#and i put the other one THERE and they looked like this

[tequiilasunriise]

They're wearing promise rings, your honor

In Korea, there's a tradition where couples will exchange promise rings- known simply as couples rings- on the 100th day of the relationship to signify their deep commitment to each other. These rings are oftentimes worn on the right ring finger, as opposed to the left, in order to avoid confusion for a wedding band while still maintaining a very significant weight + meaning.

Notice how Zoemira are wearing matching gold rings. On the same finger. The right ring finger, to be exact. Hm. And with NO other accessories. Hmm. Even though we have seen them accessorize with multiple rings before. Hmmmm!

I'm just saying, the animators made a choice and I am noticing said choice. I will now be imagining one million scenarios revolving around Zoemira promise rings, walk with me here.

One of them shyly proposing with a golden ring on the 100th day of being together, "If the Honmoon turning golds means it's going to last forever, then I want our relationship to be just like that..." and then the other rushes to grab her own box with her own golden ring and, laughing with tears in her eyes, offers up the ring with a choked up, "I was thinking the same thing."

Zoemira being very, very, VERY careful when taking off their respective rings and tucking them safely with their clothes when they go to the bathhouse together. When they're done bathing, it's the very first thing they check on and immediately slip back onto their finger before putting on any clothes.

They can't wear their promise rings during shows, public Huntrix outings like fan signings, etc etc lest they catch heated speculation from observant fans and paparazzi alike (dating is a hugeeee no-go for idols unfortunately), but that doesn't mean they don't have them on their person at all times if they can help it. Secured into inside pockets of their clothes, long stringed necklaces that stay underneath their tops, so on and so forth. I like to think, despite it being the easiest solution to avoid rumors and speculation, they choose to forgo wearing their rings on a different finger. These specific rings have a very specific symbolism- it's either gonna be on their ring finger or no finger. And if it's not gonna be on a finger, then they're still going to have it on their person in some way because unless absolutely necessary you best believe they're never taking those rings off.

^^^^Which is why they like to wear 'em when out in public when disguised!! Yay they can properly wear their promise rings and not get fleck for it!!! Like yes hold on Rumi we’re gonna go to the tonic doctor but we gotta get blinged up first. These matching rings are SUPER vital to the disguises and it’s INCREDIBLY important they’re worn properly ie on our ring fingers specifically. Don’t look too deeply into it (yeah I’m of the boat Rumi never realized Zoemira were already together pre-canon, to be fair girly had a lot on her plate to deal with) (she’s also never noticed their flirting attempts to get her to be their third but that’s neither here nor there).

Give me disguised!Zoey grabbing disguised!Mira by the hand to drag her through a busy and crowded marketplace, speed yapping through the one million lyric ideas she's recently come up with while mindlessly rubbing Mira's promise ring with her thumb, and in turn Mira intently listening and hoping her girlfriend doesn't let go of her hand anytime soon.

Give me Zoemira pinky promises featuring the promise rings. Oftentimes, Zoey will playfully challenge Mira with a, "Oh yeah? Pinky promise?" and stick out her pinky. Mira would then hook her own pinky with Zoey's and reply, "I promise" before rotating her own hand and in turn rotating Zoey's hand (since their pinkies are still hooked together), and as she's bowing her head and titling it a little not unlike the MOST dashing and charming she/her prince to ever grace this Earth, Mira maintains flirty eye contact with Zoey as she presses a sincere kiss to her beloved's promise ring as if giving a seal of approval punctuating how serious she is about keeping her word. It doesn't matter if this is the tenth or hundredth time Mira has pulled this move on her (Zoey has her make pinky promises often, what can she say she's just a silly little guy), the rapper's heart still bursts with warm, fluttery affection every single time. The way she'd giggle as Mira pulls back and shifts her hand so that their fingers are intertwined, oh yeah girly is SWOONING (and on god I can not blame her. Mira Huntrix is the high fashion prince charming she/her boyfriend. God bless handsome femmes).

Give me any and ALL content related to Zoemira promise rings because I got the typa greedy hunger talked about in the bible.

If you made it this far, thank you for coming to my TedTalk. I will now scream and cry in a corner now.

[satoruined]

18+

best friend!satoru who eats you out for the first time as your second birthday gift. you’d joked about needing a second dessert after cake and he’d shrugged, carried you bridal style to the couch, pinned your thighs over his shoulders and said, “you want me to put frosting on it or nah?” you thought he was kidding. you learned he was not.

best friend!satoru who gets painfully hard when you wear his clothes, but doesn’t bother to hide it.

best friend!satoru who lets you borrow anything from his closet, and steals from yours constantly. “mutual property. yours is mine, mine is yours. if you see me decked out in your miniskirt, i don’t want to hear a word,” and he means it—full on struts past you one morning in your crop top, showing off his slutty waist like it’s his god-given right, looking back only to say: “you left it on the floor. you forfeited ownership.”

best friend!satoru who’s your lingerie consultant. even when you’re dating someone else, he always insists on helping you “rate” the pieces you wear for The Other Guy. “7.5. makes your tits look great, but you’re gonna waste that on him?” weeks later, you realize half those sets went missing.

best friend!satoru who feeds you fries off his plate. dips them in sauce and holds them up to your lips. always pretends to miss your mouth so he can press his greasy fingers against your bottom lip and go “oops, messy girl.” and chuckles when you lick or bite his fingers in retaliation.

best friend!satoru who lets you use his card when you’re sad. doesn’t ask what for, just sends you a selfie of him pouting with a “buy smth pretty so you don’t cry” caption. if you don’t spend at least $300, he gets personally offended.

best friend!satoru who showers with you “to save the environment,” but spends more time helping you exfoliate your back and rinse your conditioner out than actually washing himself. you turn around once and catch him palming himself lazily under the stream. “oh,” he says, blinking. “you can keep singing, don’t mind me.”

best friend!satoru who has zero boundaries when it comes to your body. he adjusts your straps, straightens your necklaces, zips you into dresses from behind with such painstaking care that should not be so casual.

best friend!satoru who hasn’t fucked you, but has definitely slept curled around you like a body pillow on many occasions. who dry humps you during cuddles—not even always consciously. sometimes it’s in the middle of a movie, arms wrapped around you, hips rocking languidly against your ass while you eat popcorn. other times he full-on moans in his sleep.

best friend!satoru who is that annoying best friend who accidentally walks in while you’re changing.

best friend!satoru who kisses your forehead chastely. who holds your hand walking through crowds. who likes to pull you into his chest and rest his chin on the top of your head

best friend!satoru who gets hard watching you cry over your ex. not out of cruelty—he hates seeing you hurt, truly—but you’re sobbing into his chest, voice wobbling through half-formed sentences, and it does something to him. part of him wants to cheer you up with takeout and movies. the other part wants to fuck you so good you forget that asshole’s name entirely.

best friend!satoru who keeps saying “it’s not sexual unless you cum” like that’s a rule in the friend handbook.

best friend!satoru who never asks you to be his, because he knows the second you say yes, he’s compromised. you’ll become the one thing he can’t afford to lose. he keeps you close, but not close enough that someone could make you a target. as the strongest, he’s spent his whole life being selfless for the sake of everyone else. but he’s just not sure he’d know how to be selfless with you.

[heinrizzofskalitz]

Hansry Gif Collaboration 2025 - August 2nd: favourite moment

[rawme-price]

Thoughts on a dragon!price in a world where dragons on scarce, never seeing dragons except for his own family, and then dragon!reader joins the team?

He doesnt realize what you are at first, and you would like to keep it that way. Most dragons have large wings, curling horns, sharp teeth and claws that could kill. Each one so distinct it would be impossible to be mistaken for a human.

So of course he doesnt suspect you to be a dragon. You make sure there's nothing to give you away. Wings that a far smaller than they should be at your age are folded and bound tight to your spine, claws filed down and the stumps hidden behind gloves. Your short tail can be tucked into pants easily enough. Oddly, you never have to struggle with horns, because yours never grow. The stumps are hidden behind your hair, and you wear a face mask for the teeth.

You act like a human, for the most part. But youve never been around another dragon before, and what you had thought were normal behaviors are getting you odd looks. Like whenever price tries to put a hand on your shoulder or nape, and you flinch away.

Or at breakfast, when you get your own food. Everyone else waits for price to serve them, and he makes a huff of smoke when he sees you already have a plate. Kyle has to pull you aside one day and explain "dude, youve got to stop brushing prices instincts off. Its fine if you don't want to be a part of his hoard but at least let him coddle you a bit."

....so all of those things price did that made your instincts buzz was him trying to treat you like hoard. Hm. Tentatively, you allow it to happen and push down any instincts it causes for you. You dont purr when a wind wraps around you, and you dont puff a thanks when he gets you food. You are so good at being human.

Until you aren't.

Until you and price get ambushed on an op. Weapons are taken and hands bound. They put a muzzle over prices face to stop him from breathing fire. They didnt give one to you.

Two gaurds are in front of you, one is behind price with a gun to his temple. You inhale deeply, let it roll around in your lungs. The sound is so subtle the humans miss it, but you know price doesnt when his step falters for half a second.

With a great exhale, you engulf the first gaurd in flames. Compared to other dragons, the flames are laughable, but its still strong as a flame thrower and more than effective. The second you do, price jerks and knocks the gaurd behind him out with his horns. The second you two are secure and the soldiers are dead, price is turning to you with a furious look.

"What the bloody hell was that?" He voice was low, dangerous as he back you against a tree "because to me, it looked like you just breathed fire. But youre not a dragon, aye? Unless youve been lying, so what was that?"

For the first time, you feel a bit scared of price.

You push further into the tree, had your wings been unbound they would have tucked close to your back. "...I am one. A dragon, that is."

Price curses, slams a fist into the tree close to your head then backs away to pace. His tail lashes back and forth over dead leaves in agitation. "You dont have horns. Or wings. Hell, I would have noticed if you had claws or a tail too."

Hes talking to himself, but you still respond. There's no need to lie when its so obvious now. "I do, captain. My wings are uh- bound currently. Horns never grew in."

Prices head whips around to stare at you, and when he exhales its with a cloud of black smoke. Oh god hes pissed. Price grabs his com, doesnt stop staring at you. "Watcher-1 this is Bravo six requesting immediate exfil. Its an emergency."

He leaves it at that, waits for laswell to reply before grabbing you by the forearm and dragging you through the trees. You stumble along, mind lagging at the sudden urgency in prices movements. "Exfil? Captain- what? Why-?"

The next puff of smoke has you shutting up. "You're horns havent grown in. Your wings are bound. That pathetic spark you threw earlier. Youre fuckin' deathly sick, kid. We're getting you to medical to find out what the hell you fucked up."

[Pt 2 if u care]

[astonmartinii]

let me at em' | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem albon reader

alex’s sister goes on love island and has a horrible time… good thing there’s someone waiting who knows how to treat her

MASTERLIST | OSCAR PIASTRI MASTERLIST

loveisland

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loveisland: meet another one of the new islanders! y/n albon is a fashion designer from london… and yes she is the baby sister of formula one driver alex albon!

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user1: finally some good fucking casting for love island

user2: i mean she looks good but like is she going to be good tv?

user3: i’ve just deepdived on her tiktok and it seems like she makes her brother’s life hell when he’s with her

user4: f1 fans know she’s an icon and a menace

alexalbon: take care of my baby sister itv or else

alexalbon: i’d threaten you with lawyers but i’m the broke f1 driver

maxverstappen1: you can have mine!

alexalbon: thank you max

alexalbon: let any crusty man fuck with my sister and you’ll have max verstappen’s lawyers to deal with

user5: can the f1 fans like fill us in on her personality and stuff!!!!

user6: she’s very much like alex in that she’s very playful but also very sarcastic - she’s close to a lot of the grid, having known a lot of them for a very very long time!

user7: oh she’s such a lovergirl it’s insane

user8: her last relationship was so cute on her side, like she’s very much a gift giving person and puts everything into the relationship - you can tell because she was destroyed by the breakup

user9: ^^ this makes me a little scared because love island do not have a good track record with men who treat women right

user10: i am not looking forward to them fumbling her - especially when they find out who she’s connected to

user11: i hope she keeps her brother to herself so none of the boys try and take advantage

alexalbon: can yall stop you’re freaking me THE FUCK OUT

alexalbon

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alexalbon: me watching crusty, dusty and musty men treat my sister like trash

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user16: we need a PROPER gentleman bombshell in there right fucking now

user17: i feel so bad watching her cry… i can’t imagine how it feels with her being your actual family

user18: production need to be doing WAY more in my opinion

georgerussell63: it’s nearly over alex, don’t worry

alexalbon: IT SHOULD BE OVER NOW

alexalbon: she should legally be allowed to beat their asses

alexalbon: if i see one of them laughing about her while she’s crying again i WILL lose my shit

georgerussell63: let’s go back to the dart board buddy

user19: the … DARTS BOARD?

georgerussell63: he’s got a darts board set up with print outs of the the boys fucking with y/n and he’s been throwing darts at their faces for hours

user20: anyone else think this is a bit too far?

alexalbon: they deserve worse for what they’ve done to y/n

lando: slay

oscarpiastri: speak on it

lando: why are you in family business?

oscarpiastri: can i not be angry on y/n’s behalf?

lando: angry for y/n or angry at the boys for having a chance with her?

oscarpiastri: ERM?

lando: shut up we all know you’ve got a big fat crush on her

oscarpiastri: LANDO THIS IS NOT ALEX’S PRIVATE ACCOUNT???

lando: i know!

alexalbon: honestly can mclaren lend you to itv???

oscarpiastri: kinda have a world championship to win?

alexalbon: oh so you don’t want a chance with y/n?

oscarpiastri: i’ll let her make her decision

user21: too much happened in this comment section

user22: and yet i need even more

loveislandnews

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loveislandnews: there were over 48,000 complaints to ofcom last night over the treatment of y/n albon in the love island villa. since arriving in the villa, y/n has been verbally picked at by all of the male contestants, has been manipulated in a love triangle and has been isolated from nearly all of the girls and in the last couple of episodes has only been shown crying and being alone.

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user25: the producers have really let her down this season

user26: all the fuss about them being better since the past and they’ve let this bullying go all season

user27: kinda crazy since y/n brought such a big audience this season

user28: i say we let ALL of the albon pets in for family day so they can BITE THEIR ANKLES

albon_pets: don’t give us an idea

user29: i think it’s fair game after the boys laughed at the names of you guys

user30: we should’ve known they were bad news at the first old cat lady joke

user31: i mean is it really that deep because a load of f1 drivers make that joke about her all the time and she gladly laughs then

user32: baby girl it’s all about intention - they love her love for her cats, these boys genuinely couldn’t give a fuck

this comment was liked by oscarpiastri

user33: i’m sorry why is oscar piastri lurking in love island news instagram comments

lando: he’s checking in on his boo thang

oscarpiastri: she’s not my boo thang?!

user34: but if you hadn’t have been a pussy she would’ve been and NONE OF THIS NONSENSE WOULDVE HAPPENED

alexalbon: they make a compelling point oscar

alexalbon: that’s it you’re being added to the darts board

oscarpiastri: ???? WHY ???

oscarpiastri: you guys are all saying this like it was a done deal she doesn’t even like me hence why she WENT ON LOVE ISLAND

user35: tbf even i know that’s bullshit because that girl LIGHTS up when she talks about oscar - even on love island

alexalbon: see !!!!

oscarpiastri: i am really not comfortable with you guys all speaking for y/n - it’s her place to reject me not you guys

oscarpiastri: now can we all please delete these comments PR are blowing up my phone

user36: how can we do the tweet challenge just with this whole exchange

user37: i know ian stirling has the NASTIEST joke lined up for this situation

user38: don’t let this tomfoolery distract you from the fact that these men have absolutely destroyed this girl - i don’t think we’ve seen her smile in episodes

oscarpiastri: they need to die

user39: i thought PR was on your ass

oscarpiastri: but this needed to be said

oscarpiastri: they can’t silence the TRUTH

f1

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f1: a hot new bombshell has hit the paddock

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user41: oh look how she’s GLOWING already

user42: it really was them and NOT her

user43: we been known

user44: the way oscar was in the likes before me… does he just have a sixth sense for y/n content

alexalbon: idk does he ? @ oscar piastri

oscarpiastri: woah it was bad enough baiting me out when she had no access to her phone but i know she’s back to at least 14 hours of screentime

yourusername: is it allowed when most of the hours were on facetime to you?

alexalbon: exsqueeze me

yourusername: we had to catch up on the hot gossip

lando: they were shit talking me real loud

oscarpiastri: no ?

yourusername: and fucking what

lando: nothing!

yourusername: exactlyyyyyyy

user45: she’s making fun of lando again she’s got her spark back

user46: she looked very, very happy to be by the mclaren garage

alexalbon: she’s such a loser omg

user47: so how is this any different to what the boys in the villa said?

yourusername: that’s my brother bozo not a random electrician with a hair transplant and misogyny problems

maxverstappen1: i’m bored and the car is shit so like oscar can you make a move i wanna watch something 🍿

oscarpiastri: MAX?

maxverstappen1: bro that girl is just as pathetic as you

maxverstappen1: she basically went on a dating show just to get your attention

yourusername: THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED?

maxverstappen1: but you were pining once you were in there and you realised that 99% of the male population are not as good as oscar piastri

oscarpiastri: i am right here!

yourusername: you guys are both meant to be getting ready to get in the car???

maxverstappen1: you can’t avoid this forever….

user48: why am i in the same trenches as max rn

alexalbon: they’re freakishly bonded… they’ve got a 700 day streak on duolingo and she treats their text thread like a diary

yourusername

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yourusername: i heard that i had an admirer on the outside

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user49: OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE

user50: why did i have to suffer through her being tortured on love fucking island if we knew the whole time these idiots liked each other

alexalbon: THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING

yourusername: have you guys considered i needed to kiss a couple frogs to get my prince

alexalbon: gross

oscarpiastri: my patience payed off - i’ve got myself a queen :3

loveislandboy: rude?

oscarpiastri: i actually think you should cease to exist

loveislandboy: excuse me?

yourusername: gosh that’s so hot

maxverstappen1: i am so happy for you guys… they grow up so fast

georgerussell63: idk who you think you are max but as her other brother i am HAPPIER for her

oscarpiastri: and not me?

georgerussell63: be quiet oscar, max and i are arguing here

maxverstappen1: put your duolingo streak on the table bozo

georgerussell63: well only one of us were asked to go in for the family and friends episode

maxverstappen1: oh he doesn’t know…

yourusername: max don’t !!!!!!!

georgerussell63: what?

maxverstappen1: there never was an invite

georgerussell63: i can literally show you the email rn

alexalbon: max….

maxverstappen1: it’s not real LOL

maxverstappen1: alex, oscar and i got asked and we didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt

georgerussell63: BLASPHEMY

user52: i’m crying - y/n was going through psychological torture but they had to fabricate an email to placate george

alexalbon: let’s just say both i and itv were glad when y/n tapped out before the episode

oscarpiastri: anyway…

oscarpiastri: i do admire you… a lot… too much

oscarpiastri: actually i don’t think i can admire you TOO much

yourusername: you’re the cutest ever omg

yourusername: i admire you too

yourusername: if my ramblings weren’t making me obvious enough

oscarpiastri: dinner after the race…?

yourusername: only if i get dessert afterwards

alexalbon: GRIM.

oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri: get your ‘i told you so’s out now i’ve got a date with a girl who’s just my type on paper

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user53: bro getting all big for his boots now he got gentle-parent-ed to asking out a girl

user54: he’s such a virgin loser

yourusername: gOOD

yourusername: i don’t want anyone else to have touched him

oscarpiastri: yes ma’am

user55: oh so he really as pathetic as they said

yourusername: i didn’t lie when i said my type was pathetic on love island

lando: you gonna take that bro?

oscarpiastri: yes? highest compliment in my opinion

alexalbon: i think i’m allowed to say i told you so for the rest of my life

alexalbon: even during a best man speech…

logansargeant: woah … stealing my car that one time wasn’t enough for you? you gotta steal being best man too?

oscarpiastri: we’re talking weddings already?

yourusername: you don’t want to marry me?

oscarpiastri: I DO !!!!!!!

yourusername: say the words baby

alexalbon: gosh you guys are gross

yourusername: bruv i saw the pics of you crying over how i was treated in the villa… i know you’re happy really

alexalbon: i am!!! but like surely me and lily aren’t this annoying …

yourusername: whatever you wanna hear babe

lando: bro my culture is not your costume

yourusername: i knew you got a hair transplant

lando: no ???

oscarpiastri: so that’s why you’re always ‘exploring a connection’

lando: why has he started talking back to me?

oscarpiastri: i fought the love island demons - i can fight you too

yourusername: let me be your ring girl xxxx

user56: so they’ve just always been like this? and they kept it from us?

yourusername: it’s called we were both horribly pining and didn’t want to embarrass ourselves… so i went on love island and embarrassed myself

oscarpiastri: no - you’re the purest of heart and they didn’t deserve you - thank god

yourusername: UGH I LOVE YOU

oscarpiastri: i love you too :3

user56: way to flex on me thanks guys

fin.

note: it be like that... i'm celebrating summer break :((((

[maruflix]

SUKUNA RYOMEN: “THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD WORTH KNEELING FOR.”

sukuna loves to see you cry—but he doesn’t like it when you turn away from him. (short 1.6k fic heavily inspired by a dream i had)

cw. female reader, true form sukuna, reader is sukuna’s wife, mean sukuna (he gets progressively softer), no beta we die as always

Sukuna knows he’s done something wrong when you refuse to meet his eye at the hallways. No greetings, no nothing. But you don’t voice it out loud, so he has no sure way of knowing.

He tests that theory and disappears for three straight days. When he returns, the estate is as still as a tranquil lake. He almost misses having random objects thrown at him; something you usually do when he leaves the estate without prior notice.

At dinner, your seat is empty. When he turns to Uraume, they just give him a solemn shake of the head. No explanations—like they knew something he didn’t.

When he walks the corridors, an uncomfortable silence stretches ahead—unpleasant, unfamiliar. You didn’t even bother to come out of your quarters.

This foolishness ends today.

Sukuna is fuming. He’s sent Uraume to relay the message that he’s looking for you but you never showed up. He has no time for your bullshit; if you won’t go to him obediently, he’ll come to you instead.

He walked to your quarters—only to find the door locked.

So he breaks it down.

“Wife.”

Sukuna is now standing in front of you, his full height casting a shadow over your sitting figure. You didn’t look up.

He can feel his patience thinning. “Woman.”

Even then, you ignore him completely, finding it more entertaining to play a game of shogi against yourself.

He reaches out a hand to your face but you smack it away swiftly.

Sukuna grunts in displeasure at your rejection. You may be his lover, but Sukuna Ryōmen doesn’t take kindly to disobedience. He moves forward, causing you to back away until you hit the wall.

You gasp when he slams his arms on the sides of your head, his other two arms clutching your wrist.

“Let go!”

But Sukuna merely tightens his grip. “Do you think you can avoid me forever?”

“Why do you care?”

Sukuna reels back, feeling the last threads of his patience snapping—almost. “What is with this attitude? If you have something to say to me, say it.”

“Last month,” you finally look at his crimson eyes, “I waited for you all night. You never came. I waited all night, Sukuna!”

He stares at you. What is this joke? He searches his memories, finally registering the events you’re talking about. He did fail to show up one night, and you’ve been frosty to him ever since.

“All this... over me skipping dinner?”

Stilling, you meet his incredulous gaze and glare at him. “It was our anniversary, bastard.”

Sukuna sighs, the puzzle pieces finally clicking together. He doesn’t know why you love to place such a huge significance over some dates — anniversaries, birthdays, what other godforsaken days, — when no matter the occasion, the ferocity of his love remains unchanged.

“I was preoccupied.”

“With Uraume?”

The sentence came out more accusatory than you planned. It causes your husband to raise an eyebrow, loosening his hold on you. Taking that chance, you immediately break free, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Ho,” Sukuna shifts, his lips stretching into a mean grin, “do I hear jealousy?”

“Fuck you.”

He grips your chin, forcing it upwards. “I will not have my wife insult me continuously. Let’s put that mouth into good use, hmm?” he leans down, his gaze fixed on your lips—

But you turn away, eyebrows knitted in defiance.

Sukuna feels his annoyance start to prick. “You refuse to kiss me now?”

No matter how hard you try to hide it, he can see it clearly—the slight shake in your shoulders, the wetness in the corner of your eyes, the faint pink on your nose.

You’re holding yourself back from crying.

His eyes narrow, “If you’re not going to even look at me, perhaps I should find Uraume instead.”

He doesn’t mean it, of course. The very notion that you thought of his relationship with Uraume as something more than master and subordinate makes him feel sick. Disgusting—

In front of him, your figure has begun to tremble, long eyelashes dampening with tears.

—but seeing you squirm is a delicacy like no other.

You don’t cry often, so when you do, Sukuna feels something dark flicker inside him. The thought that only he is able to make you feel things so greatly gives him a high.

“Come now, are you really crying over something like this?” Sukuna grumbles, pretending that your tears didn’t awaken something primal inside of him.

But it was weird: it usually takes more than that to ire you. Way, way more. He’d have to wipe out cities and slaughter hundreds of lives to get you to come to him with that disapproving look on your face.

Sukuna will admit that he loves it—your attention. But now, something is different. You’re still refusing to look at him, even going as far as to muffle your cries. Your whole body is turned away from him, like you want to get away.

That, he doesn’t love.

“Look at me.”

You stubbornly inch yourself away from him, sobs starting to escape from your lips.

There it is.

You cry so beautifully, it makes him want to ruin you. Yet, at the same time, he feels a surge of something uncomfortable—the more you sob, the more he has difficulty breathing.

Sukuna didn’t know he was capable of having a guilty conscience.

“Alright, alright. Cease this at once. Look at me.”

Sukuna wrenches your hands away from your face. The sight that greets him makes him feel it again—the irritating dread that crawls up his stomach.

Even with tears running down your face, you’re still glaring at him with those red, puffy eyes. He sees your lips, bleeding from how hard you were biting them. They quiver, and you almost bite them again—but this time, Sukuna is quicker.

His lips crashes onto yours with urgency. He can taste the metallic taste of your blood, a taste that he loves—but not this time, not this way.

His hands has moved to your palms, clasping them with a rare gentleness. He can feel the resistance leaving your body slowly as you melt against him.

“There’s my girl,” Sukuna grins when he pulls away, his breath still hot on your lips, “no more crying.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you.”

Sukuna huffs. He could just leave you to deal with your own anger, but he had a feeling that the consequences of him doing that would come back to bite him in the ass. “Do you wish to know why I failed to show up to dinner that time?”

“If you were meeting with another woman, I don’t want to hear it.” you say, looking away from him.

Being Sukuna’s wife is many things: exciting, intoxicating,—but easy, it is not. Sometimes you can’t figure out whether he truly loves you, not when he never says the words out loud. For him, love is worthless. Who’s to say you’re not another thing he picks up out of interest, only to throw away?

Sukuna stays silent, only moving to kiss you again with more force than before—like he’s giving you an answer. His big hands are still clasped over yours. For a moment, you consider forgiving him.

Then he bites your lip. Hard.

“Sukuna!” you jerk away from him, looking at him in disbelief.

“I will forgive you this once for spouting such nonsense,” Sukuna’s voice is low with warning, “there will be no next time.”

You look at him, wronged.

Sukuna sighs, running a hand through his salmon hair. “Is it not your birthday coming up soon?”

You tilt your head.

It’s only after the king of curses presents you with a large bouquet of peonies do you finally understand: he missed your anniversary because he was busy procuring flowers—for your birthday, no less.

It’s such an unfamiliar sight—an oddly domestic one, that you can’t help but let a smile crack through your features.

“I do not care for this ‘anniversary’ you talk about. I am more than capable of giving you the same amount of affection every single day. But the day of your birth, I do see some significance in,” Sukuna doesn’t notice the giddy smile on your face and continues with his explanation, “and while your taste in flowers are exquisite, peonies are not easy to get.”

“But still, you could’ve told me or something.” you pout, hoping he’ll console you, “I waited for hours like an idiot. The servants will think I’ve lost favor with you.”

Displeasure flashes across Sukuna’s face. “Who would dare to make such assumptions? I will have their heads immediately.”

“That’s not the point!”

The point is, Sukuna is growing tired of your stubborness.

He sighs and lowers himself on one knee, reaching for your hand and guiding it to rest against his cheek. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at the gesture.

“Ha, you’re smiling now? I have not even said anything,” there’s no mistaking the teasing in his tone, “wife, do you like seeing me below you, begging to be forgiven?”

Yes, you almost voice out your answer. The smirk on Sukuna’s lips widens, his eyes studying your reactions intently.

“Feeling proud of yourself I see,” he mocks, “Well, you should be. You alone are the only person in this world I kneel for.”

His nonchalant straightforwardness sends shivers down your spine.

Sukuna glances up at you, “Now, are you still going to deny me of your affection?”

You immediately leap into his arms, letting his arms engulf you. Sukuna just chuckles, immediately knowing that he is forgiven.

He still does not understand the significance people put in certain days, or actions. What he does know is how much he hates it when you avoid him. So if all it takes for you to forgive him are some flowers and him getting down on one knee—well, he’ll gladly do so, as many times as you wish.

“I love you, Kuna.”

He doesn’t reply. But the content hum that vibrates through his chest gives you all the answers you need.

@goxjo it’s here :’) !!

[girllblogging777]

Hii I was wondering if you can do a Spencer Reid x reader one shot where reader gets in a argument with one of the bau members (you can choose which) and so reader storms off but as she does she says “Spencer let’s go” and then he gets up and follows her! I hope that made sense I love you!!

౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ IN WHICH spencer is the epitome of a puppy boyfriend

you were absolutely fuming.

standing in the middle of the bullpen, for everyone to see, with your arms crossed defiantly as you talked back to your unit chief. not a very smart decision, you thought, because after years working at the bureau within the BAU, you knew one thing.

do not mess with aaron hotchner.

over time, hotch had become more than just your supervisor. you’d grown fond of his cold puns and rare smiles, that only you knew how to get out of him. words would probably not be enough to describe the relationship you two shared. but he was protective of you, his young protegee with a viper tongue and an outstanding ability to make anyone around feel small - except him, of course.

and you, well… you respected him, with his stoic behaviour and self destructive tendencies when it came to work.

but right now, none of that mattered. your brain was practically boiling and it showed, in the way your knuckles tightened around your profiler badge, and a shade of crimson tinted your face.

usually, spencer liked that color. not that red was his favourite, really, but because when your cheeks blushed, it was his work. the first time you’d kissed, a soft, stolen brush of your lips against his in the file room, the burgundy shirt you wore almost matched the color of your cheeks.

and he loved that.

however, he loathed the situation you were putting yourself into right now. like the feeling of nails on a chalkboard, your voice, usually so sweet and honey-like, made him wince.

“i cannot believe you would let me go in there without a warning !” you shouted, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration, as if you weren’t making fool out of yourself already. “we’re a team. okay ? a team. what kind of unit chief lets their agent do that ?”

hotch didn’t move, didn’t blink. practically unimpressed, his dark eyes looked at you in a way that made you feel small. you felt yourself visibly shrinking back into the little girl whose biggest fear was disappointment, and hated every second of it.

but that didn’t stop you from keeping the show going.

you couldn’t stop the words from coming out. like knives that had been sharpened for years, it felt good to finally attack and use them. but when silence met you in return, you were quick to change your mind.

hotch wasn’t going to crumble down like you did, he was better than that. he’d probably just raise a brow and ask “are you done ?” in a dismissive tone, and you couldn’t handle that. it would be too embarrassing.

so, you turned around and found your boyfriend’s gaze, like an anchor in your surging sea of anger. spencer was an extension of you, your other half. and you couldn’t drag him down like this. embarrassing yourself was enough.

“spencer,“ you called out, your voice still coming out a bit too loud from the outburst. “let’s go”

he perked up, automatically turning around you and trying to ignore the fact that all eyes were on him now.

right then, he was up and following you as you pushed the door of the bullpen open. you shut it a little too forcefully behind the two of you, a last statement that would hopefully hit hotch in some sort of way.

“hey, love,” spencer exhaled, out of breath as he ran after you.

you didn’t say anything, too overwhelmed to get anything out at this point. the empty hallways of the building were cold, and you slowed down to allow him to catch up with you.

with a warm, comforting hand against the small of your back, he walked along in silence. because no matter what happened, spencer would follow you.

anytime, and anywhere.

[cloverapple]

Sue me, but I think you’ll make more progress in five minutes of spiraling than in five years of trying to shift.

Hear me out:

Ever heard binaural beats? Put 528 Hz in one ear, 520 Hz in the other. You don’t actually hear either one directly. Your brain locks onto the difference: 8 Hz. Your awareness detects contradiction because it effectively responds to dissonance.

Reality works exactly like that. When you're fully holding:

“I already have it” AND “But I don’t see it right now,” you're living in a frequency clash.

The system hates that. Awareness can’t remain in pure contradiction. So it starts syncing to the resolution. It starts looking for that “8 Hz” that makes sense of the noise.

And when you crash out—when you’re crying, screaming, losing your mind over how the logic literally does not add up, because you KNOW, in every fiber of you, that this thing is yours but it’s not appearing—that moment is not a failure.

It’s not you wavering, it’s your awareness detecting a mismatch and equalizing.

The illusion is that you need to “believe better” or “assume more correctly” or “stay calm” for things to shift. Noooo. Realizing the bullshit is the gateway and crashing out is the recalibration. You're slamming two contradictory states together so hard that awareness is forced to adjust the observable reality to match your strongest signal— which, in that moment, is: “I KNOW I HAVE IT, BECAUSE I CAN’T INTEND TO HAVE SOMETHING AND NOT HAVE IT, SO IT MUST BE RIGHT HERE. I KNOW IT’S HERE, THE LACK IS FAKE!”

That creates movement. Five minutes of looking around at your CR like “I know I already have it, so what the fuck is this??” hits your awareness like a seismic wave.

Don’t fear the contradiction because you think wavering and checking the 3d kills your intention. Because the frequency of that dissonance is the only sound awareness can’t unhear.

“Wait, but won’t I then be observing a reality where I have it, but don’t see it?”

Well, is that what you intend? I know you’re smart. You intend to have your desire already. To shift. Now let go of this awful idea that they implanted in your mind, that if you check for proof, automatically you’re done for.

Check for proof, because if you don’t see it in front of your eyes right this second while intending to have it, then what you’re seeing simply isn’t real. Remember that the proof that you have your desire, is not seeing your desire itself, but the action (intention) you took to have that outcome.

I know you feel crazy. I know you’re practically tearing your hair out and wondering what the hell you’re doing wrong, why you’re not shifting.

But your logic is fine. Your sanity’s intact. What you’re feeling is the pressure of suppressed knowing. Like trying to sit calm in a burning building because someone told you you had to “trust.”

No. Scream. Bust the fucking door down. Delete Tumblr. Tell these bloggers (myself included) to shove their advice. You don’t need all of this, because you already know what’s yours. That’s why you can’t quit or let this go.

When you’re crashing out in tears, you’re not “blocking your manifestation,” you’re sweating it out like a fever breaking.

Stop thinking the dissonance means you’re wrong. It means you’re too right to ignore.

Caveat: the way I shifted after two years (more like a decade tbh, I’ve known about quantum jumping since I was ≈10) was by questioning the glitch, crashing out, and calling out the bullshit.

Even now, the way I continue to expand my consciousness, simplify my way of shifting/manifesting, and learn (realize) new things always comes back to:

“if I know w, have x, and can do y, THEN LOGICALLY I HAVE Z”

That’s why—to me—calling out the flaw in the illusion always works no matter what.

[pellucid-constellations]

Look After You (1)

Pairing: Bucky x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been in the business of protecting people since his pardon. You have been in the business of doing whatever the hell you want since birth, according to Bucky’s observations. But he’ll look after you—protect you with all he has. Because it’s his job. And maybe for other reasons.

Word count: 4.3k

Chapter warnings: Mentions of stalking and crime, annoyance to lovers, Bucky's POV

a/n: Ahhhh I can't believe I have a Bucky series going rn guys. This was so much fun and so seamless to write it really felt like 2021 again <3 I really hope you enjoy and I loveee reading comments and feedback 🥰

Series Masterlist ♡

Main Masterlist 🤍

~~

Following his pardon, Bucky Barnes devoted himself to protecting people; after years of doing the opposite, he figured it was the way to go. He’d tried therapy, government work, even took a few community college classes to explore the world of engineering—none of it stuck.  

It wasn’t that Bucky was incapable. Thanks to the serum and quite a few years of being alive, Bucky was actually very capable of very many things. But he never felt fulfilled. Something was always eating at him. Something that settled once he got into this line of work. 

He’d approached it through the government at first, acting as a sort of protective agent for high-ranking officials and their families. And that was fine, but it wasn’t. The people he protected weren’t in any real danger—nothing imminent. They were mostly 60-year-old men having affairs and glaring at Bucky every time he tagged along to the “secret dates.”

Bucky found that he did not feel fulfilled again after one year of that work, so, he pivoted. 

With his connections to the (former) Avengers, Bucky knew… people. And those people knew people who got themselves into trouble a lot. Foreign adversaries, high-profile stalking, witness protection; Bucky began to see it all, and it meant something this time. These people needed help, begged for it, and Bucky had the skills and means to protect them. 

Everything was mostly short-term, and he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone… technically. It may seem easier to simply take out the cause of his clients’ woes, but that wasn’t what he did anymore. That, and doing so would put his pardon into jeopardy. So, Bucky protected them for the finite amount of time it took for the adversary to be neutralized by law enforcement, or for the amount of time it took for witness protection to finalize their case. 

He did not become attached or invested in his clients for this reason. If he got invested, things got messy. Bucky needed to have a clear head to analyze situations and be a third party to the danger he was dealing with. Bucky didn’t have time to be worried or scared or even be angry at the situations his clients were in. 

He was good at his job—seasoned, even. 

And then he met you. 

Bucky got the call on a Tuesday. Your file entered his classified email inbox shortly after he’d agreed to the case. He'd taken similar cases before—a celebrity with a crazed fan who wouldn’t leave her alone, an address leak, and a home invasion. It was all textbook stalking that Bucky could surely handle.

Your team had tried general security, but the home invasion had occurred under their watch, and they weren’t taking shortcuts anymore. Your safety was a top priority, according to the 500-word email drying out his eyes, and they would pay any amount to ensure it. There was also a charity gala coming up that you needed to attend and you just got the part in a new movie and blah blah blah. 

Bucky didn’t need all the details. 

With his gun and several other weapons lining his body, Bucky tucked the hem of his jeans into his boots and walked out of his Brooklyn apartment. You living in New York was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he knew the area and didn’t need to hop on a plane and rent a car to get to you, but a curse because New York was huge, and it could make keeping an eye on you difficult. He was experienced and knew how to track, but if you slipped from his gaze, it would only take a second for you to be taken. 

Bucky brushed away the thought as he mounted his bike. If you listened, which all his clients did, everything would be fine. The next few weeks would be a pain in the ass, sure, but you would end up alive, and whatever freak was sending you drawings and breaking into your house would end up in jail. 

The bike roared to life and peeled off from the curb. You were staying at a decoy apartment in Queens, a far cry from your Upper East Side penthouse, which he was sure you loved. He had researched you in depth when he got the assignment, and in that short time, he learned that you enjoyed the finer things in life—dinner parties with your friends, expensive coffees, shopping trips followed by lying on the beach. 

This entire ordeal was probably so harrowing for you. 

Bucky looked within himself to find the morsel of pity, but then found it. Because although you were rich and loved by the masses, there was also a creep breaking into your house and possibly threatening your life. 

It wasn’t his job to judge his clients; it was his job to protect them. 

He parked his bike three blocks away from your apartment, going down a few wrong roads, before backtracking and making his way to the correct building. He hadn’t spotted anyone tailing him. Yet. 

The apartment he had set you up with was modest and certainly not the worst Queens had to offer. It had the cliche exposed brick lined with fire escapes and paint-chipped signs advertising companies that no longer existed, but the inside had been remodeled recently, and you technically had the penthouse suite. Not that that meant much in a building like this, but he really had tried to make sure you were comfortable. 

His efforts obviously meant very little. Bucky knocked on the front door in the pattern he had emailed you, informing you to never open it unless you heard that exact rhythm, but he didn’t get to finish. The door was ripped from its hinges on the third knock. 

And there you were. Dressed head to toe in expensive athleisure, hair still freshly done from whatever treatment you’d gotten recently, you smiled at him while also looking thoroughly unimpressed. The opposite expressions still looked kind somehow, and Bucky was aware of the copious amounts of media training you’d probably undergone. 

“Bucky?” you asked, greeting him like he was late for a housewarming party and not walking into an apartment with a Stark-level security system. “I was wondering what time you were coming! Talia mentioned we would be meeting today, but I thought it would be much later.” 

Bucky looked over your shoulder to assess the space for a brief moment before clearing his throat and furrowing his brow. “I was told your other security team ended their service last night, so I would be starting as soon as they left.” 

You blew out a light-hearted breath and swatted the air, “You could have started a little later. You already moved me all the way to Queens in this… very cozy apartment. I would have been okay for a few more hours.” 

“I would have come earlier, actually, but your manager told me you requested that I not.” 

“Earlier? Bucky, it’s 7 am. How much earlier can you get?” 

Bucky raised his brows expectantly, and you gave a slight giggle that echoed discomfort, shifting to the side to let him in. He nodded to you and then counted each camera placed in the space. He looked for the locks on the windows next, and then felt the floorboards under his boot for the one that gave an inch. Good—everything was in place, and he knew where the closest weapon was if he were disarmed. 

Bucky looked out the window next, eyeing the apartment across the street to see in. He knew they couldn’t see him as he had the windows blacked out, but—

“Um, could you take your shoes off?” Bucky paused his inspection when your melodic voice hit his ears. “I just like to keep outside germs… outside, you know? And if I’m going to be here a while, I think having house rules might help. You’re going to be here a lot, right?” 

Bucky turned slowly, the window now at his back. You were still by the door, your hands intertwined by your waist, your host-like smile still wide on your pretty face. Bucky looked down at his boots that had too many things lining the ankles. He rubbed the scruff on his jaw and fought off the sigh building in his throat. 

“Let’s sit down,” he instructed, jutting his jaw toward the couch in the middle of the living room. 

You blinked, looking off to the side before sitting beside him. Too close. Bucky adjusted the legs of his jeans and scooted back a few inches, but you didn’t seem to notice the change. You only looked at him expectantly, your smile dimmed somewhat, but not enough to impede how bright and beautiful you looked despite the circumstances. 

Okay. Odd thought. 

He must not have his head on straight; your bubbly nature was confusing him. 

His clients were usually distraught and panicky by the time they reached him. Like you, most had already exhausted lesser security details and had dealt with weeks or months of danger. Hell, it was only two weeks ago that you had woken up to a shattered window and pictures of you strung up in your kitchen. 

But as he looked at you now… nothing. 

No fear. No panic. In fact, you looked pretty happy, not counting the subtle sidelong glances you made towards the interior of the older apartment. 

Bucky needed to remember that you were a movie star, born with an innate charm that you had honed since you joined the limelight at 16. Of course he was going to be taken by you. He was sure everyone was. 

Bucky flexed the muscle in his jaw and set his hands on his thighs. “I do have rules we need to discuss. None of them are house rules, but they are all rules that need to be followed for your safety, alright?” 

You nodded in what looked like jest. “Okay, yes. I’m being very serious now.” 

He eyed you for a moment, and then continued. “First, you didn’t follow my directions at the door. You don’t open that door unless I’m the one opening it or if you hear the knock we’ve discussed. I’ll change it every week, and from now on, we’ll do it in person so it won’t be in writing. I shouldn’t be knocking, though. I’ll have a key.” 

“A key to here?” you interjected, looking equal parts confused and disbelieving. 

“Yes to here. I’ll be living next door for the time being, so I’ll be close while you’re sleeping. As soon as you’re awake, I’ll be over. So, to answer your previous question, I will be here a lot.” 

“Isn’t that a bit much? My last team only escorted me—” 

“Your last team didn’t have a super soldier whose only job was to protect you. They were also the ones employed when your stalker broke in. Things are different now because they need to be different. Do you know my past? The things I can do?” 

Some of the humor melted from your face. “Yes.” 

“Good. Saves time. I’ll be here every morning at 7 am. You’ll give me your itinerary for the day the night before so I can plan for it. Once I get here, we’ll have a check-in. Anything new, any changes, you report to me then. I drive you where you want to go, and I vet each person you see. I have a list of your close friends and family that I’ve already cleared, but anyone else needs a two-day notice. When we’re out, I need eyes on you at all times. You have to go to the bathroom, you tell me. You want to go home, you tell me. A stranger on the street asks for directions, and I need to know about it.” 

“Bucky, I don’t really think—” 

“Not done,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m giving you my phone number. You use it if you hear anything at night when I’m next door, and you use it when you can’t see me in public. You don’t use it for anything else, got it?”

“Yes, but—” 

“The police and my guys are looking for whoever this creep is. They have a few leads, and I’m honestly more confident that we will find him before the cops, but it’s going to take a while. That means you’re gonna have to be comfortable with all of this for at least a few weeks.” 

A pause. 

“Done now?” you asked. 

Bucky could feel his reproach building as he slowly nodded. You took a deep breath in and shrugged your shoulders up towards your ears. 

“Okay, well, I don’t know who you’ve worked with in the past, but people in public are going to be asking me for a lot more than directions. If I leave the house most days, I get stopped by at least a dozen people asking for pictures or just saying hello. Do you want me to get their contact info one by one, or should I just ask for a pic of their social security card to speed up the process?” 

Bucky jutted his jaw to the side in place of a response. You took that as an invitation to continue. “I also don’t love that I have to have my entire day planned out the night before. I like to be spontaneous sometimes, you know? I’m also on the waitlist for my workout classes often, and I can’t know if I’ll get off of it that far in advance. Wait, are you going to be like, in my classes with me?” 

You kept going after that, complaining next that 7 am was too early, and then that he needed two entire days to vet your friends before you could see them, and then that you had to tell him when you were going to the bathroom because that was embarrassing and not right. Bucky listened to each word with his hands limp between his legs, his ass sinking deeper into the couch. 

This was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated, and not even because you were a celebrity. Because he had accounted for the fans and paparazzi, but he had not accounted for you being so nonchalant about a crazy person coming after you.

“Okay, okay, listen to me,” Bucky grunted, interrupting your spiel on good restaurants and why none of them would be in Queens. “I get it, okay? You’ve had to uproot your life, and it’s not fun. I know it’s not fun. But your life is the thing at stake here. Your. Life. The guy knew where you lived, knew how to get in—I saw the things he left. I don’t work paparazzi security details. I turn down dozens of cases a week because they don’t fit the level of safety that I work for. I took yours minutes after getting it. Does that tell you anything?” 

You huffed and gave a poorly concealed eyeroll, but Bucky’s trained eyes caught the fists you were making against the couch cushion. He saw how your shoulders slumped an inch and how something deflated in your posture. Still, you didn’t relent. 

“Alright, I get it, oh great and scary super soldier,” you laughed off, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. “Put your number in then. I’ll follow your rules.” 

Bucky kept you in his gaze as he grabbed it from you and then handed it back. “Add me to the face recognition.”

“What? No way. Why on earth would you need that?” 

“Can’t have secrets. And if there’s an emergency, I need to know that nothing will hold us up. Even if that’s just having a phone I can access.” 

“You’re insane. I’m not giving you free rein of my phone.” You held the device close to your chest in horror, clutching it as if it would protect you from Bucky’s words. 

He only sighed from a place deep within his chest. “Relax. I’m not interested in your texts or whatever else you have going on in there. In fact, I’m not really interested in anything that has to do with you other than your safety. So stop worrying about pilates and your brunches, okay?” 

You scoffed, and then you scoffed again. Tapping the screen a few times, you held then held it out to Bucky, unlocked and ready for his invasion. “You sure are charming, aren’t you?” you gritted out. 

He allowed a slight upturn of his mouth. “Enough to get the job done.”

~~

On the third day of your protection detail, Bucky began questioning his sanity. 

Y/N: Boooring right? I hate table reads when I only have like two lines

Bucky pursed his lips and glanced down at your text. 

Bucky: I told you to only use this number for emergencies. 

Y/N: A period??? What have I done to earn such anger from you :(

Bucky: What the hell are you talking about?

Someone from across the room called your name, pulling your attention from the pointless conversation with Bucky, and he almost sighed in relief. 

As it turned out, you did not listen to his rules. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair to say. You listened to some of his rules. Sometimes. You gave him an itinerary each night, but would you actually stick to it the next day? That was a question Bucky quickly realized he needed to ask. And sure, you stayed in his line of sight, but being a super soldier meant he could see very far away, and you sure did love to take advantage of that. 

God and the texting. Bucky was pretty sure you did it to annoy him. He got good morning texts, goodnight texts, texts about the people in the room he was in, and if you liked the meal you were eating; each time you picked up your phone, it was as if you were programmed to send him a meaningless message. 

The first morning, it had scared the shit out of him. You were the only person who had the number, so when he heard the notification ding on his nightstand, he jumped from bed and was halfway dressed in the hall before he read it. All you had said was ‘good morning’ with a winky face that personally offended him. 

You thought it was hilarious when he came in a few minutes later—fully dressed—with a stern expression and a mean talk. Of course, that had done nothing to abate the constant text messages, and he was sure you would start calling him if he wasn’t constantly with you. 

“Y/n, do you have a moment? I want to run you by the hair and makeup team we just hired.” 

Bucky perked up from his storm of annoyed thoughts in the corner of the room. He kicked off the wall and hovered a few feet away as you nodded with a smile and made a joke he didn’t have context for. 

Right, you leaving the room without checking in with him. Perfect. 

Navigating through a sea of trailers on a lot with the sun beating down on him was almost nauseating. He caught the producer eyeing him a few times, with fear or concern, he couldn’t tell, and Bucky slid his sunglasses on to hide the fact that he was eyeing her as well. 

And you, but that was for business purposes. 

You looked more casual today, with a large college sweater pulled over fleece pants and shoes that Bucky knew you couldn’t run in if he needed you to. 

“If those damn slippers fly off, I’m dragging your ass around New York like a sack of potatoes.” 

“They’re comfy, Bucky. I’m not wearing running shoes to a table read.”

Bucky was learning—rather reluctantly—that no amount of fear or harsh talk was going to make you take things seriously. So, he was just going to have to be extra serious for both of you, even when you made it hard with your stupid emojis and the shimmery sunscreen you wouldn’t stop talking about that caught the sun just right. 

God, you pissed him off. 

You met the hair and makeup team, whom he hadn’t been able to research beforehand, and then introduced him to the hair and makeup team, the hand on his back entirely inappropriate and burning a hole through his shirt. 

“Oh, wow, y/n, you have an Avenger as a bodyguard? How marvelous,” the hairstylist, Barbara, cooed. 

Bucky offered her a smile that looked like he had eaten a lemon, and the middle-aged woman quickly turned back to you, gushing over your complexion and how it was going to work perfectly with the products she had. 

Bucky didn’t have the mind to correct Barbara, and he also didn’t have the clearance to explain the real reason he was here. People didn’t know what you were going through, and they wouldn’t until the bastard was caught. It was safer that way. 

Bucky didn’t miss the way you slunk behind him slightly when the conversation went to your past security detail and how handsome he was. She had seen pictures on Twitter, Barbara explained, and she couldn’t get over how tall and good-looking he was. 

“Oh, not as handsome as you. Obviously, Mr. Barnes,” Barbara called, her hand landing on vibranium as she laughed and missed the fact that you had started picking at your fingers. 

Bucky did not miss it. He did not miss anything. 

“Thank you. We have to get going, though. Your appointment?” Bucky directed the question toward you, watching your expression shift back to effortless ease that made you look pretty in a way that was good for movies. 

“Right, yeah. It was great to meet you, Barbara. I’ll see you when filming starts!” 

The car ride back home was relatively silent, which was strange and almost alarming for Bucky. Granted, he’d only been in vehicles with you for a grand total of three days, but you always talked for the entire ride in his limited experience, and right now, nothing. 

He surprised himself by breaking what he thought was welcome silence. “Those slippers hold up then?” 

With your gaze down toward your fingers, you allowed a small smile to creep up. “They are not slippers, Bucky. They’re very fashionable right now. I’m going to get you a pair.” 

“I’ll toss ‘em.”

“You won’t. I've been watching you eye them. You’d kill for the comfort, I just know it.” 

“You know nothing. I hate those things. Can’t get anywhere with them.” 

“I got around just fine.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and looked through each mirror in the car once, and then twice. He looked to you next, admiring—or observing, rather—the ease that didn’t look as fake anymore. You tapped your index finger on your thigh and then moved it to the car door. 

“Hey,” you called out. He felt your gaze on the side of his face.

“Yes?” 

“I know this isn’t part of the itinerary, but can we stop somewhere?” 

Bucky found himself inside an entirely too-hot ice cream shop about ten minutes later. The older woman behind the counter was sweet, but everyone was a suspect to him, so he watched her carefully as you bent over to look at the flavors. He shouldn’t have said yes, but you were talking again, and he gave in too easily. 

“You’re not going to look?” you asked, a sample spoon loose between your fingers. 

“I’ll get vanilla.” 

“Vanilla?” you exasperated, hand jutting to the tubs behind plexiglass. “But you haven’t even looked at the options. What if there’s something better?” 

Bucky looked to the exit and then to the door leading to the back of the shop. He accounted for the camera in the far corner and stepped a few inches closer to you. 

“Vanilla’s always good,” he simply offered. 

“Right. I’m sure you’ve been getting that same flavor since, what, the 1930s?” 

The older woman snickered and raised her brows, hoping for a reaction she wouldn’t get.

“Pick one, y/n. We’re behind schedule.” 

You scoffed, one of your favorite things to do, and muttered, “Behind schedule to go sit on my ass at home.” 

The reprieve from your sass apparently only lasted for the car ride, and Bucky did not ask what made you upset as he ordered his vanilla scoop and ignored your eye roll. He felt like he wanted to ask, maybe, but that was not his job. He didn’t get invested in his clients. That made things messy, unworkable. 

You were fine, anyways. You bounced back after only a few words from him and a container that held more toppings than actual ice cream, so you were fine. 

Bucky monitored the sidewalk as you stepped out from the shop and mindlessly meandered back to the car. He looked both ways, profiled two men who obviously recognized you, and then placed a hand on your lower back to usher you into the car. He held your ice cream with an unimpressed look as you buckled your seatbelt, and then watched your head as he closed the door. He locked it for the short jog over to the driver’s side, regretting his own ice cream as it slowed him down getting back in. 

All the while, you tapped at your phone and dug into the sweet concoction that made Bucky sick just looking at it, not a lick of concern on your face. 

“You could at least act a little cautious, you know,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling away from the curb after letting every car pass on the street. “Might do you some good.” 

You knocked your head back on the headrest. “You need to chill out a little. You’ve been with me for days and nothing’s happened. You’re scaring people. You freaked that little girl out yesterday when she asked for a picture. She cried.” 

“I was more worried about her dad,” Bucky grunted out. “And she didn’t cry. It was windy. Her eyes were watering.” 

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.” 

[azullumi]

BUT I’M INTO YOU !! ft. ANAXAGORAS & PHAINON

like paramore’s hit song, “still into you”, some things just make sense and one of those is you and him | gender-neutral reader, established relationship, reassurance, anaxa nurses reader, relationship dynamics (phainon with a constantly stressed and overthinking reader), fluff, not proofread | wc: 3.2k

DIRECTOR NOTES — i need anaxa so bad im going to go crazy

anaxa and the reversed “how are you two not dating yet?”, so it’s just “WHY ARE YOU DATING HIM?”

Some people are just born soulmates, complete halves of each other; the edges of their being meant to fit one another. ANAXAGORAS and you are what you like to believe to be the embodiment of that—two flames from the same fire, burning brighter when together.

“Must you really be troublesome?” His voice echoes, concern written on his often stoic his face as he places the back of his hand against your forehead for a moment. His fleeting touch is cool against your warm skin, a quiet contrast that makes you lean into it instinctively. He exhales softly, almost inaudibly, before retrieving his hand.

“Must you be so handsome?” You beam at him, despite how sickly you look and how your voice is rough and hoarse. The frown he gives you makes you laugh—then choke and cough afterwards. He clicks his tongue, not unkindly, giving you the glass of water then dabbing at your lips with the edge of the towel when you finish, muttering something about how recklessness must be a disease. Still, even with the irritation painted across his face, his hands are careful, his touch gentle. And you feel it again: that unwavering, bone-deep certainty that you were always meant to be right here, with him.

“You’re fussing too much,” you murmur, voice still scratchy, but your smile is unshaken. You let him do what he needs to do for yourself, lest you concur his wrath and get a mile of scolding about your carelessness from him. You don’t want to hear it anymore. He had already talked your ears off when he had arrived and saw that you weren’t resting just like he had wanted you to do.

“You’re ill,” he replies flatly, squeezing the excess water from the towel before folding it anew, placing it over your forehead. “Forgive me for wanting to keep you alive.”

“I’m not dying, Anaxagoras.”

No. If you perished from something as banal as fever, it would be after he’d dragged you back to lucidity and made sure you remembered it was his hand that spared you. And not just once. He’d remind you daily and without shame, that it was he who nursed you through your recklessness, he who kept you from slipping away over something as embarrassingly preventable as he’d once put it; “Next time you have decided to tempt mortality, at least wear a coat.” 

(It was undeniable, however, that underneath all that pride and sharpness, Anaxagoras loves you in the only way he knows how: deeply, deliberately, and with a care that clings to the edges of everything he does for you.)

“And? Shall you be on the deathbed before I begin taking care of you?”

In a world full of almosts and maybes, you and him are the rare certainty—a quiet, unwavering truth as if the stars themselves whispered your names in the same breath long before you ever crossed paths. 

However, others seem to oppose these ideas.

Such as your friend, your dearly beloved Stelle, who finds fascination in trash cans. Over the duration of your friendship—which is roughly from when you saved her when she got her ass stuck in a bin to this very moment and onwards—, you’ve found that embarrassment does not exist in her vocabulary. 

You’ve recalled your conversation with her a few days ago, when she had asked you to: “Blink twice if you need help.” to which was met with just your confusion. You remember the dramatic groan that escaped her—loud, theatrical, and full of despair—as she clutched your shoulders like she’s anchoring herself from being swept away by the tragedy that is your love life. You remember her eyes and how they lock onto yours with the intensity of someone who’s seen too much, recounting horrors no one else can understand, and the rare seriousness painted across her usually unserious face. All of that just to present the grand question that has been repeatedly hammered into your ear drums: “Why are you dating him?”

Was it really unbelievable that you are dating THE Anaxagoras—the demised scholar, the known blasphemer, one of the Seven Sages, and founder of the School of Nousporists?

Stelle’s question then had come out in a raised tone; horror, confusion, and everything that reeks of despair and doubt. She has met your lover many times before and all she got is terrible impressions from him. You get it, you understand her, truly, a hundred million times over. Anaxagoras is difficult in the same way a cryptic crossword or a sudoku puzzle with only five numbers given as clues is difficult; he is maddening, frustrating, and devilishly handsome. Well, that too, and how he often causes people to mutter curses under their breath. He talks as if every word of his is carved from marble and gold and thinks in layers you often need to chisel through.

Although, Stelle was not the first person to express her concerns. No, no, she was not the only one who had questioned you about your romantic ties with the man himself. There had been a long line of them—colleagues, acquaintances, old friends who hadn’t seen you since the two of you got together—each of them offering their unsolicited takes like critics reviewing a painting they couldn’t comprehend. Some were subtle, expressing their skepticism through light jokes or half-serious jabs, dressing their doubts with honeyed laughter, and the repeated statements of “Really?” or “Wow, I could never… believe that.” While others were more direct, eyebrows raised, voices dripping with disbelief. “Him?” they’d ask, like you just dropped the most terrible news in their lives ever.

“How are you feeling now?” Anaxagoras’ voice snapped you out of your daze. You had not noticed you have been staring at him for a while now, recalling the conversation in your head like a script you’ve read a thousand times. You blink, reality trickling back in with the weight of his gaze. It is steady, unreadable, but undeniably attentive, only for you.

“Better,” you rasp, offering him a weak smile, “or at least I will be, once you stop hovering like a mother hen.” He doesn’t react at first, only lifts a brow as he shifts the damp towel slightly to sit more evenly across your forehead.

“Then I suppose you won’t be feeling better anytime soon."

It’s not that they don’t like Anaxagoras—they just don’t know him, not in the way you do, at least. They see the storm but not the calm it leaves behind when it reaches you. They hear the sharpness in his voice but never the softness interlacing between the syllables when he says your name. They witness the way he dismantles arguments with precision but never the way he carefully tucks your hair behind your ear when the wind picks up or remembers exactly how you take your tea without ever needing to ask. 

What none of them seemed to grasp was the way Anaxagoras, for all his cold logic and biting words, treated you as if you were something priceless. Something fragile and worth protecting. You know it, because even with his sharp mind and sharper tongue, he’s gentle with you.

Gentle in this, in him dropping everything that he needed to do just to take care of you, like the world could wait if you so much as whimpered. Gentle in the way he holds your hand, gentle in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your skin like he’s memorizing the heat of it. Gentle in the way his silence filled the room, soft and reassuring. It’s in the quiet moments where he simply exists beside you. You’ve known that the way he shows his affection and adoration for you is not loud, and never will be. It is neither grand nor showy, but it is steady and grounding, and it is yours.

(Anaxa didn’t need to say he loved you for his affections were in every quiet action, in every unspoken gesture that threaded through the ordinary like gold in cloth.)

“What are you thinking now?” Anaxa says, noticing your gaze.

His voice is calm, unhurried, yet carries the weight of someone who’s always listening, even to the things you don’t say. You blink up at him, the corners of your mouth curving, and for a moment, you hesitate. Not because you don’t know what to say, but because putting feelings this big into words feels like trying to catch the sky in your hands.

“That I must’ve done something good in a past life,” you say softly, “to be loved like this.”

Anaxagoras doesn’t speak, but you catch the way his expression shifts. It is the ever-subtle change in his eyes, softer now, like moonlight breaking through cold marble. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that feels louder than joy.

“I don’t love you because of merit,” he murmurs, adjusting the edge of the blanket with care. “You don’t need to earn something that already belongs to you.”

They only saw the philosopher, the blasphemer, the myth himself, while you saw the man who kissed your knuckles when you couldn’t sleep. And something about this feels almost holy, the kindness reserved only for you is sacred, untouched by the noise of the world and tucked safely in the quiet corners of your world. It’s in the way he holds your gaze like it’s the only truth worth believing, in how he tends to your needs before you voice them, as if your comfort is a principle written into his very being. 

To others, he is a riddle wrapped in cold intellect, but to you, he is all the warmth embodies, the tender affection that weaves into the gaps of your fingers, the gentle lull of a tide as it crashes into the shore, and the stains on his cheek when you kiss him; he is the quiet devotion in the spaces between his sighs and your laughs—it is simply, completely, and utterly undeniable that the both of you are truly for one another.

phainon, a laid back guy who takes care of everything, and you, a dramatic person who stresses out a lot.

They say opposites attract, and you and PHAINON are the utter proof of that statement. And much to everyone’s expectations, it works against all odds, though how chaotic everything may be. Where you spiral, he steadies. When your thoughts are loud and messy—which often is—he answers in calm nods, soft chuckles, and gentle touches. In those drastic moments, his arms are already around your shoulders before the panic hits its peak, steadying and guiding you back to solid land.

Phainon just seems to know what to say—or not to say—to bring you back down to the ground when you are overwhelmed and flooded by thousands of (imaginary) disasters running inside your head or when you are frantically pacing around, mumbling to yourself, and doing that small habit (e.g. biting your nails or picking your lip until it bleeds). He’ll tread towards where you are, taking your hands, and offers words of comfort and assurance as if he’s done it a thousand times before—he already has and he will never tire of it, never pull away, never let you down, never treat your panic like a burden but rather like something gentle to cradle until it passes. 

It was as if your mind is a place he knows all too well, like a maze that he had already memorized, navigating through the paths of your thoughts with a tender precision.

“Don’t worry, love.” He tells you, voice warm and soothing as he cups your face affectionately. He holds the same note in his gaze, love and the gentleness that comes with it, that only you know of, that only the both of you share for one another, “You can leave it to me.” You cling to your thoughts, all panic and muddied, that has now lost all meaning under your turmoil and in between his ease. His words tug you back to the brink and somehow when everything feels like it's on fire—oftentimes metaphorically and sometimes literally—he’s already halfway through putting out the flames of your problems. (See? The world didn’t end) You don’t know how he does it, how he holds your mess with such grace, only that he does.

You had asked him once, “Aren’t you tired of me?” Surely, he should be, right? I mean, having to deal with someone who is stressed every minute and needing reassurance every single time can be so draining, right? You’ve already heard about couples breaking up because of those things like their lover was being so much like they didn’t want to be comforted every single time like they never even listen like everything is just the same thing over and over again and it gets so tiring having to deal with those things repeatedly. You’re tiring to deal with, right? Maybe he’s just trying to put up with you because you don’t know?? How would you know???? 

It feels like you’re always too much and never enough at the same time. It was as if you’re clinging too tightly and still somehow slipping away, like one more breakdown, one more late-night anxiety spiral, one more text asking “are you mad at me?” will be the final straw. You replay every conversation in your head, dissect every pause, every sigh, every silence that might not even mean anything but what if it did? What if he’s just too kind to say he’s tired of you? What if he’s just waiting for the right moment to leave quietly? What if you’re reading too much into this—but also, what if you’re not? What if you’re right and he’s just too polite to admit it? You try to shake the thoughts off, but they cling like static. It’s relentless.

What if—”No. Why would I be?” But his voice cuts through it all, clean and sharp like a stone abruptly dropped into a pond, and like the settling ripples that eases into the water’s surface to return to what it once was and what it ought to be, your spiraling thoughts are quiet once more. “You may think that you’re unraveling, confusing, and a mess, that perhaps I am tired of your chaos and thoughts. But I promise that you're only a little tangled right now.” His words settle into you like soft rain. “Sure, it gets tiring sometimes, but love is not about ease, isn’t it? It’s about staying, especially when the wires get crossed and the lights flicker. I don’t mind untangling you. I chose you, mess and all, and I’ll keep choosing you, even on the days you forget how to choose yourself.”

It’s just so simple. For Phainon, loving you means loving the storm and being unbothered by the lightning and everything terrible that comes with it.

Albeit sometimes, he matches your energy. No, more like snatches it from you, spins it in his hands, and throws it back at you. He can be dramatic too—even a hundred times more than you already are. One particular example is when the both of you had a fight—it was nothing major, no broken plates, no screaming, no yelling involved (aeons, he’ll hate himself if even raised his voice at you for a little). But still, it was something that made you upset and turned away from him. 

The silence between you and him had only lasted for less than a day, however, when you heard the sound of something hitting your window, to which you dismissed as nothing at first. Not until it came again, again, and again. Until you get sick of it and decide to check which little kid is playing pranks on you this time, thus you open the window, ready to address the annoyance but…

Spoiler alert: it was not a kid.

It was a man in the form of someone you clearly know, whose lines on his face has been memorized by you, whose hands you had held many times in yours, whose laugh still echoes in your head even when he's not around—and there he was, Phainon, standing a few feet away from your window. You just noticed but there is someone else too, but situated a little further away from your boyfriend who you just had a fight earlier. Wait, are they singing? Was that singing you’re hearing? And is that a water vase that he’s trying to spray on himself to imitate the rain? 

“What are you doing?” You voice out the loudest question inside your head, confused. You’re beyond bewilderment, actually.

Phainon expresses the most exaggeratedly forlorn expression you’ve ever seen on his face. The guy beside him, one that you don’t know but have seen performing in the streets of Okhema several times before, keeps singing into the invisible microphone in his hand. You don’t know what the song is but he sure is hitting those notes.

“I’m suffering, clearly.”  Phainon replies dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like a wounded prince. “I’ve been banished from the kingdom of your heart, and thus I stand here—exiled, soggy, and still utterly devoted.”

“What?” At this point, you are not entirely sure what to say or react, but Phainon does as he rambles on and on with his poor singer accompanying him from the back.

“I have known despair. I have tasted the bitterness of your silence. I have felt the frost of you turning away from me. Please,” he begs, asks, and does everything just for you even if he looks utterly stupid right now. Thankfully, there aren’t any citizens to witness the spectacle of their dazzling Chrysos Heir. “Please come back to me, my love. Allow me to hold you again.”

“Phainon, it was just spilled milk.” Why was he acting as if you were breaking up with him? As if you were truly going to leave him? You had planned on apologizing to him later on and admitting your mistakes, you really were, but he beat you to it with whatever this is.

“And for that,” he declares, without a hint of sarcasm or anything similar lacing into his tone. “I shall atone.” And you could not help but sigh, rubbing your temples as he continues to look at you like a tragic hero awaiting his redemption arc.

“You know it was my fault, right?” You remind him, voice a little softer now. However, his response comes without hesitation, firm and full of that all-consuming affection he never dares to hide:

“You could never do anything wrong in my eyes.”

The ridiculousness of this situation sinks into you now—the man donned in white and gold, half soaked and entirely unserious, staging a melodramatic serenade over something small, with a busker-turned-background vocalist going off like this was their final performance. And yet, in the absurdity of it all, your chest aches from the sheer, overwhelming love you feel for this man who would make a fool of himself just to see you smile again. You lean slightly out the open window, resting your arms on the sill, watching the man with a mixture of exasperation and adoration, wondering how on earth you got lucky enough to be loved like this.

A breath of laughter slipping past your lips. “What are you waiting for?” you say, voice tinged with fondness. “Didn’t you wish to hold me?”

Phainon beams up at you like you’ve just given him the stars and rushes to where you are, despite the fact that there is a perfectly fine door that he can go through.

“Oh, and please, compensate the poor man for your theatrics.”

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[tequiilasunriise]

New Headcanon: Mira is engaged. It’s not to who you think, though

In my heart, I think it would be so damn funny if one of the final straws fer Mira in regards to her parents was them tryna set her up with the son of an ultra successful chaebol family and the pair were arranged to be married a la conservative arranged marriage bullshit. And then upon joining Huntrix Mira eventually just. Completely forgot she was engaged LMAOOOOO

Now obviously Mira absolutely NOPED outta that shit as soon as possible because ain’t no way she living the rest of her life controlled by other people trying to “settle” her down, but . But like. Technically she and the heir she was engaged to never officially broke their engagement because:

1. Mira’s parents are trying to save face and to back down and break the courtship they worked so hard to secure from the other family- who took a LOT of bride money to convince to give up their son to marry such a terrible mess of a girl, a self-made one who likely can’t even produce heirs at that! the horrors!- would bring so much shame upon them, especially after their daughter’s most scandalous running away to become one of the most famous people in all of Korea

2. Now that she’s an ultra popular global star, the son’s family REFUSES to back down and undo the arrangement and instead falsely brag that their son is engaged to kpop sensation Mira Huntrix with a marriage on the way once she retires from being an idol

With this in mind, imagine all the comedy gold potential from Mira being technically engaged but never explicitly mentioning because she just straight up forgot.

Incredibly funny premise to me if Mira were to do a random lore drop like, “The Chois? As in the diamond mine owning Chois? They’re going to attend our charity event?”

And Zoerumi are a little confused about their dancer’s sudden hostility and Rumi, the ever goodnatured leader, is like, “Yeah, what about them? Something the matter?”

To which Mira would reply with such a long suffering sigh, “Ugh, that means my ‘fiancé’ will probably be there-“

“YOUR W H A T???” shouts Rumi the same time Zoey practically explodes with, “YOU HAVE A FIANCÉ??? SINCE WHEN??”

And just imagine how fucken funny it would be if Mira would level them with an honestly confused look and just, “Oh, you guys didn’t… know?”

Once again, Zoerumi speak in sync as Zoey exclaims, “UH, NO???” the same exact time Rumi, desperately trying go make sense of the whole situation, asks, “Mira, Mira you’re engaged?”

And brrooo, Zoey’s got the biggest wettest puppydog eyes as she loudly laments while twisting the promise ring on her finger, “To a man?? To someone who isn’t us???? Betrayal?? You hate us??”

And Mira has to Lore Dump™️ that she and this dude are only TECHNICALLY engaged since her parents and his never dropped the courtship they arranged between ‘em but Mira couldn’t care less. She doesn’t remotely consider him an actual partner to her in any way but yes, technically speaking, they are still engaged together in the eyes of VERY musty, stupid, conservative capitalists. She only refers to him as her ‘fiancé’ with big ass air quotes because to her it’s just one big stupid joke girly truly could not less of a fuck about.

Like c'mon give me Mira genuinely forgetting to tell Zoerumi about her ‘engagement’ because it’s just another thing from her past she lumped together into the corner of her mind where she dumps all the memories of what kinda bullshit her parents put her through growing up. Give me Mira having to scramble to explain the situation to a deeply confused and lowkey distressed Zoerumi. The comedy gold, your honor!

Also, give me the Choi family trying to brag about their son being engaged to THE Mira Huntrix and publicly dragging her with some, "I hope this marriage finally tames her into a proper woman" utter bullshit and end up getting into mad beef with the Huntrix stans. One particularly passionate Mira bias goes on a war path doxxing the husband's affair with his secretary while simultaneously hacking into the company's database to expose insane tax fraud that's been going on. Huntrix's PR team releases a statement saying they do not condone this behavior some of the fanbase has been doing but you can easily tell it’s very much just a mandatory announcement made to keep Mira in the clear from any lawsuits tied to the database hacking and shit made in her honor. While she can't openly condone her fans' behavior, Mira is absolutely, positively delighted by her fans going buck-fucking-wild and tearing apart the Choi family. She doesn't say she approves, but she very much doesn't tell em to stop either. Zoerumi are also very gleefully enjoying this humbling of the Chois, hell, Zoey probably has several spam accounts dedicated to adding fuel to the fires of slandering them.

Speaking of Zoerumi, imagine them having to be held back during the charity event from confronting the Chois straight up. Rumi is talking about kicking them out, Zoey is proposing more... tactile means of dealing with them, and tonight it's Mira's turn to be the one to carry the trio's singular braincell dedicated to being the voice of reason. She has to pull out the leaning down and softly whispering into Zoerumi's ears, "I don't want you guys to leave my side… please?" move because as much as she wants her gfs to tear into the Chois right now (and god. GOD. She really does. It would be so, so hot) she also wants to prioritize the charity event's success, and that can't really happen if Zoerumi are verbally harassing and/or stabbing some of the potential patrons.

Mira doesn't often pull out her more vulnerable, lowkey begging side like that in public (even if it was very discreetly whispered into just her gfs' ears), but you besttttt believe it was more than enough to keep Zoerumi GLUED to her the entire night. And hey, you know what? It absolutely works for her because now Mira's got her arms wrapped around the shoulders/waists of two of the hottest people in the room in a verryyy intimate way. What better way to humble her shithead fiance than to look like an exceptionally pleased queen flanked by her two incredibly loyal, incredibly protective, incredibly good looking guard dogs?

I love when Huntrix act as each other’s guard dogs and having Zoerumi be so very very verryy clingy to Mira and riding the very thin line between “just supoortive girly gal pals ahaha” and “oh they FUCKING fucking” with the way they hang off/press in/are always so attentive and touching her in some way/just the way they look and smile at her??? It’s got the Chois maddd uncomfortable, especially when they try to convince their son to go talk to his fiancé and bro’s like, “It would be three against one! If she was alone, maybe, but there’s no way I can approach her like this!” Like yesss Polytrix are radiating so much powerful sapphic aura it creates an invisible barrier between Mira and her ‘fiancé’. Just! The imagery of Mira smiling so confidently like the pleased queen, nah, empress she is with her guard dogs Zoerumi flanking her as the three move around the venue they had rented out and strike up polite conversation with potential donors as one unbreakable unit? All while her ‘fiance’ and his family are fuming in the background but overall way too cowardly to approach the trio? Delectable, utterly addictive really, give me ten more shots of this.

[astrobydalia]

Smoking Hot

|| Summer Astro Notes

work by astrobydalia

I've spoken about how 7th house synastry isn't always rainbows and butterflies bc it rules over open enemies too. But something undeniably good about this synastry is that it makes you able to perfectly coexist and work with the other person even in those cases where you don't like each other. With this synastry it is easier to detach and put your differences aside if you both have some common goal and/or need to resolve a conflict. 7th house synastry makes it easy to end up on good or polite terms with a person

Scorpio Moons don't handle conflict very well. They present themselves as being all tough and badass and like they are cool with entering conflict and drama but that's only if they feel they have power over other people in the situation. When they are the ones being exposed or emotionally vulnerable they chicken out and dissociate from intensity asap

Scorpio Moon in general is the most sensitive moon sign hands down but not in a good way, like the biggest whining behavior I've seen were form scorpio moons. Also their empathy tends to be pretty self-serving if I'm honest with you since fixed energy is more focused on the self and self-preservation, specially the taurus-scorpio axis

Virgo/Gemini ASC or Mercury in the 1st house people are know-it-alls. They come across as know-it-alls. Every time they open their mouth it's to either teach you, narrate you, inform you or lecture you about something. They're literally Jiminy Cricket

I've found that Taurus Moon men give off this vibe of being a secure provider but they're actually closeted mamas boys. They expect to be provided for by women both emotionally and financially.

Libra ASC men and chasing much younger women!!! Leo DiCaprio is the prime example but I've seen this so so so much with ppl I know irl too. This happens because they have Aries DSC and Aries is the first (aka, the youngest) sign of the zodiac, so Libra ASC tend to be attracted to people who have this fresh, new and inexperienced vibe to them

Air venus/moon natives will get the ick if they sense that you like them a lil too much💀​

Aries Venus loves to be adored and admired in a relatioship more than Leo Venus. I've noticed that's actually what makes them stay longer in a relatioship once the initial thrill is over: they wanna feel like they're able to charm and fascinate their partner as if they just met for the first time. Unlike Air Venus, they definately don't run away if they sense that you like them too much, for Aries Venus their partner being obsessed with them is a huge thing I've noticed

Pisces/Neptune influence on the ASC will either make you look devilishly glamorous and etherial or look homeless and disheveled there's no in between

Mars-Uranus natives completely transform in the bedroom. I've noticed that with Mars-Pluto or Mars-Neptune aspects their sexual energy is palpable and can be sensed and perceived in their overall vibe (in other words, it's easier to guess their kinks). With Mars-Uranus natives you will not see it coming and their kinky/sexual side will shock you

5th house synastry and fighting the urge to giggle like children around each other

Planets do not interact with each other the same way and that depends on the nature of the planets themselves (and the aspects, dignities, etc). For example, Jupiter doesn't always expand what it touches, it can also bring moderation through wisdom, that is the case with Mars for example. In Roman mythology it was said that the reason why Jupiter is right behind Mars in the solar system is because Jupiter wants to keep an eye on Mars to make sure the god of war doesn't bring too much chaos and bloodlust to Earth. In other words, Jupiter does not expand Mars per se because their natures crash (mars is hostile, Jupiter is giving) and social/generational planets always dominate over personal planets. Jupiter is more likely to expand a planet like Venus, Moon or even Sun. Real example: with Jupiter-Mars conjunction in synastry, Jupiter person will motivate Mars person but will also not hesitate to keep Mars person accountable for their actions and make sure they do not cross lines

virgo sun/asc 🤝 wearing glasses and rocking the hot nerd look 🤓

Scorpio is meant to purge and transform things into something better, it's meant to be constructive not merely destructive (all fixed signs are about building UP). That's why when scorpio placements focus on revenge, they just end up finding their own self-destruction

Scorpio Mars people are very influential I’ve noticed. People start changing or doing things differently in some way after meeting them

Scorpio Mars 🤝 their inability to communicate clearly. Out of all scorpio placements scorpio mars are the ones who wanna play the mind-reading guessing game the most. They will love keeping you on the edge wondering their next move, what they're thinking, etc

Another thing is that I've seen many scorpio placements who aren't necessarily all into spirituality or occult and stuff, many of them had an almost superficial interest in it (esp scorpio sun), but that's not the case with Scorpio Mars. Every single Scorpio Mars I've seen was NECK DEEP into spirituality, occult or even religious stuff in some some way even if it was just privately bts.

Sagittarius Venus natives are very experimental with their style and aesthetics, they are the most eccentric venus sign from what I've seen but in a really pretty way. They remind me of Harper from Wizards of Waverly Place

I've noticed Libra Mars/Mercury are very controlling but in a very subtle and undercover way. The type to present their demands as suggestions that could benefit you.

Libra Mercury specially will elegantly always lead (cardinal) the conversations and narratives to where they want to without much effort. They're like the orchestra director of conversations an narratives

Scorpio Suns are either so chill, calm and quiet people or really loud and chaotic people who can't go a day without drama

No one talks about how Gemini/3rd house placements are just as obsessed with their friends and friend groups as Aquarius. The difference is Aquarians are a lot more cult-y about it

To elaborate, Aquarius/11th house placements don't have friends, they have minions, I rest my case. This is literally them:

Something I've noticed with Virgo Mercury is that no matter how polite or light-hearted they try to be, what they say always has this bossy undertone to it kinda like "I am right and you have to listen to what I say" vibe lmao. They're very intense when expressing opinions or making decisions

People with Scorpio+Virgo combo in their chart have a reputation for being rough around the edges and rather unkind or unfriendly. Their energy is rather unwelcoming if you're not close with them and they tend to be very irritable and controlling

Fire risings just ooze this "idgaf" energy, they always look joyful and like they're down for some fun. I noticed all of them enjoy getting recognition, not just Leo. They don't hold back and never wanna miss a chance to express themselves

Earth risings' demeanor give off NPC vibes🧍‍♀️​🗿. They often come across as rather inexpressive or very collected and controlled behavior

Water risings appear to be approachable, vulnerable and open but they aren't.​ If you try to get a lil too close to them like an air sign they will literally glare at you. They remind me of the Grinch a little? 😭 No one gatekeeps their personal space more than them which is ironic bc their aura makes a lot of ppl feel the urge to get closer to them. They are the most likely to attract stalkers or ppl who secretly fantasize with them.

Air risings think about changing their entire life and identity at least 5 times a day. They are rather fluid and unpredictable it's like they're constantly exploring themselves. They are the real mysterious ppl bc they will always have you wondering who they really are cause they don't fully know themselves. It's like they are people without a conclusion in who they are that's the best way I can describe them

I've said this before but Scorpio ASC really is one of the most common rising signs in celebrities due to Leo 10th house (derivative system). Also Earth ASC is very common in celebrities or public figures too since Air 10th house gives a career where you have prominent presence in media and communication. Most common earth asc is Capricorn cause venus ruling 10th house gives wealth and favorable reputation. Most common Air ASC is Gemini (Pisces 10th house) and for fire ASC is Leo (venus ruling 10th house) . But the top most common one as per my observation is def Scorpio ASC

With that said Venus is def more about manifesting abundance and success than Jupiter. I saw a reel that ranked the most common sun signs in billionaires and the top 3 were Libra, Taurus and Pisces.... What do all these signs have in common? VENUS. Many wealthy and successful people have Venus influencing their MC/10th house but very few have Jupiter there. If you wanna manifest I'd say focus more on your Venus sign and the energies ruled by venus in your chart

Again I've said this before Jupiter is a boost in terms of expansion, opportunities and wisdom but its energy on its own does not guarantee anything. Let's remember that Jupiter is debilitated in two earth signs (virgo and Capricorn) which means Jupiter is not about materializing stuff per se, Jupiter is about giving you the wisdom, support, hope, faith and guidance you need which is crucial for manifesting yes but the rest is up to you.

For the most part, I've seen Lilith in the 1st house tend to be patronized more than anything, people tend to not respect them and wanna treat these natives like they're dumb. But I've noticed this happens bc ppl with this placement (or prominent Lilith in general) are often very intelligent and they tend to get minimized a lot bc others feel threatened by them

The most stereotypically neat-picky and perfectionist virgo placement is Virgo Venus. They expect things to be done a certain way and this can be easily felt in how they interact with others which can make their love and affection feel rather conditional. They're not good at faking kindness. I've spoken before about how their social behavior tends to be very dry, and I've also noticed they tend to be openly judgmental and don't really care if they make people around them uncomfortable

we all know juno/venus in the 1st house gives off wife/husband material but have you ever met someone with moon in the 1st house? these people's pull game is LETHAL. Lunar energy is way more powerful than venus in terms of charm and attraction cause moon knows how to tug at you heart, your deepest needs and soft spots. And so natives with this placement make soooooo many people weak for them even if those people wouldn't normally consider the native their type initially (applies for cancer asc too)

Aquarius and Virgo are very similar in how they both seem to have opinions on how things could (and should) be done better. They both tend to come across as know-it-alls

Sun conjuct the ASC or in the 1st house in synastry is very common between people who really like eachother both in a romantic and platonic way. I've noticed this overlay tends to create a very strong bond and attraction. A lot of admiration as well

If you got someone's Lilith on your ASC/1st house big chances are this person is simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by you. I've seen the Lilith person often tends to heavily judge the house person but at the same time they admire the house's person nature and how they effortlessly embody the qualities the Lilith person sees as forbidden and out of reach

Libra Lilith is a very disappointing placement. I've seen slut-shaming is a huge thing with them as well as dragging the shit out of others for very superficial reasons (money, status, looks, etc). They give too much importance to things being "cool" like some air-headed high schooler. Also, they handle conflicts in a very cowardly manner and tend to make promises and commitments they later can't keep.

Taurus placements often times strike me as very conceited tbh, specially sun, venus and mars. They act like they are the only ones in the room with standards, taste or common sense.

Also, I've noticed underdeveloped Taurus placements tend to be secretly rather envious? They focus too much on what others have that they don't, they wanna be the ones who notably have more

Both Aries Moon and Scorpio Moon have volatile emotions I've observed since they share Mars rulership, they tend to explode out of nowhere. The difference is that Aries Moon tends to get over it fast like sometimes it's even amusing to see them mad, they will put you in your place and move on. I've noticed they don't really hold grudges much cause they don't really take things too personally and when they do they attack ppl's actions no ppl themselves if that makes sense. Scorpio Moons in comparison are much more catastrophic when going about their emotions, they fr act like it's the end of the world and 9/10 times WILL make things personal. They act like it's fine once the heat dies down but they actually tend to secretly hold on to that anger and resentments for a long ass time if not forever

Aquarius Moon is the most independent moon sign, they tend to be precocious children who grow up really fast, maybe too fast. I've seen that they are forced into adult life VERY early on and they seem to stomach it like it's nothing. I've seen several ppl with this placement who were literally kicked out of their house by their family. It won't be that extreme in all cases, but there seems to be a theme with Aquarius Moons in general and being emotionally disconnected from any sense of dependability on others... for better and for worse

work by astrobydalia

[girlgenius1111]

not yourself

barcelona x teen reader your first international break does not go how you want it to. you're not yourself when you return, and your teammates make it their business to figure out what happened, and why you're so quiet and withdrawn.

—

You’d never been very good at making friends. You were quiet, and people often took that to mean you were aloof. The only reason you’d made friends at Barça was because you’d been so young when you started there. Young enough that almost everyone made an effort to try to get to know you. And while it took time, they must have decided you were worth knowing. 

Your club teammates would tell anyone who asked that you were the team’s baby. Sweet and kind. Even loud and outgoing around people you were comfortable with. Incredible on the pitch. Your teammates loved you like a younger sister, and had gained your trust. You absolutely couldn’t be described as shy around them anymore. 

So, your club teammates knew you well enough to know that if you were being quiet, it wasn’t because you thought you were better than everyone around you or because you weren’t interested in being social. You just had such anxiety when it came to social situations, especially new ones. 

No situation terrified you more than your first international call up. The weeks leading up to it, everyone kept telling you it would be okay. Whenever you fell quiet and looked like you were thinking too hard, there was always someone there to rest a hand on your shoulder or pull you into a hug and promise that everything would be okay. 

You just had to be yourself, Alexia said, and everyone would like you. 

Kika promised you had nothing to worry about, Cata said she was just a phone call away if she had to fight someone for you. None of them seemed very worried, somehow assured and convinced that you’d have no trouble making friends. 

For the first time in your career, you left when they did for the international break. You were your usual self, bubbly and smiley and excited enough that you could barely sit still. Or maybe that was just the nerves. 

You were yourself when you left, and none of them stopped to consider that you might not be when you got back.

—

Loneliness. It wasn’t a brand new feeling, but it wasn’t one you’d felt in a long time. 

Not since you were a kid, and watched the other kids play together at recess. Easily talking and laughing and having fun. Not since you were a kid and watched your parents joke and laugh with your much older siblings, only pausing to remind you to finish your homework. You’d been the outsider, then. At school and at home. 

The weird girl that tried to play football with the boys at recess, and was promptly shunned by everyone. The baby of the family that no one seemed to have any time for. Your parents had you, and soon after decided they were tired of being real parents. They were tired of spending their time with kids, only they’d realized that too late. You’d spent years eating dinner alone at the kitchen table, wondering if your parents would remember to come check on you when they got home from whatever event they’d gone to. 

So, loneliness was familiar. Perhaps you’d just forgotten how much it ached. 

Yet you were reminded, that first international break. Where once again you were the outsider, the odd one out. You weren’t very sure why. It started with the girl you were assigned to room with acting like you were the strangest, most unpleasant person she’d ever spoken to. Soon, it was everyone else doing the same. 

It was cruel little laughs when you messed up in training, and rolled eyes when you went down with an ankle injury during the match. It was assuredly not whispered overheard conversations. 

“She’s so arrogant, I don’t know how anyone puts up with her.” 

“They probably have to be nice to her at Barça, but it’s all pity, really. No one would actually want to spend time with her.” 

“I wonder if it’s in her contract, that everyone has to pretend to like her.” 

It was trying to keep your sobs silent at night as you buried your face in your pillow. It was ignoring every text you got from your club teammates asking how it was going because you were terrified that they didn’t really like you. It didn’t take much for you to be convinced you were some annoying burden on your teammates. The foundation had been laid throughout your life, and it took just a few perfectly worded comments from some of the meanest girls you’d ever encountered to shatter what little self confidence you’d managed to develop. 

It was the worst two weeks of your life. And now, somehow, you were supposed to go back to Barcelona and act normal, like you didn’t have a million doubts in your head, much more amplified than they ever had been before. 

Now, it wasn’t a small worry in the back of your mind that you were bothering Jana when you asked her to braid your hair before a match, or when Alexia drove you home from training that one evening. It had grown to a shout, drowning out any logical, reasonable competition. 

You were sure. Convinced. You were nothing but a burden. An annoying, arrogant, horrible person who no one actually wanted to be around, let alone your club teammates who had the world at their feet. 

Your lack of response to your teammates' texts was the first of many red flags. Many of them had texted you. First, your closest friends. Vicky, Sydney, Jana, Salma. But when word inevitably got around the Spain camp that you weren’t replying to your friends, more texts arrived. From Irene and Alexia, Patri, Cata, and Claudia. Almost everyone asked you some variation of how is it going, or alternatively, are you doing okay? 

Yet you were too in your head to believe they really wanted to know. This was only reinforced when the texts stopped. Though you didn’t know it, Alexia and Irene had decided you needed space for whatever reason, and told everyone to leave you alone. They didn’t want to suffocate you trying to figure out what was going on, though it was clearly something. 

So, the texts stopped, and any remaining shred of hope you carried that your national teammates were wrong, that your club teammates did care about you, disappeared too. 

—

You were pretty sure you’d never been more anxious than you were the morning you were supposed to return to Barça’s training. Every negative comment, every condescending look, every second you'd spent feeling alone and awful, had built up inside your head.

Every single thing you did prompted a flood of self deprecating thoughts. It didn't feel like you could do anything right. All you wanted was to shrink yourself down, become as small and unnoticeable as possible. If you could get through the day without anyone really looking at you, maybe you could do this.

Of course, your teammates, already worried about you after your unexplained silence, weren't going to let you be invisible.

It started with an arm slung around your shoulders the second you stepped into the locker room. Ona, a bright smile on her face.

"La pequeña is back!" She sang, pinching your cheek.

Her words didn't make you feel loved and cared for. Instead, you heart clenched, thinking she was being patronizing.

You had officially fallen off the deep end, and if you'd been in any less of a state of anxiety and self consciousness, you would have realized how wrong and unfair you were being.

You knew Ona. Ona was a good person. Ona would never hurt a fly, let alone be cruel to one of her teammates. These were all facts. Somehow, though, your sense of self had been so warped, so twisted, that you believed Ona could be a good person who wouldn't hurt a fly, yet she could also still be teasing you.

There was something to be said about how two weeks with a bunch of mean girls had completely destroyed your self confidence. Perhaps it hadn't been very strong to begin with, perhaps this deep hatred you felt towards yourself had always been inside you, just buried deep. Now, though, it had free reign. Logic could no longer control it, and it was left to run rampant through your body and mind.

You were bad. Arrogant, awful, impossible to like or care for. These feelings were the foundation of every thought you had. You were a burdensome disaster, and your teammates didn't need to be bothered with you. It wasn't worth it; you weren't worth their time.

You didn't think you were worth much at all, really.

So, you shrugged out from under Ona's arm, fixing your eyes on your cubby and hurrying over to it. No eye contact, no conversation with anyone else.

Ona was left behind you, confused. Brow furrowed, she looked at you, and then looked around the locker room. It seemed she hadn't been the only one to notice your odd behavior. Jana made eye contact with her, nodding her head slightly.

You were hyper aware of everyone around you, able to see Jana leaning closer from her spot in the cubby next to you out of the corner of your eye.

"Hey." She said quietly.

You managed some mumbled greeting in response, hands trembling where you tried to unfold your training top.

"Are you okay?" Jana inquired.

Immediately, you nodded your head. And immediately, Jana regretted her question. Of course you were going to say yes, even if it was obvious you weren't okay. She should have asked what was wrong, instead.

Someone cleared their throat behind Jana, and you let out a sigh of relief when she stepped away from you.

More concern being shown to you, yet you perceived it so differently. Jana was taking pity on you, probably. You needed to pull it together, take some deep breaths and put on a show, because you had no choice but to be fine today. No choice.

As you composed yourself, Jana and Irene exchanged quiet words.

"Something isn't right." Jana whispered, glancing back at you. Now, you were methodically trying your shoes, even a mere hint of emotion wiped from your face.

Irene was watching you, too, more concerned than she wanted to admit. Your silence while you'd been away had been odd; your behavior now, though, was downright worrying.

Yet taking one look at you told Irene that you were completely shut down. An impenetrable wall had put up, and Irene knew better than to force her way through. This wasn't the time or the place to get you to talk.

"Just leave her be for today. Whatever it is, she'll come to us when she's ready."

And maybe you would have, if it had been anything else. But when you were convinced you were a burden, the last thing you wanted to do was ask the people you felt like you were inconveniencing to reassure you that you weren't an inconvenience.

Those of your teammates that had an understanding of when to push and when not to push seemed to leave you alone. There were little things, pats on the shoulder and water bottles handed to you first before anyone else, that were supposed to send you the message that you were cared for. Yet all you could think was that your teammates saw you as an obligation.

However, some of your other teammates greatly lacked the ability to read the situation. When they saw someone being quiet and acting strangely, it wasn't in their nature to let it go. They pushed.

Teasing comments about being quiet or being too cool for the team followed you around all day. The weren't intentionally cruel, yet you couldn't seem to separate friendly teasing from what you'd endured with your national team.

Everything came to a head in the locker room after training. It was loud, everyone chattering excitedly about their breaks and getting to see their families. So loud that no one really noticed Cata and Vicky appearing on either side of you, pestering you to tell them why you were suddenly way too cool to talk to them.

“Out with it, chica!” Cata said teasingly. Maybe she was trying to lighten the mood, but you felt like she was laughing at you. “You’ve been acting like an alien all day.” 

“Were you abducted? Are you really an alien shape shifter?” Vicky laughed. 

The teasing felt cruel, though you should have known it wasn’t. The echoes of the girls from your national team still rattled around in your head, until you couldn’t tell the difference between their bullying and your teammates’ teasing. 

You shut your locker tightly, blinking hard for a second before turning around. 

“Please just leave me alone.” You said softly, voice cracking in the middle. 

Cata and Vicky froze, surprise flashing across their faces. 

“Chica, we were just–”

“I know, I know, I’ve been weird. Just make your jokes when I’m gone next time.” 

It was the closest you’d probably ever get to standing up for yourself, so maybe you were a bit proud as you headed out of the locker room. Mostly, though, you just felt pathetic. For ever thinking your teammates had cared about you when they had no reason to. For ever thinking you were fun to be around or fun to talk to. 

You’d been trying to be quiet and fade into the background. Not draw attention to yourself. It only confirmed in your head that your teammates saw you as a pitiful charity project they didn’t actually want to be around when they seemed to zero in on this change in your behavior. 

You couldn’t picture it coming from a place of worry or care. The girls your age hated you, and there was no reason why much more successful women wouldn’t feel the same way. 

Hastily, you made your way out of the locker room, ignoring every sideways glance from your teammates. You even ignored Alexia calling your name, not thinking yourself capable of holding it together for much longer. You needed to get home, where you could be pathetic by yourself and not bother anyone with it.

Yet behind you, every single one of your teammates, every single one of your friends, were left bewildered. Something wasn't right. And they were not the type of people to let something like this go.

—

It was Sydney that got to you. She’d clearly had a bad training session, a bad day. It surprised you when your phone lit up with a text from her, asking if she could come over. You said yes immediately, willing to help even while you were convinced you were the perpetual butt of some joke. 

Sydney been near tears when she knocked on your front door, and you didn't hesitate to pull her over to your sofa, wrap a soft cream blanket around her shoulders, and move the box of tissues on the coffee table ever so slightly closer to her.

"What's going on?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even and calm.

Sydney sniffled, burying her face in her hands.

"Everything," she said, voice muffled. "I just… I don't think I'm good enough to be here. Everyday at training, all I can do is doubt myself and rethink my decisions and then I play horribly. It's unbearable. I want to go home, I miss my parents and my sister and cold weather and—"

"Woah, slow down." You urged. "Take a breathe, you're spiraling."

Sydney inhaled shakily, and you reached out, resting a supportive hand on her forearm.

"It's just… really hard, being so far away from home and playing for the best team in the world. I should feel happy and lucky, and I do, but I'm so scared all the time that I'm not good enough."

You knew exactly how she was feeling. It was probably a rough time that every young player at Barcelona felt, a point everyone reached. You weren't even sure that you didn't still feel that way.

In that moment, you were glad you'd felt this way before, if for no other reason than being able to help Sydney more.

"Syd, you wouldn't be here if you weren't good enough. Having a crisis of confidence like this just shows you care, and you have the passion you need to play for this team."

Sydney looked up at you and sniffled, cautiously hopeful. "You think so?"

"Absolutely. What you're feeling is so normal, Syd, I promise. It's an adjustment and you just have to be patient with yourself. It's going to get better, I promise."

This time, Sydney nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right."

You fidgeted with your fingers in your lap, wracking your brain for what else to say, what would have made you feel better when you'd felt like this. Sydney looked comforted, sure, but you knew that your advice was probably not very good, and she deserved more than you were able to give her.

“Do you want me to call one of the older girls, Syd? They can probably help better than me.” You suggested, biting down on your lower lip in worry. 

Sydney shook her head. “No, you’re helping. You always give good advice, and you always know what to say to calm me down. That’s why I’m here. I think I just needed to cry.” 

Her words shocked you, and it was obvious that she could tell.

"I actually didn't just come over here to cry on your couch." Sydney said, no longer looking quite as sad, concern flooding her features. "I wanted to check on you. Something seemed really off today."

You shifted uncomfortably, whole body suddenly tense. "No, I'm—"

"Do not tell me that you are fine. You seem… you seem really not okay. Everyone's noticed, and Irene has insisted we give you space, that you'll talk to someone about whatever is wrong when you're ready, but that doesn't feel right to me. You shouldn't let someone who is clearly hurting isolate themselves."

Sydney spoke with the wisdom of a much older woman. Her hazel eyes, too, seemed to study you in a way that pierced your soul. So much so that you suddenly didn't know how you were going to push this away, how you were going to convince her you were okay.

There was something else, too. The thing about Irene and space and you reaching out when you were ready. It tugged at your chest, maybe some very tiny remaining part of you that remembered how much you trusted your teammates.

Two weeks that felt like an eternity were enough to do a lot of damage on your psyche, that much was obvious. Those weeks, paired with your long standing tendency to fall into a pit of self hatred, were enough to have you questioning everything, your friendships most of all. You'd shrunk yourself down, trying to take up as little space as possible, as you always had when you were younger. When it was clear you were annoying your parents or your siblings, you shut down.

You were shutting down now, but there was some part of you, maybe some healed part of you, that couldn't stop thinking of tight hugs and reassuring words and movie nights and homemade dinners and rides home from training. None of that matched up with the way you were feeling, until all you were sure of in that moment, was that you were confused.

You were so confused. Sydney reaching out and checking on you didn't make sense. Irene telling everyone to give you space, and that you'd talk to someone when you were ready didn't make sense. Sydney saying you were clearly hurting didn't make sense; you weren't hurting, not really. You were just being realistic. Weren't you?

Sydney seemed genuine, though. And that was the thing that really tripped you up. She would have had to go very much out of her way to come over here and check on you, even if she apparently came also because she trusted you to make her feel better about her own terrible day.

Nothing made sense anymore. It hadn't since you'd left for the break two weeks ago, and realized you were existing in a bubble where everyone tolerated your presence because they had to.

"Did something happen over the break?" She probed, carefully watching the shift of your facial expression. Immediately, she knew she'd gotten it right. Your face had fallen for just a moment, before the wall was drawn back up. But she'd seen the devastation in your eyes at the reminder. "Okay, so yes. Tell me what happened."

Sydney could come off as a very quiet, soft spoken person. but when it came to the people she cared about, which you could no longer deny included you, she was a force to be reckoned with, and you found yourself opening your mouth to answer without even trying to fight it very hard.

"It's fine. Some of the girls were… they didn't like me. But it's okay, really. I'm okay."

Sydney raised one eyebrow, like she didn't believe you for a second. "Didn't like you? Why not?"

Her face was so genuinely confused, her tone baffled. She didn't seem to understand the idea of someone not liking you. And, you suppose, that's what made you break. Tears welled in your eyes even as you shook your head, trying to ward the emotions off.

"Because I'm annoying and arrogant and aloof and untalented and undeserving of my spot here." The words tumbled out of you, like you'd been bursting at the seams trying not to let them go until that moment.

"Is that what they said?" Sydney asked, eyes wide and angry.

You nodded, jaw locked so tightly it looked painful.

"Is that what you believe?"

This time, you shrugged. Yet, somehow, it was obvious what that shrug meant.

"That's absurd. Obviously they're just jealous of you because you're so much more successful than them."

The issue with that explanation was that you couldn't hear it without picturing a mother telling her spoiled teenage daughter with an awful personality the exact same thing. She didn't have friends because people were jealous of her, not because she was terrible. You couldn't envision yourself as anything other than the terrible one in the situation.

You shrugged again, trying to act like you didn't care, like none of it even mattered anyway. "Yeah, whatever. It's not a big deal."

Sydney looked at you for a long moment, considering. Her eyes were warm, her aura exuding gentleness. Still, you braced yourself for something hurtful.

"It seems like a big deal. It would feel like a big deal for me."

You bit your lip for a moment before shaking your head. "It's not."

It was a lie, and you both knew it. There was no part of you that was willing to let this conversation go any further, though. You couldn't talk about this, or you'd break, and that wouldn't be fair to put on Sydney. So, you changed the subject.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. Do you want to watch a movie? To get your mind off things?" You asked, trying to appear relaxed as you leaned back into the sofa and uncrossed your arms.

Sydney knew she had two options; she could push, insist you talk to her, or she could let you shut the conversation down and watch a movie with you. She was fairly certain that the first option would end with you shutting down even further, and her leaving your apartment. And the second… well, you'd still be shut down, but at least you wouldn't be alone. So, for now, Sydney let you table the conversation, well aware that she had a few people to call on her way home.

"A movie sounds good." She agreed.

Yet even after you'd both agreed on a film, even as the room feel silent as the opening chords of the score flooded out of the speakers, you could feel the concern radiating off Sydney in waves. And you worried she wouldn't let this go.

—

The thing about having no self confidence was that sometimes, you could be really fucking delusional. Over the course of the evening and night, and into the following day, you'd somehow managed to convince yourself that nothing else would come of the conversation you'd had with Sydney the night before. Because, really, why would anyone care to follow up? It was one thing to be nice to you at training, but your personal issues were no one's responsibility but your own.

Maybe it was your brain trying to take the safe option. Maybe it was some part of you reaching out for help in a very backwards way, knowing that if you convinced yourself there would be no conversation the next day, no worried glances from your teammates, you'd be much more likely to be taken off guard, and much more likely to talk. Whatever it was, you walked into the locker room the next morning, 75% sure that nothing would come of the conversation you'd had with Sydney the day before.

And right back out the locker room you walked, head down, eyes fixed on the floor, following Alexia and Patri. Briefly, you wondered how Patri was chosen for this conversation. Likely, it had been her that Sydney had gone to talk to, finding the youngest captain to be the easiest to approach. If you knew Irene and Marta, though, you knew they'd be itching to talk to you, too.

You followed Alexia and Patri to the room the team used for watching match footage, slumping into a chair as they both pulled ones over to sit in front of you. It felt oddly like some kind of job interview, both of their gazes fixed intently on you. They looked upset, almost, and you honestly weren't sure how this conversation would go.

Maybe it wasn't about the break and what had happened. Maybe you'd actually done something wrong, and gotten yourself into trouble.

Before you could spiral any further, Patri cleared her throat and spoke.

"You haven't been yourself." She said simply, eyes trained on your face, ready to catch even a flicker in your expression.

You opened your mouth, though you weren't quite sure what you were about to say. Alexia spoke before you could, though, shaking her head insistently as if you'd spoken.

"No. Do not deny it. You left for the break normal, smiley and laughing and happy. And you came back sad and quiet and shy. You haven't been this quiet and this withdrawn since you first came here, so something clearly happened while you were gone. And I want to know what happened."

Alexia could come on rather strong when it came to the well being of the people she cared about. This was something Patri knew very well, having been on the receiving end of it enough times. Yet she didn't want Alexia to seem too harsh, and make you think that you were in trouble when they were really just worried about you.

"Why do you want to know? It's not your responsibility, I was away with my national team, it has nothing to do with Barcelona."

Alexia and Patri exchanged a glance, confusion written across both their faces.

"What? It's not about responsibility, chica, it's about you. We want to know because we care about you."

Shockingly, as you'd approached this conversation with such hostility, your lip began to tremble. You bit down on it, hard, looking anywhere but at your captains.

"You do?"

Alexia and Patri were both stunned into silence for a moment. They didn't understand what they could have possibly done to make you doubt that they cared about you. The entire team had spent a long time earning your trust, and now it seemed like that trust had evaporated.

You'd been so young when you arrived at Barcelona, you still were so young. And neither Patri nor Alexia could see anything other than a young girl who needed love and support when they looked at you.

Alexia reached out, putting one hand on your shoulder. She waited until you lifted your gaze to meet hers, eyes filled with tears. She hadn't seen you look this small and this vulnerable in a very long time.

"Of course we do. Of course. We want to know what happened because we want to help."

At this, you shook your head, wiping your tears with the hem of your training top.

"No, this isn't your problem, it's mine. You don't have to fix it for me."

"Well, maybe we want to." Patri said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Just tell us, chica. Please." Alexia asked, her tone of the verge of begging. They were both looking at you so intently, so pleadingly and so caringly, that you weren't really sure what else to do. Your options seemed like… telling them what happened, or running from the room and never looking back.

"It was just… some of the girls at camp. They didn't like me. They said some stuff I guess I let get in my head."

It was the vaguest, barest bones summary you could have come up with, and you could tell both the older women wanted to ask for more details, insist on names and exactly what was said so they could make it right.

But there you sat in front of them, arms crossed tightly over your chest, looking like you were physically trying to hold yourself together. And they knew they shouldn't push you.

Of course, you were worried that if you told them exactly what was said, they'd agree, however unlikely that was. But more than that, the things that had been said to you and about you weren't things you ever really wanted to repeat again. Even listing them off to Sydney the night before had been painful, like you were hearing them all over again.

"Niña, you understand why the girls were mean, yes?" Patri asked gently.

You shrugged, because you didn't, not really. All you could think was that you deserved it.

"Because you are 17 years old and playing for this team. You are so talented, and so promising, and so humble about it, too. Those girls have no idea how to handle that jealousy without being cruel, without trying to put you down to make themselves feel taller."

You had to admit, when Patri explained it, it made sense. Hearing those words from her took some of the weight off your shoulders, even if it was only a little bit for now.

Alexia hummed her agreement to what Patri said, nudging your foot with hers before she spoke. "We can't fix what happened while you were gone, nena. But we can tell you that you are not alone, and nothing that was said to you was true. You are good and kind and you deserve to be here. Okay?"

Again, all you could do was shrug. But Alexia could see the tears silently sliding down your face, and she knew that what she'd said had mattered, had been what you needed to hear.

"Ven," Alexia said, standing and opening her arms for you. You buried yourself into the hug, letting the warmth from Alexia calm you.

It wasn't magically better. You didn't suddenly, miraculously feel better about yourself and who you were as a person. It just didn't feel as heavy, in that moment.

Your captains had gone out of their way to check on you, to insist you talk to them, just like Sydney had. There was no obligation for them to fulfill, they'd done it because they wanted to. Because they cared about you. And whether or not you thought that care was valid or deserved, it didn't matter. It was there either way.

Patri hugged you, too, after Alexia finally let go, murmuring something about finding those girls and teaching them a lesson, and you laughed. The both smiled at your smile like they'd won a prize, Patri slinging an arm across your shoulders as she walked you out of the film room and back to the locker room.

It was just as loud as ever in there, music blasting from the speaker. Pina had commandeered Patri's phone in her absence, and was playing something that Vicky was calling an abomination. Jana grabbed your wrist as soon as you stepped foot through the door, pulling you over to the bench in front of your cubby and practically shoving you down onto it. She started braiding your hair without you even asking, and you knew then that everyone had noticed something up with you, not just Sydney, and not just your captains.

The volume of the locker room didn't feel like a party happening around you that you weren't invited to, anymore. It felt comfortable, the way it always had before.

You didn't realize you were sitting there, smiling, until Sydney caught your eye from across the room. She looked anxious, and you realized she probably expected you to be angry with her for going to Alexia and Patri about you.

Somehow, though, you weren't upset. You weren't really anything but relieved that your entire team didn't hate you. You smiled wider at Sydney, nodding your head once. Relief flooded her face, turning into amusement as Jana lightly slapped the top of your head, telling you not to move or you'd mess her up.

It really surprised you how much better you felt. How much a few people just caring and reaching out had done. You didn't really feel like questioning it, though. You didn't feel like ruminating in the thoughts and rethinking your every action.

You just felt like being there with your team, without overthinking anything. And that was a massive step in and of itself.

—

i know i throw this around a lot but i truly hate this. could not physically spend any more time on it thought without losing my mind, so i hope it's not too bad. don't tell me if it is thx <3

[satellite-evans]

fifth time's the charm

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x reader

Summary: 4 moments he almost said “I love you,” and one moment where he finally did.

Word count: 4.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

I. Coffee

The secondhand coffee machine in Clark’s kitchen sputters again, issuing a pathetic hiss and a few reluctant gurgles like it’s fighting for its life. The sound echoes softly through the quiet apartment, accompanied only by the low, rhythmic hum of his voice. He’s not singing—just humming, some nameless, comforting tune you’ve come to associate with him when he’s deep in thought or focused on something small. You realize you’ve heard it more often lately. It’s always soft, always slightly off-key, but it settles into the background like a heartbeat.

You’re curled up on his worn, overstuffed couch, a blanket tucked over your legs, its fibers still warm from the dryer. The morning sun drapes over your cheek through the half-open blinds, warming your skin ever so slightly. Outside, the city is waking up—horns blare in the distance, someone yells about a dog, a bus grumbles past—but in here, it’s quiet. Slow. Still.

Clark turns from the counter with two mismatched mugs in his hands—one with a fading print of the Metropolis skyline, the other chipped slightly at the rim. There’s a small tremble in his fingers, just the tiniest betrayal of movement. He tries to hide it, keeping his grip steady, his face neutral. But you see it. You notice it now—the soft signs, the cracks in the armor. The quiet exhaustion in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. The humanity in a man who so often feels like he carries the weight of the world without letting it show.

He walks over and hands you your mug carefully, as though the moment is delicate, sacred somehow. You catch the faint scent of the coffee before you take a sip—rich, smooth, with just a hint of cinnamon. It’s perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

You pause mid-sip, blinking up at him. “Wait… how did you know I like it like this?”

Clark hesitates. His eyes flicker down to his socks—gray, worn, one of them inside out. He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

“You mentioned it,” he says, his voice low, a little unsure. “That night at the diner. You said your barista always puts too much syrup in.”

You frown slightly, surprised. “That was two weeks ago.”

He shrugs, almost apologetically. “I remember things. Especially about you.”

Your chest tightens—just a little, just enough to make your breath catch. Something unspoken swells between you, warm and sudden. You look down at your cup to hide your face, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips.

Clark sits beside you, careful not to jostle the couch. He sinks into the cushions slowly, one arm resting along the back, his body angled slightly toward yours. His knee brushes yours, and though it’s the lightest touch, you feel it like a spark. His warmth bleeds through the space between you before you even look up.

When you do, he’s already watching you.

There’s something different in his eyes today—quieter than usual, but deeper. Like there’s something behind them he hasn’t said yet. A thousand unsent letters sitting just behind his tongue. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to speak.

You beat him to it, nudging his side gently with your elbow. “You gonna say something cheesy again?”

He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I…” His voice trails off for a second, then steadies. “I was just gonna say I’m glad you’re here.”

It’s simple. No dramatic inflection, no flourish. Just that.

But it lands like an anchor in your chest—heavy in the best way.

You turn toward him, the smile still lingering in your voice as your tone softens. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

He leans in, barely—like he’s moving without realizing it. Like gravity’s pulling him closer. But then he catches himself. Stops. Retreats just enough to let you breathe. As if he’s afraid to press the moment too far, afraid that naming the thing between you might shatter it before it’s ready.

He doesn’t say I love you.

He doesn’t have to.

You see it in the way he looks at you, in the quiet reverence of it. Like you’re something rare. Something breakable and brilliant. It’s not just affection—it’s intent. A kind of waiting. A kind of hope.

And maybe you don’t say it either. Not out loud.

But the way your shoulders settle into his, the way your fingers brush against his when you hand back the mug, the way you let your head fall gently onto his shoulder a minute later—all of that says enough.

Love is brewing here. Quietly. Patiently.

Just like the coffee he made, exactly how you like it.

II. Ramblings

The evening air has a bite to it, crisp in the way late summer sometimes is when the day begins to retreat and the first hints of fall sneak in around the edges. The city speaks around you, softened in the golden hour glow. Metropolis' east side is quieter at this time of day—just a few scattered people out walking dogs or lingering at cafe tables, their voices low and half-lost in the hush of a waning sun.

The sky overhead is painted in fading strokes of rose and molten gold, clouds drifting like brushstrokes across a canvas. Light glints off the windows of nearby buildings, setting them ablaze for a moment before dimming again. The world feels slower here, like it’s catching its breath.

You and Clark walk side by side, your pace unhurried. Comfortable. Familiar. The soles of your shoes scuff softly against the pavement. His jacket brushes your arm every now and then, and your hands swing between you, knuckles brushing with each step—tiny electric touches that say more than either of you has figured out how to put into words. Yet.

Clark steals glances at you as you talk about your day—your boss's passive-aggressive emails, the chaos in the breakroom, some intern who mistook decaf for espresso and turned the office into a war zone. You catch him looking and raise an eyebrow, but he just grins, sheepish and unapologetic, like he can’t help himself.

He looks at you like he's trying to memorize you in real time. Not just how you look in this light, but how you are in this moment—how your mouth moves when you laugh, how you tug at your sleeve when you're self-conscious, how your eyes crinkle when you’re teasing him. Like if he doesn’t commit all of it to memory, he’ll forget something important.

You reach your building before you know it—a quiet, brick-front place tucked between a florist’s shop and an apartment complex with ivy crawling up the side. You stop at the base of the steps, and so does he.

His hand lingers near yours. Close enough to feel the warmth, but not quite touching. His fingers graze your skin—once, then again. Like he wants to hold your hand but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to anymore. Or maybe he just doesn’t want the moment to end.

You tilt your head toward him, voice low. “You’re stalling.”

Clark laughs under his breath, looking down at your hands with that crooked smile that always gets to you. “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a little.”

He inhales, slow and deliberate, like he’s bracing for something—or holding something back. He lets the breath out in a soft, half-laugh. “I just... I really like this,” he says. His voice is quiet, a little rough around the edges. “Being with you. Even if it’s just... walking and talking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Even when I talk too much about my work drama?”

“Especially then.” His eyes meet yours, steady now. “You let me in. That means something.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward—just full. You watch him in the last stretch of sunlight, the way the gold outlines his jaw, the faint curl of hair at his temple, the thoughtful crease between his brows. You get the feeling he’s on the verge of something. Like there’s a door half-open inside him and he’s debating whether to walk through it.

His thumb brushes your knuckle again, slow and gentle this time. Intentional. You feel it down to your ribs.

Then his lips part.

“I think I lo—”

But he stops. The words catch like a bird in flight—startling, unsure. His mouth shuts abruptly, and for just a moment, his eyes widen, like even he didn’t mean to get that close to the edge.

You blink at him, heart tight in your chest. “You think you what?” Your voice is soft. Encouraging. But steady.

Clark blinks once, twice, and then clears his throat. “I think I… left my umbrella at the office.”

You stare at him.

A beat passes.

Then, involuntarily, a laugh escapes you—light and genuine. “Clark,” you say, “it’s August.”

He shrugs, helplessly, all wide eyes and boyish charm. “You never know,” he offers weakly.

For a second, neither of you says anything. The air is thick with the thing he didn’t say.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s brief—barely there—but his breath stutters just a little. His body goes still. Like he’s afraid if he moves, the spell will break.

When you pull back, he looks at you like you’ve knocked all the wind from his lungs.

“I’ll text you later,” you whisper, your smile soft around the edges.

He nods, wordless, watching you as you turn and head into your building. The door swings shut behind you slowly, and in that last sliver of glass before it closes, you catch a glimpse of his reflection.

He’s still standing there.

Eyes fixed on the spot where you just were. Like he’s trying to will you back.

There’s longing etched into every line of his face. And something else, too—something tender and raw and a little lost. The unspoken sitting heavy on his tongue.

He doesn’t say it.

But he came close.

So close, it’s still ringing in the air after the door clicks shut.

III. The Busted Zipper

You’re once again walking side by side through Centennial Park, shoes crunching softly over the winding gravel path, when the sky turns on you. What had been a patchwork of sunshine and scattered clouds just moments ago shifts suddenly—like someone flipped a switch in the heavens. A sharp breeze cuts through the trees, rustling leaves into a frenzy, and the sky darkens with startling speed, the blue swallowed by a rolling tide of storm-gray clouds.

You glance up, frowning. “My weather app did not mention this.”

The wind picks up, tugging insistently at your clothes. Your jacket zipper catches halfway up, then jams completely, refusing to budge no matter how hard you pull. You huff, half-laughing, half-exasperated, as the fabric flaps open in the breeze like a reluctant flag.

“Perfect timing,” you mutter, futilely yanking at the zipper again.

Beside you, Clark slows, his brow knitting in concern. Without a word, he shrugs off his coat. It happens so smoothly, so instinctively, it almost doesn’t register until you feel the sudden weight of it settling around your shoulders—warm, heavy, and comforting. His hands reach up to adjust the lapels, smoothing them over your chest with deliberate care, as if ensuring every part of you is protected from the creeping chill.

You blink at him. “Clark, I’m not gonna let you freeze for me—”

He just shakes his head, calm and certain. “I’ll be fine.”

His voice is soft but steady. His hands linger a second longer than necessary before dropping to his sides. He tucks them into his pockets, his shoulders curling slightly inward against the breeze. You can’t help but notice the way he shivers—just barely, just once.

You inhale, and the coat pulls around you like a cocoon. It smells like soap and fresh cotton. And something else—something harder to name. Something warm and grounding, like the sun hitting pavement after rain. Like the feeling of safety in a storm. Like him.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you zip the coat higher—his coat—and fold your arms inside it. His posture is casual, but there’s tension in his frame now, like something’s coiled in his chest, something he’s trying not to let slip out.

“You always this gallant?” you ask, your voice light, teasing, trying to soften the sudden weight in the air.

He looks over with a smile—a real one—but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I try.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You gonna ask for it back later, or am I keeping it forever?”

Clark’s smile shifts. Less playful now. It gentles, mellows into something quieter. His gaze lingers on you, thoughtful.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he says, almost under his breath. “You keeping something of mine.”

You freeze for half a second. Something flutters in your chest—delicate and unsteady. Not panic. Not fear. Something more dangerous.

Hope.

The wind rattles a tree above you, scattering leaves into the air, and you let them fall around you like confetti, but your attention is pinned to Clark. He isn’t looking at you now—his eyes have gone distant, fixed on the path ahead like there’s something very important in the middle distance he needs to study. His jaw tightens, like he’s about to say something. Or swallow it instead.

Then, quietly: “I…”

You tilt your head toward him. You don’t rush him. You know the weight of unfinished sentences. You know how carefully they get carried.

But he stops. You see it happen in real time—the hesitation, the brief flicker of fear, the soft retreat behind his eyes.

He shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

You stop walking, reach out, and gently catch his hand. The contact is small, but it roots him. He glances down at where your fingers curl around his.

“It is,” you say softly. “If you were gonna say it, it’s important.”

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—emotion, raw and unguarded—but it vanishes almost as quickly as it comes. He offers you a smile, but it’s practiced. A gentle deflection.

“Just wanted to say…” he pauses, almost making you believe him, “you look good in my coat.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Searching. Waiting. But you know he’s not ready—not yet. And maybe you’re not either.

So you let him have the out.

You smile, faintly. “It’s a good coat.”

You start walking again, side by side under a sky heavy with unspoken words and almost-rain. He doesn’t take his hand back right away, and neither do you. The wind has calmed for now, but the air feels charged. The kind of hush that comes before the sky finally breaks open.

You don’t talk for the next few steps. You don’t need to. The weight of what he didn’t say—what you felt anyway—settles around you, heavier than the coat draped across your shoulders.

You keep walking, heart full, steps slow, the storm holding off a little longer.

But you know it’s coming.

And maybe, just maybe, next time, he’ll let it rain.

IV. The Call

The nightmare hits hard.

It doesn't creep in. It crashes—sudden, visceral, and overwhelming. One moment, you're sleeping soundly. The next, you're gasping into the darkness, lungs tight, heart pounding against your ribs like it's trying to escape. The room is too quiet, the shadows too long. Sweat clings to your skin despite the chill in the air.

You sit up abruptly, tangled in your sheets like something tried to pull you under and almost succeeded. You don’t remember the details, not clearly—just impressions. Panic. Falling. A voice screaming your name. Or maybe you were the one screaming. The remnants of the dream are already dissolving like smoke, but the fear lingers, sharp and disorienting.

Your hands tremble as they fumble across the nightstand. Your phone is there, cool and familiar beneath your fingertips. You unlock it without thinking, muscle memory guiding you. His name is the first one on the list.

You don’t hesitate.

You don’t even question it.

You tap the call button, and hold the phone to your ear like it’s a lifeline.

It rings once.

Twice.

Then—his voice. Soft. Sleep-roughened. Gentle in a way that makes your throat tighten.

“Hey,” Clark says, quiet and warm. “You okay?”

His voice is like a light flipped on in a dark room—no sudden brightness, just a glow that steadies you.

You swallow hard, trying to find your own voice. “I… yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just…”

He cuts you off gently. “You can always call me.”

There’s no edge to it. No trace of annoyance or confusion. Just concern. Calm, grounded concern.

“What happened?”

“I had a bad dream,” you say. Your voice is unsteady, barely above a whisper. “I don’t even remember all of it. Just… it felt real. Too real. I needed to hear your voice.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line. Not silence—just stillness. Like he’s taking that in, wrapping his mind around your fear and already trying to shoulder it for you.

Then, softly: “Do you want me to come over?”

You glance at the clock glowing on your nightstand. 2:06 a.m.

You huff a breath through your nose, part laugh, part disbelief. “Clark… it’s two in the morning.”

“I’ll fly—uh, drive. Fast.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you let out a shaky laugh, something like tension loosening in your chest. You can almost see his sheepish smile through the phone.

“I’m okay,” you say, softer now. “I mean… I will be. Just needed this. Needed you.”

He exhales slowly on the other end. The kind of breath that sounds like it came from somewhere deep in his chest.

“I’m always here,” he says. “Okay? Always.”

His voice holds weight. A kind of gravity that draws your heart closer to steady. You believe him—without needing proof, without needing anything more than the way he says it.

You don’t respond right away. You don’t have to. The quiet between you isn’t awkward. It means something. The call has become more than just a connection—it’s a tether. A thread stretching between two hearts in the dark.

And in that silence… you feel it.

Something he’s not saying.

It sits between the words. In the hitch of his breath. In the way he doesn’t rush to fill the space. You know him well enough to recognize it now—that careful pause, like he’s standing at the edge of something bigger than both of you. Like the truth is already in his mouth, but he’s weighing the moment, wondering if this is the time.

You feel your own heart rise to meet it. Expectant. Open.

But instead, he says:

“Close your eyes.”

You blink at the ceiling, where the shadows stretch across plaster like long, reaching fingers.

“I’ll stay on the line,” he adds gently. “I’ll talk. Just… close your eyes.”

So you do.

You sink back into the sheets, the pillow cool against your cheek. The sound of his voice hums in your ear—low, steady, soothing. He doesn’t fill the air with stories or distractions. Just small things. Quiet things. A whispered “You’re okay now,” like a promise. A murmur of your name every now and then, like he’s reminding you you’re not alone. Like he’s anchoring you to the moment, pulling you gently out of the nightmare’s gravity.

Your breathing slows. Your fingers stop trembling. The tension in your chest unwinds thread by thread.

Eventually, you drift.

Not all at once, but slowly, safely—held by the sound of him. The warmth in his voice like a blanket across your heart.

You fall asleep to him.

And long after your breath evens out, long after you’ve slipped into dreamless quiet, Clark stays on the line—listening, just in case. Just to be near.

Because he almost said it.

And maybe next time… he will.

V. The First Time

It’s Sunday, and finally, the world has slowed to a gentle crawl. The usual chaos—the relentless rush of city life, the sharp edges of weekday urgency—has softened into a muted pause. It’s as if time itself has exhaled, allowing space for something quieter, something deeper.

Outside, the rain drizzles steadily, whispering softly against the windows like a lullaby meant just for the two of you. The sky is a sheet of soft gray, blurred by mist and drizzle, and the sound of water hitting the pavement blends into the background like a delicate symphony. The city has faded into a gentle hush, its hurried heartbeat replaced by the rhythmic tapping of raindrops.

Inside, an old Cary Grant movie plays, but neither of you has really been paying attention for the past hour. The dialogue and the scenes have melted into white noise, a backdrop to this moment. Instead, your focus has been elsewhere.

You’re curled up on Clark’s couch, limbs intertwined and tucked beneath a shared, oversized blanket that smells faintly of lavender and clean cotton. Your legs drape lazily across his lap, warm and familiar, while your head rests gently on his chest, the steady rise and fall of it syncing with your breath. His fingers move slowly, tracing soft, absentminded patterns along your back—circles, lines, nothing deliberate, just a comforting rhythm. It’s like his hands are learning you, memorizing every curve and contour, as if engraving you into his skin with gentle touches.

The air between you is warm, still, and full of quiet energy—an unspoken promise hanging in the space. And then something shifts. Subtle but undeniable.

You feel it first—his heartbeat quickens beneath your ear, a gentle but unmistakable change. Your own heart responds, speeding up just enough to notice the difference. Instinctively, you lift your head, eyes meeting his, and you find that he’s already looking at you. Not distracted by the movie, not caught in thought, not averting his gaze shyly. No—he’s watching you with a kind of raw, vulnerable intensity that feels new and electric.

“You’re staring again,” you whisper softly, a small smile curving your lips.

Clark blinks, caught off guard, his gaze flickering away for a moment before settling back on you. “Oh—uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t be,” you say gently, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your faces inch closer, noses brushing lightly, and he lets out the softest, breathiest laugh—nervous, almost like he’s afraid to mess this up. That laugh speaks volumes: he’s trying, trying so hard to get this right, to say everything he feels without saying too much.

Then, suddenly, quietly—but with the surety of a truth finally spoken—he says it.

“I love you.”

The words land softly between you, but inside, they echo like a thunderclap. They settle beneath your ribs like a secret long held, a treasure finally claimed.

You freeze, stunned by the weight and clarity of those three simple words. The room seems to hold its breath. And then, barely above a whisper, you say, “You what?”

He repeats it, firmer this time, eyes locking with yours. “I love you. I’ve… been trying to say it. For a while.”

You search his face, seeing the vulnerability, the hesitation, and the hope wrapped in those words. “So why didn’t you?”

Clark lets out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck like the words had been stuck there for a long time. His gaze drops to your legs covered by the blanket before meeting your eyes again, steady and open.

“I wanted to be sure,” he admits quietly. “Not about how I feel—I’ve known that for a long time. Maybe before I even admitted it to myself. But I was scared. Scared I’d say it too soon, scare you off, or mess up something that feels perfect to me. I didn’t want to rush it or say it in the wrong moment. I wanted it to mean something real.”

You soften, warmth blooming in your chest as he keeps going, as if releasing the weight of those held-back words is a relief.

“I overthink everything. Especially with you. You’re important to me—more than I can really say—and I didn’t want to ruin what we have by rushing or stumbling over the moment. Sometimes I almost said it—like it was right there on the tip of my tongue—and then I’d pull back, hoping for the right moment. Not just some careless blur, thrown out when we’re distracted by a laugh or a kiss or even—” he glances down at the couch cushions, “—toast crumbs.”

You bite your lip to hold back a smile. “You didn’t want to say ‘I love you’ next to toast crumbs?”

He groans and buries his face in his hands, chuckling softly. “No! Well, yes. But I wanted it to feel right. I wanted to give you something real, something that mattered. And the more I waited, the more I worried I’d mess it up if I said it, so I kept holding it in.”

You tilt your head, watching him with gentle eyes. “So why now? What changed?”

Clark lifts his gaze again, those soft eyes full of something like hope and relief. “Because when I looked at you just now, I realized I couldn’t keep waiting. You looked at me like you already knew. Like you’d been waiting for me to catch up. And I thought—what if I stop waiting for some perfect moment? What if I just say the truth?”

He pauses, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. But I was scared—scared I’d say it wrong, or too small, or too big. I wanted to give you the right words, the right feeling.”

You reach out, your fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, your thumb brushing softly across his cheek. “Clark,” you whisper, “you said it exactly right.”

And then, slowly, you lean in to kiss him. It’s a kiss full of all the things left unspoken, tender and lingering. When you pull back, your smile is soft, full of every hope and fear he’d been carrying.

“I love you,” you say quietly, steadily. “You’re not late. You’re right on time.”

His breath catches, and his arms tighten around you, like he’s anchoring himself to this moment—trying to hold it close, to keep it real. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours, “how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

You grin, heart soaring. “I had a pretty good idea.”

Outside, the rain continues to fall softly, a steady rhythm against the windows.

Inside, everything else falls away—the walls, the doubts, the reasons to hold back.

And wrapped in blankets and in each other’s arms, there are no more almosts.

Only always.

[luveline]

May I request a Johnny Storm x reader where reader is a spy that was sent to get info out of the fantastic four but ends up falling in love with Johnny

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.1k “What’s that?” 

“That?”

You nod, fingertip pointing at the box under Johnny’s bed. He, having been sat rather unassumingly in his favourite chair, follows your gaze, and goes completely still.

“That’s my, uh. Collection.”

“Your collection.”

“Uh-huh.”

His collection of what?

You lift yourself up where you’d been laying on his floor and turn onto your stomach, shuffling toward the end of his bed to reach beneath it. The box is slim and flat but hefty, bending your hand where you attempt to grab it one handed. The other hand keeps Johnny away, and your giggling is only a quarter fake at this point as he mutters expletives. 

“Be careful!” he says. 

“I’m not gonna ruin your pornography, Mister Storm,” you croon. 

“I mean with your hand. It’s a heavy box.” 

“Oh.”

His laugh borders maniacal as you pull out his box, but you don’t get why. He’s like, always like this. Always happy. Even when he’s angry, it’s like he’s not truly angry. He runs on fight or flight, flight flight flight, but you’ve learned he gives it good when he needs to. 

He’s half adrenaline, you think. Makes sense for a boy who can spontaneously catch flame whenever suits. 

“What is this, then?” you ask. 

“My box.”

“Thank you, Johnny. You’re truly one of the greatest minds of your generation.”

“Open it.”

You look at him from over your shoulder. He’s joined you on the floor, a warm hand pressed to the small of your back, his blond hair softer in the warm lighting. You’d make a joke about being ginger-headed if you thought he’d take it well. You’re uninterested in becoming human kindling, and you don’t trust Johnny Storm to keep you safe. 

Or, that’s what you insist. 

“I better not see any pin-up girls in here,” you warn lightly. 

Right, ‘cos, unfortunately, unkindly, Johnny Storm thinks you’re in love. Like, you’re going steady, monogamously, and another woman’s photo might piss you off. 

“I wouldn’t have that kind of stuff,” he says. His cheeks seem to pink with your knowing stare. “Anymore! I don’t need pin-up girls, do I? Got the real deal right here.”

“Shut up.” 

He obeys. 

Johnny pulls you into a sitting position. He’s gentle. You want to hit him (you wouldn’t) (it’s about protecting your best interests, even if you know you couldn’t hit him now, not when he’s only ever touched you nicely). 

“Promise it’s not illicit?” you ask. 

“Baby,” he laughs, which is a whole other thing. Like, who does he think you are. “Just open it.”

You crack open the cases latch and flick the lid. The hinges are tightly sprung, and it stands at three-quarter mast by itself. There, inside two velvet borders, lays a circle rattle in the shape of a duck, and a letter folded into a thick square. 

You realise you’ve stumbled onto something precious, but Johnny stops you before you can close the box. 

“That was mine,” he says, “and my mom’s, before.” 

“It’s carved?”

“It’s wood.”

You hesitate to pick it up. “Can I?”

“Sure you can. I told you to open it.”

You put the box between you and Johnny and bring the rattle closer for inspection. Shaking it gently reveals a sound like dried rice plinking against thin walls. There’s a notch at the bottom where the rice might’ve been poured inside. It’s… so human. So fragile. It’s nothing like you thought Johnny would be. 

Even his room. You’d expected a grand, almost palatial sort of thing full of modern gadgets and, perhaps, a few distasteful posters —Johnny Storm, the single sweetheart of Manhattan, you hadn’t believed it for a second. Thought him rude and boyish, scowled at his infomercials and rolled your eyes whenever his infernal billboards darkened your apartment window. You’d figured him out before you got here. You knew exactly how to make him want you: rich boy wants what he can’t have. He needs intrigue, delight, a fight and a good long chase, and then, before he could lose interest, a kiss. Maybe something rather less chaste, only, Johnny doesn’t let you get him into bed. He kisses ardently and laughs into your mouth whenever your fingers flirt with his belt. Talks about movies and shopping and dates, instead. 

“I should’ve given it to Franklin, I know, but I couldn’t, you know. Couldn’t bear to give it away yet,” he says, starting brave, ending soft. 

“That’s okay,” you say, though you can’t work out why. “You don’t have to give it to him yet, or ever. Franklin has enough. You can keep it safe.”

“It was selfish, though. He should get something from his grandma.”

“Mm, maybe. I don’t know, though, baby. I think Franklin has more than enough. You can share it with him later, when he’s older. When he knows how important it is.”

“Yeah.” 

You squint at his tone. “What?” 

“Nothing, just… can’t trust myself to take it out of the box.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“I’m sort of made of fire. Like, I’m made of fire? You’ve seen me do that, right?”

“Sure, but you control it.”

He shrugs. “And one day I won’t be able to.”

“Shut up. You don’t believe that. Shut up!”

His eyes widen slightly. “It’s not always easy.”

“I didn’t say it was. I figure that’s why you’d never do that. It’s not easy, and Johnny doesn’t do easy.” 

“You know I love it when you talk about me like I’m not here–”

You press your hand to his face, annoyed, worse when he licks at your palm, slightly less when he gives it a nibble. 

You place the rattle back carefully into the box and close it.

“You could’ve read it, you know,” he says, taking your damp hand and pressing it to his neck. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you let me?”

He doesn’t look sick, but it’s a shade of nausea. Too much sincerity for the poor guy, you think, turning your hand in enough to stroke the slope of his neck. He relaxes some under the touch. The pit of your stomach gives a sickly twist.

“Don’t let me, Johnny,” you say, rubbing at his jaw with your thumb. 

He snorts, turning his head to bite your thumb. “Quit it,” he says, muffled from behind your skin. You wrinkle your nose at him, not that that matters to him. He just keeps on biting you. “Let you do whatever you want. But me first.” 

You take your hand back and wipe his spit into his thigh. You have no idea why it makes him cackle. 

[starkeyszn]

⇢ how’s your wife doing ? ⌇

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: milf!reader x dilf!rafe

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: a scene/quotes from wolf of wall street, use of y/n

the late afternoon sun bled across the neatly manicured garden of the cameron estate, painting every surface with a warm, expensive glow. trimmed hedges framed the sprawling lawn. the stone patio beneath rafe’s feet was warm, the ice in his glass melting slower than time.

he sat back in the custom-built teakwood chair, perfectly angled toward the view — aka, a direct line of sight into the open-concept living room through the wide patio doors.

topper and kelce lounged across from him, both already on their second bourbon, laughing loud over some story that didn’t matter anymore. it had been a year since the three of them sat together without a time limit. rafe had peeled away from nights out and golf trips, instead he buried himself in expansion projects and investor dinners but more than anything, focusing on his family.

topper leaned forward, swirling the ice in his glass. “how’s your wife, y/n? how’s she doing?”

rafe smirked, tipping his chin toward the open sliding doors behind him. “that’s her in the house there,” he said, like it was obvious. “you could say hi, but she probably won’t wave back.”

kelce raised a brow, following the direction of rafe’s gaze. inside, you stood near the kitchen island, one hand holding your phone to your ear, the other delicately fixing the clasp on a diamond-studded earring. your pink shirt clung to your hips, the white shirt fitted perfectly. your outfit screamed expensive. your hair was clipped back in a half-up bun that screamed effortlessness. your legs were bare, skin glossed, toes painted that sheer, ladylike pink.

topper gave a low whistle, already grinning. “damn,” he muttered under his breath, before raising his glass with a lazy grin. “y/n, sweetheart!”

you glanced over, your gaze looking bored and then — without even pausing your sentence into the phone, you lifted your hand, extended your middle finger, and turned back around to grab your clutch off the counter.

kelce practically choked on his drink. “jesus christ.”

rafe just laughed, low and proud, “told you,” he said with a shrug. “she’s not in the business of being polite.”

topper looked stunned. “she’s exactly the same.”

“what, you thought motherhood was gonna make her soft?” rafe asked, amused. “if anything, she’s worse. more dangerous. more expensive. more addicted to chanel.”

“so, i heard she’s running some aesthetics thing now?” kelce said, leaning back.

“yeah, her own studio,” rafe said, a flicker of something proud flashing in his eye. “botox, filler, laser, all that. booked out for months. women come from everywhere just to get their lips done by her.”

topper shook his head. “she’s a menace.”

“she’s my menace.” rafe replied, without hesitation.

inside, you hung up the phone and crossed the room slowly, your heels clicking faintly on the marble tile. aurora’s tiny pink barbie shoes were scattered by the sofa, a discarded juice box lying sideways on the floor. you ignored it all, stepping over the chaos like you were floating.

teddy came sprinting through the hallway a second later, barefoot and yelling something about pirates. before he stood infront of you, holding his arms out. you bent down before picking him up and holding him on your hip.

you walked over to the couch, setting teddy down, “do you want your headphones?” you asked, in which he nodded eagerly.

you grabbed his headphones from the kitchen counter, putting them on his ears as he grabbed his ipad, you gave him a kiss on the head.

you leaned against the doorframe, and gave the garden another look — your eyes flicking between kelce, topper, and rafe like you were weighing which of them mattered enough to speak to. spoiler, none of them did.

“that’s my beautiful wife right there,” rafe muttered, bringing his drink up to his lips.

topper smirked, glancing back at you. “still not sure how you pulled her.”

“i knocked her up at seventeen,” rafe replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “and never let her leave.”

they laughed, but it was true. you’d had teddy at seventeen. scared shitless, defiant as hell, and already wearing luxury perfume your friends couldn’t pronounce. you were fire and ice and fake lashes. somehow, through the coke and the fighting and the storm of growing up too fast, rafe stayed. stayed and built a kingdom around you.

and now — seven years later — here you were. in the house you both designed, sipping your matcha, with a business in your name and two kids who called you mama and a husband who never stopped spoiling you.

you finally stepped out onto the patio, sunglasses in place, your lips glossed. “topper. kelce,” you greeted, voice silk-wrapped poison. “didn’t know they was letting the strays through the gates now.”

“we told security we were here to see the ceo,” kelce grinned.

you raised a brow. “must’ve been a slow day.”

rafe stood as you walked past, placing a hand on the small of your back like muscle memory. you leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered something in his ear — too low for the others to hear. whatever it was made rafe smirk.

“i’m taking the g-wagon,” you said aloud. “meeting a client for a consultation. if aurora wakes up, don’t let her eat gummy bears before dinner. she’ll lie about how many she had.”

“noted,” rafe said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

you turned to the boys, eyes cool behind your designer shades. “you boys have fun talking about the glory days. don’t forget your wives have access to your bank accounts now.”

with that, you walked off, heels clacking against the stone, legs out for miles. topper stared, “she scares me.”

“yeah,” rafe followed his gaze, “me too.” but he loved it.