#and ESPECIALLY stop commenting that you do

[navybrat817]

Good as New

Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your neighbor helps with a small repair, and you'd like to repay him.

Word Count: Almost 4k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, bits of insecurity, smut mention, Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)

A/N: More of our trailer park!Bucky! I hope you like it!❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The light had barely broken through your window when you decided you should work on the outside of your trailer. As much as you wanted to sleep in, your new chapter wouldn't continue if you didn't put forth the effort. Getting out of bed and distracting yourself would hopefully help forget about your dream of your bold and handsome neighbor. You didn’t want to think about it. You wouldn’t think about it.

But the wetness between your thighs served as a stark reminder that you dreamed of Bucky and his cocky smirk. How he said in a low voice that he was going to have you and that you’d enjoy every second of it. How he stripped you down and wrecked you with his mouth and cock, muttering filthy praise that still had heat flowing in your veins. You felt the burn between your thighs, which you didn’t think was possible in a dream. What was worse was that he held you after, whispering how well you took him and how lucky he was to have you. The tenderness was enough to break you from your slumber and make your eyes burn with unshed tears.

It was silly to get worked up in any capacity. The dream was just that… a dream. It was a fantasy, an illusion. There was no reason to cling to it, especially when it was too much and too soon.

“Don’t think about him. Just get up,” you mumbled.

You didn't jump out of bed, but you didn't drag yourself out either and that was already an improvement to your recent past. Waking up and facing the day should never feel like a burden. You shouldn't feel like a burden. 

“I’m strong and capable.”

You went through a checklist in your mind as you showered and dressed for the day. You needed to fix the door, fill out applications, bake for the potluck, and unpack more. After the furniture was delivered, you had spent the rest of the previous day emptying some of the boxes. You stilled at times as you went through your past and memories, like something you had witnessed instead of being a part of. It was the life you lived, but it wasn't meant to be yours. You didn't cry, even when your chest tightened to the point that you felt something crack. 

And for a second, you thought you spotted a pair of blue eyes watching you from across your trailer before you went to sleep.

“What am I doing?” you whispered when you walked out the screen door that was still hanging on its hinges. 

After going through your toolbox, you managed to get the door off completely without hurting yourself in the process. But once you set the door down and listened to the instruction video you found online, your cheeks burned with shame when you couldn’t get the screen quite right. You stopped and started the video again. The tips didn't make any sense to you and your heart sank as you stared at the door. You prided yourself on being a smart and capable woman just like you told yourself earlier, but you couldn't begin to fix a simple screen. You could almost hear your ex laughing in your mind. 

“You're pathetic.”

You silenced his voice. It wasn't fair to beat yourself up over it. While it was never too late to learn something new, you had to give yourself grace and remind yourself that you wouldn't be an expert overnight. Not to mention, the skills you learned growing up were different, but it didn't mean you were hopeless or less of a person because of it. You wouldn't let previous influences in your life make you feel bad about yourself. 

You heard the footsteps before you turned your head, your heart picking up at the sight of Bucky. He was in an outfit similar to the one he wore the day before, except this time he had a denim vest on. You wanted to be angry at him for being so enticing, but that wasn’t his fault… or was it? And how were you supposed to stop thinking about him when he was right there?

The signature smirk was on his face when he said, “Morning, Sweet Cheeks.”

You snorted and pushed yourself up, wiping your knees off in the process. That nickname wasn't going away. “Good morning,” you said. 

“It is a good morning since I’m seeing your beautiful face,” he said with the utmost sincerity. 

You mentally scolded your heart for the funny flip it did. “Do you ever stop?”

“I would if you asked me to,” he answered just as sincerely. 

You remembered how he backed off when you mentioned harassment and that brought you comfort. “Good to know.”

He looked relieved in a soft sort of way and you wondered if he had thought about you after you parted ways. “Did you have a good night?”

“Uneventful, which is good,” you replied. You slept much easier than you anticipated considering it was brand new and unfamiliar. You were not going to tell him you had a wet dream about him. Nope. But had he dreamed about you? “How was your night?”

“Same. Uneventful.” That mischievous look said something was up. It wasn't like he had visitors that you knew of. Not that you were looking or paying any attention to that. “Except for the dream I had about you.”

You bit your lip without meaning to. “You dreamed about me?”

You dared to look him in the eye when he moved closer. He looked like he was ready to eat you alive. “Happy to give you the vivid details if you’d like.”

Your breath hitched, but you maintained some sense of control. “Not until after I’ve had my caffeine,” you teased. You mentally kicked your own ass. Why not let him tell you?

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. It wasn’t fair how easily his laugh made you smile. “Oh. And I told my sister and my best friend about you.”

That made you pause. “You did what?” you asked. He told a family member and a friend about you? 

“Said I met my future wife and that you have Alpine’s approval.” He winked and you glanced away to hide your smile. 

“You're ridiculous,” you said with no heat behind it. He probably told them that a new neighbor moved in and nothing more. Maybe he mentioned that he flirted, but the future wife comment? Wait, weren't his parting words to you that you might be his future wife?

Bucky was trouble with a capital T. 

“And you just glared at that door like it stole something from you.”

You were thankful for the subject change. “It did kind of steal something.”

He tilted his head. “What did it steal?”

“My pride,” you half teased. “And by stealing my pride, I mean… I don’t know how to fix the screen. I don’t… even know where to start.” Your fingers wrung together before you put your hands before your back. “I tried watching a video, but it didn’t help me.”

Admitting that this was a shortcoming was somehow a relief as painful as it was. That didn’t make sense since you felt so embarrassed by the thought before he walked over. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve folded in on yourself. Why didn’t you with Bucky?

Maybe it was because there was no judgement in his blue eyes. There was almost an understanding, the kind that had you choking up for no good reason. “I can help,” he offered, like it was no big deal. “I don’t mind.”

You had to turn your head away and will away the burn from your eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that,” you softly said. It wasn’t easy to ask for or accept help when you wanted to stand on your own two feet. Accepting a helping hand wasn’t a weakness though, and having help didn’t mean you couldn’t maintain the sense of independence. 

“You didn’t ask, and you don’t have to since I offered.” He shrugged and offered you a smile. “Told you I’m good with my tools.”

He had said that in a very sexual sort of way. “I’d really appreciate it if you could, but if you're busy…” He was already jogging away, leaving you there to stare after him. He didn’t leave you hanging for long, his toolbox in hand as he came back.  You didn’t question why he was using his own instead of yours. “Wow, you’re really going to fix it?”

“You sound surprised,” he said, setting the toolbox down close to you and allowing you to pick up the scent of his soap. It was a scent you wouldn’t mind having on your skin. “It’s what good neighbors do.”

You crossed your arms as he crouched down to go through his tools. “You do this for all the neighbors?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. 

A smile tugged at your lips. While part of you wanted to feel special that he was helping you, you respected that he did this for everyone. “I feel bad. I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself,” you said. No one with the exception of Bucky had stopped by to say hi either. You wouldn’t take that to heart.

“They’re letting you get settled before the potluck,” he said. Did he somehow spread the word to give you some peace until then? “But they’re anxious to meet you.”

That had your stomach turning with excitement and nerves. “I am, too.” You hoped you made a good impression. “Do you mind showing me and explaining what you’re doing?” you asked, your smile widened when he looked up at you. He looked good from this angle, and you wouldn’t think of him kissing up your legs. “Just in case I ever have to fix another screen.”

He pointed at you with a screwdriver. “You mean so you don’t have to rely on anyone,” he guessed. Once again there was no snark or humor, just that quiet understanding that made you want to know more about him.

“You got me there.” It was difficult to depend on people when you were made to feel invisible. “But before you get started, do you want some coffee?” It was the least you could do since he offered to help.

It was his turn to look surprised. “I wouldn't mind, please and thanks.”

“Cream and sugar?”

He smirked and you awaited whatever dirty comment was about to leave his wonderful lips. “I’ve got plenty of cream, but you can provide the sugar.”

You burst out laughing and stepped back. “Yep. You're ridiculous.”

“Maybe just a little. If you're offering though, I would like some cream with that sugar,” he said. 

“You got it.” You paused and winded. “I’d invite you in, but it isn't ready yet,” you said apologetically. It was going to be a warm and cozy place. You had already begun to leave little touches around, like vases and knickknacks, but it was far from visitor friendly. 

It didn’t phase him since he had a smile on his face, likely sensing he’d be in your home sooner rather than later. “Your home, your rules.”

“So you won't come inside without permission?” Your face felt like it was set ablaze the second the words left your mouth and Bucky looked all too pleased. “Not. A. Word.”

He threw his hands up with laughter in his eyes. “Aww, c’mon, Sweet Cheeks. That was the perfect setup!”

“Not a word!”

“I won't come inside without your permission…” He smirked again and your knees went weak. “And you’ll beg for it.”

“Bucky!” You could hear his laughter when you rushed inside and you started giggling, too. When was the last time you laughed like this so early in the morning?

You sobered up quickly when you began to make the coffee. Bucky was being a kind neighbor and helping you fix the screen door, nothing more. Even if he was flirting and looking at you like you were the reason that the sun rose today. You needed to focus on your to-do list and he wasn’t on that list.

Not yet at least.

Bucky grinned the second you walked back outside. “Just made my morning all over again by seeing your beautiful face.”

You snorted so you wouldn’t swoon. “My face isn’t worth getting that excited about, but caffeine is worth it.”

He took the mug with a frown. “You think your face isn’t worth it? Tell that to my racing heart,” he said, gently blowing on the drink. The man was smooth like butter. The pleased groan he let out when he took a sip sounded smooth, too, and had you heating up. “Fuck, this might be the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Liar,” you smiled, not-so-secretly pleased that he liked it.

“I’d never lie to you. Anything I ever tell you will be the truth,” he said so seriously that your breath caught in your throat. You lived your whole life around fake smiles and people prepared to stab anyone and everyone in the back. Was Bucky the type to stab while looking someone in the eye and making them face the ugly truth? “What’s the pen and paper for?” he asked, nodding to where the pad was tucked under your arm.

“Oh. For the instructions for the screen. I like to write things down,” you replied, gripping the pen a little tighter. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to poke fun at you. 

“Gimme.” He gently pried them from you and jotted something down on the sheet, your fingers tingling from where they touched. There was a soft smile on his face when he handed the pad back. 

“‘How to fix a screen. Step one… Ask Bucky. Step two…’ Wait. Is this your phone number?” You giggled when he wiggled his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And I’m going to watch as you put my number into your phone before I leave,” he said, smugly taking another sip of the coffee. 

You stared at the sheet to avoid his watchful eyes. “So, the neighbors all have your phone number, too, to help with repairs?”

“Everyone knows they can reach out to me for help, but I’m giving you my number because I want you to have my number.”

You lifted your gaze to see him scratch the back of his head. Was he worried you wouldn’t want it? It was sweet. “Tell me how to fix the screen and I’ll put your number in my phone.”

You held your breath when he leaned close to your ear. “Say ‘please, Bucky’,” he whispered.

Your brain nearly short circuited and you shivered when you felt his warm breath against your skin. He was driving you crazy. “Please, Bucky,” you whispered. 

“‘Atta girl,” he whispered, quickly pulling away and giving you a chance to exhale. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

Watching Bucky work was admittedly a joy. The ways his brows pinched when he concentrated was adorable and he couldn’t seem to keep his tongue in his mouth. He didn’t roll his eyes or seem at all agitated when you asked questions and he paused every so often to drink his coffee, which gave you a chance to look at him between taking your notes. What you really appreciated was that he took the time to explain what he was doing and why in a way that was easy to understand without making you feel dumb. It was nice.

“Wow. It looks amazing,” you said once he was done. You could cross it off your list. “It looks as good as new.”

You thought his cheeks turned pink for a second when he picked up the door to put it back where it belonged. “Just about.”

“Thank you so much,” you said above a whisper. “Not just for fixing this, but for not making me feel bad about it.”

It would’ve been easy to shove it in your face that you didn’t know what you were doing, but Bucky didn't seem like that kind of man. Flirty, bold, but not cruel or discouraging. He wasn’t the type of person who would demand perfection from you. It comforted you like a warm blanket. 

“Nothing to feel bad about,” he said, tenderly smiling. “I’m glad you accepted my help.”

Something soft passed between you before he put the door back on. He carefully tested it and while you didn’t feel any sense of pride since you didn’t fix it yourself, you were happy. That was a start.

“How much do I owe you?” you asked. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and you realized how quickly you made a mistake by asking. “Not paying me, Sweet Cheeks. I said it’s what good neighbors do.”

“I need to do something,” you said, holding up a hand when he tried to argue. “And don’t say giving you a coffee counts. It took you a lot more work to fix my door than it did to make your coffee.”

He brushed his hands off with a huff once he put his tools away. “You don’t ‘need’ to do anything. I’m not an obligation.”

“That’s…” Guilt filled you and you didn’t want him to think you were trying to do something because you had to. “Bucky, I’m not offering anything out of obligation. I want to, okay?”

A heartbeat passed and a smile slowly crossed his face. “Oh, yeah? Have a drink with me.” He waited for another beat. “Tonight.”

You took a breath, only somewhat surprised by what he wanted. That sounded dangerously like a date. It wasn’t. It was just a drink with your neighbor. Your very hot, sexy, flirty neighbor.

“A drink?” 

“A drink. Maybe two.” He shrugged, but his stance was anything but nonchalant. “Whatever you want.”

You considered it and slowly nodded. “Okay.” It wouldn’t hurt to hang out, especially with how happy he looked that you accepted. “Where do you want to go? Is there a bar around here?”

“Yeah, but it’s a total dive and everyone will hit on you. We can stay here.”

That had you laughing, but he wasn’t. “No one will hit on me,” you said. Whenever you went out with your ex and friends no one paid attention to you. Minus Bucky, you were invisible to people.

“Yeah, they will. Remember how I reacted when I saw you? It’ll be like that, but worse.” He looked you up and down. “Trust me. I’m a gentleman compared to them.”

You laughed harder. You couldn’t imagine anyone hitting on you the way Bucky did. “Fine, fine. We’ll stay here,” you agreed. 

You were already thinking about what you were going to wear. Would perfume and makeup be too much? Yes, it would. It wasn’t a date, so there was no need to dress up. A casual drink meant casual wear.

“And we won’t have to yell over music to talk to each other.”

“Good point,” you said, tilting your head. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because you still need to put my number in your phone.”

You playfully shook your head and grabbed your phone, but didn’t program it in just yet. “Say ‘please, Sweet Cheeks’,” you said, giving him the same order he gave you earlier. It didn’t sound anywhere near as sexy coming from you, but he seemed to like it since his eyes went dark. And you didn’t back up when he invaded your space, holding your gaze. 

“Please, Sweet Cheeks,” he whispered, wrapping a calloused hand around yours. “Please, put my number in your phone and message me before we have that drink tonight.”

You thought back to your dream, how he had his hands and mouth on you, how husky his voice was… You needed to get a grip and fast. “Message you?” you asked breathily. “I have a lot to do today. I have to fill out job applications and-”

“Message me,” he interjected, cupping your other hand. 

“Bake for the potluck,” you continued, your heart racing.

“And message me,” he said again, taking another step forward.

You exhaled. Was he going to kiss you? He wouldn’t. “And unpack some more.”

His forehead touched yours for a brief moment, but he backed away before you could blink. “And message me.”

It was dizzying that this man not only paid attention to you, but seemed to want your attention. Why? What was so special about you?

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” you said, pulling further away so you could breathe without taking in the scent of him. “I’ll send you a message, okay?” 

He put his hands over his chest. 

With a smile, you glanced at the pad and put his number in. “Did you really tell your sister and best friend about me?” you asked. 

“I did.” His smile was gentle and easy. “They’re great. You’ll like them.” Your heart turned over at the fondness in his voice. They were clearly special to him. And if he thought you’d like them he clearly intended for you to meet them. “Do you really not want to rely on people?”

You looked at the door he fixed with a sigh. It was personal, but it didn’t feel like he was being nosy. “The people I should’ve been able to depend on let me down one too many times. I’m trying to be more careful going forward,” you explained, trying to keep your tone emotionless. It was difficult to pretend that you didn’t care because the truth was you cared too much. 

“I get that.” His hand brushed yours again. “I’ve been let down before, too, and it sucks when the person should’ve had your back,” he said. Who did that? Who hurt him? “But we’re both still standing.”

“Yeah, we are,” you said. Bent but not broken.

“And I’m not saying you should depend on me since you don’t know me that well, but I will be an open book for you. No secrets, no bullshit,” he promised. 

You blinked. Your ex fed you poison coated in sugar. Bucky was promising that he wouldn’t and you wanted it to be true, that he would be honest even when it was easier to lie. Because the truth hurt at times, but pain was real and you needed something real. 

“I’ll be an open book, too,” you replied. You were rewriting your story and there was no reason to hide. 

“Good,” he smiled, taking out his phone. “Now, I need to pick a ringtone for you once you message me. Let’s see… Pour Some Sugar on Me… Honkytonk Badonkadonk… Cherry Pie…” 

“Oh, my god,” you groaned, but you smiled. He was ridiculous and wonderful. 

“Milkshake… Fat Bottomed Girls…” He looked up when you gathered up the empty mug, pen and paper, and went back to your door. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I told you, I have things to do,” you answered. 

His pout could make anyone lose their resolve. “You can do me between your other tasks,” he called out. 

You could, but you had to maintain some of your dignity and not fall into his bed right away. He could work for it. “Another time, if you're lucky.”

He groaned a little. “You’re breaking my heart, Sweet Cheeks.”

“You’ll live. Say hi to Alpine for me! I’ll see you tonight for that drink!” You giggled to yourself and stared at his number before you shot off a text. “Hey, Bucky. It’s Sweet Cheeks. Thanks again for your help with the door. Looking forward to that drink. And by the way, I dreamed about you, too.”

You tucked your phone away, refusing to sit and watch for his response. You had work to do, but you were looking forward to tonight. What kind of questions would you two ask each other tonight? What were the stories behind his tattoos? 

And who let him down?

Okay, lovelies. What are they going to discuss over drinks? And who let 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[twiceasbright]

bad friend ┃ clark kent x reader

summary: your best friend asks you to set her up with clark kent, who's your work crush. despite your feelings for him, you agree- for the sake of your friend. but things go awry when you panic and end up accidentally asking him out yourself. now you have to find a way to fix it before things go too far.

pairings: clark kent x reader

tags: fluff, angst with a semi-happy ending, sfw, daily planet shenanigans, it's all a big misunderstanding, gn!reader, no use of y/n

word count: 5.1k

a/n: i saw superman and it instantly changed my brain chemistry. this is the result. please bear with me, this is my first time writing for this fandom. i hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave any thoughts or comments!! xoxo

You’re a bad friend. A very, very bad one.

When your co-worker, work bestie, closest thing you have to a sister, tells you about her crush on Clark, it’s a shock. You’d spent months commenting on him—his sweetness, his looks, his clumsiness. You never went into detail about how deep this little infatuation went, but you were sure it was obvious. Sadie’s been victim to more than a few tangents about ‘how can one man be so perfect?’ Of all people, she knows how you felt.

And yet here she is, telling you about her feelings for the journalist you’d been mooning over for what felt like forever. You know exactly what this means. You know what she’s going to ask long before the words come out of her mouth.

“I know you guys are close, like… friends or whatever,” she tells you, acrylics tapping nervously against her coffee mug. She keeps avoiding your gaze. “I just- well, I wanted to ask if maybe you… you could put in a good word for me. Maybe set us up or something?”

You smile at her, even as your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. It’s not her fault. You’d never made more than fleeting, shallow comments about Clark. There was no way for her to know how actually, desperately much you like him. You have no reason to feel betrayed.

Besides, you love her. You’d do anything and everything for her. Including—God help you—setting her up with the guy you fantasize about falling asleep with every night.

This makes you a good friend. The bad friend part is what happens next.

You approach Clark’s desk with thinly veiled resignation. Not the usual happy, skip-like gait you adopt when you decide it’s time to bother him. Which, much to his sure frustration, happens a lot. Sadie is your twin flame at work, but Clark is… he’s a companion. His desk is right across from yours, and the two of you have become each other’s support systems.

You’d hoped that one day it would turn into more. That feels foolish now. Especially when you’re on your way to pimp him out to your best friend.

“Heyyy buddy…” you greet him—terribly, awkwardly. You lightly punch his shoulder, which makes it a million times worse. You cringe so hard internally that you don’t get a chance to admire how firm his muscles are.

Clark looks up at you, raising an eyebrow as he pushes his glasses up with a finger. He’s just as bewildered by this as you. It doesn’t stop the amused curve of his lips or the way his dimples deepen. Your knees slightly buckle under the power of that smile. God, he’s so crazy beautiful.

“Hey there,” he responds, his voice like heat in your veins. Deep, smooth, calming. You want to strangle him with his stupid (charming) tie. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, waving him away. You sit on the edge of the desk, avoiding the half-full mug of coffee next to you. You cross your legs and clear your throat. “How are you doing?”

“I’m a little worried you’re having a stroke, to be honest.”

That sobers you up a little. You press your lips into a thin line. “Yeah, sorry. That was weird.”

He’s amused, clearly, but there’s a tinge of concern in those beautiful blue eyes. Of course, he’s concerned. Of course, he’s sweet and gentle and compassionate and everything you could ever want. How the hell is this your life?

“What’s going on, jelly?” he asks, and the nickname is a little like a punch to the gut.

It’s a bit from when you first started, a teasing comment from Jimmy or Lois or someone you can’t remember. You took such an instant liking to Clark, the two of you clicked so easily, that it became a joke amongst your friends. You two go together like peanut butter and jelly. Such a silly thing to say, and even sillier that you found it so meaningful. You kept it going, hoping no one realized how important it was to you.

How important he was to you.

Now, just shy of working together for two years, you use the titles more than your actual names. He’s your peanut butter, you’re his jelly. It’s stupid and inconsequential, and you hope he never stops calling you that. No matter what happens.

“Ah, you know me so well,” you joke, and it doesn’t sound the least bit convincing. So you just smile at him and push forward. “I, um… I have something to run by you.”

You can tell his interest is piqued as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The fabric of his sports coat bulges against his biceps, and you’re very much staring. You hope to God that Sadie isn’t watching this right now. Or Lois or Jimmy. Or—you shudder just thinking about it—Cat.

“I’m listening,” he coaxes you to speak. To do what you came over here to do. You suck in a breath and let it out slowly.

“So, what’s your policy on dating co-workers?” you ask, because it’s easier to delay the inevitable. You’re a coward; what can you say? In your personal life, you’ll always avoid the uncomfortable moments.

It’s probably what makes you such an excellent journalist. Because you channel it all into work and don’t leave a single line you’re not willing to cross.

Your question takes him by surprise. His eyebrows shoot up, and you swear the tips of his ears turn the tiniest bit red. Something ugly twists in your stomach. He’s thought about this before. Someone here has captured his interest.

He hums for a moment before responding. An attempt to gather his bearings. “Well, I- I don’t really see a problem with it. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of us both being able to do our jobs, at least. Why do you ask?”

“Here’s the thing,” you exhale, grabbing a paperclip from his desk so you have something to do with your hands. You force yourself to meet his gaze, trying desperately not to get lost in the sea of blue. “Do you… Are you free tonight? Or any time this week?”

“I’m free tonight,” he says almost instantly. That little smile is returning to his lips, matching the glint in his eyes. “Are you asking me on a date, Jelly?”

Your heart stops. Literally stops. And then it starts up again, and it feels like it’s going to jump right out of your chest. You try to speak, to explain, but the words get caught in your throat. Clark’s always been the best at throwing you off your game.

He must take your silence as confirmation, because his smile grows. He leans forward, so close you can smell his cologne. The man always smells so good. It’s intoxicating.

“I accept. I’d love to go out with you,” he murmurs, like he’s afraid others will hear. Knowing how gossipy your co-workers are, it’s probably a smart choice. “I wanted to be the one to ask you, but I… I always got in my head about it.”

You swallow back an onslaught of word vomit threatening to pour out. Is this happening right now? Did you just ask Clark Kent on a date—accidentally—and he accepted? And does he actually look happy about it? Like he wants this? Like he wants you?

Your brain has left the building, so you can only assume your heart is to blame for what you say next. “Then, you’ll just have to ask me on the next one.”

His face lights up. It’s blinding, but you can’t look away. He’s too beautiful. Too encapsulating. He’s the sun and you’re just another lifeform feeding off the energy he gives.

“Deal,” he chuckles, holding out his hand so you can shake it. It’s such a cute gesture, and taking his hand in yours feels like a death sentence. You’ve gotten yourself into such a mess. “Do you just want to go right after work?”

His hand lingers for a moment longer than it needs to. His skin is so soft, so warm, and he’s so large compared to you. It’s the kind of thing that keeps you up at night.

“Yeah. Maybe around 6?”

That adorable curl bobs across his forehead as he nods. “That’s perfect.”

“Alright, then,” you confirm, smiling. Panic rises in you. Guilt and shame and a million other things are tearing at your insides. “I better get back to work. I’ll see you then, Peanut Butter.”

Clark’s grin could solve all the world’s problems. You’re sure of it. “See you then.”

You head back to your desk, fighting the urge to scream or throw something or run away forever. You are a terrible, horrible friend.

By the skin of your teeth, you avoid Sadie for the rest of the day. It helps that she’s caught up in meetings and scrambling to meet deadlines, but you scurry to the bathroom twice when you catch her staring. It’s shameful behavior, you know. You feel awful about it. But what are you supposed to say?

You know the situation is wrong. It’s deceiving in every way. You’re so full of regret that you feel sick. You know very well that the right thing to do is to go tell Clark the truth, ask him about Sadie, and then report back to her. But you can’t!

Maybe it’s fear, or something selfish that lives in you, but you can’t do it. You tell yourself a million times to walk over to him, and you stay glued to your desk every single time. His eyes land on you more than once, but you never let yourself look up. You’re just grateful he hasn’t walked over and tried to start up a conversation. You would probably burst into tears.

You want to go on a date with Clark. You want it more than anything. But you don’t want it like this. You don’t want to hurt and betray your friend to get it. Or for anyone to be deceived. You don’t want to be the person you’re being right this very second.

You decide you’re going to fix it. Tonight, when Clark comes to you at 6, you’ll tell him the truth. You’ll break your own heart, probably lose his friendship, and then you’ll go home. And tomorrow, after a night of some well-deserved wallowing, you’ll tell Sadie.

She’ll probably be mad. You just hope that the damage isn’t irreparable.

You make it to the end of your shift without vomiting or tendering your resignation, a feat in and of itself. You even got a draft finished, though there were sure to be mistakes to work on tomorrow. You’d gotten so focused that the last few hours just faded away. As far as anyone at the Planet was concerned, you were dead to the world.

You didn’t notice when Sadie left at 5, sending you a questioning glance. You didn’t look up at 5:30 when Steve knocked over the entire coffee station and everyone shouted in outrage. Hell, you didn’t even make a move when Clark snuck out at 5:45, going God knows where. You were completely captivated.

Now, with the clock showing 5:57, you pull yourself away and gather your things. There’s still a stab of guilt between your ribs, but most of it has fizzled into numb resignation. You know what you have to do. You know what you’re going to lose. There’s no stopping it.

Turning your desk lamp off, you hear footsteps and turn around. It’s Clark, of course, with his hands behind his back and a bashful smile on his face. Not even that sweet expression is enough to pull you from your misery. Not when you know you’ll probably never see it directed at you again.

“Hey,” he greets you, sounding a little breathless. “Sorry I disappeared for a minute. I had an errand to run.”

“An errand?” You ask, because you can’t help it. What kind of errands does Clark Kent run? Where’s his favorite place to shop? What are the staple items on his grocery list? It’s an affliction, really, wanting to know everything about him.

He moves his arm back in front of him, revealing the bouquet clutched in his fist. It’s gorgeous—all bright colors and big blooms. They’re the nicest flowers you’ve ever seen, and Clark is offering them to you with a soft smile. You might cry.

“You got me flowers?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re taken aback by the kind gesture and the wrongness of this situation. It’s a wonder Clark hears you, but he does. He always does.

He shrugs a shoulder, as if it’s no big deal. As if he’s not your dream man in flesh and blood. “This didn’t start how I wanted, with you asking me out and all, so I just thought… I still wanted to make it special.”

No one’s ever gotten you flowers before. No one’s cared like this. You don’t deserve it; you want it desperately. But you can’t let yourself have it.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmur, and they are. You’d keep them alive forever if you could. “But…”

His eyebrows raise, like he knows what you’re going to say. “Don’t worry, I got a vase too,” he explains, hurrying to his desk. He picks up the glass container and brings it over. “I thought you could just keep them on your desk for the time being.”

Your hero, always thinking of everything and coming to your rescue. Superman has nothing on Clark Kent.

You stay quiet as he fills the vase with water and puts the flowers in. He even sets it down on your desk, tucked in the corner, and it looks perfect. It immediately brightens up the space. You didn’t realize how dreary everything was until there’s something pretty to look at.

“It looks so nice there. Like a little… ball of sunshine,” you laugh weakly. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are already on you. They’re warm, adoring—as if you’re something worth looking at. “Thank you, Clark.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he waves you off, getting bashful again. He rubs at the back of his neck. “If you’re gonna go on a date with me, I should at least try to make it worth your time.”

Another pang of regret hits your gut. You inhale sharply. “About that-”

“I was thinking we could go to that place down the street, the Italian place? I’ve heard great things,” he explains, nipping your confession in the bud. He’s excited. It breaks your heart. “I’m definitely ready to eat.”

You press your lips together. You’re quite hungry yourself, if you’re being honest. This night’s already going to suck. Might as well get some food out of it. Besides, it’ll make you feel better if you buy him dinner.

“Well, I’m convinced. Lead the way.”

He smiles, offers you his arm, and does just that.

Clark makes conversation the entire block-and-a-half walk to the restaurant. He talks about work, the article on Superman he’s writing, and his plans for the upcoming weekend. You respond where you can. But your mind’s far away. Dreading what you have to do.

“Are you okay, Jelly?” He asks when you’re stopped at a crosswalk. He’s watching you with worry, brows furrowed and lips pursed. “You seem off.”

It’s no surprise that he noticed. The man has a sixth sense for knowing when things are wrong. And as much as you hate it at this moment, it’s always been another thing you admired about him. He’s got such a big heart—all creatures, big or small, are worth saving. You’re honored to be someone he cares about.

“Just… got some things on my mind,” you say with a shake of your head. A flimsy excuse, but you hope it’ll do for now. You’re not willing to spill everything on a crowded sidewalk. “I’ll tell you about it at dinner.”

He’s not pleased with your answer, but he respects it regardless. The light changes, and Clark presses a hand to your lower back as you cross the street. The touch is warm, electric. It sends a shiver down your spine. Everything about him has always—will always—fill you with life.

This is so much more than a work-crush. So much more than some fleeting infatuation. You don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to do this.

You arrive at your destination a few minutes later. Clark gets the two of you a table on the patio and pulls your chair out for you when you sit down. Then he’s across from you. Smiling at the server who brings you water, asking if you want to order wine, commenting on how good everything sounds. The sun sets behind him, illuminating the man in golden light.

He’s beautiful. You think you’re gonna be sick.

“Lois told me they have a really good penne rosa here,” he muses, not looking up from the menu. “She’s the one who recommended this place, actually. I thought we could trust her taste.”

You look down at your own menu, barely paying attention to all the entrees listed. “She’s definitely the safest choice.”

Something in your tone captures his attention. He glances at you, eyes slightly narrowing. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on yet?”

You huff out an undignified exasperated breath. “You’re infuriatingly observant, you know that? Like, weirdly in tune with my emotions.”

Despite your frustration, he quirks a half-smile. “I just know you well. And I’m here to help. Especially when we’re on our first date and you’re obviously miserable.”

A groan slips past your lips. You run a hand over your forehead, up and through your hair. “No, no, that’s not- listen.”

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps desperation, you reach over and place your hand on his. He starts a bit, but doesn’t pull away. Warmth blossoms in your chest. God, you wish this were simpler.

“I’m so happy that you want to go out with me. Seriously. It’s something- kind of embarrassing, but I’ve wanted this for a long time. It’s just… there’s more to the story than you know, Clark.”

He’s happy about your admission, blessedly, but it doesn’t wipe the concern from his face. He puts his other hand over yours, encasing you fully. “Then tell me the rest.”

You close your eyes for a moment. This is it. There’s no more delaying, no beating around the bush. You have to come clean. For the sake of your friend, for yourself, and because Clark deserves the truth.

“Okay, but I… I just wish I could have you promise you won’t hate me after.”

Those gorgeous blue eyes soften, turning your knees to jelly. His thumb rubs circles into your hand. “I could never hate you.”

Part of you believes him. But another part—the journalist, the realist—can’t take stock in his words. Clark is the closest thing to perfect you’ve ever seen. But that doesn’t mean he actually is perfect. No one’s perfect, not even this man you care so much about.

You fill your lungs with air until they ache, and then you open your mouth to let the truth spill out.

Clark glances towards the Metropolis skyline, brows twitching, as if he heard something. He blinks and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Glances at the screen to check for a message. You didn’t even hear it go off, not even a muted buzz. But when he looks up at you, expression a storm cloud of regret, you know what’s coming.

“I’m sorry, but there’s- a family-friend is having an emergency. I have to go,” he explains, pushing himself to his feet. He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a $100 bill, and drops it on the table. “I’m so sorry. I promise I will make this up to you. Please get some food, whatever you want, on me.”

You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to that. So you stay silent, just watching as he hurries to escape. You think your heart might be shriveling in your chest a little.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We’ll reschedule. I’m really so sorry, Jelly,” he says, and you know he means it. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this upset. Not that it makes you feel better.

Clark turns to leave, pauses, and looks back at you. He deliberates, and then he’s leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. With one more rushed I’m sorry, he disappears from sight. And you’re left alone. At an Italian restaurant, on the patio, across from an empty seat.

You glance down at the money he left. The most expensive thing on the menu is $20.

A mix between a laugh and a gasp leaves your throat. You lay your head on the table with a muffled thunk. You ponder the science needed to make a do-over machine. More than anything, you wonder how you’re gonna force yourself to go to work tomorrow.

You end up eating dinner at the restaurant. Not because you want to, but because your emotions are a mess and you think getting something in your stomach will help. You pay ‌the bill with your own money, and slip Clark’s $100 into your pocket. You’ll give it back to him tomorrow. Alongside whatever confession you can muster.

The 20-minute walk to your apartment building is the perfect opportunity to clear your head, which is exactly what you don’t do. You spiral and second-guess and fall deeper and deeper into despair. Sadie hates you. Clark doesn’t like you like that. You weirded him out. You lost your two best friends.

Obviously, you’re doing very well.

Superman is fighting some sort of alien monster on the other side of town. It’s your one and only saving grace that both your home and your work are outside the battle boundaries. A damaged apartment would surely send you over the edge right now. You still remember when your car got stomped on last year. You still haven’t bought a new one—you don’t want to risk it.

Besides, you don’t mind walking.

The apartment door sticks a little when you try to open it, so you hit it with your shoulder until it budges. You really need to get that looked at. Whenever you miraculously find the time. Or if you can talk your shady landlord into doing it. Considering it’s been three months and your sink still leaks, you find that doubtful.

You hang your bag up by the door, kick off your shoes, and fall face-first onto your couch. Briefly, you consider cracking open the liquor cabinet, but you think better of it. Nothing in there is going to help you right now. What you really need is a long shower, a cheesy 90-minute movie, and an early bedtime. Maybe a treat for good measure.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket. A big part of you wants to ignore it. It could be Clark calling to apologize again. Or Sadie trying to figure out what happened. But it could also be Perry, or one of your sources, or Jimmy needing your help to escape a bad date.

Stifling a groan, you fish it out and glance at the screen. Your stomach drops. It’s Sadie.

One thing you’ve learned about your best friend over the course of your friendship is that she’s persistent. If you don’t answer this, she will call again. And again and again and again. If that doesn’t work, she might even show up at your door. There’s no avoiding her for very long.

Pretending like you don’t feel extremely ill, you accept the call and hold the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re done with your date, and you didn’t answer your phone in the middle of dinner.”

You sit up so fast that it makes you dizzy. “What?”

“Your date. With Clark. Are you done already?”

The air has been sucked out of your lungs. You clutch your phone so tight you fear it might snap. “I don’t- I need you to explain what’s happening right now.”

When she answers, humor seeps into her voice. “Honey, I asked you to set me up with Kent so you could get with him.”

Every ounce of intelligence you had has flown out the window. It’s like she’s speaking in an unfamiliar language, and you’re only picking up bits and pieces. “Huh?”

“Well, at first I thought my asking you would just get you to confess your feelings about him. But it didn’t, because you’re a sweetheart with no self-preservation. So then came Plan B,” she explains, voice crackling over the call. You wonder if Superman’s fight is affecting the phone lines. “I knew if you tried to set him up with me, he’d have to tell you he didn’t feel that way. And then maybe it could spark a confession between the two of you. That didn’t happen either.”

You’re gaping at the wall in front of you. You cannot believe what you’re hearing right now.

“At the very least, if he ended up accepting the date with me out of politeness or whatever, I could bail. Send you in my stead like the evil genius I am and get your relationship moving,” Sadie continues, oblivious to the crisis you’re having. “But you, you beautiful human, you handled it all on your own. You messed it up so badly that you ended up asking him out yourself. You did my job for me.”

“How… how do you know about that?” You ask, finding your voice after a few long seconds. What kind of maniacal plan is this?

“Lois sits right behind him, sweetie. She heard the whole thing.”

Great. Lois is in on it, too. You’re sure she’s not the only one. A headache is forming behind your eyes, and you rub ‌your temples. This is so ridiculous.

“You- what- why would you do this?”

“Because I was sick of watching you two pine over each other for no good reason!” She exclaims, though there’s no malice behind it. “You want each other, and you should be together, and I knew you just needed a push.”

She’s right. You never in a million years would have approached him of your own volition. He’s so out of your league, you didn’t think it possible for him to reciprocate. Still, this entire scheme feels like way too much effort. Not to mention how terribly you screwed it up.

“Jesus Christ, Sadie, why didn’t you just tell me that?” You groan. “Do you know how awful I felt all day, thinking I betrayed your trust? I’ve been sick to my stomach!”

She laughs. She literally, fully laughs at you. You scowl. Even though she can’t see it, it makes you feel better.

“Well, I would’ve if you’d talked to me! You spent the rest of the day avoiding me like the plague.”

She got you there. You had a skill in running from your problems. “This is so ridiculous. I hate you so much.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she giggles. You both know you don’t mean it. Hell, you’re smiling right now. “So how did the date go?”

The relief you felt at Sadie’s explanation evaporates instantly. Despite having the misunderstanding cleared up, the failed-accidental-first-date still weighs heavily on you. He’d left so suddenly. With some half-assed excuse about an emergency you don’t even think is real. It’s quite possible he just wanted a quick escape.

“It… didn’t.”

“What? What do you mean, ‘it didn’t’?”

You sigh, curling up against the couch cushions. “We’d just sat down, and I was about to tell him about the whole mixup when he just- he left.”

“He left?!” she shrieks, and you have to pull the phone away from your ear. She’s obviously invested in this whole thing.

“Yeah. He pulled out his phone like he got a message- which I’m quite sure he didn’t- and then he said he had to go. Something about a family emergency. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“What the hell? That’s so unlike him. What do you think happened?”

“Not sure,” you shake your head even though she can’t see you. “I’m worried I may have scared him off. I was acting pretty strange when I thought I was betraying you.”

“Very sweet, but unnecessary. I was never betrayed,” she comments unhelpfully. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like the type to scare easily. Especially with you. He likes you so much.”

You can’t stop the blush that spreads across your cheeks. Clark liking you so much? It’s a crazy sentiment. Damn near improbable. To even imagine it…

“Well, whatever it was, he left in a hurry. After giving me a hundred dollars to get myself dinner. Which I didn’t use.”

“Ugh, he’s such a gentleman. I love it,” she gushes. You agree, though you don’t feel the need to say it. She knows how you feel. “You should talk to him about it tomorrow. Try to figure out what happened, and how to move forward.”

“Yeah, I was already planning on it. He said we’d reschedule.”

“Oh, perfect, he still likes you then! Not that that was ever in doubt, but still.”

You roll your eyes. “I guess so. I just- God, I can’t believe the day I’ve had.”

Even though you can’t see her, you can picture the apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would ice me out all day. I was going to tell you.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s okay. It’s not your fault,” you assure her. “I put myself in that situation. And now that it’s over, I am so tired.”

“Alright, you should head to bed then. I won’t keep you any longer. I just wanted to, you know, debrief.” 

“I appreciate that. I worked myself into quite the frenzy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she laughs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And we’ll figure out this whole Clark thing.”

“Sounds good,” you smile into the phone. “See you tomorrow, evil genius.”

“Good night, lovebug.”

The call clicks to an end, and you drop the phone in your lap. Letting out a breath, you rub at your tired eyes. Jesus, what a crazy series of events.

Something tells you tomorrow is gonna have just as much in store.

[katherynefromphilly]

Another reason to ignore negative comments (especially on AO3)

So at work I’ve been forced to learn about “AI Agentic Workflows”. But being an AO3 author, I couldn’t help but think of how this technology affects authors on AO3 (and honestly on other social media platforms too).

What I learned was this: Agentic AI workflow software makes it extremely easy to automate, and bulk-post, HIGHLY-STORY-SPECIFIC negative comments to AO3 fics.

If you’re not familiar with what an AI Agentic Workflow is, I highly recommend informing yourself. You’ll be hearing it a LOT very soon. Basically, it’s a linked linked chain of AI prompts on one/many software platforms. Each “agent” completes a task. Then it hands off the completed task to the next AI Agent in the chain, which builds on it. Then that result is handed off to another agent, etc etc, even potentially to a final agent which analyzes what worked well and what didn’t, and changes what the other agents do.

There are a ton of repercussions here.

But let’s stay focused on AO3.

With AI Agentic workflow software, a person/group who wants to silence the voice of a community can easily scrape a tag, analyze stories by the thousands, then post thousands of highly customized, story specific negative comments, all without a human being ever seeing your words.

They could even set up AI agents watching to see if you delete your story, or delete your profile, which would be a marker of success. That success marker could be shared back to the other AI agents, and the whole workflow could be changed via automation to use that more effective approach.

I’m sure the OTF is working on ways of stopping this. I’m sure most social media companies are too.

But as usual the tools to create havoc are ahead of the ones to prevent havoc.

Anyway.

TL;DR: If you get a highly-story-specific negative AO3 comment — it does NOT MEAN it was written by a HUMAN! You were probably just story 20,031 in a scraped database of 50,000 stories, all of which were being targeted because they belong to a group/topic/tag that some shitty group or agency wanted to silence because of their horrible political or social.

Don’t let them silence you. They never looked at your words to begin with.

[lianmendes]

⋆˙⟡ clark kent/superman fic recs ⋆˙⟡

welcome to my directory of all the clark kent stories I love! all writing credit belongs to each individual writer, and if you resonate with any story, make sure to show that author some love by commenting, reblogging, or both! reader discretion is advised, so be sure to check the warnings.

ʚɞ krypto, take me home - @buckysfaveplum

when Clark can't make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you

ʚɞ eyes like pretty lights - @fawnindawn

surprising clark with a visit at the daily planet, it sparks memories of the past and how some things never change, especially clark's eyes that still shine like pretty lights only for you. seeing your best friend again in metropolis, it might be harder to leave... especially when he doesn't want you to.

ʚɞ makes paintings with his tongue! - @sceletaflores

you and clark have a conversation about superman...

ʚɞ just hold me - @plaidcowboy

a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.

ʚɞ no strings attached...unless? - @kryptoclark

what was supposed to be a simple no-strings hookup between best friends turns complicated when feelings inevitably get involved. huh. who would've thought?

ʚɞ nsfw clark kent headcanons - @lacelottie

ʚɞ whipped clark headcanons - @squipa

ʚɞ fortress - @charmedntruer

tasked to take clark to the safest possible place he can recover from the pocket universe, you come to a few new revelations of your own upon seeing where clark was raised in the countryside.

ʚɞ kiss me - @sunshine-lux

it's obvious to everyone at the daily planet that y/n and clark have an unspoken thing going on. one late night at the office might just be what they need to stop dancing around it.

ʚɞ messy makeout sess - @vemathie

thinking deeply and heavily about clark being all desperate and messy when you're just making out...

ʚɞ super-headaches at the daily planet - @luveline

Something about Clark makes your head hurt. (And something about Superman is strangely familiar.)

ʚɞ my hero pt 2- @jungkooklover777

an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

ʚɞ unfold your love - @junleb

jimmy olsen and the mystery of two idiots who are definitely not in love

ʚɞ everyone adores you (at least i do) - @rosesaints

you work at a coffee shop on the ground floor of the daily planet...enter clark kent. mister medium-drip-extra-room-sincere-eyebrows.

ʚɞ night's so blue - @junleb

it's rare for two reporters to be assigned to the same movie. how convenient that you already have a good relationship with clark. or, this is too good to be true. it isn't a set-up, right?

[kxsagi]

hi!!! hope you're doing well today

i was rereading horimiya for the millionth time, when i was inspired by hori being jealous of tooru and especially shindo (never any of the girls lol) for their relationships with miyamura and the way he'll yell at them or hit them

i was hoping to request something similar, where the reader is jealous of bllk boys' male friend/rival (preferably isagi for the allsagi of it all (i just find it so funny lol, but def not necessary)) because they bring out a side in them that never shows up when they're with the reader, but if asked if she ever feels threatened by other girls, she's like 'no, obvi i'm ur type for girls, but u spend so much time in physical contact with hot, sweaty, well-built men, idk y u wouldn't swing that way as well'

uh, kaiser, sae, rin, nagi, and anyone else you wanna do (honestly, if i didn't think that was overboard, i'd list like half the cast because i love ur writing sm lol)

ummm, but like if this is too much feel free to ignore this, i love reading whatever u write either way

take care

ps. sorry, this is so long, i'm v bad at thought filtering

“𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?”

a/n: ovulation is hitting 😍

also hiii i am doing well and hope you are, too! thank you for the detailed request and for your patience, this idea was absolutely one of those rare gold finds and i loved writing it! take care as well, you're amazing 🫶🏻

suggestive suggestive suggestive content inside

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi, karasu tabito, mikage reo, shidou ryusei

kaiser michael

you have no issue with kaiser’s female fans. if anything, you roll his sleeves up for them. what you do have an issue with? how your boyfriend looks at isagi like he’s both an itch he can’t scratch and the best dessert he’s never been allowed to taste. 

you swear he’s thinking about that man mid-kiss. 

“you talk about isagi a lot,” you say. “he pisses me off,” kaiser mutters. “and you say his name like it’s a prayer.” “are you jealous of that football nerd?” “he’s not a nerd. he’s passionate. determined. his sprout bounces when he runs.” “are you–” kaiser laughs, actually jealous now “you like him, too?” “NO. but YOU clearly want to bench press him and braid his hair.” 

the next time kaiser sees isagi shirtless during training, he physically growls. then makes out with you like you just tackled him. 

“you’re mine,” he says between kisses. “got it?” “then stop moaning isagi’s name in your sleep.” “YOU HEARD THAT???” 

itoshi sae

sae doesn’t do jealousy. or rather, he claims he doesn’t. but you? you are FIGHTING the urge to trip bunny iglesias every time you see them on-screen together. 

“you always look dead-eyed with me,” you mutter. “but you’re over there giggling and shoulder-bumping some 6-foot spanish dreamboat like you're in a telenovela.” “i wasn’t giggling.” “you smiled.” “he fell down the stairs.” “AND YOU SMILED.” 

sae sighs. he doesn’t understand why you’re not threatened by the gorgeous women who fawn over him, but spiral over bunny, who “runs like a gazelle and flirts like he’s on sabado gigante.” 

he sees the way your eye twitches when bunny compliments his dribbling in post-match interviews. 

later that night, he corners you in bed, pushes your hair back, and says in a low voice, “you think i’d ever want anyone but you?” “… no.” “then stop giving bunny death glares. he texted me: are u mad at ur gf???” 

itoshi rin

you have never been jealous of another woman in your life. not when they comment heart emojis under rin’s posts, not even when fans scream for him outside the hotel. 

no, you only spiral when isagi yoichi is involved. because rin turns into a different person around him. 

“he brings out your rage in a way i never could.” “that’s not a compliment.” “you chase him like you’re in a villain origin story, rin.” “he’s just my rival.” “your rival? or your twisted soulmate?” 

you start watching their plays back in slow motion. rin has better eye contact with isagi than with you during sex. and when they score against each other, the yelling? the chest bumping?? oh, they’re in LOVE. 

so you do the logical thing and wear rin’s jersey to their next match with “mrs. itoshi (not isagi)” bedazzled on the back. 

rin refuses to comment on it publicly and is absolutely unhinged in bed that night. 

nagi seishiro

you’re not threatened by any women in nagi’s life. he barely notices them. but reo? reo is the exception. reo could say “jump” and nagi would be mid-air asking “how high?” 

“you only get out of bed early for reo.” “it’s for football.” “you text him goodnight and don’t even check if i’m alive.” “he sends cool memes.” “… do you love him.” “probably a little.” 

you SCOWL every time reo shows up with some “new training idea” or asks nagi to move in again. and nagi just… doesn’t get it. 

until one day you dramatically say “maybe i should just date reo, since you like him so much,” and nagi looks genuinely offended. 

“but i’m your boyfriend. that’s not fair.” “welcome to MY struggle.” “… fine,” he mutters, grabbing your waist, “you want my attention? i’ll give it to you. reo can wait.” 

(you get thoroughly ruined. and the next morning, reo texts nagi anyway.) 

isagi yoichi

you’re not jealous of the girls that coo over his interviews or fangirl in the comments. no. you’re jealous of kaiser, who calls your boyfriend “dog” and spits german insults at him mid-match while isagi responds with equal aggression, chest-heaving fury, and unblinking eye contact like he’s ready to kiss or kill. 

you’ve never seen isagi this fired up. not even when someone took the last pudding from the fridge. 

“why do you let him get under your skin like that?” “because he’s insufferable.” “and hot?” “… what?” “and tall. and shredded. and you talk about him a lot. i’ve seen enemies in rom-coms. this is how it starts.” 

when you catch them forehead-to-forehead arguing on the pitch, you yell “KISS HIM ALREADY!” from the stands and storm off with your popcorn. 

later, isagi finds you lying dramatically on the couch and climbs over you, pinning you down. 

“you think i want kaiser?” he asks, breathless. “you’re insane.” “you yell at him with more passion than you ever kiss me.” “fine,” he mumbles, leaning in close, “then let me shut you up with something better.” 

(you end up not caring about kaiser for a while. you also end up losing your voice for two days.) 

karasu tabito

you knew dating karasu came with chaos. but you weren’t ready for the unspoken homoerotic tension between him and oliver aiku. 

“he’s your captain. not your boyfriend.” “you think i want aiku? please.” “you keep calling him ‘daddy dearest’ and biting your lip when he calls you 'rookie.'” “i do not– okay maybe once.” 

you catch them shirtless after practice, towel-whipping each other and talking in voices two octaves deeper than normal. 

karasu tries to cuddle with you later and you shove him off. “go cuddle your alpha male.” 

he immediately starts proving his heterosexuality with very aggressive affection. picks you up bridal-style. kisses you until you forget your name. sends a selfie to aiku labeled: “mine. back off.” aiku replies: “relax bro. i’m taken.” karasu: “not by me you’re not– WAIT.” 

mikage reo

you are not threatened by girls. you are threatened by nagi seishiro, who doesn’t even try to flirt but somehow still manages to steal half of reo’s emotional availability on a daily basis. 

“you answer nagi’s texts in 0.3 seconds,” you accuse. “because he types like a toddler. i need to make sure he’s not stuck in a vending machine again.” “you’ve never replied to my texts that fast.” “you’ve never needed help picking which ice cream looks less suspicious.” 

it drives you insane because reo swears you’re his number one, but then he’s out there building nagiland with nagi, offering to share his fortune, and talking about “what our kids would look like if we spliced our genes for the ultimate striker.” 

you finally snap when you catch nagi lying on reo’s lap like a sleepy cat while reo plays with his hair. 

“am i interrupting a date?” you ask, smiling like a shark. “babe, it’s not like that.” “oh, okay. do you want me to come back when the honeymoon’s over?” 

reo chases after you, trying to explain while nagi just yawns and asks if you’re mad again. 

later that night, reo shows up at your place with your favorite takeout, a handwritten “i’m sorry i emotionally married nagi in high school” note, and spends two hours whispering that he only wants you. 

“you’re the only one who makes me feel like this,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “prove it.” (he does. loudly. nagi texts “tell your gf to stop breaking your back. we have practice.”) 

shidou ryusei

you’re not scared of girls flirting with your boyfriend. they touch shidou and he literally barks. 

no, your actual enemy is sae itoshi, who looks at shidou like he wants to smite him, and somehow that just turns him on. 

“you only try hard when sae’s around.” “because i want him to notice me.” “… you’re literally dating me.” “and yet, he still hasn’t called me slurs to my face.” 

you watch him light up every time sae insults him. when sae calls him “disgusting,” shidou smiles. when sae pushes him after a match, shidou licks his teeth. 

“you never look at me like that,” you say. “you don’t call me worthless and step on my dreams like he does. it’s different.” 

you’re half-convinced shidou would break up with you for five minutes just to get a crumb of abuse from sae. 

but then after every game, no matter how rabid he was, he always finds you – wild-haired, still sweaty – and throws you over his shoulder like you’re the only prize he wanted. 

“you mad again?” he grins. “cuz i looked at sae like he was a shiny chew toy?” “i’m mad because you want him to step on your neck.” “… you can do that too, babe.” 

(he says this while pushing you up against a wall and proving, once again, that no one ruins him the way you do. not even his red-haired enemy-crush.) 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[blxksun]

18+, minors and ageless blogs dni

camboy!hyunjin who does it because, 'why not', he has a youtube channel where he pretends to be a loving attentive boyfriend. he 'takes' the viewers on romantic 'dates'. he got some comments, that made him laugh a little, but at the same time his heart swelled. "hyunesirlgf: how sweet and romantic you are makes me want you so bad", feels like indulging more in the parasocialness of it and discreetly adds a link to his bio and under every video in the description.

camboy!hyunjin who decides he likes the idea of making the relationship feel more real, not really concerned about weirdos who might take it too far because he can definitely hold his own. but especially since his subscribers are so sweet (he truly trusts a bit much).

camboy!hyunjin who plays his role well and changes his 'date' uploads to days when he'll stream. endings always teasing and charged, building up anticipation for his weekly friday night streams. "i hope you had fun, maybe we'll have more later" if you have no idea about the link in his description, you'll think it's just a cute way to end the video and that he's talking about the next video.

camboy!hyunjin who was definitely not talking about the next video, but this. stream titled "pov: paint and sip date finished, now i want to paint you <3". plays a role, hard. he's wearing what he had on in the video he uploaded on youtube. a t-shirt he thrifted, some jeans, fingers adorned with rings, baseball cap (flipped to the back). and he's sitting on the edge of his bed holding his sketch book.

camboy!hyunjin who glances up at the camera and smiles, "you're so beautiful, i hope you enjoyed our date earlier" looks back down, pretends to sketch something and then ‘i think i know how you can look better’.

camboy!hyunjin who places the sketch book down, gets up and walks closer to the camera. slowly taking off his clothes, "you should strip too". ping! ping! ping! 'hyunesgrlirl: ouuu~, what're we doing today bby?~

camboy!hyunjin who says "let's do what we can", as he strips fully. hand coming down to where his twitching cock is. "i want you to play with yourself while you watch me, i want to think about how you fuck yourself wishing it was me.". his hand now fully stroking his length. groans spill from his mouth, soft not too deep, not quite whines.

camboy!hyunjin who doesn't know how he's still standing. knees going a little wobbly as he begins to reach his peak. "mmm, baby~, i'm almost there, this feels so good, fuck d-do you like what you see, are you almost there?". hand moving faster, pre cum pearling at his tip, each swipe up and down taking a little with it.

camboy!hyunjin who for the most part is quiet, the faintest squelch from his hand moving along with his pre, can't completely be heard because he's groaning more frequently now. his bottom lip sucked into his mouth between his teeth and his eyes screwing shut. bottom lip being released as a tenor pitched moan falls from his mouth. "ahhh, mmmmmmm, yes yes yes yes" cum shooting onto his computer and the webcam attached to it.

camboy!hyunjin who keeps stroking his cock riding out his high, legs beginning to shake and stops just short of cumming again. comes to his senses and realizes he made a mess. lets out a soft laugh. "sorry baby, let me clean you up", wipes the computer, grabs the webcam and wipes it off with lens cleaning wipes, then disinfectant and places it back onto the top of the computer.

camboy!hyunjin who pulls his desk chair from the side and sits in it. face glowing in post orgasmic bliss, smiles, "i had fun with you today, can't wait to do it again next week, let's go to sleep", ends the stream.

blxksun2025 do not copy or translate my works. happy reading !

a/n this is the last of the camboy!skz au, unless you want to see more/request more pertaining to them. as a heads up/reminder, these three are the only one's i write for. i'm considering a mini series for camboy!lee know, but maybe i'll do it for all. (kinda started on a part. 2 for felix already i'm preparing for it to be long). this is a work of pure fiction, nothing in this work is a true reflection of the real person this fanfiction is based around. hope you enjoyed. here is lee know. here is felix.

[shaunasrabbit]

Drown in Nothing | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part VII.

Summary: Joel lets the whiskey talk.

Tags: No use of y/n, angst, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, some physical descriptions (has a bush because #bushnation, has hair that can be pulled, and is curvy if you squint), alcohol consumption, Joel and the reader are being #toxic ok like #thegirlsarefighting, jealousy, bratty reader and mean!Joel, dom!Joel, verbal degradation, spit, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, pussy slapping, light face slapping, use of good girl and other pet names, consensual semi-drunk fucking, lil bit of dacryphilia, hair pulling, nipple play, rough fingering, oral (f!receiving), squirting, light choking, some praise, unprotected piv, creampie. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~5.7K

Read on AO3

A/N: Uhhhh, some of y'all are about to be real mad at me. Or not. Unsure. Lightly proofread this myself, so my apologies for any typos. All on me. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

“I have some weird shit going on with Joel,” you blurt out to Adam. Eyes shifting around to the people at the bar next to you, you realize they haven’t batted an eyelash at your outburst. Thankfully, the music blaring throughout the speakeasy drowned you out.  

Adam’s glass of whiskey is half raised to his mouth when he stops to stare at you, brows pulled tight. “Yeah? Like what?”

“I’ve been fucking Joel,” you lower your voice, leaning in, “and shit got weird.”

“You’re fucking Joel? And that’s not the weird part?” Adam asks incredulously, but also drops his voice as not to draw attention to the two of you. “When did that start?”

“Like, six months ago.” You feel sheepish at the admission, especially when Adam’s eyes go wide and he takes a swig of his drink. Sucking in a deep breath, you try to beat him to it. “I know, yeah. Right after he and Tess—whatever.”

You and Joel returned from your run about a week ago. It all went well logistically. Bill and Frank got what they needed. You got what you needed. There were a few encounters with infected, but you and Joel were able to handle it just fine. Again, it all went well logistically, but emotionally? That was a different story. 

In typical you-and-Joel fashion, there was little to no discussion about the way you brought up Tess or the unexpected intimacy you shared when he held you until the sun came up. He told you not to bring her up again—no, he didn’t use her name—and you told him that he can’t tell you what to do. He scoffed. You rolled your eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

But things weren’t the same. Not for you. You noticed a heightened sense of tightness in your chest every time you heard his drawl or you caught him staring at you for a moment too long with those brown eyes that make your knees weak. Every time you fell asleep, there was a phantom feeling of his arms wrapped around you. The silence that fell around the two of you felt oppressive, the weight of something unspoken crushing you. He only spoke to you when absolutely necessary. You didn’t even try to fill the void with conversation. No, you just let it consume you while you headed back to the QZ. 

You haven’t seen Joel in a week. Not since you came back. 

When you realize how long it’s been since you finished your sentence, you look at Adam and raise your eyebrows. He sets his glass down with a sigh. “What do you want me to say? I’m glad you know you’re a rebound?”

“Okay. Ouch, you asshole,” you laugh, shaking your head and taking a sip of your drink. It burns going down and you wince. “So, that’s the thing. I’m not sure if I’m just a rebound anymore.” 

“Uh-huh. Go on.”

You roll your eyes, but you realize how ridiculous you must sound as you try to explain that Joel Miller was actually sweet with you. Leaning in closer to him, you’re now only inches from his face. “He held me all night after we hooked up. Joel never does shit like that. He still hasn’t kissed me but—”

“You’ve never kissed?” Adam cuts off your rambling. 

“We’ve kissed twice,” you sigh. “We were drunk and it was the first time we slept together. Hasn’t kissed me since.” 

Saying it out loud makes you realize how awful it sounds and you want to sink into the floor to somehow escape the look that Adam gives you. It’s somewhere between pity and judgement, and it makes your skin crawl. You reach for your glass and down the rest of your whiskey in one go. 

“I’d ask what’s wrong with him, but it’s Joel…so what’s wrong with you?” 

You’re relieved to hear Adam tease you, even if he’s asking you the same thing that you’ve been asking yourself since Joel first undressed you. He calls over the bartender to replace your empty glass. With a fresh drink in hand, you shrug. 

“Probably the same shit that’s wrong with the rest of us,” you say with a short laugh, but it sounds sadder than intended. You take a sip and vaguely gesture to your surroundings with one hand. “Anyway, I didn’t tell you this so we could fucking psychoanalyze my emotional detachment. I want to hear about Tess.”

You know that Adam still works with Tess closely. He goes on runs with her when he’s not going out on jobs with Joel, you, and the rotating cast of second and third tier smugglers. Anxiety blooms within you as you realize that Adam still works with Joel every now and then, but you never work with Tess. Maybe she just prefers Adam’s help. Besides, Joel always keeps you busy. In more ways than one. Plus, you were working with Wade for a while. Your mind races as you do mental gymnastics to convince yourself that Tess has no idea about you and Joel.

“I don’t know much,” Adam begins, interrupting your panicky thoughts, “but I do know that Tess and Joel live together and have for a long time.”

“They fucking live together? Still?” you ask, not realizing how loud you’re being until someone glances over at you. You shoot them a dirty look and they avert their eyes.

Adam nods. “Yeah, still. I don’t know anything about the…dissolution of their relationship. Working or otherwise,” he says, mumbling the last bit. You narrow your eyes, not quite buying it. Adam sighs and stretches out his pinky. “I swear. I don’t know anything else.” 

“Pinky promise. Guess you’re serious,” you deadpan, wrapping your little finger around his. 

“Dead serious.” He breaks the hold on your finger and leans back. “She doesn’t really talk to me about shit like that. Neither do you.” 

He’s right. Adam is the closest friend you have and that’s not saying much considering you rarely share personal things with him. Most of your time spent together is working and you’ll occasionally, like tonight, grab a drink at the speakeasy. You like Adam, you genuinely do, but being vulnerable with him isn’t easy for you. Being vulnerable with anyone in that way isn’t easy for you. At least not anymore. 

“Yeah,” you begin with an exhale, “but I’m kind of freaking the fuck out.”

“Well, what do you want from him?” Adam asks. 

“I don’t know.”

For the next week, your days are spent doing shit jobs in the QZ for ration cards and your nights are spent tossing and turning. Each morning, you inspect the bags under your eyes and press a cold spoon to them to hopefully reduce swelling. Good news is at least you haven’t run into Joel looking like this. Bad news is you haven’t seen Joel at all. It’s hard to say if he’s avoiding you or if you’re actually just not finding yourself in the same place as him at the same time. 

Tonight is the same as most nights. You’ve drank two glasses of Bill and Frank’s nice wine, masturbated to the thought of Joel’s mouth ravishing you, and paced around your apartment in hopes of tiring yourself out. Now, at 2 AM, you’re lying awake in bed, a little tipsy, with his shirt on. You’ve worn it so many times that it doesn’t even smell like his sweat and soap anymore. 

Your eyes are closed, but you’re not anywhere close to falling asleep when you hear a loud bang at your door. Shooting out of bed, clad in only your underwear and Joel’s shirt, you grab the golf club you keep behind your door. Once you look through the peep hole and see a disheveled Joel Miller leaning against your door frame, you put the golf club down. He knocks again. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, noticing that you’re still wearing his shirt. He pounds on the door again. “Chill the fuck out! I’m coming.” 

Tearing his shirt off, you begin to make your way to the door when you realize you’re now topless. Tits completely out. You jog back to your bedroom to rummage through your dresser for a nice-enough bra, struggling to put it on as you walk to your front door. You swing it open and Joel barrels past you, shoulder checking you as he does so. 

“Good to see you too,” you snark, shutting the door behind you and turning to face him. 

Joel runs a hand through his messy salt-and-pepper curls and you realize how completely fucked up he looks. His flannel is unbuttoned more than usual, exposing his chest hair, and his eyes are unfocused. Joel looks as tired as you, but still somehow so beautiful. Your stomach feels fluttery like it seems to be every time you think of him lately. You snap out of it when you realize how he reeks of alcohol. 

“Jesus,” you sigh. Joel avoids eye contact with you. Instead, he looks you up and down, wetting his lower lip as he does so. You decide to ignore it even though you want to pop each button off of that flannel. “What the fuck are you doing here, Joel?”

“I, uh…need to…” he slurs, stepping back to sit on the armrest of the plaid couch. You slowly step towards him like he’s an animal that you’re afraid of spooking. “Came to tell ya…whatever this is,” he gestures between the two of you with a shaky hand, “and however you feel ‘bout me…s’gotta stop.” 

Suddenly, you feel exposed and you cross your arms to try to cover yourself even a little bit, but you laugh. You have to laugh or you’re worried that you’ll start crying. Did he really show up wasted in the middle of the night to break up with you? Then again, you aren’t together. You can’t really dump someone you were never dating to begin with. Whatever you’ve been doing with Joel is definitely not dating. It’s definitely not a relationship. Joel doesn’t kiss you. Joel lives with another woman. Joel rarely says nice things to you. Joel fucks you and holds you, then he avoids you for a week. You let yourself get worked up. If you don’t, you’ll cry. You’re definitely not going to cry in front of him. 

Offense is the best defense, right? 

“This is nothing,” you hiss. “No need to end something that never started.” 

Joel cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes like he’s not sure that he’s heard you correctly. You shake your head and shift your jaw, determined to keep stoking the angry fire inside of you. You cannot cry even though the wine is begging you to. He rises to his feet abruptly and nearly stumbles as he does so. 

“You’re full’a shit.” His voice is low, gravelly from the alcohol. Joel steps forward, snaking a hand around your waist to pull you flush against him. You uncross your arms and rest your palms against his chest, trying to keep some distance between the two of you. Joel lowers his face so that his mouth hovers over the shell of your ear. His breath is hot on your skin as he whispers, “I know ya like me…see how ya look at me. Who are ya tryna lie to, sweetheart?” 

Your face is hot with embarrassment and anger as you try to figure out his angle here. Is he breaking up with you? Trying to fuck you? It could be both. It’s Joel. It could definitely be both. 

“Joel, I don’t like you. I like fucking you.” You grab a fistful of his flannel and lightly push him back. However, his arm remains loose around your waist. “And weren’t you the one holding me at the motel? Kissing my neck? Showing me what you like?”

The hand around you grips the flesh of your hip tightly, fingers digging into your skin with a force that makes you gasp. Joel’s other hand shoots to your face and grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. A small smirk plays on your lips. Got him.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you say, voice gentle and borderline sultry. Eyes locked on his, you search for something, but you’re not sure what. “Tell me you feel nothing.”

“Feel like you’re pissin’ me off,” he rasps, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. 

You raise an eyebrow and part your lips expectantly, just waiting for his thumb to slip inside, but it doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you close to him again, your bodies pressed together. Every limb is thrumming with a cocktail of excitement and anxiety, and you’re sure your heart could stop from overexertion. Your hands drag slowly up his chest. For a moment, you let them rest on his shoulders before they meet behind his neck. You’re nearly hanging off of him as the two of you stand there, holding each other. 

“Then do something about it,” you whisper. “Shut me up.”

It happens fast. Joel’s hand cups your jaw as he leans down and his lips meet yours with fervor and hunger. Your mind goes blank and your body takes over, lips dancing together like they’re participating in an ancient ritual that they’ve done a million times. When his tongue prods at your lower lip, you invite him in. He tastes like whiskey and tobacco as you lick into his mouth, trying to get drunk off of the kiss. 

It ends just as quickly as it starts. Without warning, Joel drags his lips away from yours and untangles you from him. You stumble back and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, wiping his spit off. When your hand drops to your side, you realize you’re shaking. 

Joel runs a hand over his face. “S’not what was supposed to happen. You always fuckin’…”

“I always fucking what, Joel?”

“You always fuck with my goddamn head.”

“I fuck with your head?” You scoff and it turns into a laugh. “You just showed up at my door off your fucking ass, tried to…I don’t know—break up with me? Then you kiss me, and say that I fuck with your head?”

“Not breakin’ up with you ‘cause ‘m not your fuckin’ boyfriend,” he snarls. 

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It’s not like you’re hearing something you don’t already know, but the way he says it, full of venom and disgust, slices right through you. Tears prick at your eyes and you blink rapidly to keep them at bay. 

“Yeah, no shit,” you say, managing to keep your words steady. “And thank fuck for that because you’re a coward, Joel. A real man would be able to kiss me without needing a few glasses of whiskey first.”

There was no forethought before the words came out. As soon as they did, you knew you were lying. You want Joel whether he’ll kiss you or not. When you see his jaw twitch and he begins to walk towards you, you think about apologizing, saying you didn’t mean it. You think about telling him that you would go the rest of forever without kissing him as long as you got to be near him. Instead, you say nothing and hold your breath. 

“Not a man, huh? That so, baby?” Joel’s voice is low, dark. Just like it always is before he fucks you so hard that you forget your own name. Instinctively, your pussy clenches around nothing. “I think I fuck you like a real man,” he rasps, tapping your clothed cunt with two fingers. “Bet I can get her drippin’ in no time.”

You suck in a breath and swallow hard. So caught up in the argument, you forgot you were in your underwear. Now, you’re angry and turned on. A lethal combination when it comes to you and Joel. 

“Fuck off,” you say, but it’s unconvincing. He knows you want him—you can tell by the way he’s looking at you. “Not interested in playing any fucking games with you tonight.”

“Is she?” His finger toys with your waistband and you can feel slick gathering in your panties. “Tell me you feel nothing, darlin’. Tell me to stop and I will.”

God, he’s such a prick for parroting your words back to you. You are so damn angry, so hurt, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. You can’t bring yourself to say that you don’t feel anything. You feel everything for him and maybe you have for some time now. 

Joel takes your silence as an invitation, dipping his fingers into your panties and brushing them over the hair on your mound. When he reaches your already swollen clit, you suck in a shaky breath and let your eyes flutter shut. 

“S’what I thought,” he says quietly, resting his forehead on yours. As he circles your clit twice with the pad of his finger, he presses his lips to yours with foreign tenderness. It’s nothing like your kiss before and you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth. His scruff scratches and pricks the soft skin of your face. Against your lips, he mumbles, “Bed. Now.” 

It feels like you’re floating when you walk to your bedroom. Behind you, you can hear Joel’s belt buckle and various pieces of fabric fall to the floor. You turn around and let the back of your knees hit the bed, sitting down to watch as he pulls off his boots and jeans. It’s a little clumsy on account of the alcohol, but you can tell he’s sobering up a bit. Meanwhile, you feel drunker than before despite only having two glasses of wine. Your eyes land on his bulge that’s prominent beneath his boxers and you unconsciously grind on the bed, letting out a pathetic whimper. Joel smirks, walking towards you, as your brows are drawn tightly together. 

“Fuck, y’want it so bad it hurts? I know, baby,” he coos as he gets down on his knees in front of you. He spreads your legs and takes in the sight of your damp panties, pressing a kiss to your covered clit. “I’ll make it feel all better if you can watch that mouth and be a good girl f’me.” 

“I’m not the only one being bad today,” you groan, lifting your hips to coax him into pulling your panties off. He does, exposing your bare, slick cunt to the air. “And you didn’t even let me come last time, so…make it up to me.” 

Joel sucks in a breath through his teeth and spreads your folds with two hands, thumbing through your arousal. Then, he slaps your pussy brutally, pulling a wanton yelp from you. The sting isn’t what you want, but it’s delicious nonetheless. 

“S’fair…but y’could at least say please. Can you say please for me, sweetheart?” he asks, looking up at you with parted lips. His pupils have usurped his eyes, the irises barely visible. You clench your jaw and will yourself not to give in. When you don’t answer, Joel hits your weeping cunt again. “C’mon now, or are you too stupid to say one word?” 

“Joel,” you whine, dropping back onto your elbows and staring down at the man in front of you.

Another blow to your cunt.

“Nope. Try again,” he growls. 

The sound of Joel’s drawl, syrupy and low, makes your toes curl in want and it’s obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. After a few smacks, your pussy is aching, and you’re finding yourself so close to giving in and begging him. Your eyes are darting around frantically from his hands to his lips and your breathing is growing heavy. It’s taking everything in you, but you manage to hold back. 

Until Joel tugs at the hair on your mound. You curse something like ow, fuck under your breath and try to wiggle away, but Joel holds you in place. It’s shameful the way you feel your arousal leak out, dripping down to your tight rim and then onto the bedspread. 

“Fuck, sugar, she’s cryin’ for me,” he teases, running a finger up and down your slit, stopping at your entrance but not pushing inside. He tightens his hold on your pubic hair. “Say it.”

“Jesus Christ—please,” you cry, tears pooling on your waterline. “Need it, please.” 

“Mm, need what?” Joel asks, pushing his finger ever so slightly into your cunt which desperately clenches. You try to slide towards him, but he’s still holding you down and has a tight grip on your mound. “I know you’ve got a brain in that pretty head a’yours. Fuckin’ use it.”

The teasing and taunting has your face on absolute fire. You’re at your breaking point and he knows it. “Anything, Joel. I-I want anything you’ll give me. Just please make me come,” you beg. 

With that, Joel shoves three fingers inside of you. The stretch burns and you cry out, tears spilling over onto your cheeks. You try to squirm away as if Joel’s strong hand, that thankfully let go of your pubic hair, won’t be able to keep you in place. You’re stuck, taking his fingers. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Thought you want anything I’ll give ya,” he mocks. “I’m givin’ it, so be good and take it.” 

His words make you melt and you squeeze around his fingers, the pain transforming into pleasure even though you’re still overwhelmed by how full you feel. Joel sets a steady pace like he’s now trying to be conscious of your comfort, curling his fingers just right to give you surges of bliss. When he begins to flick your clit with his tongue, fast and precise, you think you’re going to black out. Tears slip from your eyes and trail to your hairline as you’re completely lying down now, unable to hold yourself up. 

Legs trembling and stomach spasming, you approach your climax. Joel notices and reaches deep inside your cunt to hit just the right spot, his tongue working in tandem. The pressure in your lower tummy bursts like a pipe as your orgasm hits you, dragging out high pitched cries and moans from you. It comes in quick waves as you soak Joel in your juices, making a mess of the comforter by leaving a puddle of your arousal. 

You cross your arms over your eyes, gripping your elbows to try to ground yourself as you focus on slowing your breathing, chest heaving from your orgasm. Joel extracts his three fingers from you and sucks them clean with a satisfied groan. Then, he licks a long stripe from your worn out entrance to your oversensitive, swollen bud. He moans against your cunt like he’s savoring the taste of your squirt. Your legs tremble at the contact and you whine, trying to close your legs around his head. Joel moves away from your core and places three featherlight kisses to your inner thigh. 

Joel stands up and comes over to the side of the bed, sliding an arm under your pillowy thighs and your back to shift you up the bed so you can rest your head on the pillow. Your body is limp and pliant from your orgasm when Joel gathers you in his arms, pulling you to his chest and untangling your arms. Your cheeks are stained with tears of pleasure and he brushes them away with his thumb, stroking your cheek. 

It feels impossible to open your eyes. If you keep them closed, you won’t have to look at Joel. You won’t have to remember his face twisted in anger as you yelled at each other less than an hour ago. You won’t have to face that this moment of tenderness is fleeting like it always is. 

“Y’alright, baby?” he asks, voice quiet. It’s a stark contrast to earlier. You open your eyes to see his weathered face. The normally harsh lines are softened as he looks at you with an expression that you just can’t quite read. He lightly smacks your face twice as if to break your trance. “Still with me?”

“Mhm, somehow,” you say. It comes out quieter than you intend, almost a whisper. 

“You did real good. Soaked me,” he praises, cradling your jaw in his hand. Joel places his thumb on your lower lip and forces your mouth open. “Lemme show you how fuckin’ good you taste.” 

Sticking your tongue out, you hold eye contact with him and wait. Hot spit drips onto your tongue and before you can close your mouth, Joel presses his tongue to yours. You kiss each other, messy and lewd, and you can taste your own cum on him. Moaning, you lick into each other’s mouth like you’re both staking your claim. You pull back and leave a delicate kiss on pulse point. 

Joel undoes himself from you and sits up, resting his back against the headboard. He motions you over and you muster up the strength to sit on his lap. Hard cock pressing to your still sensitive core, you roll your hips once, making yourself shudder from the pressure. Joel groans and pushes up into you. He swats your ass to signal that he wants you to lift up and you reluctantly do, already missing the feeling of him against you. He slides off his boxers and then unhooks your bra, freeing your tits from the worn fabric so he can grab a hefty handful. 

Leaning into his touch, you settle back onto his cock that’s flat against his stomach, dotting the hair there with his pre-cum. You slide up and down his shaft, coating it in your slick. Joel groans underneath you and kneads your breasts before letting go, leaning in to suck one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. You throw your head back and moan as he flicks it, nipping and soothing the skin after with his tongue. He lets go of your nipple with an obscene pop before doing the same to the next one.

You tug on his curls, forcing his head back to make him look at you. To your surprise, Joel leans in and kisses you. Sure, he’s kissed you a few times tonight, but you feel like you’re dreaming each time his lips meet yours. The kiss is deep and Joel rolls his hips upwards to grind against your cunt, groaning into your mouth. 

Joel moves from your lips to your ear, biting your lobe and groaning when you whimper. “Done bein’ nice,” he growls, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you regret mouthin’ off earlier.”

“Oh, were you being nice earlier when you basically shoved your whole hand in me without warning?” You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, wanting nothing more than to have him inside of you. “I thought you were going to break my fucking pussy.”

“Yeah, ‘m sure you’d like that,” he mumbles against your neck, nipping lightly as he moves down to your collarbone. You let out an annoyed huff. “But I let you come, didn’t I? All over my face, my messy fuckin’ girl.” 

Grabbing a fistful of his curls, you jerk his head. His eyes are wild with lust, lips swollen from working your clit and kissing you. You cup his jaw. 

“So, that’s how it is then? You’re not mine, but I’m yours?” Your voice is low with an edge of condescension. “That doesn’t seem very fair.” 

Joel clenches his jaw and a heavy hand tightens around your hip, lifting you just enough for Joel to notch his cock at your entrance. “Yeah, well,” he grunts. Then he slams into you, burying himself fully in your cunt. “Life’s not fair, sweetheart.” 

You open your mouth and nothing comes out except a shaky exhale. Lips parted, Joel takes the opportunity to shove his index and middle finger in your mouth, pushing them in until he hits the back of your throat. Instead of relieving you, he holds his fingers there. You gag and sputter until you adjust to the feeling. He’s still inside of you, letting you take in the sensation of his cock in its entirety as you sit on his lap. 

“Heard enough a’you tonight,” he states, although it sounds more like a threat. “I think you’re done talkin’.” 

When his fingers come out of your mouth, a strand of your saliva comes with them, eventually dribbling down your chin. “I fucking hate—”

Joel’s hand around your neck cuts you off. You can breathe just fine and honestly, you probably could talk, but you’re taken aback enough that the words die in your throat. Brows raised and eyes wide, Joel looks like a stern father who’s about to punish you. It makes your pussy clench, so you grind on his lap and whimper, begging with your pathetic movements.

“I said enough,” he scolds, giving your throat a squeeze. “All I wanna hear is those pretty cries. Understand?”

You nod. You’d do anything, say anything to make him just fuck you already. Like he can read your mind, Joel drops his hand from your throat and grasps the soft flesh of your hips, then he begins to fuck you in earnest. The pace is brutal as Joel repeatedly smashes your cervix with the head of his cock. You close your eyes and hold onto his broad, scarred shoulders for stability, anything to ground yourself in the moment. Under you, Joel is grunting and groaning and probably saying something filthy, but you don’t even register it. Your own cries drown him out and as he continues to thrust into you with primal need, you feel something shut off. 

It’s all blank. The only thing you feel is Joel. The sweat on his palms as his fingers dig into your sides. His lips latching onto your hard nipple, sucking and nibbling. His cock pistoning in and out of you. You feel him deep in your chest, burrowing there and making a home. You feel it all the time. 

And then you feel a harmless slap on your cheek. 

“Look at me,” he commands, bringing you back down to earth. “Look right here.”

It takes a moment for your eyes to focus on him, but once you do, you feel dizzy. His greying curls are mussed and sticking to his damp forehead, and the line between his brows is prominent as he exerts more energy than he should even have at his age. Maybe you’re cock drunk, maybe it’s the heat of the moment, but it hits you. Hard. Whatever you’re feeling for him isn’t nothing. 

You cup both sides of his face with your hands and drag him to you, kissing him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Joel slows down, allowing you to bounce languidly on his cock as the two of you kiss. One of his hands meets the back of your neck to deepen it while the other remains firm on your hip, like you’ll float away if he lets go. You moan into his mouth as his tongue collides with yours. It almost physically pains you to stop, but you do. 

“Tell me you feel nothing,” you manage to get out between heavy breaths. 

Joel stares at you for what feels like forever, although it’s probably only a few moments. His brows knit together and his eyes dart away, staring past you. At this point, your eyes are big, pleading orbs. He looks back at you and flips you over, caging you under him. 

“All I feel,” Joel says through grit teeth, “is this sweet, tight cunt. She feels s’good, sugar.” 

You’d be disappointed or hurt, but the second Joel starts to slide his cock in and out of you, you just feel full of him. The new angle hits a different spot in your cunt than the previous one, dragging wanton cries from you. Joel buries his face into your neck. Maybe he can’t face you. You push the thought out of your head; instead, you focus on the vibrations of his groans as he sucks and nips the soft flesh of your neck. 

“J-Joel—shit.” Your nails dig into his back. He’ll surely have half moon marks tomorrow. Secretly and sort of sickly, you love the idea of someone seeing them. No, not just someone. Tess. You shamefully love the idea of her seeing them. The thought of it sends you towards your climax. “Oh my god, Joel, I’m gonna—”

“S’alright, baby. Let go,” he encourages. “Come all over my cock.” 

The rope snaps and you hurdle over the edge, white hot pleasure spreading throughout your entire body. Your cries are loud, and Joel muffles them with his lips, kissing you hard. He continues to fuck you through your high, lips never leaving yours, even when his hips stutter and he approaches his own release. Joel groans into your mouth as he spills inside of you, fucking his cum deep into your used cunt. He breaks the kiss and rests his cheek on yours, repeating your name over and over again, stroking your temple with his thumb. 

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there, a mess of sweaty limbs, but it feels like an eternity and a millisecond all at once. Joel eventually pulls his now soft cock out of you and flips onto his back, still catching his breath. You feel his cum leak out of your swollen slit and drip onto the bedspread. 

His eyes are closed and he motions with one limp hand for you to come close. With the little strength you have left after the intense fucking you just received, you tuck yourself under his arm and lie your head on his chest. His heartbeat is loud and fast under your cheek. 

It’s been a long night and you’re well past the point of exhaustion. You welcome it graciously. The sleep will wash away the harsh words that were thrown around earlier in the night, your anxieties, and the cruel fact that Joel will get up at some point and leave your apartment. And only god knows what will happen once the two of you come back to reality. Your eyelids feel like weights and you succumb to it, shutting them and embracing the darkness. 

“I can’t,” Joel whispers, voice cracking ever so slightly. 

“Hm?” You’re not sure you heard him right or that you heard him at all. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t tell you I feel nothin’.”

Tag list: @cuntyhunty22 @joelsicle @emmasveinyahhdih

[songbirdseung]

Hi! I would like to make a request, can I request a oneshot of Sunghoon with a more boyish reader? in which reader is usually in baggy shirts and pants, doesn't put much effort in how she looks or presented herself, just being herself. However, over time she's trying to be more feminine by trying out some light makeup or skirts, putting more effort into how they look etc, she's a bit clueless on what to do and I'm curious on how Sunghoon would help out :D I hope it's ok with you >_<

a/n: hewu hewu, thank you sooo much for the prompt. i hope i can do it justice for you and i'm sorry it took me this long to answer you.

𝑯𝑰𝑷    𝑻𝑶    𝑷𝑶𝑷

"even if you were to change anything about yourself, it just gives me more of you to love."

it's not like you didn't care about how you looked, you just preferred comfortability but that didn't mean you didn't know fashion and style.

you had you fair share of exploration in terms of clothing, but the search stopped when you realized you felt more better when you wore baggy grungy clothes. you loved a good pair of camo baggy pants that were in the cargo style along with an oversized hoodie or tee, maybe even a flannel tied around your hip. accessorized with a hat, silver chain jewelry and a pretty boy named, sunghoon. sunghoon was your mirror, you both tend to dress the same and even share clothes and there was nothing wrong with that, until it wasn't. everyone around you used to commend you for your laid-back street style until you started dating sunghoon. once you and him became one your friends and family told you to start dressing "more like a girl". it never really fazed you because sunghoon loved you regardless of what you'd be wearing. he dated you for you, not your clothing nor body. but sometimes words do get to you, and they do hurt, especially when people would compare you to his exes that were girly girls. the total opposite of you when it came to looks. it started with the "don't you want to look pretty for him" to "i don't know what he saw in you". you thought you were strong enough to hold out and not let it affect you, reminding yourself that comments like that are inevitable and people will always talk regardless of how you present yourself. although, things happen and your mind decided to eat you alive, causing you to stop mid getting ready for a date. you were looking into the mirror when the thought "he could do so much better than me" but somehow, instead of dwelling on it, you reach through the back of your closet and pull out a few gift bags that are filled with dresses, skirts and blouses that people gifted to you, they were back handed but you received them regardless. joking about how you'd never wear them. but here you were looking though every single one, along with make-up kits you had little to no skills to use.

"how hard could this be?"

after a while, you were standing in the mirror again, no longer in your baggy clothes and bared face. now you were a lightly colored ensemble. A white floral maxi dress with a sage green flower print with a white long sleeved knitted cover up and sage green pointed slingback heels, completed with cute accessories. you didn't feel like you, but you were ready for a change, and you'd be lying if you didn't think you found yourself gorgeous right now. makeup done light and simple, nothing too out of character, just enough to give the outfit it's finishing touch. you were so busy trying to complete your look that you didn't even hear the door of the walk-in closet opening, sunghoon leaning by the doorframe, arms crossed with a smile on his face. "you're making me feel underdressed"

that's when you saw him, his expression tells you how impressed he is but also confused. "why are you looking at me like that? do i look bad?" "you could never look bad, yn" it sounded genuine but there was a hint of something you couldn't really pinpoint. "you look amazing but you don't look like you" taking a step closer to you, eyeing you up and down in a soft loving way, holding out a hand to comb through your now curled hair. "i just hope you're doing this for yourself" there really wasn't anything you could hide from sunghoon because he knew you better than anyone else, noticed all the things before anyone else did and for sure knew what you were thinking at any given second. "I am... I just wanted to do something different" it took a bit to convince him that everything was alright, and you had good intentions. but eventually he dialed the worry back and cupped your face, looking at you intently. "if you really want to, i won't stop you" leaning over and kissing your nose. "if you need help with anything, i'll try my best to provide a solution or just being a supportive boyfriend." it's like you could never do wrong in sunghoon's eyes, everything you did was considered a blessing to see in sunghoon's perspective. like he was glad to have you, and he was, he also made sure you felt it. from the moment forward, your usual dates had an added component, him taking you to different stores and having you model different clothes to help you find you in this new variety. he was not afraid to enter make up stores like how other boyfriends wait outside. nope, that wasn't sunghoon. he himself was the one picking out things for you to try, getting your preferences then running around the store and getting products like he worked there. of course, he'd take you to prada, addidas or any branded store that has his face plastered to boast and tease. "see that guy, that's me" then he'd buy you tons of things from that store like money was not an issue, as if the prices on those tags were pocket money for him. even if you begged him to stop, he'd just brush it off and pretend not to hear you while still spoiling you. "sunghoon, i'm starting to feel bad, you know?" he just gives you a smile and reaches for your hand while toughing it out with carrying the other bags in his other hand. "you don't have to feel bad, i'm doing this by choice. just like how i choose to love and care for you, it just comes in a package." you didn't know what you did to deserve him, but here you are, with him. hopefully for forever at that.

[slttygeto]

pairing: bodyguard! yaga x kpop star! reader.

note: pls hear me out on yaga.

Pretty kpop star! reader and the incessant rumors that she is dating one of the guys from a well-known boygroup.

Is it Suguru? They ask—no, no it has to be Satoru, look at the way they hold eye contact as they speak. 

You are chosen to be the MC of Inkigayo for the entirety of the month next to Satoru which fuels the rumors even further. The light jabs, the inside jokes and the chemistry between the two of you is unmistakable but fans can’t find anything about a potential romantic relationship.

Even when you go live and your face lights up at the mention of Satoru in the comments, there is something missing. 

Pretty kpop star! reader who is quiet about her type. No one knows who she might be into—if she’s into anyone at this point, until Satoru says something one day.

“Where’s he by the way?” Satoru wiggles his eyebrows at you, holding a fan to his face as the two of you stand backstage. There’s a camera filming you for behind the scenes content, and the visible panic on your face is hilarious to the snowy-haired man.

“Satoru.” you warn him, it’s serious but the famous idol doesn’t take you seriously.

“That’s weird, you’re practically glued to him all the time. Especially with how big and burly he–” you muffle his mouth with your hand, face hot as a furnace as you look around you in case anyone heard.

Of course they did, but it’s not like they didn’t know about it.

How could it ever remain a secret? 

You’ve always been the type to wear your heart on your sleeve, your eyes betray the stoic image you try to present around him and your songs openly describe a deep and passionate love that’s left you happy. Satisfied.

No one would ever suspect it to be him, not once does he look at you even when you tease him on live. He prefers to stay hidden behind the camera, never uttering a single word even as you throw the most playful jabs at him.

“Come on, Yaga.” You flutter your eyes at him. “Not even a hello to the fans? They wanna thank you for protecting me so well.” 

The fans pick up on a sigh behind the camera and then you giggle, and it doesn’t sound like the one you do around Satoru. Because your eyes twinkle and they could’ve sworn you held eye contact a bit too long.

“He says he’s just doing his job, you don’t need to thank him.” You reply to the person who requested to see him. “You guys can catch him the next time I go to the airport.”

And they do, but this time the signs are screaming in their faces.

Instead of turning to your other bodyguard when stepping out of the airport and into your car, you turn to Yaga. You’re wearing sunglasses, but your body language is loud—you open the car door for yourself, but then he steps behind you to shield you from the cameras. By the time you get inside, you wave for him to sit next to you rather than at the front. 

Dispatch captures that, but it also captures something far more scandalous.

How after a show you immediately throw yourself on top of him, as though he’s held you in his arms for years. 

How your faces are a little too close and you never pull away nor do you stop staring at him even as the tip of his ears turn a bright red color.

And finally, how his arm wraps tightly around your waist and snatches you away from your car and towards his. 

It’s late at night, you don’t seem to be struggling against his hold and wait patiently as he opens the car door for you and step inside. In the passenger seat.

Yaga is the one driving, he’s not wearing his sunglasses this time and the look he gives you has the fans reeling for the next few weeks, if not months.

“You’re such a tease.” He grumbles, hand resting dangerously high on your thigh.

You giggle, drunk on love and the comfort of finally being in his presence with no camera around (or so you think). “You love me.”

“That live with Satoru was painful to watch.” His hand grips the steering wheel, eyes rolling when he sees how you jut out your bottom lip. “Stop that.”

“You’re jealous,” your index finger traces a line up his strong bicep. “It’s hot. You’re hot.”

“You’re needy.” He replies, clearly failing at remaining in control.

“I am an idol, duh.” You bite your bottom lip as you keep looking at him. “But thank god for my hot, strong boyfriend who’s going to help me destress real good, huh–”

“Is that going to be on your next album?” He tries to divert your attention to something else, and suffocate the boner that’s in his pants. 

You smirk. “Only if you help me record a few sounds.”

His jaw clenches as he sighs through his nose. “Fifteen more minutes, and I’ll make you regret every word you’re saying right now.”

“Perfect.” 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[prettydaisygirl]

i know i already sent one request, but i can't stop thinking that the explicit version of "Obsessed" by Olivia Rodrigo is soooo dark James, when r casually mentions her ex, especially this part

"Is she friends with your friends? Does she give great head?

Do you think about her? No, I'm fine, it doesn't matter, tell me

Is she easy-going? Never controlling?

Well-traveled? Well-read? Oh, god, she makes me so upset"

and maybe you can do something with this 👉🏼👈🏼

doesn't matter the pronouns of the ex, btw

love u, hope ur okay! 🩷

hi babes! I saw this request and it struck some inspo in me, especially once I listened to the song haha. It's not a song fic, just inspired by the song, and specifically that part. I love this one, tbh my very first thought was going to be James having the ex killed but then I thought that was a bit extreme for what happened but listen… I'm not ruling it out for the future. Hope you enjoy <3

dark!James Potter x fem!reader who mentions her ex ✿ 543 words

cw: dark!James, fem!reader, one of reader's exes is named Noah, other past relationships are vaguely mentioned, no actual smut but technically oral (f), help why does this turn me on

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

To James, you were perfect in every way. 

Sometimes you were misguided, or led astray, but you just needed James to steer you back in the right direction. And you always find your way, holding his hand when you need it. That’s what he’s here for, after all. For you. Always.

And listen, James does find it difficult to stay upset with you. In fact, it’s never you that he’s mad at. It’s something else. Or someone else, in this case. 

It starts with nothing. A comment that you probably don’t even think about, that leaves your mouth and then drifts away from your mind like a cloud. It’s a Friday night, and you’re cuddled up next to James, half-watching the video he’s got playing on the TV. Something about a rival match coming up, you think. Truthfully, you hadn’t been listening because you’d been lulled into submission by his hand gently massaging your scalp. 

An advertisement starts playing, you blink one eye open lazily, catching the screen. That’s when it happens. 

“Oh, Noah and I used to go there all the time, they have great drinks.” 

That’s it. Your eyes close again, and you settle further into him. Just a comment. 

But for James, it’s anything but.

He spends the rest of the evening with his eyes on the screen, looking but not seeing. His mind races, jealously flooding his veins like a thick green poison, taking over everything. He spends more nights like this than he should.

He’d known about Noah, of course. The pictures had been all over your social media when the two of you were together. You don’t know this, but James was already aware of you then. Scrolling through, taking screenshots, trying to figure out ways to break the two of you up. Evidently, something worked, because now you’re curled into his own side on a Friday night instead. And, well, things were always going to turn out this way in the end. James would’ve made sure of it. 

James has spent months slowly souring your memories of your past relationships. It wasn’t that you were still holding on, but sometimes you’d get this soft look on your face, and you’d say something about them in passing, just like tonight. And James would watch you get ready for bed later in the night, wondering what you must’ve looked like getting ready to fuck someone else, just like tonight.

He hates that. He hates that he wonders if you looked just as soft, if Noah wanted to slide his head between your thighs like he does. Because once he does have you under the covers, hands in his hair and letting out the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard while he laps at you with his tongue, he can’t stop himself from thinking about how Noah heard those too. How your exes got to experience these things before he did. 

It frustrates him, always, and on nights like this, he tends to draw it out. He wants to hear how he’s the best you’ve ever had, he practically begs you to say it. 

And you always do. Because it’s always true. 

But it won’t stop him from needing to prove it to himself again. And again. And again. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[mimiu3usoft]

Broken Glass| 7 ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ

After returning home, the girls quickly huddled together in the living room, whispering and giggling about something you couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, they were clearly up to something, but you had no say in it. They moved as a unit, full of energy and secrecy, completely ignoring your attempts to figure out what was going on.

While you were in the kitchen, busy preparing dinner, you casually called out to them, asking if they wanted to help or at least eat with you. There was a pause—just a beat too long—before one of them called back, "Maybe later! We have something... very, very important to do!"

The way Zoey stretched the words made you stop for a moment. Something about their tone and the way they were all acting set off a quiet alarm in your head. You turned slightly, brow raised in suspicion, watching them from the corner of your eye as they scattered into a room and shut the door behind them. 

'Must be hunter stuff...' you wondered. 

______

"Wow, Yuna, I—I... you really didn't have to..." Bobby laughed softly as he sat at the table, watching you move around the kitchen, preparing dinner.

You shook your head, chuckling as you placed the dishes down. "Nonsense. You've been working non-stop lately, especially after... well, after everything that happened."

Walking over to the fridge, you grabbed a couple of drinks and a container of kimchi, setting everything down neatly on the table.

"And you've been working your ass off," you said, finally settling into the seat across from him. "I felt bad that I hadn't really done anything to help."

Bobby looked at you like he was on the verge of tearing up, his smile faltering just a little.

"Don't say that," he said gently, his voice low. "You've been working just as hard—helping the girls, keeping everyone together. I really mean it, Yuna... I'm thankful for you."

You smiled back at him, the warmth in his words lingering in the quiet space between you.

"Now stop looking at your phone and perhaps watch something on TV."

______

The first thing that popped up on the TV was a variety show featuring the Saja boys.

"Oh, it's the boys..." You muttered, watching them chug hot sauce alongside the show's over-the-top host.

Bobby cringed at the sight, wincing dramatically. "Oh dear, that's gonna give them serious heartburn."

"Totally," you said through a mouthful of food. "I mean, sure—it's for content and all, but they should at least give those boys some water."

Bobby side-eyed you. "Why are you even defending them? They're already taking over half of social media—"

"Shit, they are?" you choked a little, eyes wide. 'But that was, like, the first time they even performed—'

"Language," Bobby said, pointing at you with his chopsticks, but the grin on his face gave away the fact that he wasn't really scolding you.

"I always know there's something up with their 'innocent' maknae," you commented, noticing the guy you bumped into had won the challenge. 

"Wait—you guys met?" Bobby snapped his head toward you, still chewing his food.

You nodded casually. "Yeah, they perform at the plaza. Big crowd and everything. Those girls were there too."

Bobby immediately choked on his food, coughing hard enough to make you panic. You rushed to hand him a glass of water.

"Hey, breathe! You good?" you said, watching him gulp it down. 

He nodded, still catching his breath, eyes wide.

You sat back down with a sigh. "Don't worry. They told me they were just out buying some... tonics." You trailed off, your voice lowering as you added under your breath, "Which I know won't work on Rumi."

Letting out another sigh, you turned your eyes back to the screen, just as the Saja boys were wrapping up their segment. The host stood center stage, ready to close the show with a bright smile and a practiced farewell—until something unexpected happened.

"What is he up to...?" you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Jinu suddenly snatched the mic from the host, flashing a mischievous grin. "Then why say goodbye... when we have some extra special guests joining us?" he said, voice dripping with excitement.

The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs, everyone whispering and glancing around the set, trying to guess who the surprise could be.

"Please welcome—Huntrix!"

You and Bobby both choked on your food, coughing in sync as your eyes shot to the screen.

The camera quickly cut to the upper section of the venue—right where the girls were crouched behind a white wall, trying their best to stay out of sight.

But you could see it. You knew. Even if it was just for a second—you were sure they had their weapons with them. And worse, they were fully dressed in their hunter gear.

"What the hell...?" you whispered, a growing panic creeping into your chest. "What are they doing?!"

Bobby looked at you. You looked back at him. Without saying a word, you both exchanged the look. Work? You gave him a small, defeated nod. Yes. We work.

Both of you stood up from your seats, leaving the half-eaten food behind without a second thought.

"Oh gosh, we didn't even finish dinner..." you muttered under your breath.

Bobby chuckled as he headed toward the elevator. "It's fine. It was nice having a proper meal with you again, Yuna. Thanks for the food!"

You smiled faintly, already reaching for the plates. "I'll stay and clean up. You go ahead."

He paused for a moment, just long enough to give you a soft smile. "Okay then. Take care, alright?"

"You too."

As the elevator doors slid shut, sealing him away from view, you let out a long sigh and ran a hand through your hair, pushing your bangs back—only for them to fall right back into your face.

You glanced back at the TV just in time to see the girls making their entrance—sliding down a decorative slide.

The problem? Their leather suits.

A loud, awkward squeaking sound echoed through the venue as they slid down, slow and jerky.

You visibly cringed at the noise. "Oh no..."

The crowd groaned collectively, wincing at the unexpected sound, and even the Saja boys couldn't hide their discomfort, grimacing as they looked away.

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Let's just clean this mess up quickly, and then we'll talk," you muttered, a deep frown settling on your face as you started clearing the dishes.

______

You moved quickly, cleaning up what you could and deciding to leave the dishes for later.

There was no time.

In one swift motion, you suited up in your hunter gear, the familiarity of it grounding you. Without hesitation, you stepped out onto the balcony and leapt into the night.

The wind rushed past you as you landed on a nearby rooftop, eyes already scanning the direction of the broadcasted location.

Out of all places... why there?

You pressed your lips into a tight line, thoughts racing.

Is it because demons are lurking there?

It didn't add up—unless...

Could it be...?

Your heart sank at the thought.

If it is... then I'm sad it has to end this way.

You pushed forward, the weight in your chest heavier than your gear, unsure whether you were running to stop them—or say goodbye.

Until you felt it, 'The honmoon, it's getting weak.' 

______

"Woah! Mind the face—I need it to steal your fans," Jinu said with a smirk, just before hurling a wooden bucket at Rumi.

Without hesitation, she slashed it clean in half, splinters flying in all directions. But the moment she moved, Jinu was already there. She twisted to dodge his next attack—but not fast enough.

His claw grazed her right arm, cutting deep. She let out a sharp grunt, pain flashing across her face, but she didn't stop. Her grip tightened around her weapon as she pushed forward, ignoring the blood trailing down her sleeve.

She watched him closely now, reading every twitch, every shift in his stance. When he vanished from her view, she was already spinning, catching him mid-step as he tried to strike from behind.

With a burst of strength, she swung her blade toward him—aiming to end it.

But just as it neared his throat, Jinu caught it.

Both of Jinu's hands clamped down on the weapon—one gripping the handle, the other wrapped tightly around her fist. He was lucky. A single touch of the blade itself, and he would've turned to dust.

The blade hovered mere inches from his throat, the edge humming with lethal energy.

Rumi grunted, pushing with all her strength, but Jinu didn't budge. He was holding his ground just as fiercely. His laughter cut through the tension, light but mocking, as he glanced at the blade hovering near his throat—then back at her with a grin.

"You're strong," he said, his smirk.

But then, something shifted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jinu caught sight of something—his expression faltered, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

His gaze dropped to her arm.

The shallow cut he had made earlier... he could see it more clearly now. The damaged leather had peeled back just enough to expose faint marks beneath.

His breath hitched.

Rumi's eyes followed his line of sight—and her heart skipped.

Her grip loosened ever so slightly as she caught sight of the torn leather and the unmistakable marks underneath. She froze.

Jinu took advantage of her hesitation.

With a sudden surge of strength, he shoved her back—hard. Rumi stumbled, barely catching her footing as she instinctively pulled her sleeve down, covering the glowing marks. Her breaths came fast and uneven, eyes wide as she stared at him.

She looked afraid.

Not of being hurt... but of being seen.

Of what he might do with what he now knew.

Jinu stood there, his eyes never leaving her, the tension between them thick and suffocating. His voice came low, almost in disbelief.

"A Hunter... who's part demon?"

The words hung in the air like a curse.

Rumi didn't answer. Her hand trembled slightly over her arm, and her mouth opened—but no sound came out. All she could do was stare at him, heart pounding, wondering if everything was about to fall apart.

Before Rumi could respond, the wall beside her exploded—shattered brick and debris flying as a demon was hurled straight through it, landing with a heavy thud.

Mira stepped through the dust and smoke, already drawing her blade again. "Rumi! We need you!"

Another voice followed, desperate and sharp. "Rumi!"

Rumi's chest tightened. Her breath caught as panic clawed its way up her throat. Her arm instinctively covered the marks again. The fear wasn't from the fight—it was from them seeing. From them knowing.

But then, something unexpected happened.

She felt warmth.

Arms—strong and steady—wrapped around her. Holding her.

She gasped, cheeks instantly flushing red when she realized who it was.

Jinu. The very man she was supposed to kill... was hugging her.

Her eyes widened in confusion—but then they shifted past his shoulder, and her heart stopped.

You were there. Fighting alongside the girls, helping them fend off the chaos.

Her breath hitched.

Everything happened fast.

Jinu shoved her aside before bolting out of the bathhouse, vanishing into the chaos.

"Rumi!" your voice cut through the noise, sharp and steady—snapping her out of her daze.

She gasped, reaching instinctively for the torn leather on her arm—only to find it wrapped in a towel.

Without missing a beat, she rushed to your side.

"Get to the girls—I'll follow them," you commanded, tone firm, eyes already scanning the battlefield.

Rumi swallowed hard, nerves twisting in her chest. This was the first time she'd ever fought demons with you—the one they all looked up to.

But she didn't question it.

She nodded. "Got it."

And then she ran, her blade steady in her hand, ready to face whatever came next.

______

As Rumi ran to regroup with the others, you surged past her, legs pumping hard as you chased after their leader.

You had one goal now—and he was getting away.

The air grew clearer as you escaped the thick, smoky heat of the bathhouse. Cold night air rushed against your face, cooling the sweat on your brow. Your boots hit the pavement hard as you rounded the corner—

And there he was.

Standing under the pale glow of a streetlamp, calm as ever, waiting.

"I didn't expect you to come alone," he said with a smirk, his breath visible in the chill.

You slowed your pace, eyes locked on him. "You should've known by now—I always work alone."

With every step you took forward, he stepped back, wary but amused.

"I didn't expect you and your members to be demons," you added, voice low but sharp.

He shrugged slightly, unfazed.

You let out a dry laugh, tilting your head. "A demon boy band. That's cute."

His smile faltered for just a second.

"But sadly," you said quietly, "I have to end this quickly."

Your grip tightened around the handle of your umbrella as it slowly shifted—metal sliding and clicking—until the blade fully revealed itself, gleaming under the cold light.

"It's a shame, really," you added, fingers sliding down to the hilt. "I actually enjoyed your show."

Your stance shifted—ready, balanced, poised to strike.

But Jinu didn't flinch.

Instead, he smirked.

"I don't think this is the end just yet... right?"

Your entire body froze.

That voice.

That voice wasn't his.

A chill ran down your spine as something sharp pressed against your back—light enough to barely break skin, but undeniable.

You didn't dare turn.

Your eyes flicked to Jinu, who simply stood there, arms crossed, watching it all unfold.

Not moving.

Not helping.

Just watching.

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your ears. Whoever was behind you—they were close. Too close. And they had waited until your focus was entirely on him.

A trap.

A whisper of cold air touched your cheek as the figure behind you leaned in.

Your grip loosened.

Every step she took forward shattered something inside you.

Your expression cracked—no longer the composed hunter, no longer the one in control. Your breath hitched as you lowered your gaze, eyes refusing to meet hers.

You can't.

You don't want to believe it.

You won't.

"Yuna," her voice called softly. "Look at me."

Your fingers slipped from the hilt of your sword, the blade falling with a hollow clatter to the ground.

Your body felt weightless—and yet so heavy. Your knees threatened to give in.

"No..." you whispered, almost choking on the word.

Your eyes locked on her hand—outstretched gently toward you, stained with marks. Those marks. The ones you were sworn to destroy.

Your vision blurred as your chest tightened, emotions rising too fast to contain.

'It can't be.'

You lifted your gaze slowly—your breath caught in your throat.

Standing in front of you was Mina.

Mina, with the same eyes. The same girl you once trusted, laughed with, maybe even—

With those marks etched into her skin.

The same ones you vowed to eliminate.

Your voice trembled, barely audible. "It can't be you..."

But there she was. 

"Like my new look?" Mina smirked, the edge of one of her twin swords tilting your chin up.

Your watery eyes met her golden, demonic ones. They shimmered with something unholy—something wrong—and yet...

Is it bad that it looks good on her? She would still love her. 

Your breath came out shallow and trembling. You had enough strength to lift your hands, but as you did, Mina pressed her blade a little firmer, a silent threat.

Still, it didn't stop you.

Your cold fingers closed gently around her wrist—the one holding the blade. She flinched at your touch, her smirk twitching ever so slightly.

"Why...?" you whispered, voice shaking. "What made you make a deal with him?"

She didn't answer.

She only stared into your pleading eyes in silence, the space between you heavy with all the words left unsaid.

"Mina, please... talk to me—"

Before you could finish, she shoved you hard.

You stumbled, nearly losing your balance.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you caught the flicker of movement—her blade swinging toward you.

Instinct. You summoned your sword just in time, the clash of steel ringing out through the night.

"Mina—!"

"So pathetic!" she snarled.

You flinched at the venom in her voice. It wasn't just rage. It was pain.

"You're always like this!" she shouted, her strikes wild and filled with fury. "Empathetic. Forgiving. Why?! Why can't you just hate?!"

Her blade screamed through the air as you blocked every blow, barely keeping up.

"Hate me!" she screamed. "When I hate you!"

Her final strike came down hard, nearly knocking you to your knees. You grunted, the force rattling through your arms as you barely held your ground.

"All your fault..." she hissed, her breath ragged. "It's your fault that I'm like this!" 

Your eyes widened.

"Please—let's talk—!"

"Yuna!" Rumi's voice rang out, panicked, followed by the pounding footsteps of Mira and Zoey behind her.

Your head snapped toward them.

That moment of distraction was all Mina needed.

She drove her foot into your stomach with a brutal kick, sending you flying back into a nearby wall. You hit it hard, the air knocked clean from your lungs as you collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.

"Yuna!" Rumi gasped, sprinting to your side as you tried to push yourself up. "Don't—just rest, please!"

"Mina, please listen—!" you rasped, gripping your side, forcing yourself up despite Rumi's desperate voice.

"Yuna, stop! You're hurt—!" she cried, trying to hold you steady.

Across the way, Mina had already stepped back. She walked toward Jinu, who stood silently, arms crossed, watching everything unfold.

He frowned—not at the chaos, but at you. At her. At all the pieces breaking apart in front of him.

Mina stopped beside him, her expression cold and unreadable.

Her golden eyes met yours.

There was nothing left in her face... nothing familiar. But her eyes—those eyes told a different story. One filled with pain, and regret, buried deep behind the mask she wore.

"Let's go," she said quietly, turning her back on you all.

And with that, she vanished into smoke.

But Jinu saw it.

Just before she disappeared—a single tear had fallen down her cheek.

He didn't say a word. Just watched the spot where you knelt, clutching your ribs, surrounded by those who still cared for you. Then disappeared. 

_______________________· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·_____________________

Taglist: @doggyteam2028 @ulmban @ridewiththetide3@pandafuriosa60@nesrynsblog @sleepless-cloudy @minthoneynbasil @kisekiworker

Note: Mina's face reveal? digital or traditional HAHAHAHA

[chimichema]

To those who are MC haters or saw the original posts:

(I did take down my ramble on the previous post cause i realized the OP had their comments off and I rlly know what u guys think, post)

This is more serious and I typically don't wanna be super serious but if you were one of the original posters who expressed their hatred for MC this is for you. It's not meant to criticize you, I here to help and make you realize why you may feel this way:

Weakest links is crazy, but I agree. Sadly, it's people that have some pre-exsiting sexist notion or mental health issues that fall into these para-social relationships. Fandom (of any) is often used as an escape from reality, especially when one is immersing themselves into something like fics or romance with xyz character.

It is often people who struggle to already connect with others that envy someone like MC because she is supposed to represent the one the guys want. Or rather some idealized version of you. People like this can't stand this idea and would rather project their own insecurities onto a literal fictional woman than take time to reflect on why they feel this way. And for the individuals that recognize this problem? Those who know they are just "a jealous bitter bitch"? Good, that's the first step to changing your mindset: to acknowledge not only that you struggle with these notions but also that IT IS NOT OK.

We are in the big 2025 and people would still rather hate on some pixels that use something like LADS to learn and grow as a person. Yes, you may have been hurt in the past, yes MC may remind you of someone who hurt you, maybe you think of her as a hollow vessel. Maybe you think that you aren't worthy of the LI's love and envy her for it.

Maybe it's time for you to focus on yourself, to realize this thought process is a reflection of your self-esteem issues. To recognize and question, "Why does it bother me that she's getting this attention and I'm not because she's supposed to represent me?" "Why do I feel so inadeuate for these FICTIONAL MEN and unworthy of them?"

There is an issue there: You feel unworthy and spewing your hatred for an innocent character, women, actor, individual will not change that. You are loved and cared for deeply. However, you first need to fill your cup before giving some to others. You cannot, and will not stop hating or viewing other women as opponents or villians until you learn to care for yourself and realize you are the one who defines your self worth.

Not some pixel men on the screen. not your past failed situationships or relationships. Not the friends or bullies who've hurt you. You.

You would rather wallow in your fandom and sorrow and whine on your post. Yes, fandom can and is for fun and escapism. But no, it is not going to address your issues and like we've seen may further amplify them.

Thank you to OP and @bubblekissed post for reiterating that we can have this conversation is a non argumentative manner

[kk-iki]

hello, my beautiful swans. i'm back with something that might read as judgmental to the majority of codblr, but since we're allowed to voice our opinions and be open about what bothers us in the fandom without fear of getting cancelled for it, why the hell shouldn't i talk about it?

follow along on substack if you'd prefer.

here we are again. once more, i find that being vocally feminist in the call of duty fandom might as well be me signing a contract that obligates me to jump into a vat of acid pussy-first every time i open tumblr.

i want to make it entirely clear that i will never, ever stop having problems with this specific issue. this would not be the case if these fics weren’t so everywhere, and especially not if they were regarded as the pinnacle of literary talent in this fandom.

i’ll keep this brief; i think the way this fandom treats readers that don’t fit the bill of a skinny white woman is absolutely diabolical. not in the good way.

i briefly touched on how the readers in this fandom are treated in terms of their mannerisms, personality, and general mindset. according to the fandom, we are the kind of girls who would be revered on alpha male podcasts, conservative news outlets, and the ever-prevalent ed-twt. i won’t be shy when i say that a lot of the readers that seem to be heralded as the ideal woman for these men are nothing short of vapid, insipid, and completely lacking in any illusion of a personality that goes beyond birthing hips and eyes that are privy to studio ghibli-esque tears every five fucking seconds.

except that’s not us. that’s not the reader. that’s not the person reading your work. that’s your untouched daddy issues and anxious attachment style with gorgeous legs, given the title of reader to make yourself feel better about using these men as your escape.

and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. i’ll be frank with you when i say that i am privy to projecting onto the girl i call reader very often. while i don’t write smut (nor will i ever), i give her pieces of me because i believe that is what it is to write. to produce a work that is entirely human is to give a bit of your own humanity to it in the process, and this is something i’ve always upheld as a core belief in my writing career.

i see this in other writers in the fandom, too. even the ones guilty of oversexualizing these men until they’re essentially booktok tropes given life. my only problem is that the latter is what is being pushed out by the algorithm and force-fed to everyone who refreshes their once carefully curated for you feed; and who feeds the algorithm but the people?

how, then, can you expect your work to connect with the reader at all? if all you’re doing is getting thirty-something year old military men to plow the embodiment of your insecurities until her spine breaks, who is that going to reach besides equally insecure people who have been hard-wired by a miasma of patriarchy and internalized hatred to consume and produce the same three pornhub tags until it’s clogging every cod-related tag on tumblr like an artery?

i am not white, although comments on my appearance would beg to differ. i am not a woman completely. i am not skinny; at least, not in the ways that seem to matter. none of these fics call out to me because it is damn near impossible to transplant myself into the shoes of this girl they call reader, and so i have to scour and dig and pluck at the endless mound of cod content with my perfectly manicured nails and my slightly callused but nevertheless well-kept fingers until i find something that finally, finally speaks to me. and it seems like such a self-centered issue, but i know there are people who feel the same, who are also digging for that something that will speak back.

it’s just not fair.

and what baffles me about this is that somehow, inextricably, it all comes back to the hatred of women one way or another. the unquenchable and almost feral thirst for dad bods and weathered older men in this fandom is not lost on me—and neither is the actual thirst; as a lesbian, i promise i get it. most of the time, it does feel like genuine appreciation for the variety of human beauty.

but when the thirst in question is for a reader—usually a female reader—with love handles and hip dips and blemishes and a flat chest, suddenly the character’s love (read: thirst) for her is an act of bravery, an eleven-part masterlist of blatant fetishization, a groundbreaking moment of this specific kind of reader finally being deserving of love because she’s getting it from a conventionally attractive military man, or all of the above.

and oh, god fucking forbid the reader in question is a fat woman.

i want to make it clear that i don’t really care what people write about. of course, there’s writing that’s incredibly personal and dear to an author’s heart, and i can appreciate that. and then there’s writing for readers to explore different fantasies and ideas with, and i can appreciate that too. harsh kink and taboo fics aren’t always my cup of tea, but i’m not condemning anyone for writing them and i don’t think that those kinds of fics should be censored, ever.

what i care about is when fics written by self-proclaimed activists and feminists proudly tout the romanticization of misogyny, racism, fatshaming, and all manner of harmful and frankly conservative stereotypes and ideologies. it’s one thing to write a fic about getting choked and spanked, which personally i don’t care for but won’t bash on because who’s that even hurting? it’s another thing to proclaim very adamantly that your writing is meant to ‘show love to the chubby girlies’, then proceed to dole out two thousand words of simon riley yelling ‘hey, fatass’ at the reader during her 9-5 shift before deciding to ask her out because she’s rightfully irritated at him.

(real fic, by the way. don’t harass the author if you happen to find it or the divine death ray will be coming for you.)

i honestly don’t even want to think about what kind of reader i might see if she was intended to be southeast asian. hell, if she was intended to be asian at all. race and ethnicity neutrality is a bit difficult in reader-insert fics, on the basis that there’s some nuances of our culture that are exclusive to us, just like there are for every other culture across the globe. it’s a head-tilter to hear “i’m not that race/ethnicity, so i wouldn’t feel comfortable writing for them”, when the ability to do your research has always been available to us and always will be. it’s not a crime against humanity to ask your poc community if something you’re writing reads as respectful to the culture or not.

(i might be stretching with that one a little, but it does bother me that the only two labels for reader that i see are “poc” and “unlisted”. does that not read as a little weird? i feel like i’m going crazy.)

my point is that it’s not weird to write fics about dark, taboo topics. who even cares? my point is that when you’re using the progress we’ve made in destigmatizing fics with that content to promote messages of oppression and prejudice under the guise of ‘it’s only fiction’, you don’t exactly have room to protest when your work is criticized.

ask yourself, very carefully; what about those topics and beliefs in these men are you so attracted to?

there’s no graceful way to end this. i’ve been so frustrated at what i’ve seen left and right that it’s all come full circle and now i’m just tired. i feel like this fandom has sapped the energy that usually comes with a new hyperfixation out of me, and all i want to do is scroll through edits in my camera roll and pretend tumblr isn’t even an app. i’m just sick of seeing misogyny, perpetuated and internalized, be brushed under the rug with proclamations of ‘i’m just a girl’ and ‘it’s all fiction anyways’.

because the truth is that fiction affects reality, to an extent. why do you think it was so revolutionary that queer and feminist media finally escaped censorship in a number of countries? the message lies in the media. we put out what we consume.

and if what we consume is a slew of messages that only serve to further oppress the minority, then what do you expect we’ll be putting out there for hundreds to consume and produce in turn? the answer is simple; more hate. more prejudice. more of the same oppression that we’ve fought against for years—the same fight that gave us the freedom to even be publishing our works like this in the first place.

so ask yourself; where and when does the cycle end?

all of my love to the following:

@rubyfrankenstein, for sitting with me on call while you drove home and being frustrated with me. you have such an articulate way with words that completely eludes me, and i wish i could have put this in as clear of words as you did. thank you for matching my freak x

@seraphimsentinel, @constantlyunconstant, and all the anons who expressed similar grievances in my inbox and on their own blogs. i am a little bit in love with you all and i appreciate you so, so much for being vocal about it. we need more of you and your work.

the shitheads (i would not put them through being tagged in a huge list all at once, but they know who they are and somehow i think they'll know that they have a place of honor here), for putting up with my semi - regular appearance in the hating channel whenever i have these kinds of things to talk about. it's an important topic but i know i can get exhausting, so thank you for bearing with me.

all my love,

kiki

[merry-ange]

Title: “You Could’ve Told Me”

Luca x Reader | Miscommunication | Disappearance | Mild Argument | Emotional Resolution | Soft Ending

It took ten days.

Ten long days of silence, of unread messages, of half-drafted texts that went unsent. Of Luca standing outside the restaurant after service, staring at his phone, jaw tight, thumb hovering over your name, and wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing.

And then finally — a message.

“I’m okay. Just… had a fall. Broke my ankle. Sorry I went quiet.”

That was it. No emojis. No warmth.

Luca didn’t respond right away.

He drove to your place instead.

You opened the door in a brace and oversized hoodie. You didn’t expect him to show up in person. You definitely didn’t expect him to look that… guarded. Not angry. Not exactly. But distant.

“Hey,” you said, voice hoarse.

“Hey.” He looked you over, gaze dropping to your ankle. “Jesus.”

You stepped back. “I’m okay now.”

“Did you go alone?”

You nodded. “Urgent care. Wasn’t a big deal.”

He crossed his arms.

“You were gone for ten days. You don’t answer, you don’t show. I thought something happened to you. Worse. Or that I—”

He stopped himself.

“That you what?” you asked, voice soft.

“That I messed something up. Or I read everything wrong.”

You exhaled. “You didn’t.”

“Then why disappear?”

You looked away. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

That word—burden—made his brow twitch.

“So I’m what, the kind of person who only wants you around when you’re fun? Uncomplicated? Able to walk unassisted?”

You frowned. “That’s not what I said.”

“No. But it’s what you assumed.”

The words weren’t cruel, but they landed hard. You looked at him, stung. “Luca, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to deal with needing help.”

“Then you let me deal with it with you,” he said, voice quieter now, but still steady. “That’s how it works.”

“I’ve never had that,” you whispered.

“Maybe it’s time you do.”

You blinked, throat tightening. “I just didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Luca stepped closer, frustration softening.

“I wanted to see you. Even bruised. Even limping. Especially then.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s when it matters.”

You stared at him, breath catching.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally. “I really, really am.”

He nodded, shoulders loosening.

“Next time, don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t,” you promised.

Luca looked down at your ankle, then back at your face. His voice, finally, gentle:

“You hungry?”

You blinked. “…Starving.”

He gave a small smile.

“I brought soup.”

And with that, the wall between you quietly cracked — not from yelling, but from truth laid bare.

Writers note: hello last post for Friday. Kinda left this one everywhere I don’t know how to feel about it but then again Im new to this world of writing. Let me know your thoughts.

As always like share comment

Ciao 🫶🏽

[vettelsvee]

GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PART 6: SUNSHINE [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

goodbyes are bittersweet masterlist | f1 masterlist

PAIRING: Ferrari Sebastian Vettel x Ex girlfriend!Reader WORD COUNT: 4k SUMMARY: With the help of Seb, Britta and Niall, you are given a second chance to accept the contract you first refused to sign. Also... emotions make you tell Seb a little bit more than you should have about Emily WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of sex, angst TAGLIST: [ I'm modifying it so feel free to tell me if you wanna join <3 ] VEE'S NOTES: Can't believe it's been a whole year since this series was posted! I didn't expect anything from it (specially taking into account not many people read about Seb) and it absolutely blew up, A LOT. Thank you so much to those of you who have been interested in it even when being delayed, and I apologize for not having updated it... too many things happened that made writing difficult for me. But here we are again! Hope you like it and, if so, remember reblogs/likes/comments are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading! <3

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy, translate or share my works on other sites. thanks for reading!

“Morning… I have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Taylor at 10:30. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“One moment, please. I’ll check the info first…”

You offered a shy smile while the receptionist, not much older than you, looked you up and down over the top of her computer screen. She typed steadily, sizing you up without saying a word.

“Yes, they’re expecting you on the fifth floor,” she finally confirmed, handing you a visitor badge and motioning for you to put it on. You did as instructed. “The elevators are at the back of this floor, on your left. There’s only one office, so you won’t have trouble finding it.”

You thanked her and head off.

The elevator was lined entirely with mirrors, reflecting your image from every angle. To make the time go faster, and maybe distract yourself from the nerves, you studied your reflection. The mirrors made you feel slightly self-conscious, but still, you looked.

You dressed formally today: white shirt, black blazer, pencil skirt, matching heels. You weren’t sure if it was the right outfit, but at least it gave the appearance of confidence… even if, deep down, you were still the same girl who ran away and rejected a life-changing contract just weeks ago because fear had frozen you in place.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped, snapping you out of your thoughts. The doors opened to reveal the floor. Just like the receptionist said, there was just one room. And it was much bigger than you expected… High windows, a long meeting table, chairs perfectly aligned… except one, slightly pushed back. A figure sat in it, back turned.

You entered cautiously, adjusting your clothes. Even though your steps were soft, Peter Williams, the director of Capitol Records, noticed your presence the moment you crossed the threshold.

“I see you’ve arrived early, Y/N,” he said, turning toward you. “I’m glad you reconsidered our proposal.”

He extended a hand. You shook it and sat across from him, trying not to look as tense as you felt.

“I wanted to thank you for accepting my proposal… again,” you began, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I know not everyone gets a second chance, especially in this industry…”

“There was some… pressure. Let’s leave it at that,” he interrupted, eyes narrowing as he assessed you. “It’s impossible to deny that Red has been a phenomenon online, but it’s also impossible for me to take a no for an answer. I don’t expect you to understand that, but we don’t like being left “on read” and rejected only to be begged later, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, even though shame churned in your stomach.

“It wasn’t the right time. I didn’t want to commit if I knew I couldn’t give 100% of myself,” you explained.

“And now you can? Just a few weeks later?”

You didn't reply. Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you knew, deep down, he was right. He had a point, and you couldn’t deny that.

“Seeing as you’re now committed… I’d like to introduce you to someone before we start talking about everything your life is about to become.”

At his words, the door opened. A tall man, maybe in his fifties, walked in with confident strides. Dark hair, a touch of stubble, rimless glasses and a perfectly tailored suit. Unlike Peter, though, his smile was warm and genuine.

“Y/N, this is Joseph Benson,” Peter introduced. You stood up with more confidence this time and offered your hand first. “From now on, he’ll be your manager. Hand-picked by us. Everything related to PR, public image, media and brand relationships, among others, will go through him.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You smiled back and returned to your seat, now with Benson besides you. He opened the iPad he brought and started scrolling through what looked like the plan, in detail, for your new life.

Peter pulled out a black folder and slid it toward you. You hesitated, unsure, until he clarified:

“This is what we’re offering,” he said, pointing. You opened it slowly, reading as you listened. “Two-year contract, extendable. Full studio album, international distribution, a tour depending on success. Three music videos, including one for Red, with all promotion included.”

“And when would we start? Is there a set date, or…?”

“We want to start now, Y/N.”

“Now, as in…”

“This week,” Peter said bluntly.

Your eyes widened. Peter rolled his. Joseph chuckled quietly, finding your reaction endearing, almost childlike.

“You’ll stay in London until July. We’ll handle everything here. All expenses paid for you and your companions… Rosalie Y/L/N and Emily Y/L/N, right?” You nodded. “We’ll provide a full team: production, vocal coaching, video shoots. We need you present and committed. Joseph’s already working on your schedule.”

You nodded again, forcing yourself to stay calm even when the anxiety began to rise.

“And the promotion part? That’s included too?”

“That’s where I come in,” Joseph replied. “The Red video drops in June, so we’ll start promotion a few weeks earlier. July includes interviews on BBC Radio 1, some big podcasts… and we’re working on something with Red Bull Racing.”

“Red Bull Racing? The Formula 1 team?”

Peter scoffed, already losing patience.

“They offered to sponsor you after you stood us up.”

“The thing is…” Joseph stepped in gently, “they pulled strings. You’ve been invited to sing the national anthem at the German Grand Prix… and to perform afterward. Your first concert of your career, I might add”

“They’ve taken an unusual interest in you, according to…” Peter checked his phone. “Britta Roeske,” he said with a touch of disdain, which you didn’t appreciate. “I guess someone with influence in the sport cares about you. Sebastian Vettel. You know him?”

You tensed.

“Yes. He’s… familiar.”

“Well, that familiar guy you dated for years personally called our office. Multiple times. So did that Britta woman, his PR person or whatever, begging us to give you another damn chance.”

“I didn’t know…”

“When a four-time world champion and Red Bull’s former golden boy speaks highly of their former golden girl, and the team backs him… we listen,” Peter said firmly.

“Niall wrote to us too,” Joseph adds kindly. “You’ve known each other a few years, right?”

“Yes,” you answered. “He was in Heppenheim a few years ago when we…”

“The point is,” Peter cut in, “among Niall, Vettel, his assistant, and Red Bull’s marketing team, they got us back here. We don’t usually give second chances. Especially not to nobodies like you… if we can even call you that, considering your history with that driver…”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to scream. Cry. Stay in the room, and leave it all behind. Peter’s tone made you want to walk out, but the fact that Sebastian went out of his way to help you? That stunned you.

You expected Niall to step in. But Seb? After everything you did? After you broke his heart and disappeared for years?

And he still knew nothing about Emily.

“I understand… I know you’re upset I said no the first time,” you began, choosing your words carefully to avoid sounding desperate. You sigh. “But I didn’t ask anyone to speak on my behalf. I didn’t beg for a second chance.”

“The thing is, Y/N, we don’t like having our time wasted,” Peter said confidently. “So I hope you’re actually ready.”

Silence.

You holded his gaze. Then, you spoke:

“I’ve always been ready, Mr. Williams. Sometimes, though, our inner voice overwhelms us,” you took one last look at the contract, then shut the folder and pushed it toward him. “I accept everything. But I need one thing clear: I want a say in everything. I want to tell my story. And if I can’t do it my way… I won’t be doing it.”

Peter nodded, biting his tongue. He glanced at Joseph, who handed you the iPad with the digital version of the contract. You took a breath and started reading it again, this time more carefully, scrutinizing every clause, every line of fine print that could ruin you if you overlook something important.

“This isn’t a dictatorship, but it’s a business, Y/N,” the director of the label warned while you scrolled. “Be aware of the consequences of every single thing you do. Any decision, even the ones you try to keep secret, can shape the course of your life. I think you already know what I mean…”

You chose to ignore the rudeness laced in his tone. Instead, you gripped the stylus and made a clean, confident stroke in the signature box your manager had pointed out.

“Done.”

Peter stood up. Joseph followed him, so did you, straightening your posture.

“Welcome officially to Capitol Records, Y/N Y/L/N.”

You shook Peter’s hand and, without saying anything else, left the room. Joseph followed, calm and composed, as though he hadn’t noticed the thick tension that had lingered during the entire meeting.

“I can tell you’re really… lost in thought, Y/N.”

You stopped the moment your heels touched the pavement outside the building. Turning, you find him lighting a cigarette. He offered you one. You shook your head politely, though every nerve in your body screamed for the familiar comfort of smoke in your lungs again.

“I’m just… processing,” you replied with a crooked half-smile. “Everything’s so different. I just signed something that could change my entire life, even if only a little, so forgive me if I’m not out here jumping with champagne and drugs.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll celebrate for us both,” Joseph said, blowing the smoke toward the street. “Also, before you go, just know… you don’t have to worry. I’ll be by your side the whole time. I’m not the kind of manager who only shows up on red carpets and claims credit when the artist wins something. I’ll be proud of you throughout the process, not just at the finish line.”

You raise a brow. 

“So… are you getting anything out of this?”

He grinned.

 “A girl who feels comfortable with her contract, even when everything in her screams to run.”

He gestured vaguely toward the building behind you. 

“I know Peter acted like the asshole he usually is, but I’m not like him.”

“I hope not.”

“I also know Niall personally. If he hadn’t seen something in you, he wouldn’t have spoken up. Same goes for Vettel… I don’t know him, but from what I heard from him, from Britta, it says a lot about who you really are, Y/N.”

You looked at him and, for the first time since arriving in London, you felt something new. Not just welcomed… but like your sacrifice might actually be worth it.

Like you might be worth it.

“You know what I like most about you?” Joseph asked, stomping his cigarette out on the pavement.

“That you can market me as a Formula 1 driver’s ex?” you asked dryly while sarcastically. “Because if that’s the case, I really don’t—”

“No. Not at all. That’s exactly what I was not going to say. What I like is that, even if you don’t see your worth yet, you fight for your work. You stood your ground with Peter. Yeah, we’ll have to work on your confidence, and yeah, maybe you were scared the first time we offered the deal… but now you’re here. You didn’t come crawling back. You showed up with your head high. And believe me… that shows.”

You lowered your gaze. The words warmed something in your chest, but they also stinged because you didn’t feel brave or confident.

“I did it to protect someone important to me,” you said, the words escaping before you can stop them. “I was, I am, fully aware of how becoming a public figure might change everything. I want to keep my private life private. But my priority is…”

“I’m guessing Emily. And I’m also guessing she’s your daughter, right?” Joseph cut in, his tone firm but gentle. “Let me make this clear: she will be protected. Any mention of her, any public appearance, will only happen if you allow it. As your manager, I promise her safety and well-being will be just as much of a priority as yours. If that’s what’s been eating at you, don’t let it sink.”

His words hit you with such force you went pale. You were overwhelmed and comforted at the same time, emotions clashing within you like opposing tides.

Joseph seemed to notice and softened his voice again.

“Take the afternoon for yourself. We start tomorrow. First thing: ideas for the Red music video. Then we shoot it. You’ll set the release date, but it can’t clash with the Red Bull shoot. By the way, they’re thrilled with you. Said you perfectly fit the rebellious spirit they like to push.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed for the first time in hours.

“For a girl who rejected their sponsorship, had a kid they don’t even know about, and dumped their favorite driver? That’s what they’re selling?”

“Told you already, girl: you’re more than that,” Joseph says seriously. “And hey… if I can give you one piece of advice, thank him. What he did for you… isn’t normal. Especially not for an ex. And I doubt it was easy.”

“Yeah. Yeah… sure.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You waved goodbye and slipped into the crowd. London swallowed you up like one of its own. You headed toward a nearby square, a small park nestled in the center. Only two people were there.

Rosalie sat on a bench, talking on the phone, eyes fixed on the child playing on the slide.

“Mama!”

The little voice sliced through your heart. Emily rushed toward you, arms flailing, squealing with joy. You barely got your arms open in time before she launched herself at you, peppering your face with kisses.

“Did they say yes, mama?! Are you going to sing the song you always sing at home?!”

You laughed, holding her close, pressing your lips to her soft blonde curls as you walked toward your mother.

“Yes, mäuschen. Mama’s going to record that song. And more songs too.”

“Are you going to be on TV?” Emily asked, eyes wide open.

“Maybe. Do you want mama to be on TV?”

“Yes! Maybe you can even be on it with Sebastian! Remember? The man that drives the fast red car and is Mrs. Heike and Mr. Norbert’s son!”

Rosalie joined you both, grinning. She pulled you and Emily into a hug.

“So… it’s done? You signed?” she asked.

You nodded.

“I have to stay here… at least until July. They said you and Emily can stay too. Expenses covered.”

Your mother studied you. 

“And… are you okay with all of it?”

“It’s what I want,” you replied firmly, skirting the real answer.

The three of you strolled through the streets of London, Emily skipping beside you, singing nonsense songs, asking to be picked up or begging to fly between your arms.

“And now what?” your mother wondered. “Do you start the album?”

“Yes. Everything starts tomorrow. I’ve got a manager, Joseph. He’s actually… nice. We’re going to start filming the Red video once the concept’s finalized.”

“And are you ready for all of this?”

You didn’t answer. Being ready felt too small.

“I’m going to do it. For me… and for Emily.”

Rosalie slowed her pace, prompting both you and Emily to do the same.

“And also for Seb, right?”

Her question hit like cold water. You dropped your gaze, suddenly fiddling with your fingers.

“It shouldn’t be, but… yes. Partly, I want to do this for Seb,” you admitted. “He pulled so many strings, and after—” 

You stopped. Your emotions swell too close to the surface. 

“I was such an idiot for so many years, and now… he does this for me. I don’t know how to thank him,” you continued, trying not to break down.

“Y/N, love… It’s been five years since you left that boy without telling him the truth,” Rosalie said, lowering her voice so Emily wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t agree with your choice back then. And I’m not going to judge you now. But I’m still your mother. And I have to say it: it’s time to stop living this half-truth that only your father, me, Hanna, and Seb’s parents know. It’s eating you alive.”

You felt the tears rising. You looked up, blinking fast, shaking your head like that might keep them from falling.

You couldn’t cry. Not in front of Emily.

You didn’t want her to see you broken.

“You know I want to tell him. But you also know I don’t know how to tell him,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how to say he has a daughter. I don’t know how to explain that I broke up with him thinking it was better for him, because I was afraid of ruining his career, of dragging down our relationship… and that’s exactly what ended up happening.”

Rosalie took your hand gently, still watching Emily as she skipped along the sidewalk, carefully avoiding the cracks.

“Think about it… You have another chance now. If he helped you, if he moved heaven and earth for you… it’s because he still cares. Maybe it’s not love, or not what it used to be, but… something is still something. Even if it’s just crumbs.”

“And what if I tell him and then he hates me? What if he wants nothing to do with her?” you asked, tilting your head slightly toward Emily, mind flooded with worst-case scenarios.

“And what if he does want her? What if he’s always wanted a family, and you were part of that dream… and he didn’t even know about it?”

You were grateful you’d reached the hotel just then because your heart couldn’t carry the weight of it any longer.

You broke down. Tears spilled down your cheeks. Quietly, not dramatically, but heavy with everything you’d kept inside.

The elevator crawled upward, far too slowly for your liking, stretching the moment painfully. Your mother let you cry without saying a word. Emily watched you with worried eyes, then curled up in your lap, holding Rosalie’s hand tightly, yawning.

When the elevator reached the 12th floor, even the doors seemed to open in slow motion. You walked out together, keeping pace with your daughter, who stopped every couple of steps to observe something new.

“Mama, can I sleep with granny tonight?”

Rosalie, a few steps ahead with the room key, turned at the sound of your daughter’s voice. You blinked in confusion.

“With granny? Don’t you want to sleep with me?”

Emily shook her head with a smile.

“Granny told me at the park that if I was good, she’d tell me the story of the giant unicorn. And I was really good all day!”

She clapped her hands with joy, then walked over to you, tugging your hand so you’d crouch down to her level.

“You’re also sad, mama. And you cried a lot earlier… And you have red eyes.”

Her little voice trembled slightly, and when your eyes met hers, something in you shattered. No words were needed. None.

You stood up and looked at your mother, who, with just one glance, told you what she didn’t need to say aloud: call Sebastian.

And for the first time in a long time… you felt ready.

You kissed your daughter’s forehead, told her to be good for grandma, and reminded her that you loved her very much. Then you slid your key card into the reader and entered your room, letting out a deep, slow breath as you closed the door behind you.

After a shower, changing into something comfortable, and dimming the lights so that only your bed was softly illuminated, you sat cross-legged with your phone in hand. Your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself, like a shield.

You opened your contacts. Found his name.

Sebastian.

Without letting yourself think too much sin you were sure you’d back out if you did, you hit the FaceTime button and waited.

You fixed your hair in the reflection as the screen rang… until his face appeared.

“Y/N?”

He looked like he was in his room too. Dark gray t-shirt, hair tousled. His face held a strange mix of surprise, worry, and something warmer.

“Did something happen? Are you okay?” he asked immediately.

“Yeah, sure… I just wanted to talk to you. Are you free? I can call you some other time—”

“For you? I’ll always make time for you, sunshine,” he said, that familiar smile playing on his lips.

You asked how his weekend in Monaco had gone, and he launched into a detailed story. How happy he was to finish second, though he wouldn’t have minded stealing the win from Ricciardo. How he accidentally fell asleep in the Ferrari motorhome and Britta had to search half the Principality to find him. You both laughed and reminisced about the city, the past, the naughty things you used to do…

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You seem… I don’t know… really tired,” he said gently.

“I’m exhausted. That’s all.”

“London, right?” You nodded. “So… that means… you signed the contract.”

Without even having to say another word, he placed his phone down, probably on the nightstand, and stepped out of frame.

And then you heard it: loud clapping.

You laughed. A shaky, emotional sound that dissolved into tears. Not of sadness this time, but of relief. Of gratitude. Of finally letting go.

“There’s no turning back now,” you said, wiping your cheeks. 

“Everything starts tomorrow officially and… God, Seb, I still can’t believe it.”

“You did it,” he said, picking the phone back up, his smile proud. “Fuck damn… you’re finally doing what you’ve been saying you wanted to do since… basically forever.”

“You mean we did it,” you corrected. “You’re the one who spoke up for me. When I told you I turned it down without even explaining why, you didn’t let it go. You made it happen. And I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do!” you said, voice rising as you sat straighter. “You did something I didn’t have the courage to do for years: you gave me a second chance. Seb, for God’s sake… I left you overnight and still, you did this for me.”

Sebastian looked down, rubbing his jaw, a nervous habit you knew all too well. That familiarity stung and soothed you at once.

“When you truly love someone… that doesn’t just go away overnight,” he said finally. “Not even when you don’t understand why they left. Not even when it hurts. Not even when you try to move on and can’t.”

You couldn’t lie. That hit like a gut punch.

And with that came the tears again. Tears made of everything you’d kept locked up since the day you walked away.

“Do you want to know what the album is called?” you asked through your tears.

He tilted his head slightly. “Y/N, you don’t have to tell me if—”

“It’s called Sunshine.”

He didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his face overtaken by emotion and shock.

“Sunshine…” he echoed, barely above a whisper. “Just like I used to call you. God, I just did it a few minutes ago...”

You nodded, crying more now but not hiding any of it.

“Yes. It was because of that… and, also… because that’s how you made me feel. How you still make me feel”

He swallowed hard, visibly shaken. He didn’t ask what you knew he wanted to ask. He didn’t have to.

“Also… because, well, now… I call someone else that. Someone very important to me, who, like you, changed my life completely.”

You watched his expression change, more serious now, but impossible to read. Jealousy? Confusion? A storm of unspoken questions?

He played with his hands, clearly trying to keep calm. But you knew he had sensed it.

You were hiding something from him. Someone.

He knew. He knew you all too well. And you knew it was a matter of time to start revealing the truth. The real, and not modified one.

“It’s a double album,” you continued, slowly now. “One part is inspired by you… and the other by that little person… by a little girl.”

[napenthusiast1]

no like PSA stop commenting about Paige and Azzi on other peoples social media: it is annoying especially when it has nothing to do with them. yes, these are people closest to them but they have lives outside of them leave them alone 😳😳

and this applies to family as well as teammates and even Paige and Azzi themselves(they have their own identities outside of being together shocking! I know. Unless they bring one another up or a post has something to do with BOTH of them, you don’t need to comment about their relationship on an unrelated post)

this shouldn’t even have to be said but children man

Btw If ur commenting stuff like this on a completely unrelated post . Ur annoying