. "Hi."

Hi. It was like poetry to you. Blinking, you tried to gather a response, watching the muscles in his back while he set down his briefcase. Clark beelined over to you once his arms were free, bracing one hand on the arm of the couch as he bent to kiss you. You held back the desperate sound that threatened to leave your throat, instead smiling primly when he pulled back. "You okay?"

Nodding slowly, the breath left your body when he kissed you again. Clark knelt in front of you, his hands on your knees. "How was your day, sweetheart?"

His hands. Thick fingers resting up the path of your bare thigh, bone jumping once when he tapped your leg comfortably. Bless summertime for letting you see the veins marking him like a map. His palms were warm, rubbing ever so slightly, his subconscious goal to comfort you even when you weren't in desperate need of it.

Your eyes traveled up his arms, noting where his sleeves were cuffed above his elbows. Muscle created dips where others would fall flat, perfect for holding, in your experience. Never had there been a time where you were walking together in the city where he didn't offer his arm. Your perfect Midwestern gentleman.

His shoulders. His collarbone. One time you went to an outdoor concert together and he'd lifted you to sit on his shoulders when you couldn't see like it was nothing. Even with your extra baby weight you knew he could do it just as easily, acting like you were no heavier than your pink Coach purse, which must be heavy since he offered to carry it for you so often.

"Hm?" Clark's little hum snapped you out of your trance, and you tried to remember his question. Meeting his eyes, you lost yourself in the blue of them. Endless oceans. Depths he'd drain if you wanted to know what laid within them.

"Yes," you decided on saying, hoping it made sense.

Clark's brow furrowed, and his eyes lit up. He patted your knees, getting to his feet. "You're hungry! I should have known. Eatin' for two now. Sorry, baby, I'll get you a snack before I start on dinner." You scooted forward in your seat, watching with rounded eyes as he moved around the kitchen, muscles flexing underneath that white shirt.

He was rambling now, but you didn't hear a word of it. The world had blurred save for the shape of him opening and shutting cabinets, standing in the light of the refrigerator deliberating over what laid on the shelves. Clark delivered you a plate of chips and mild salsa after a bit, sealed with a kiss to your forehead. He didn't let you eat hot salsa anymore, worrying over your spice tolerance changing with your pregnancy.

Instead of eating, you watched him, more intently than you had your TV show earlier. He was sorting through pots and pans, mixing up the lids to jars. You had to remind yourself to breathe, heart thumping faster than usual. Surely he, with his super-hearing, could pick up on it, but he seemed distracted.

It was like you'd never seen him before in your life. You fawned over every motion, every angle of him in the poor kitchen lighting. There was never a doubt about him being beautiful, but tonight there was an extra kick to it. It almost felt like he was teasing you.

Clark managed to assemble what looked like lasagna from what you could see, throwing it in the oven and coming straight back to you. He frowned looking at your uneaten snack, dipping a chip in the salsa and holding it up to your lips. "Open." You did so without fuss, chewing and swallowing like a robot. "Atta girl." You could have died.

Clark sat on the couch beside you, gently pulling your legs into his lap and digging his fingers into the arch of your foot, right where you needed it. "Eat your chips, sweetie." You put another one in your mouth to satisfy him.

"How's baby doin'?" he asked, reaching out to smooth your little skirt. Your hand traveled absently to your tummy, and you nodded absently. It made him smile and he bent to kiss your knee, hands busy rubbing the backs of your legs. "I know you've been alone all day. It's okay if you don't wanna talk."

Could he be any more perfect? You smiled gratefully. It wasn't that you didn't want to talk- you'd been itching to in your every waking hour. Words were failing you at the moment. You weren't new to his acting like you were a princess, but today the reality of it was hitting you. Every single thing about him was so irresistibly sexy that you were having trouble remembering to breathe and swallow.

He watched you with a fond look as you crawled into his lap, feeling strange at this new realization but still wanting to be near him. When his hand found your back you nuzzled into his chest, hand catching on the pocket of his shirt. He started rubbing your back, talking softly. "Y'know I was thinking about you all day. Wished I was with you 'n baby." Clark buried a kiss in your hair, holding it for a long moment. He smoothed a hand over your midsection and you relaxed into him. "Think baby's gotten bigger since this morning. You look so pretty."

That was the final straw. You shifted on his legs, throwing your arms around his neck. Your belly was poking into his stomach but he didn't seem to mind, practically babying you as he said, "I know I said you don't have to talk, but can you tell me if you're okay?"

You pulled back, a dazed, cloudy feeling in your heart. Looking into his eyes, you nodded, tapping your thumb on his cheek. "I'm okay."

"Yeah?" Clark's expression was soft. "Feelin' okay?"

"You're just so…" you blushed, hiding your face in his neck.

"What?" he laughed, rubbing the back of your head. "You can tell me, sweetie."

Still blushing furiously, you shyly met his eyes again. "It's embarrassing."

His brow furrowed just slightly, and he took on a more serious expression. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"No." It was more embarrassing that you weren't. "It's…it's stupid. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm acting like this."

"No, no," he quickly soothed, noting your worry. "It's alright. I want to help you, baby." You watched his eyes widen and his hand tightened at your back. "Is it something I can fix?"

"Um…" you considered it for a moment. "Yes?"

Clark's shoulders slumped. "Okay. Okay." He lifted your hand to his lips like a prince. "Tell me what it is and I'll make it better, sunshine."

Scrambling, you tried to piece together your explanation. A few blank spaces remained when you decided to speak, but you kept going anyways. He was patient, nodding a little when you started talking.

"You're so…hot." A brilliant assessment. You cringed internally, resisting the urge to hide in his neck again. It wasn't like he didn't know you thought he was pretty, but it had never been an outright problem before.

Clark tilted his head like a puppy. His cheeks were slightly rosy, but there was a smile growing, splitting his face. "Yeah?"

Whining, you threw yourself back into him. "I missed you so bad all day and I was trying to distract myself so I wouldn't call you and now here you are feeding me and cuddling me and you're so pretty." The last word ended in a sob and Clark jumped into action, rubbing your back.

"Shh, it's okay," he calmed. "That's what's been bothering you, cutie?" There wasn't even a hint of condescension in his voice. He genuinely wanted to know.

"Yeah," you sniffled, fingers clenching around his shirt. "I just want you."

Clark was smiling into your hair. He pressed a few quick kisses there, nose smushed. "I'm sorry you've had a hard day, baby."

You tucked your head under his chin, feeling like a koala. "'S okay."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Uh huh."

"Thank you, sweetheart." Clark cupped your cheek, lifting you to meet his eyes. "How can I make it better? You want me to wear a bag over my head?"

It made you giggle because you knew he would if you asked. "No. Just…" you considered for a second, studying him. "Just wanna be close to you."

"We can do that," he said immediately, pressing lightly on your hip so you were resting against his chest. "Whatever you want." Clark fingered the hem of your dress. "Y'know…when I walked in and saw you I had the same feeling."

Wrinkling your nose, you patted his chest. "That's nice of you, honey."

"No, I'm being serious," he insisted, pulling back to look you in the eye. His face was as serious as the grave, and the circumstances of it almost made you giggle. His mouth fell open. "Baby-"

"I'm a mess," you laughed, taking his face in your hands and squishing his cheeks. "An achy, heavy mess. I'm swollen everywhere."

Clark gave you a look. "You look pretty."

"You're getting upset with me because I don't think I'm pretty right now?"

His lips turned down. "Yes."

"I spent all day doing my hair and trying on clothes," you pointed out. "I took a bath and put on makeup."

"Sure," he acknowledged. "But you're glowing, sweetheart. All the time, not just today." Clark positioned you so one leg was on either side of his, seating you in his lap. "Last night when you were wearing my sweatshirt."

You practically whimpered. "Cla-ark, my hair was a mess."

"No-o," he soothed.

"Uh huh," you argued, lower lip pushing out. "Laying in bed with my warming teddy bear?"

"You growing my baby," he started, tone reverent, "is sexy."

Pouting, you finally met his eyes. "Really?"

Clark chuckled, pulling you into a hug. "Really, really. 'Specially since the baby's half Kryptonian." He snuck a hand between you both, feeling over your tummy. "You're incredible."

"You're Superman," you laughed, and he shook his head, smiling as he kissed your cheek.

"Everything I can do 's nothing compared to what you're doing right now," he said gently. Clark's hand lifted to your hair, and he played with a strand for a second before tucking it behind your ear. "My powers break things. You're creating life."

"Clark," you whispered, smiling.

"You're doing something so selfless. And I know it's not easy." Clark kissed your forehead, holding his lips there for a long moment. The look on his face when he pulled back was nothing short of worshipful. "I know it hurts you more than you let on sometimes."

"It's not your fault," you whispered, smoothing a curl from his forehead. "There's so little information about this."

"I'm trying to find things," he promised. "Somewhere there's gotta be a way to make this better for you."

"You help make it better already," you promised, and he pressed your head to his chest, holding you there as he held his mouth to your hair.

"Just…make sure you keep eating," he finally said, the smallest of pleas in his voice. You picked up a chip and loaded it with salsa, shoving it into your mouth. Clark smiled. "There you go."

You sighed happily, nuzzling into Clark's neck. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, every inflection stoking the fire in your heart. "Maybe we can see about getting a housemate, hm?"

"Housemate?"

"Y'know, a kitten, maybe?" He grinned when you perked up, wiggling in his lap.

"Oh Clark, really?" You surged forward to kiss his cheeks, thinking out loud between each press of your lips. "Maybe a calico? Or a black cat?"

"Whatever you want," he promised, rubbing your sides. "How 'bout next time you've got the day off we schedule you a nail appointment? Maybe that'll help?"

"You're too sweet to me," you mumbled into him, and he kissed your nose. "I'm spoiled."

"You're growing our baby," he insisted. "If I didn't spoil you, there'd be something wrong with me."

Clark leaned you against his chest until the oven announced the lasagna was finished cooking. Fetching a plate, he sat you up between his legs and fed you bite after bite, making you feel like a princess. Settled happily between his arms, tummy full of both his baby and tasty food, your combined bliss was intoxicating. One of Clark's big hands was resting atop your stomach, and you laced your fingers through it.

When he whispered that you were beautiful, lifting another bite to your lips, this time you believed it.

[remushrts]

✶ YOU ARE IN LOVE / remus lupin.

— pairing: remus lupin x reader

— summary: you meet remus after swearing to yourself that you'd never see him again, and he wants to talk to you.

part 1

You remember the first time you came over to Remus' house as if it was yesterday. You tripped over the steps on the way to his room, scrapping your knee. It probably wasn't as bad as you and him made it look back then, rushing to the bathroom for the first aid kit and so much as limping by his side until you've reached the top of the stairs.

You still remember how he came back to your aid in a rush, both of you a little fret over the bruise, pulling a small band-aid from out of the kit and patching you up. You wonder if he could tell then, how dramatic and exaggerated was your limp.

Now, you walk to his room without bothering to slow down, the path of the stairs memorized into your head from years of doing the same thing. You stop by the door, looking at the bare room he left behind when he left. How he took most memories with him, everything he could but the posters on his walls.

You enter it and close the door, making quick work of getting out of your dirty clothes and into the clean ones you've brought. They're nicer, you think, not exactly new, but you realize Remus haven't seen them before. You've bought them for Christmas the first year he was gone.

After you're done, you walk to his window, looking at the view he was to the backyard. You can see his friends — Sirius, Remus and Peter, you learn from observing — indeed helping Lyall with the heavier chores that Hope wouldn't let you as much as come near, however disposed you seemed to help. You watch them assemble another table from the shed, an beaten-up wood one, scratched from years of use, hanging the couple of fairy lights she did manage to find in the trees.

You think there's so much of your life involving Remus, that it's impossible to not feel nostalgic being here after such a long time. After he left for college, you kept a friendly relationship to the Lupins, of course, but it wasn't the same. You'd say hi and make small talk, but you didn't come to their house. You haven't been upstairs since the night he left, you realize.

Just as you're about to get up and head downstairs, you hear steps outside the door. Whatever talk is happening, it's muffled by it, but you do catch something, ear pressed into the wood.

"Mom, it's not like—" Remus' voice comes out.

"I thought you were still friends, Remus." Hope says. She doesn't sound distressed, you think, and it's a good sign, although you've rarely heard her any other way.

You think you hear Remus mumble something, a weak protest maybe, before Hope's voice comes again.

"Just be nice, okay son?" Hope Lupin talks like she doesn't know the boy she has raised. Remus is, by genetics, incapable of being anything but. "Don't want to make them feel unwelcome."

"I wouldn't make it so." Remus says, more so murmurs, like he's hoping the words come out true.

"I know you wouldn't, my boy." Her voice becomes lower, like she has stepped away. You can barely collect yourself before you realize what's happening, the two sets of steps diverging, one away, and one definitely coming closer to you.

A knock comes a second later, you tumble away from the door like you've been burnt by it.

"Are you ready?"

You can feel his hesitation on the other side, just as much as your own. You imagine Hope has convinced him to talk to you, like you were two children in some petty fight and she needed to step up. In a way, you think, she's not far off.

"Uhm, yeah," You say, then a second later, follow it up with a weak "come in."

He does, and you think that he looks a little odd in his old childhood room, like he's grown out of picture. You've seen the room change as Remus grew up, of course, but it never occurred to you he'd look out of place in his own bedroom.

Or maybe it's because of your presence. You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him.

"Are you alright? You were taking a while. Mum thought I was being mean." He says the last part wth a sigh.

"You can't be mean."

A beat of silence passes between you, Remus sitting down on his old bed. "Do you think so?" He asks, patting the spot between him. And despite not having even touched the bed since you set foot on it, you take it.

"I just got distracted." You say, offering him a smile. Your shoulders touch, he says nothing, but doesn't pull away either.

"Alright." He nods, looking around.

"Remus—"

"Dove?" He speaks at the same time. There's something odd with his voice, you decide you like it; sweeter, like warm honey. It makes your insides all funny. Makes his dimples show when he smiles you.

"I-" You bite your tongue, cutting off that train of thought. You've thought this moment over and over in your head, and still, it doesn't seem good enough. You want to say "we're good, right?", you want to ask him to wipe those years away out of his mind, like nothing changed, like you're still his... In some way. It's better than nothing, better than silence. "I'm glad you're here."

"Are you, huh? I thought you were going to hate to see me."

You fiddle with your fingers on your lap. "I've missed you. I wanted to message you, really, all the time, I just..." Never did, you finish the thought in your head. But you don't need to say it; both you and Remus know how empty your inboxes have stayed all these years.

"I thought you would, eventually." Remus says, and you can feel his gaze on you. Burning. "Which is dumb and a lame excuse and I should have done it earlier myself... You deserve better than getting ghosted."

You sigh, a small sign that you don't agree with him. "I thought I had ruined us." You confess, and it comes out like a physical burden off your shoulders. Words you kept close to your chest and unspoken all these years, because it wouldn't make sense to say them to anyone else.

It crept on you like a fear, then it built up in the silence on both ends of the line. It was as much as confirmation as you needed back then.

"I thought the same thing." He speaks after a minute, and it makes you frown. "Because I shouldn't... Dear, I shouldn't have left without saying anything! And I shouldn't have let you run off that day..." He continues, and then his next words make you want to pinch yourself just to confirm you're not dreaming. "I shouldn't have thought about finding you after all these years, because I couldn't get your lips out of my head, just to cower at the last minute."

You raise your brow, the information is new to you. You try to push past the thought in your head, the echo of his words persistent. He couldn't stop to think about you lips.

"You're not a coward, Remus." You say, swallowing thick at the lump on your throat.

"I am. I had to be forcedly shoved off that bloody car, you know? Because we stopped on the market, and I saw your car, and the gods know, I wanted to turn back around." He says, chuckling in a mix of exasperation and amusement, you can't tell which. "I've thought of nothing if not you all these years, dove. I was setting things up in my dorm and you were there, I was walking to class and you were there, Sirius dragged me to parties and you were still in my head! I drove all of these streets, all the way here, bloody nine hours, and there wasn't a minute the thought of meeting you again left my head."

You feel like all the air on Earth has suddenly vanished, a breath caught on your chest at his words, at the way he looks at you. Like he means every and each of them, in earnest. Tears well up your eyes without meaning too.

"So I am a coward, because I've waited all this time just to tell you this..." He finishes, his hand finding yours on your lap, fingers slotting between yours perfectly. Like they're meant to be. "Tell me it's not too late. Tell me I haven't lost you, please."

And who are you, who is your foolish heart, to not fulfill his request?

"You haven't lost me, Remus. You couldn't if you tried to." You say, squeezing his hand between your own. You mean every word too. Because he, or fate, or time, or even you, have tried to.

But for the better or the worse, you always find your way back to him.

"Give me one more chance?" He asks, cupping your jaw so delicately you're worried you're going to crumble. You doubt you look half as put together now as you did downstairs.

"You're undoing to me, Remus Lupin." You say, laughing as you feel the first tear slip down your face. "Of course, you have another chance. You're my best friend."

Remus looks utterly relieved to hear so, as if you've just pulled an arrow out of his chest. "You're mine too." He whispers, letting out the softest exhale as he brings you closer, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. He looks like he might shatter. "May I, please? I know should've years ago... But I won't miss another shot."

You feel your breath hitches. He's electric, warm, his skin pressed against yours like a galaxy exploding under your skin. Like he's setting you on fire from the inside out. Lighting your entire body up with just one touch. You nod, feeling like your mind wouldn't create a coherent string of words with your life on the line now.

Remus presses his lips to yours like he's afraid you're going to disappear at any instant. Sweet and tender at first, but then, it's desperate and passionate, and you're pretty sure he either curses or calls for god on your lips. Prayer or not, you swallow the words as if you're trying to make sure no one else, divine creator or not, hears.

He's sure nobody else needs to, he's more than capable of finding his own way to paradise, one kiss at a time.