#are happening to them. are to be expected

[identitty-dickruption]

when abled people talk about employability + disability I don't think they entirely understand the domino effect of unemployment/underemployment that can happen in a disabled person's life

the kinds of jobs that are considered 'unskilled' or 'entry level' are inaccessible for various reasons (e.g. involve having to stand up for long periods of time)

the time in your life when many people are expected to start working these entry level jobs is while you're still in school. the sheer exhaustion of school means that even when those jobs aren't completely inaccessible, many disabled people simply do not have the energy to do them

without any work experience, it's very hard to get work. the kinds of jobs that tend to have more accessible workplaces are either not entry-level or require a certain level of education to enter them. also without having gone through a hiring process before, it's very hard to even know what to expect from a job, which only creates additional barriers

even if you do have work experience, being disabled is not really taken as a valid reason to have gaps in your resume, which means you immediately look like a suspicious/risky hire to a HR department

disabled people, once we do have jobs, are more likely to be underemployed than abled people, meaning that we have fewer opportunities to demonstrate our skills in the workplace, and are less likely to be able to accumulate a back catalogue of good references to take with us in the 'getting a new job' mission. this itself keeps us underemployed

NOT to mention the fact that the exact same process can happen with respect to education (the being in special ed -> being able to go to university pipeline is basically non-existent. and if it is there, it is very hard to navigate). I'm not sure yet another 'employable skills program' can get us out of this one, chief

[gay-dorito-dust]

saja boys flirting with manager!reader that just does not give a shit and only focuses on their job ?

‘Do you wanna touch my abs?’ Abby said as you were taking to social media to gauge the reactions of Saja Boy’s latest album, thankfully and expectedly the reactions were overwhelmingly positive, a job well done you guessed but it didn’t take much to gain traction when your grouped with conventionally attractive men with voices of angels.

‘I know you secretly do-‘

‘I don’t actually.’ You cut him off with a sharp, tight smile, hoping to be the point across that you were working and didn’t want to be bothered by senseless and meaningless flirting, it was unprofessional and you worked hard enough to get where you were without the unwanted flirting. ‘Besides don’t you have prentice that you should be at right now, we’ve got a video to put out after all.’ You add as you walked away from him, head firmly in your phone where you kept all your schedules and important information to keep this group within the public eye.

Abby only pouts as you walked away, crossing his arms. ‘Everything that breaths wants to touch my abs.’ He tells himself before going to practice like you said, you were certainly something if his flexing didn’t have much of an effect over you.

Romance was close as you overuse the meet and greet, so much so that he might as well have been pressed against you, watching you closely in hopes you’d notice and be rid of the furrow in your brows and the clench in your jaw. He even went to reach out and brush a finger against your cheek, only for your hand to come up and grab him by the wrist.

‘I better have something on my face for you to be doing that.’ You told him as your furrowed gaze was now directly on him, not the way that Romance would’ve liked but he’s got your attention regardless, so he guessed he got what he wanted in the end.

Romance smiled. ‘And what if you didn’t?’

You frowned. ‘Then learn to keep your hands to yourself, you’re too touchy and it’s distracting.’ You tell him as you drop his wrist as he leans in close to you, smirking.

‘I distract you huh?’ He says, completely ignoring the rest of what you had just said, much to your dismay as you groaned about how you couldn’t have been Huntrix’s manager instead, at least they wouldn’t be trying to flirt with you every second of every day. You loved the boys, you really did but they seemed to act as though you could be easily swayed as their fans, which wasn’t true, and completely forgetting that you were their manager half of the time.

‘From doing my job.’ You corrected him. ‘Now take that flirtatious energy and aim it towards the fans that are about to burst through those doors yeah?’ You concluded as Romance could only sigh, vowing to try again another time when you least expect it.

Baby happened to be your favourite band member of Saja Boys. He didn’t bother you as much as the rest of them did, kept himself occupied with spicy foods, or watching videos while indulging in some sweets he got from the nearby convenience store.

However that didn’t mean he was scott free from having moments where he would disrupt your day by whatever means he could. And right now he was sitting with his feet kicked up onto your lap, sucking on a lollipop, acting like he had nowhere better to be.

‘Can I help you?’ You asked as you looked over at him.

He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth and replied, ‘nope,’ before putting the lollipop back into his mouth. You looked at him unamused as you push his feet from your lap, only for Baby to put his feet back on your lap, smirking at your clear dislike of your current position. ‘Then why are you not chugging spicy sauce on a talk show or just in general?’ You asked, hating his lack of transparency in favour of being this nonchalant individual.

���Am I not allowed to hang out with you?’ Baby asked, raising his brow as though you were scrutinising you for his active choice to be here with you then his band mates. ‘Is it truly a sin to be here with my utterly gorgeous manager?’

‘It is when all you’re going to do is flirt with me the entire time and certainly not when I’m working, so yeah it’ll be a no for me.’ You stated as you once again shoved his feet off of your lap and stood up and walked out of the room, tablet in hand.

Jinu came to you after you were bothered by the rest of the group, late in the night as you were finally getting ready for bed, but felt yourself unable to sleep and instead go out on the apartment balcony that over looked the city.

That’s when he comes to stand close by, your elbows touching ever so briefly, but it felt a lot like you were closer than you actually was. ‘Tired?’ He asked as he watched you rub at the dark bags under your eyes and taking in your overall exhausted body language.

‘It’s the price I pay for keeping you guys in the public zeitgeist.’ You replied, eyes remaining on the city and its billboards that you were certain promoting your boys and their newest song. ‘And a price well paid for too, you’re dominating the charts and becoming more and more popular by the day.’ You add as you finally look over at him, only to see him firmly looking at you with a softness that you weren’t sure you saw before, at least as far as you were aware.

‘That’s all in thanks to your hard work, we just look good and sing.’ Jinu says as his eyes shift from you to the city then back to you again, his hands twitching as though he wanted to hold yours but was holding himself back from doing so. ‘You deserve all the praise for getting us where we are. You’re exceptional.’ He concludes.

You puffed your chest in pride, not aware that he may or may not have been flirting with you, instead finally being recognised for all your hard work and dedication to the group and their ever growing popularity. ‘I am exceptional aren’t I?’ You rhetorically asked.

‘Yes you are.’ Jinu replied, watching you as you beam with pride as a smile graced his lips. ‘Charming and charismatic too.’ He piles up the compliments that seemingly went over your head, or were intentionally being dismissed by you as you patted him on the shoulder and said. ‘Welp! We better get some sleep as we’ve got a big day ahead of us to prepare for and I’ve got a schedule to keep and don’t feel like wasting time trying to wake one of you up because you didn’t rest properly.’

And with that you left Jinu on the balcony as you went to bed, switching off your light and everything as Jinu was left wondering if that had just happened.

Mystery hovered over you like an over protective guard dog. He was attentive, silent but ready to start barking at things he thought were intruding on his territory.

He might as well have been sat on your lap at this point when you were gauging what would keep the fans attention, looking on social media if there was anything that they wanted to see from Saja Boys, and keeping tract of the fact that they were to go on a show in a couple of hours where they’d have to eat chicken wings dipped in hot sauce that got gradually hotter while talking about how they came together amongst other things.

Mystery nudged your side to get your attention. Nothing.

He nudged your side again. Nothing, you were glued to your phone.

Mystery huffs and puts himself between you and your phone by shoving his head into your lap, acting like that of an overgrown dog that didn’t understand that he was too old to be sitting on your lap anymore. You huffed this time and looked at him as he looked back at you, small smile upon his lips as his plan ahd worked to his advantage, yet you were only significantly behind on your work and weren't up for any distractions from anyone in the slightest.

'Yes?' you asked, only for Mystery to put your free hand upon his head, his silent plea for you to run your fingers through his hair, unfortunately for him you weren't in the mood to that today as you hated to be off schedule even if it was by a milisecond.

You removed your hand from his head, making him pout at your lack of touch, tilting his head to the side as if to ask what you were doing. 'i can't today i need to get back on schedule, seen as how half of you seemed to have forgotten that you're meant to be on a press tour. we need to be puncutual abovr anything else.' You tell him as your attention is brought back to the tablet.

Mystery didn't like that all that much, hating your lack of attention, snatched the tablet from your hand and ran away with it, much to your dismay as you took our your phone and sighed. 'I swear he acts more dog then anything, love him, but at least i can hopefully get work done now i'm alone.'

Meanwhile poor mystery was waiting for you to come after him like he thought you would for thirty minutes before remembering that you could easily have done your work from a phone or a laptop within your vicinity, he returned the tablet shortly afterwards.

[emriiis]

Sneak Peek: THE CALL

📣✨ 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ✨📣

I honestly don’t even know where to begin—thank you, thank you, thank you. 🩷

We're almost at 300 followers now?! I’m genuinely overwhelmed. 🥹

I didn’t think anyone would notice this story. but you did and that means everything. Seeing the reblogs, the tags, the comments—it’s more than I ever expected. Thank you for reading!

So, as a little thank you gift… here’s a sneak peek of the next chapter. Just a taste. Just enough to make your heart race. 😈🔥

my inbox is open for requests, thoughts, ideas, or just screaming.

Saja Boys x Manager! Reader

Your apartment is too quiet.

Too still.

Ever since you walked out of that room—since you ran—you haven’t been able to stop feeling them.

Their eyes.

Their heat.

Their voices echoing in your skull like a siren's song.

God, what the hell is wrong with you?

You slap a hand over your face, heart hammering. But it doesn’t help. Because every time you close your eyes—

You see them.

Worse—you feel them.

A vibration against your leg makes you jolt. Your phone. You fumble for it, heart still pounding. 

Unknown number.

You answer anyway.

“…Hello?”

A pause.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N. I'm calling on behalf of the Saja Boys.”

​​You freeze.

The voice continues, polite. Controlled. But something about it makes your stomach twist.

“I’m reaching out to confirm that you’ve been accepted as their full-time manager. Congratulations!”

“I—I didn’t accept anything,” you blurt. “There’s been a mistake, I didn’t—”

“Yes, well, that’s the wonderful part. You don’t have to accept it. The contract’s already processed. We’ll send a car for you this evening—”

“I said no.” Your voice is sharper now, slicing through the sugar-sweet tone on the other end. “You can’t just assign me a job I didn’t—”.”

“Hey baby”

You freeze.

The voice has changed.

It’s not hers anymore.

“J-Jinu?” you breathe, scanning the room. There’s no one there—but it feels like there is. The air shifts around you, thick with pressure and heat, humming low and strange.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice like warm silk over ice. Calm. Gentle. But you hear the weight beneath it. The restraint.

“I—uh—I’m good.” You grip the edge of your cup too tightly. “How did you even—Never mind. Can I help you with something?”

His chuckle is soft, low, and it curls around your ribs like smoke. 

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“We’re talking right now.”

He hums again. Slower this time. Like he’s savoring the sound of your voice. 

“I meant in person.”

His voice warms around the words, coaxing instead of pressing. “No pressure. Just… a coffee. A quiet spot. Just you and me.”

Your throat tightens. You blink, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Warmer. Like the sound of his voice alone is wrapping around your ribs, holding you still.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a moment.

“That’s okay.” 

Still soft. Still warm. Not pushy. But beneath the words… something deeper. A thread of something that reaches for you without forcing.

“You don’t have to decide now.”

You shouldn’t even be considering it. Not after what happened. Not after the way you’d felt in that room.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He just waits.

And somehow that’s worse. Because it leaves you sitting there, breath caught, heart pounding, mind spiraling with the memory of golden eyes, warm hands, and heat.

You bite your lip.

You should say no. You should...“When would we meet?”

comments and reblogs would be appreciated!

[astrolook]

🌌 Retrogrades in a Birth Chart - Some Roots Take Time To Grow 🌿

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home! A single placement or aspect isn't enough to conclude and the whole chart has to be analyzed!

Mercury Rx - I think in essays, speak in tweets. 🧠✍️

Mercury Rx natives sometimes overshare or say nothing at all. They think fast, speak slower. They edit their sentences in real life. These natives pick things up quickly but lose focus just as fast. Their projects start strong, then get abandoned or revisited later with a whole new mindset. Mercury Rx can have grand ideas in mind but struggles to put them into words or into reality. Usually, Mercury Rx natives are better at texting, writing, and drawing than talking. Two Mercury Rx people can either understand each other on another level or be completely out of sync with each other and can talk in circles. Mercury Rx natives can change the topic mid-convo and go on like nothing happened. Mercury Rx natives can be good at stirring the pot for entertainment. They are good at negotiating, convincing people to believe their ideas. Can make money out of thin air. These natives have selective memory.

For example: Mercury Rx in 6th/8th/12th natives are so good at twisting narratives to suit their needs and are good at lying. You don't even know whether they're telling the truth or not. Their opinions can change like seasons, and they can struggle sticking to a certain mindset. However, this is a great placement for fantasy writers, journalists, bloggers, media-related jobs in general, lawyers, filmmakers, actors, programmers, etc. Mercury Rx in 5th/11th natives are bad at lying. They can be involved in too many things at once only to abandon them. Mercury Rx in 3rd/9th loves to prank others or the other way around. they love DIY and crafts and might follow niche communities. Online trolls.

Venus Rx - I ghost myself before I ghost you. 👻😅

Venus Rx natives are either impulsive in love or avoidant. These natives give mixed signals to their partners. One day they're warm and giving, the next they're building walls and won't let anyone in. Love either comes too soon, or when the timing is off, or never comes when they need it the most. These natives will remember how the other made them feel, whether it's rejection, not being enough, unwanted, too much, or ignored. It lingers in their mind, and it shapes how they view love. These people don’t “date around” easily. They wait for people to choose them. They test their partner to check if they're worth it! Late bloomers in love. Sometimes, they might even lower their standards and expectations just to feel any love, only to end up feeling drained and exhausted. They might choose partners who treat these natives like a backup plan. However, these natives will remember it and instead of letting go, they carry that disappointment into the next person, the next connection, the next version of themselves. Depression. They sometimes would be loyal to the wrong person just because they have "history."

For example, Venus Rx in 6th/10th can attract envy from women, discrimination in the workplace, judged by their appearance or clothing styles. People might underestimate them or won't take them seriously. So, these natives overcompensate and work overtime to prove themselves that they deserve it. Still, their co-workers/ peers would think they slept their way to where they are or not that talented. Venus Rx 1st can be the target of harassment or could have been called crazy for their lifestyle choices. People tend to attack these natives more easily than others, whether it's racism, appearance, religion, ethnicity, or other factors. They could be either old-fashioned or into niche fashion.

Mars Rx - I argue better three days later. 🕒😐

If a dormant volcano were a person. People think these natives are calm. But no, they're holding it in. Sometimes for years, until their anger turns volcanic and their words spew out like lava. Unfiltered. Their regret shows up in action, not words. They might look or seem lazy, but they often feel stuck between wanting to act and being unsure how. They second-guess their instincts. They might want something badly, then sabotage it out of fear or confusion. In conflict, they’re unpredictable. Either they avoid it completely or burn the whole thing down. Some pick fights just to feel something, others disappear to avoid hurting anyone. They don’t always know the difference between defending themselves and attacking. Sometimes they hurt people with words, then feel guilty forever. Sometimes they say nothing and carry resentment for years. Desire is complicated. Some of them feel numb to it. Others have urges they don’t understand and would be chasing people, projects, or things that don’t make sense. Some isolate when they’re mad. Some turn pain into action like breaking things, quitting jobs, and blocking people. Others turn it inward and self-destruct first. When they finally stop holding back, when they choose action over avoidance, their energy becomes exact. Focused. Intense. Unstoppable. The storm clears, and they learn how to move without destroying everything in their path.

For example, Mars Rx in 8th/12th bury their anger six feet deep. They definitely hold grudges quietly and would strike at the worst time for the person who hurt them. The other person won't even know that the native is behind it. Mars Rx in 2nd can either overspend or hoard things. These natives might not get a reward for their work, or it may be delayed. Mars Rx in 7th can attract passive-aggressive partners or become one themselves. When snapped, they can go from silent tolerance to full-blown blow-ups over small things.

Jupiter Rx - I left faith on read. ✝️📱

Jupiter Rx natives practice 3 different religions within a year and still feel unsure. Teenage crisis. What people call expansion, they call noise. Their lessons come from within, not from gurus or traditions. They don’t believe in blind luck. They believe in trial and error, and mostly error. Wins feel delayed. Guidance shows up late. Things eventually work out, but rarely in the way they are planned or wanted. Once they let go, things would happen to them in the most harmonious way possible. When good things happen, these natives won't give a happy or butterflies-in-the-stomach reaction. Instead, they would be suspicious of it. After believing it's for them, they would still maintain a composed posture. These natives are liberal minded, agnostic/irreligious/atheist, and can still be spiritual. These natives come off as skeptical, cynical, or too “in their own world.” They hold on to past decisions too tightly or judge themselves for outgrowing past beliefs. They often feel like they're behind their peers until one day, these natives get 10 levels ahead of them once they surrender and let things happen. The beauty with Jupiter Rx is that luck doesn't knock on their door. They're the luck. It just takes them years to find that out.

For example, Jupiter Rx in 5th natives' children would be lucky to have the native as their parent. Jupiter Rx in 7th or as 7th lord, their spouse would be lucky to have the native as their spouse. Jupiter Rx in 4th can mean that the native's family would feel lucky to have the native as their child or having them as their family member.

Saturn Rx - I work smart. Or not at all. 🛋️🧠

Saturn Rx natives don't trust authoritative figures, including their own. These natives learn early that rules don't always protect you. they might have a figure in their family who was basically a "rules for thee, not for me" type. Grow up too fast. Responsibility was either too much too soon or avoided until life forced them to deal. Afraid of failure. One thing with Saturn Rx is that when these natives are scared, they would never admit it. They don't want to feel weak. Some might even avoid crying in front of others, including their family. They would go to great lengths to hide their weakness instead of working on it. Build walls instead of asking for help. They stay in jobs, habits, even relationships way past their expiration date just to feel safe. They don’t like being seen trying. Effort is private. So is shame. If they fall, they do it behind closed doors. Smart workers. Knows the shortcuts to achieve success in life, but some won't take them. Impostor syndrome. Can be unemployed for months at some point in their life. Once their career takes off, these natives become unstoppable. Saturn Rx here is protecting these natives from troubled career paths and only gives them the right path at the right time.

For example, Saturn Rx in 7th can mean an absent father figure. Their older spouse can be laid back or take a back seat in their career after marrying the native. Attract partners who are serious and long-term and have little to no options for dating here for many with this placement. Saturn Rx in 10th can mean that these natives can have long gaps in resumes or even unemployment. Might get into jobs that don't reflect their real skills. For some, their career takes off in their 30s or even 40s. Saturn Rx in 2nd can mean that these natives can come from a low-income family or a household with financial struggles. Might get into connections with people just to feel secure. Money grows after 30 and only after they have learned to earn the right way.

Uranus Rx - I forget on purpose. Or do I? 🤫📂

Uranus Rx natives can look traditional on the outside but rebel on the inside. One may never know what these natives are capable of, as they're good at deceiving others. They can easily blend in with the crowd and seem agreeable. Deep detachment, sudden rejections, and quiet cut-offs are their recipe to stay chill. These are the people who smile at the dinner table while silently unsubscribing from the whole dynamic. A Uranus native doesn't trust "the system". But a Uranus Rx native won't even trust their own family, community, co-workers, religions, and even themselves at times. A lot of them appear to follow the rules, but only because they’re rewriting them behind the scenes. These people outgrow people fast. But they don’t always let them know. Instead, they disappear or would make it impossible for them to reach the native. Distance becomes their protection. It’s easier to vanish or become out of reach than to explain their evolution to someone who wouldn’t get it anyway. Their memory is selective but sharp. They forget what they ate for breakfast, lose their keys, ignore calls, but remember exactly what you said five years ago during a fight. Hard to pin down, but impossible to fool. One may never know what they're thinking, but that's what these natives want. When they snap out of the blue, these natives end friendships/ relationships, move cities, shift careers, or even move countries without mentioning a word to anyone. These natives' relationships are either all-consuming or ice-cold. Freedom matters more than comfort. Their unique trait is that they can be loyal and distant at the same time. They’ll ghost you and still think about you every day for a year. Wrong them once, and they will get over you within 30 seconds and never look back. You're already dead to them.

For example, Uranus Rx in 5th can have a crush on someone and obsess over them for months, only to change their mind after finding out that their crush did something they don't like. Would break up with someone over text and not look back. They would reject the same person they fell for before it even begins. Uranus Rx in 7th can be unpredictable in love. Do they even have a type? They long for stable relationships but routine feels like a trap. Uranus Rx in 4th could have had a tough home life or been unconventional. Single-parent households, stepdaddy/ mommy figures, stepsiblings, etc can be seen here in some cases.

Neptune Rx - I’m softer than I look. Colder than you think. 🧊🫀

Neptune Rx people are hard to fully know and half the time, they don’t even fully know themselves. They second-guess what they feel, what they see, and who they are on the inside. Reality blurs. Memory twists. They’ve been gaslit or emotionally manipulated, sometimes without even realizing it. These people learned early how to hide. How to escape. How to shape-shift into what was needed. Truth became flexible, and so did identity. They have powerful inner worlds. Too powerful, sometimes. They’ll fall in love with a fantasy version of someone and ignore all the signs. They’ll convince themselves they’re okay when they’re drowning. They might cry alone and then act totally fine in public. They pick up on energy they can’t explain. Can have imaginary friends or talk to self in private. They talk, sing, and dance when no one's looking. They can actually fake their persona depending on the person they're with. They don’t show the full truth until they’ve seen yours.

For example, Neptune Rx in 4th always dreams of the perfect family, home, and everything since they didn't get it in reality. These natives often move countries/cities and stay away from family members to live their dreams. Might live in a toxic family household where everyone thinks they're fine and happy. Neptune Rx in 8th natives has intimacy issues. They don't know if they're the victim or supposed to feel sorry for the one who hurt them. They're good at reading others, bad at reading themselves. Neptune Rx in 11th natives never feel truly fit in anywhere. There’s a pattern of feeling invisible in groups or being part of social circles that don’t reflect their actual self.

Pluto Rx - I outgrow myself annually. Stay tuned. 🔁🖤

Pluto Rx natives are always going through some kind of inner death. You may not see it, but they’re constantly burning bridges inside themselves. It's like they burn their old versions, dead emotions, people they haven't spoken to in years, and toxicity every year like a ritual. These are the ones who don’t show their breakdowns. They disappear, transform, and return new. The world never really sees their mess, only the rebirth. They upgrade themselves each year. These natives would keep secrets, even from the people they love and trust. They're deep, but not always emotionally open. They fear being exposed, especially when they’re vulnerable. So, they test people. Push them. Watch how they react before deciding if they’re safe. They either face their wounds fully, or they run until life forces them to. Their biggest breakthroughs happen in silence. One year, they’re one person. Next, they’re unrecognizable even to themselves. Physical transformation is possible too. They outgrow people, places, even entire identities, like it’s an annual process. Some might change their name or have a "stage" name in their career.

For example, Pluto Rx in 1st natives are either obsessed over by others or hated by others. Always in survival mode. They rebuild their self-image every season, and no one's ever truly met the real version of these natives. Pluto Rx in the 3rd natives can be good at coding, writing, drawing, etc. Can be cryptic in the way they speak. Ghost friendships out of the blue and would never look back. Pluto Rx in 5th natives pour their trauma into art or through their creative outlets.

💌For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing! ✨💌🪐

[jamiewrites-stuff]

Hypnotic

[001] [002]

HOLY BALLS! where did you guys come from- I literally woke up this morning and got jumpscared by the amount of votes😭

WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE 🤺- anyways, here's another chapter I guess? Enjoy your dang food.

I'm gonna warn y'all early on, My Y/n is very... Yeah, you'll understand sooner or later. Just keep reading💋

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

"Pathetic!"

"Useless!"

The voice shouted, echoing through the realm as the demons who were gathered couldn't help but flinch back, cowering in fear at his voice alone.

His Flames seemingly grew bigger, the more his frustrations worsened.

He was weakening.

He needed souls.

But how could he achieve such power, when those fools couldn't even Defeat three mortals, those hunters.

"Don't you idiots know, that once those hunters turn the Honmoon gold, it's over for us!"

He reminded, his Flames growing brighter as he increased his influence, his voice in their heads growing louder, each of which revealing each insecurity, each failure, shame and regret.

Bringing them pain as punishment.

One of the demons burst into tears, trying to quiet down their sobs as the voices only grew stronger.

The tension broke by the sounds of Bipa string, breaking through the air.

Everyone grew silent, heads turning back to look at the person who would dare interrupt.

"There once was a Demon king"

A familiar figure started, plucking a few strings on his Bipa, looking amongst the crowd, satisfied when he got their attention.

"Stop me, if you heard this one before"

He teased, letting his body float down until his feet softly planted on the ground.

"He was in total control, he feasted on souls, the world trembled when he roared."

He continued.

The others were hesitant if they should intervene, or stay quiet. Not wanting to trigger the Demon Lords Anger further.

"But then some hunters, sang some songs, now all he does is starve."

Yet the figure continued, stepping through the crowd, who parted and created a path for him to walk through, eyes focusing on him and his fate.

"Can't get at the souls, and his Flames grow cold."

A soft growl followed, the tiger slowly trialing after it's Master, to act as protection if anyone dares interrupt.

"Just a whisper in the dark."

He smirked slightly, moving his fingers along the strings, creating a simple yet soft ballad.

"And will he let the fire go out?"

"Is this the end of him now?"

"Dying king with a crumbling crown?"

He stopped right below the steps that lead to the Kings throne.

"Will he let the fire go out."

He finished, as His Tiger bumped against his side before walking back to the crowd.

"I let you keep that voice, Jinu"

The voice echoes, the Flames dimming down as the Tension grew amongst them.

"And you dare to mock me with it?"

He muttered, his patience nearly snapping if it weren't for Jinu peaking his interest.

"I'm not here to mock you."

He said calmly, as four more figures slowly appeared at his side.

"I'm here to help you"

He clarified, the Bipa disappearing in his hands as he took a step closer.

"It's time for a new strategy."

The group slowly descends closer to the throne, The crowd of demons waited with bated breath at what's about to happen.

"We fight the hunters, where they least expect it"

Either they'll get killed

"Go after the very thing, that Powers the Honmoon"

Or a new beginning will occur amongst this realm of sin.

Their feet softly planted on the ground below, standing before the wall of Flames.

Jinu's golden eyes Shined as he gazed at the eternal Flames, the very thing that Haunted him for 400 years.

"The Fans."

As if on cue, they all instinctively struck a pose, causing silence to befall on them.

Gwi-ma took a minute to process what he was witnessing before deciding to reply, his voice clearly doubtful yet they had managed to catch him off guard, by such a.. Peculiar suggestion.

"A demon... Boyband?"

The Flames questioned, albeit silently judging the idea.

Before the fire suddenly grew larger, as he let out a mocking laugh. The Idea was simply ridiculous, yet utterly amusing.

"What makes you think that could work?"

He questioned.

Jinu smirked, snapping his fingers as his members instantly transformed their appearance to fit the Human standards for beauty.

Each holding a unique charm within them, their demonic features carefully hidden away.

Their horns and grotesque teeth disappeared

Now replaced by colored hair and ear piercings.

Gwi-ma fell silent, as the crowd of demons talked amongst each other, truly believing that the ridiculous plan might actually have a chance of working.

"That Aura seems.. Familiar"

Gwi-ma muttered, focusing more on the hidden energy that surrounded the group.

It has been centuries since she last made an appearance.

Tucked away in an eternal slumber.

Isolated in the very depths of this realm.

Where no soul, would be foolish enough to wake her.

Yet apparently one did, and survived to tell the tale.

Why would she aid these fallen souls?

His voice never truly reached her, but her soul was his to use.

One simple call was all it took for her to make an appearance.

"Y/n."

The name rang through the realm, as the Atmosphere grew heavy with tension, A large mist slowly casted upon them all, swallowing them in its eerie embrace.

The fog moved closer to the throne, shifting into a silhouette of a beautiful woman, hair moving like that of clouds, having the fluidity of water.

Eyes a blinding white as she carefully descended, her feet never once touching the ground.

Half of her body being made out of a pink cloud like mist.

"You called?"

She said, her voice holding a mocking tone, almost with disinterest as she spoke to the King of Demons.

"Was this your doing?"

Gwi-ma accuses, displeased by her interference, the Flames burning brighter in a slight warning for her to watch her tone.

"Some of it is"

She smirked, her body floating closer to her new object of interest, pressing herself against his back as she snaked her arms around his neck.

"Though, I must give credit where credit is due"

She hummed, her lips moving closer towards his ear.

"Isn't that right, song bird?"

She coos, her fingers gently playing with the strings of his Gat, as he stood still, as if he was unaffected by her close proximity.

"And your goal?"

Gwi-ma questioned, his Flames burning brighter until the heat nicked at their undead skin.

She growled, gritting her teeth as she felt the weight of her chain clasps around her neck, now being visible, tightening around her skin, nearly suffocating her in the process.

Being a painful reminder of her eternal damnation.

She forced a smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of pissing her off, as she let go of Jinu and floated closer to the other members.

"For Entertainment, I've been asleep for far too long"

She said, her expression calm and relaxed as she moved closer to one of them, grabbing and lifting up one of his arms.

"Is it wrong of me to take on a.."

Her fingers carefully graze at the fabric of his sleeve, feeling the muscles that were hidden within, The man couldn't help but smirk and flexed at his biceps a little.

"New project"

She finished, gazing at his golden eyes for a moment before moving away.

Letting out a soft sigh, her hand reached out to another member of the group, gently reaching out for his hair but stopped when he let out a growl.

She only chuckled in response, redirecting her hand below his chin and began to playfully scratch the area.

He felt himself slowly melt at her touch, subtly leaning against her palm.

"I for one, think I did a good job"

She smiled, treating the little demon like some sort of pet, he didn't seem to mind the scratches.

"Okay.."

Gwi-ma redirected his attention back to Jinu, trying his best to ignore whatever that was.

"I know you Jinu, in 400 years"

Jinu's smile slowly fell, getting yet another reminder of his Shame and regret.

"You've never done a single thing, that didn't serve yourself"

The voice grew louder in his head as the memories flashed before his eyes, the familiar pain swelling up inside him.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Cunty.

She's very cunty. She's a warning in herself, that's why I said this Fic is a bit 🌶. I'm not sure if I'm gonna write anything too graphic in the future.

It really depends on my mood and how confident I am of my writing skills 🫣

I'm quite Positive y'all are gonna love her though, if I'm wrong then just scroll away 🏃‍♀️💨

[vouges]

word count: 750 - nsfw, minors do not interact.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had a busy schedule, very high in demand yet for some reason always had a spot available for you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who swore the discount he gave you was just a friendly gesture, brushing it off as a way to make a loyal client feel appreciated.

Tattoo artist Simon! who never did more than necessary, the touch routine and practiced, yet with you he always let his fingers linger longer than they needed to, almost caressing, before you heard the familiar buzz of the needle.

"Gotta keep still for me, yeah?" he murmured, "Can’t be messing up my pretty canvas"

Tattoo artist Simon! who felt like a fool every time his cock hardened when you’d send through a picture of your healed up tattoo, with a sweet little thank you message always accompanied by a heart that pathetically made him want to cum in his boxers.

Tattoo artist Simon! who insisted you were just another client, even as he fucked his fist to the images of you engrained into his mind. He felt like a desperate mess, cock achingly hard as ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his stomach all from the slithers of skin that he’d seen when tattooing you. God, how easily you made him feel like an inexperienced virgin.

Tattoo artist Simon! who messaged back embarrassingly fast when you asked if he ever wanted to meet up outside of just a tattooing session. He cringed afterwards, noticing the typos and the awkward combination of emojis used.

'A thumbs up and two smiles?' he thought to himself, 'Real great Simon, should've thrown in the entire happy categories of emojis whilst you're at it'

Tattoo artist Simon! who couldn't believe his luck when you and him wound up on your sofa after dinner and a few drinks at a local pub but makes no move to question it as you both kiss messily, tongues dancing and hands reaching everywhere they can with the current restriction of your clothes.

"Wow- this is actually happening, huh?" he mumbled as you kissed messily, hands grasping at each other, "God, you've no idea how long I've been waiting for this"

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle the groan that escaped him as he bottomed out in you for the first time. Hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let up.

"Fuuuck-" he whispered shakily as he tried to remind himself you had neighbours and very thin walls, "God that feels so good."

Tattoo artist Simon! who quickly gave up on any attempt to be quiet once he heard how pretty your moans sounded, selfishly wanting them to grace his ears with every thrust as he tilted your head back, not wanting you to stifle your moans with the cushions underneath you.

"Shit- no, keep making those sounds," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "Wanna hear every single one of ‘em, don't go quiet on me, doll"

Tattoo artist Simon! who honestly felt like he'd never experienced sex this good, even on a less than comfortable sofa that he knew would leave him sore in the morning, it was worth it as he felt your pussy clench around his cock, so warm and tight, milking him for all his worth.

"Fuck- so...so, good-" he almost whined, punctuating each word with a thrust, his balls slapping against your skin as he increased tempo, "Could stay like this forever."

Tattoo artist Simon! who kissed you with so much more care than you'd ever expect as you both came, you gushing around his cock as his cum shot out, painting your walls, before slowly oozing out from where you were both connected.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to take a moment to admire the sight of your blissed out face as you lay back on the sofa, slick with sweat and his cum running out of you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who laughed as he lay beside you on a sofa that was way too small, the both of you talking about everything and nothing at all before realising you'd both denied wanting this for so long.

"I tried so hard not to like you, thinking you were too good for me- hoping it would keep the thoughts at bay," he chuckled, a contagious sound as he ran his fingers across your skin, "Didn’t work for shit obviously with you wanting me just as bad."

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ at a family dinner, nanami watches you cradle a baby—hesitant at first, then heartbreakingly gentle—and sees a future he’ll never rush, but quietly dreams of.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ you dream of that and i’ll dream of you nanamin

the thing about nanami is that he never asks you for more than you’re willing to give.

he never rushes you. not when it came to your relationship. not when you both moved in together. not when the question of marriage hovered between you like an unanswered prayer. and especially not when the topic of children entered the conversation, clumsy and tentative.

not that you ever spoke about it directly.

you weren’t against it, not exactly. but the idea of a child—of diapers and crying and the eternal pressure to be good at something you’d never tried before—was terrifying. there was too much responsibility in the softness of a baby’s head, the fragility of a tiny body. sometimes you’d joke about how you’d probably drop one, or that kids hated you, or that the thought of giving birth was horrifying. and nanami never laughed at you. never called you dramatic. he just nodded, like he understood.

and he did. god, he did.

but he also noticed things.

like the way your eyes lingered when you saw a baby bundled in a stroller. or how you’d go quiet when you saw a toddler waddling with a cookie in each hand. he noticed the way you softened just a little more when children were near—not enough for anyone else to see, but enough that he caught it, caught you, staring before you realized and blinked away like you’d been caught daydreaming.

and you always assumed he didn’t notice. but of course nanami did. nanami noticed everything when it came to you.

that’s why it hits him a little harder than expected when it finally happens.

you’re at one of his family dinners—something warm and rowdy, his relatives laughing too loud and bringing too many dishes. you’re dressed in a little sundress he likes, sipping juice and picking at a plate of fruit, eyes gentle and distant as the evening spins on around you.

and then his cousin, chaotic and overwhelmed, clutches her baby girl to her chest and says your name, breathless.

“can you hold her for a sec? i need to get the cake from the car—i’ll be quick!”

before you can answer, the baby is placed in your arms. warm. soft. gurgling with laughter like the world is nothing but good things.

and nanami watches you freeze.

“uh,” you manage to croak out.

it’s not even a second. just a stutter in your body. your arms hold the baby awkwardly at first, like you’re cradling a bomb you don’t know how to defuse. your brows pinch in confusion. and then—

your arms shift. your body curls inward slightly. and something in your face melts like wax in the sun. the baby touches your face with tiny, chubby fingers, and you giggle—quiet, shocked at yourself, like you hadn’t expected to enjoy the weight of a child in your arms.

and nanami watches you pull her closer. presses your cheek to her soft hair. the curve of your mouth so gentle, so awestruck, that he forgets how to breathe.

the room goes quiet in his head. nothing else exists except the sight of you holding that baby. except the sudden, selfish ache in his chest as his mind races with the what-ifs.

what if it was your baby?

what if you were holding the child you made together?

what if that softness on your face was for a little girl with his eyes and your smile?

he’s still staring when you finally glance up. eyes searching the room for him—and when you catch his gaze, you blink, visibly flustered. your face flushes. you look down at the baby again and then back up at him, almost shy.

nanami smiles. it splits his face slowly, creases the corner of his eyes, lights something deep behind them. he crosses the room slowly, like something sacred is happening and he doesn’t want to disturb it.

“hey,” he murmurs, voice low and fond, crouching slightly to meet your eyes. “you okay?”

you nod quickly, like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.

“you’re good with her,” he leans in, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“i—no, i’m not. she’s just… quiet. she’s not scary like the others.” you look down, like you are still trying to shake it off.

but the baby coos again, snug against your chest, and nanami swears he’d never seen anything more precious than the way you blink down at her like you aren’t sure what to do with the warmth blooming in your chest.

“you look good with her.”

your eyes widen. “don’t say that.”

“why not?” he says, smile lingering. “it’s true, sweetheart.”

you glance down at the baby, then back at him. “don’t get ideas, kento.”

he lifts his hands innocently, even as his heart burns quietly with the image of you both in a home of your own, years from now, with a baby that shares both your blood and names.

“no ideas,” he says. “just… enjoying the view.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t hand the baby back. you don’t push him away when he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and he doesn’t say anything when he notices you swaying slightly—instinctively rocking the baby in your arms.

and maybe you’ll talk about it one day.

and maybe you won’t.

but for now, he’s content to let this moment exist as it is: quiet, perfect, and full of a future that doesn’t need to be rushed.

[midniqhtt]

comfort fic reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part two list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: list got too long and had me maxed out. so i shifted some fandoms to part two instead.

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎ i say ‘comfort’ but theres more angst lol

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II SB: slow burn II C: comfort

.𖥔 MARVEL .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑺

ꨄ︎ loving you is easy two II @blank-potato II A + F

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

ꨄ︎ fooled around and fell in love II @flowersforbucky II S + A + F

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

ꨄ︎ soft currents next to you II @nghtwngs II S + A + F

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

ꨄ︎ home is where the heart is II @ilovemilestellersmoustache II A + F

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ꨄ︎ soulmate II @geminiwritten II A + C

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

ꨄ︎ we can’t be friends part two II @tfatwsbarnes II A

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

ꨄ︎ cowboy like me II @goldenlikedayl1ght II A + F

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

ꨄ︎ xerox two three II @ichori II A + SB + C

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𝑩𝑼𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑺

ꨄ︎ bad boys don’t buy flowers II @espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

ꨄ︎ come back to you II @buckyalpine II F

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

ꨄ︎ curiosity killed the cat II @queers-gambit II A + C

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

ꨄ︎ you’re my desire part two II @marvelouslizzie and @notafunkiller II S + F

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

ꨄ︎ graveyard part two II @wkemeup II A + C

As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. 

ꨄ︎ dreamscape II @/wkemeup II A + C

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

ꨄ︎ blurred lines part two II @ellemj II S + A + F

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

ꨄ︎ love language II @/flowersforbucky II S + F

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

ꨄ︎ flashing lights part two II @pellucid-constellations II A + C

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

ꨄ︎ stay still part two II @buckysknifecollection II A + C

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

ꨄ︎ saturn II @shurisneakers II A

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

ꨄ︎ bleeding heart II mournthebird II A + C

You're his assigned nurse.

ꨄ︎ 40s!bucky II @helaintoloki II A + F

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ under my skin II @/flowersforbucky II F

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

ꨄ︎ moral of the story II @starktonyx II A

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ without you part 2 II @foli-vora II A

You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ꨄ︎ for science II @projectionistwrites II S + A + C

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

ꨄ︎ red flags II @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss II S + A + F

Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. 

ꨄ︎ the jake problem pt2 II @bensolosbluesaber II S + A + C

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹��𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sunset lovers II @duskholland II F

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

ꨄ︎ one more to see you II @waitimcomingtoo II A

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑭𝑭

ꨄ︎ silent treatment II @floral-and-fine II A + C

where the words their soulmate speaks first are tattooed on their arm.

𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺

ꨄ︎ watchful eyes II @/espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

ꨄ︎ out of time pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 II @after-avenging-hours II S + A + F

When Steve is poisoned on a mission, his only hope is a pure Super Soldier Serum. You travel to 1943 to find it—but without the infinity stones, your actions could change the future. Can you save him before time runs out?

.𖥔 TOP GUN .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝒀𝑫

ꨄ︎ the plan II @/geminiwritten II A + F

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

ꨄ︎ the kind of girl i could love II @roosterforme II F

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑳𝑬𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑾

ꨄ︎ love to lie pt2 pt3 pt4 II @/ddejavvu II A + F

Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

ꨄ︎ things unseen and heard II @bloatedandalone04 II S + A + F

the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

ꨄ︎ playing games II @/geminiwritten II A + F

you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

ꨄ︎ wrong number II @roosterforme II F

Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

ꨄ︎ between friends II @sometimesanalice II S + F

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

ꨄ︎ trouble in paradise II @/sunlightmurdock II S + A

After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

ꨄ︎ i’ll show you good, restore your faith II @/se7entyrell II A + F

Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives.

ꨄ︎ terms of endearment II @ohtobeleah II A + C (heavy themes)

They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ domestic fantasy II @/geminiwritten II F

your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

ꨄ︎ dirty laundry part two II @/geminiwritten II S + A + F

after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

ꨄ︎ medical emergency II @marvelwitchergilmore II F

When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

ꨄ︎ sign of the times pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @se7entyrell II S + A

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to?

ꨄ︎ spring fling pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @ddejavvu II F (in progress)

You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑹𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ odds are stacked II @sunlightmurdock II S

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑺

ꨄ︎ all yours II @/geminiwritten II A + F

after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

ꨄ︎ orange juice II @ahsokaismyqueen II S + F

When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him.

ꨄ︎ no hesitation II @briefinquiries II S + F

Tyler would be the type of guy that if a girl came up to him and said ‘this guy is creepy, pls pretend to be my bf’ he would be like ‘hell yay’ and scare the guy away

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ all the stars are closer II @kashimos-hajime II A + F

mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

ꨄ︎ all american boy II @scribes-of-valar II A + C

Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

ꨄ︎ no.1 party anthem II @sunsburns II F

what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

ꨄ︎ an itch you can’t scratch pt2 II @theonewiththefanfics II S + A + F

After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

[arkofangels]

Hang in there, BABY?

Pairing: Hank(s) x reader

Summary: When your friend unexpectedly drops off a baby for the night, you and your five hanger boyfriends—The Hank(s)—are thrown into a whirlwind of diapers, pacifiers, and existential panic. 

A/N: sorry its been take me so long to write, my computer is literally on its last legs and I can't afford to get a new one :(

(its a 8 year old Mac book and i swear i can hear it cough after every update 💔)

You don’t ask questions when your friend drops a baby off at your door.

You try, of course. You get out “Wait, why—” before she slaps a diaper bag into your arms, kisses your cheek, and says something like “It’s just overnight, you’re the only one I trust, I’ll explain everything later, BYE.”

And then she’s gone.

And you’re left holding a real, human baby. And also surrounded by five animate "hangers" in jumpsuits who have very strong and very different feelings about this.

“A baby?” Hank 2 squeaks, already Googling CPR on your cracked phone. Hank 1 crosses his arms. “We can handle a baby. We’ve done trick dives into volcanoes.” “Those were miniature volcanoes made out of papier-mâché and sadness,” mutters Hank 4. “Do we think the baby’s got a favorite already?” teases Hank 3, batting his lashes. He’s immediately silenced by a diaper to the face. “I love this baby,” Hank 5 whispers, gently cradling the child with sock-like reverence. “We should build it a tiny hammock and name it Bean.”

You make a list. You don’t know what babies eat (mashed peas? socks?), but you know what you have:

Five hanger boyfriends

A half-eaten sleeve of saltines

Eight Red Bowls

And now, apparently, a baby.

Operation: Don’t Let the Baby Die begins.

Hour 1: Hank 2 is already spiraling. He’s checking the baby’s pulse every six minutes. “What if we drop it? What if it senses our fear? What if Red Bowl finds out and tries to sponsor it?!”

Hour 2: Hank 1 builds a diaper-changing station out of your bookshelf. It is both sturdy and somehow... emotionally grounding. “Babies need confidence. Eye contact. Structure. And a little jazz.”

Hour 3: Hank 3 plays peekaboo. But it turns into an impromptu stand-up set. “You ever notice how pacifiers are just, like, emotional corks? Amirite?” The baby stares. Then drools. Hank 3 swoons.

Hour 4: Hank 4 is writing a detailed list of potential baby names (even though you told him it already has one). “What about Clasp? Or Hookifer. No? Too thematic?”

Hour 5: Hank 5 and the baby are both asleep in a pile of pillows and blankets on the living room floor, baby toys scattered like confetti around them. You gently drape a blanket over them and whisper, “This is my life now.”

You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect to be jobless, babysitting someone else’s infant at 3 a.m., surrounded by five sentient hangers in jumpsuits who somehow care more about your well-being than most people ever have.

But when the baby starts to cry at 3 a.m.—a loud, wailing, existential sound that cuts into your sleep like a Red Bowl promo jingle—they all show up.

Hank 2 with a warm bottle. Hank 1 with calming noise (a Spotify playlist labeled “Jazz for Infants and Sad Adults”). Hank 3 with interpretive dance. Hank 4 with one (1) stolen baby sock he insists is sentimental. Hank 5 with a lullaby that is definitely just the Red Bowl theme song hummed gently.

And you.

Tired. Overwhelmed. Absolutely not ready to be responsible for anyone, let alone six people (five of whom used to live in your closet as inanimate hangers—until the glasses happened)

But you hold that baby. And the Hanks hold you. Figuratively. And then, literally.

And in that tangled pile of limbs, soft snoring, and the faint scent of baby powder and Red Bowl plastic, you realize: this is your family.

In the morning, when your friend returns and gasps, “Wait, why are there five hot men in jumpsuits in your living room?”—

You just shrug.

“Long story,” you say. “But we’re good with babies.”

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates���just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Mom and boyfriend are time blind as fuck.

I purposely have no time frame expectations if I can help it if I know I’ll see either of them for more than 2 seconds.

My husband has not mastered this.

He knows they are both agents of chaos when it comes to getting places on time or accurately guessing how long something will take.

He knows that I don’t commit to a time when I’ll be home if I’m going places with mom or bf for this reason.

It still drives him nuts and catches him off guard.

“You said you were headed home 3 hours ago? Your mom’s house is 20 minute away.”

Yes, but you see, mom had to shower, and find clean clothes, and I had to find her keys, and the goat was in the way, then the dog was in the way, then we stopped for food…”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that?”

“Because I didn’t know that any of it would happen either.”

The friends that are chronically 30 minutes late are so important to have because they teach u patience and the meaning of loving someone so much u let ur anger go. I have not mastered either yet but I’m sure it’s coming

[clairewritesfanfics]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[theycallmecholemiri]

Headcanons about each Huntrix member

First up, our leader Rumi 💜

-She is the most followed member on all social media platforms

-barley post cause her phone overheats from all the likes

-Last time she tried to do a live on Insta it crashed the app and her phone

-Her hair routine is a government-level secret; Zoey still hasn't figured out what she uses

-keeps every fan letter she ever received(yes even the one from 2019 with sparkles)

-writes poems about Jinu in her notes app at 3AM and refuses for anyone to see them

-is no longer allowed to drive ANYWHERE for personal reasons

-Is actually the oldest (23), but no one ever guesses that—everyone assumes it’s Mira 😭

Next up is our choreographer Mira 💖

-Been dying to get a tattoo but hasn't because the record label said "absolutely not"

-is a world-renowned model and has been in too many fashion shows to count

-showing up to the Met Gala with a sleeping bag was planned, she just didn't expect for it to go viral though

-hates when people lie, she would much rather get mad at the truth instead

-Sometimes joins Zoey insta lives to cause more chaos(then pretends that she wasn't on live)

-has a burner account on insta that she swears no one knows about(both Rumi and Zoey follow her on there)

-somehow the best cook out of all of them

-Is the certified driver if they have to go anywhere

-She’s 21 and absolutely the “calm older sister”—until she isn’t.

Finally, our Maknae Zoeyyy!!💛

-she posts the most on her social media

-usually gets in trouble for going live at terrible moments like when mira and rumi argue

-does rap battles for fun with her fans

-has a drawer full of half-used notebooks, including:

Mira quotes that deserve an Oscar, and ‘Number of times Rumi cried over Jinu this week (updated daily)

-Does TikTok's dances with Bobby and somehow they usually go viral

-Also not allowed to touch the steering wheel, Mira usually just goes "zozo belt on now" in the coldest voice ever, which always works 98% of the time

-Hosted a fake "late night talk show" on her IG stories called “Zoey After Dark”

-She may be the youngest (19), but she has random moments of wisdom that hit like a truck

Group headcanons (cause I said so) 💅🏽

-The girls all have a self-care day that includes lots of face masks, gossip about other K-pop groups, and catching up on K-dramas

-Their group chat name changes every week: ➤ Zoey STOP Going Live → Huntrix Anonymous (We’re Not Okay) → Jinu Said WHAT Now??? → and most recently: Please No One Flirt During Dance Practice 😭

-If one of them cries, all of them cry. Once it happened on stage and they had to take a 5-minute intermission(blame a surprise fan project + Jinu smiling at Rumi in the VIP section)

-Rumi and Mira get weirdly competitive during photo shoots (Zoey records everything and adds TikTok music)

-There’s a “Who’s the Most Famous Today?” whiteboard in their penthouse. Mira wins when a Vogue article drops, Rumi when a quote goes viral, Zoey when she sneezes on TikTok.

-They once had a “no romance for a month” pact. Rumi broke it in 2 days when she blushed at a Jinu post. Zoey documented the downfall in a TikTok trilogy.

-Rumi leaves the group chat every time Mira and Zoey tease her about Jinu. They always add her back in. Every. Single. Time.

OKKKKK that's all I have for now. Keep streaming the movie and a03 writers, PLZ UPDATE UR FANFICS. I'm on my knees. OK BYEEEEEE(in Eda voice) 🩷💜💛.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

I love your short fics, love when they come across my dash, they live in my head rent free 🤭

Thinking about one (or all, your pick) of the 141 boys getting called in because their kid is in trouble at school, but when they arrive they learn that their kid was only standing up for someone else who was being bullied. Bonus points if it's their little girl standing up to a big mean boy.

They learn this by walking in on their non-confrontational, normally pacifist partner (the other parent) absolutely ripping the headmaster a new one for putting their child in this situation.

The boys thought they were going to be the bad cop in this scenario, but instead they are the ones having to rely on their hostage negotiation training to get their little loves back home.

(It's hard not to feel something at the sight of the mama bear energy... It might be pride but it's probably something else 🤭)

Xoxoxo

Daddy’s Little Defender

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Mild language, parental rage, school bullying mention, protective reader, found family parenting, soft domestic tension, lots of heart

Author's Note: Domestic chaos meets protective firestorm. This one’s for the softies who would go feral for their kid. Based on a beautiful request about mama bear energy, nervous dads, and a little girl who refuses to let injustice slide.

Summary: A call from school sends the 141 into panic mode—your daughter’s in trouble. But when they arrive, they find you already handling it in a way none of them expected. What was supposed to be a parent-teacher meeting turns into a standoff... and maybe something a little more emotional.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started like a perfectly normal Wednesday.

Toast crumbs scattered across the kitchen counter, Kyle and Johnny bickering over whose turn it was to pack the lunchbox, Simon groaning at the sound of Peppa Pig playing in the background, and John sipping his coffee with the paper tucked under his arm like he was already ten years into retirement.

You kissed foreheads, wiped faces, and reminded Bonnie for the third time to wear socks that matched. Your little girl—seven years old, gap-toothed, and bright as a firecracker—grinned up at her dads like she was the queen of the castle.

Everything felt routine. Cozy. Soft.

Then Simon’s phone rang.

He frowned at the screen, answered calmly, then froze halfway through “This is her father.”

John looked up. Kyle stopped stirring the oatmeal. Johnny leaned off the counter slowly.

Simon’s face didn’t change—but something in the room did.

He ended the call, voice tight. “School. Something happened with Bonnie.”

No one wasted a second.

They loaded into the SUV with terrifying efficiency, each man scanning the situation like a mission. John drove. Johnny had his arm slung around the passenger seat, tapping his fingers. Kyle checked the school address twice even though he knew the way. And Simon just stared straight ahead like he could will the truth into existence.

“She’s a good kid,” Johnny murmured for the third time. “Wouldn’t start nothin’. She’s just like her mum.”

That much was true.

Your girl had your heart—sunshine-bright and gentle-handed, always the first to share her juice box and stand up when someone cried. But when they arrived at the school office, the secretary’s expression was pinched.

The principal was waiting in his office, awkward and pale, fidgeting with a folder.

“I’m afraid this is a behavioral issue. Bonnie kicked another student. In the shin.”

The room went still.

“She what?” Kyle blinked.

“Apparently, he was pushing another boy. And she intervened. Verbally at first. Then physically.”

The principal adjusted his tie. “She told him—verbatim—‘Do it again, and I’ll break your nose like my Papa Simon did to that man in Berlin.’”

Johnny wheezed. “She what?”

Kyle covered his mouth, eyes wide with barely contained laughter. Simon looked like he was deciding whether to be proud or terrified. John’s jaw clenched.

“She’s suspended for the remainder of the week,” the principal added, as if it was the only logical outcome.

Then—

Boom.

The office door burst open.

And you were there.

Not the quiet, honey-voiced version of you who made bedtime tea and hummed lullabies.

No.

This was war.

“Who the hell do you think you are suspending my daughter for protecting another child?” you snapped, voice low and crackling with fury.

The principal flinched. “Ma’am—”

“She didn’t start a fight. She ended one. Where were your staff when a third-grade boy was getting pushed around hard enough to bleed? You want to discipline someone? Try disciplining yourself.”

“Mrs.—”

“Not MacTavish. Not Garrick. Not Riley. Not Price. Just Mama. And Mama is pissed.”

The room crackled with tension.

Outside the door, Bonnie sat cross-legged on a bench, head bowed, chewing her sleeve.

You didn’t even wait for a response. You stormed out, dropped to your knees, and pulled her into your arms.

“You okay, baby?”

She sniffled. “I didn’t mean to get in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble,” you whispered fiercely. “You did exactly what I taught you. You stood up for someone who couldn’t. That’s bravery, Bonnie. That’s being a good person.”

Behind you, the boys emerged one by one.

Johnny knelt first, ruffling her curls. “Shin’s a solid target. You alright, little one?”

She nodded into your shoulder.

Kyle crouched next, eyes full of admiration. “Didn’t think you’d use Berlin as an example.”

“She listens,” Simon muttered.

John crouched in front of her, calm as ever. “You scared us, sweetheart. But we’re proud of you.”

“Even though I kicked him?” she whispered.

“Especially because,” he said.

You stood slowly, heart still hammering in your chest. All four men turned toward you with something unreadable in their eyes.

Admiration. Awe. Maybe something else.

John reached out first, brushing your wrist with his fingertips. “Didn’t think I’d walk in and see you going full recon mode.”

“I was livid,” you muttered. “They were blaming her for doing the right thing.”

Kyle slipped an arm around your waist. “You were amazing.”

Johnny leaned in with a low whistle. “Honestly, might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Simon, of course, deadpanned, “You did use my Berlin story. I feel oddly honored.”

Back in the car, Bonnie happily sipped her juice box from her lunchbox, swinging her legs like nothing had happened.

You sat sandwiched between Johnny and Kyle, your hand in John’s, Simon driving up front.

And in that moment, everything settled again. The storm passed.

Your girl was safe.

Your boys were here.

And they’d all learned something important today.

No one—no one—messed with your kid.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[bestie-gor]

I see the forest, dont get me wrong, but I gotta say... sometimes a piece of fiction doesn't follow up on any of those threads, and I think it is happening more and more often.

A lot of people are trained to not expect anything more than superficial engagement by the media that exists around them. Maybe this is still a critical thinking skill issue but "chekovs personality" seems to be rare.

Not to be a bitch but sometimes people engage with fiction in the most boring way possible, and nowhere is this clearer than in videogames. Like what you mean you hate a character just because they were kind of abrasive when speaking to the player character? "They were mean to me" and it didn't occur to you to wonder why? Like, what might their attitude toward you reveal about the world? About the social dynamics within it? About their own perspectives and backgrounds and personalities? Does it even occur you to ask? Would you only have liked them if they bowed to your presence and talked about how great you are? Like I'm sorry but you're so boring. How boring fiction would be if it cathered to you

[sylusgworl]

FALLING (IN LOVE) IS NOT A CHOICE ft. sylus

content: domestic fluff, gn!reader, established relationship, sylus becomes a sweetheart in your presence

a/n: i love him, that's it. wc: 1k . rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

Never did you ever think you'd come to love the lonely scarlet eyed crow that towers over the N109 zone with power equal to none.

But fate told you otherwise.

Sylus had become such an essential part of your daily life, you couldn't even remember what your days used to be like before meeting him.

You'd grown familiar to seeing his drowsy face in the morning, his groggy 'good morning' with eyes still clad in sleep and ruffled silver locks brushing against his forehead.

You'd gotten used to his big arms cradling you against his body, whether you were sad or happy, lonely or in good company.

You'd gotten used to the way he'd welcome you whenever you'd drop by, putting you first before anything and anyone else.

Falling for Sylus wasn't in the plan, it wasn't premeditated. It wasn't supposed to happen at all.

But whose heart actually follows reason?

As you sit on the sofa, a warm blanket covering your bare legs and a book laying on top of them, you slowly peek up from the bland novel you were reading, trying to find him.

He is in the kitchen, a black apron hugging his waist so prefectly while he dextrously and with no difficulty flips the pan.

His eyes, those very same red eyes you loved getting lost into, slowly meet yours, as if he knew long before you'd been staring at him.

He smiles. his face, previously hardened by concentration, now melted, softened, the boss-man of Onychinus tamed by none other than you.

“It's almost ready, sweetie,” he says, his tone soft, the tone reserved only for you. You almost melt at the name he calls you by, even if you weren't new to the relationship, even if he had called you that plenty of times.

“Okay,” your answer is low pitched, almost a whisper, as you shift your body on the sofa, searching for a comfortable position, your eyes never leaving him once, even after he goes back to work, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, the forearms glistening under the yellowish kitchen glow.

After you set the table and Sylus lays the plate in front of you, you're pleasantly surprised by what you see. He'd managed to make your favourite dish.

You look up, surprise flickering in your eyes and meet Sylus's gaze, amusement teasing his lip upwards, as he raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“So? Aren't you gonna eat?” his voice hides a tone of teasing, so you nod before diving in.

The dinner goes by quietly, air filled with your laughter at Sylus's hopeless attempt at singing, and numerous impersonations (of Sylus) Mephisto managed to land.

Dinner and dishes done, you ready yourself for bed. You find Sylus already waiting for you, burgundy sleepwear echoes the wine swirling in the cup as he studies a paper in his hand—probably a report.

“You're here,” he says, discarding the paper on the nightstand as soon as he looks up and finds you standing at the door.

You smile and dash to the bed, the mattress diving under your weight as you lunge yourself forward and land on his lap.

Sylus doesn't let you take him by surpise, ever. His arms are already there, expecting your whimsy act already.

“Oh?” he feignes surprise, locking you in his hold while hugging you, his warmth enveloping you into a calm and tranquility you can only ever find by his side.

You slap his shoulder, “don't pretend. You already knew about my surpise-attack,” you say in a disappointed tone, resting your head against his torso while feeling his breath against your forehead as a chuckle leaves his lips.

“I can never manage to lie to you, kitten,” he kisses your forehead, gently, the touch of his lips so soft and imperceptible you think you might've imagined it.

“Now, you need to sleep,” he sets your head on the pillow and slides the duvet over your bodies.

You close your eyes.

Yes, you truly loved this scarlet eyed lonely crow. Except, now that you were there, you hoped he wouldn't be lonely anymore.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.