#everything is overwhelming and exhausting

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you go to your first basketball game and didn't expect something more

You were exhausted. Not in the tired of life way, just the overwhelmed by glamour kind of way. The Formula 1 movie premiere had been a blur of flashbulbs, champagne flutes, and glimmering gowns. You weren’t a driver, but you may as well have been with the way the cameras hounded you and Charles from the moment you stepped onto the red carpet.

It never really stopped, that attention. Not when you were the younger sister of Charles Leclerc and one of the very few women working as a Formula One race engineer—let alone one who’d made it onto the Ferrari team by twenty-three. People were interested. People always had questions. And your face? Apparently marketable enough for every tabloid to want it next to your brother’s whenever you were in the same city.

So, yeah. You were exhausted.

Which is why the idea of going to a basketball game sounded... almost rebellious in its normalcy.

You leaned your head on Charles’s shoulder as the car rolled through Manhattan traffic, humming under your breath. “I still can’t believe you dragged me into that afterparty last night.”

Charles snorted, relaxed in his seat with Alexandra curled up against his other side. “You say that, but you were the one doing shots with Lando.”

“I did one shot with Lando,” you corrected, “because he said I was too uptight.”

Alex laughed softly. “He also said you should be in front of the camera instead of hiding behind pit walls.”

You groaned. “He says that every time. I fix your telemetry one time during qualifying and suddenly I’m Angelina Jolie.”

Charles grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “You just hate being famous.”

“I don’t hate it,” you murmured, lips quirking. “I just hate not being able to disappear.”

And that was really it. You hadn’t told anyone outside your inner circle about your plan for today. A quiet trip to the Barclays Center. Just you, Charles, and Alex.

You’d mentioned it in passing after breakfast this morning, still sipping your iced coffee, eyes puffy with sleep.

“I’ve never seen a basketball game in person,” you said, squinting at your phone. “New York Liberty’s playing tonight.”

Charles blinked at you across the kitchen island. “You want to go?”

You shrugged. “Kind of curious. I know nothing about it, but the atmosphere seems cool when I googled it.”

“You google everything,” Alex teased you, whited you just shrugged at.

“Alright.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text my manager. We’ll sort it.”

And of course, being Charles, he sorted it within half an hour. Three courtside seats. No fanfare or sponsor ties. Just you three, sitting down to watch women throw a ball around and, hopefully, scream at each other with intense athleticism. It sounded oddly soothing.

Now the black SUV pulled up to the Barclays Center and the street buzzed with energy. The pre-game crowd was thicker than you expected. People in teal and sea foam green jerseys stood in clumps on the sidewalk, others in navy and silver.

You read a few of the names on the backs of shirts. Jones. Ionescu. Bueckers. That last one you pronounced in your head like “Buckers” before second-guessing yourself.

As the door opened, Charles stepped out first, always the gentleman, offering a hand to help Alex out next. You slid out after them, a little disoriented by the shift in atmosphere. Less polished than the premiere, but more alive somehow. No tuxedos or gowns—just sneakers, t-shirts, music blasting from speakers along the entryway.

You adjusted your sunglasses, even though it was nearly evening, and tugged your denim jacket tighter around you. The press hadn’t followed. No one here really cared mush about who you were. A few teenagers glanced at Charles—probably Formula 1 fans—but no cameras. No interviews. No one asking how Charles thinks of the season so far, how no one asks you about updates on the cars.

Just... peace.

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people,” you said under your breath as you approached the VIP entrance.

“Basketball’s apparently big here,” Alex replied, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The Liberty are kind of a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Enough to pretend,” she said with a grin.

“Perfect. I’ll follow your lead.”

Security ushered you in quickly once credentials were checked—Charles’s manager had arranged everything—and the cool of the arena swallowed you whole. Air conditioning, the sharp scent of popcorn and floor polish, and the distant thud of basketballs echoed in your ears.

You followed a staff member through the lower tunnels, emerging out into the blinding brightness of the court.

And just like that, you were courtside.

It was... closer than you expected.

You could see the lights glaring off the court. Hear the rubber of sneakers squeaking with warmup drills. Players darted up and down the court, long-limbed and agile, even just jogging. You didn’t know who was who, but one team was in blue warm-ups and the other in black.

Someone was shooting three-pointers with precision. Another sprinted from baseline to half court and back, ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

“Bloody hell,” Charles muttered beside you, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re fast.”

“Mmhm,” you said, barely hearing him.

One of the players jogged past, close enough to see the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. She didn’t look over, too focused on her footwork. Her jersey read BUECKERS in crisp blue letters across the back.

You blinked.

Oh. That name again.

You leaned toward Alex. “Is that... Buckers? Like the jersey we saw outside?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. She’s really famous, I think. Played for UConn. Supposed to be a big deal for the Wings this year.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know that?”

“Google is a wonderful tool, hermana.”

You studied the woman as she slowed to a jog near the bench, catching a water bottle and tipping it up with ease. Blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, pale skin, strong arms that flexed easily with every movement. She had a kind of presence. Not in the way F1 drivers did—loud, cocky—but... quietly intense.

You tilted your head. “She looks like she could stare through someone’s soul.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t let her stare at you like that. You’ll explode.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

The arena began to fill. The crowd’s energy ramped up with every minute closer to tip-off. Announcers boomed over the speakers. Lights dimmed, and spotlights painted patterns across the hardwood.

You settled into your seat, tucking one ankle over your knee and balancing a bottle of water between your palms. The back of your neck buzzed with anticipation, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just the unknown—this whole world of sport you knew nothing about. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Or maybe it was the fact that Bueckers, whoever she really was, had just glanced toward your row like she knew exactly who you were.

But she didn’t. Did she?

It started with a tap.

A quiet one, like the soft thud of a butterfly wing against your skin. You were distracted by the sweep of pregame lights moving across the ceiling, the slight back and forth between Charles and Alex beside you and by the rhythmic sound of basketballs echoing like thunder on the court.

You didn’t notice the two players breaking away from warmups at first, not until you caught a shift in the atmosphere. Like energy moving in a new direction.

And then, there it was. A gentle, almost tentative voice near your shoulder.

“Hi. Um. Are you—are you Charles’s sister?”

You turned and blinked.

It was her.

Bueckers. The name you’d only just learned a few minutes ago. She was taller than you’d expected up close, but not by much. Her cheeks were flushed from warmups, blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her jersey was still partially tucked in, and she was holding her water bottle in both hands like it might anchor her to the moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”

She let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “Just a fan.”

That surprised you. “You’re a fan of me?”

Paige shook her head, then immediately nodded, then looked like she regretted both. “No, I mean—yes. Not like in a weird way. Just... I’ve seen you on the screen sometimes during races. You always looked beaut—uh, I mean—focused and serious.”

You blinked again. “You follow Formula 1?”

“Arike’s girlfriend is obsessed,” Paige replied, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “She’s a huge Ferrari fan. So Arike’s always hearing about your brother. And I guess I kind of got sucked up in it once I moved to Dallas.”

You glanced past her. Sure enough, one of her teammates—the one with the wicked jumper during warmups, now confirmed as Arike—was enthusiastically talking to Charles. She looked slightly overwhelmed, and very excited, holding her phone in one hand as she grinned up at him like he’d just won her a car.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s not something I expected today.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, and when you turned back to her, she was already looking at you again. “Me neither.”

You didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe the nerves in her voice, maybe the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was resisting the urge to bolt—but it made you soften.

You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Her smile grew. “Paige.”

You nodded. “Ah, Paige. It’s nice to finally know the first name.”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you said, tipping your head. “Just kept seeing Buckers jerseys everywhere.”

Paige’s ears went a little pink, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind one ear, fingers fidgeting with the elastic of her jersey. “Um, it’s Bueckers actually. The ‘u’ is silent.”

“Bueckers. I apologize,” you said.

“It’s okay,” she gave a shy smile. “You, um. You’re really here for a game?”

 You glance back out to the court, where the rest of the Wings and Liberty were still running drills. “First one ever. Thought I’d see what all the hype is about.”

She grinned. “You picked a good one. Liberty versus Wings is never boring.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said lightly. “I’ve never watched basketball before. Been surrounded by race cars all my life.”

Paige laughed again, lighter this time. “That’s okay. I know nothing about racing except that I can’t even go-kart without spinning out.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

The words hung in the air, light but charged. Paige’s eyes flickered to your mouth before quickly darting away again. You didn’t miss it.

“So,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were angled slightly more toward her, “are you just saying hi, or are you here on official wingwoman duty for Arike?”

She groaned softly, but she was smiling. “She begged me to come over. She got too nervous and didn’t want to go alone.”

“Too nervous?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Charles is like... a walking golden retriever. He’s the least intimidating person I know.”

“I think that’s why she’s nervous,” Paige said, leaning slightly closer. “She wants to make a good impression. Her girlfriend’s always saying how cool he is. Especially his girlfriend. Plus, Arike’s not great with... subtlety.”

You snorted. “I can tell. She’s practically vibrating.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she pulled back slightly, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bothering you before the game.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you said easily. “I feel like I’m the one that’s bothering you. But this is already more fun than I expected.”

She grinned. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “To sit here awkwardly while everyone screamed around me. To not understand what was happening. To check my phone halfway through the second quarter.”

“And now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and smiled softly. “Now I kind of want to stay until the very end.”

Her blush returned, stronger this time.

The crowd began to rise in volume as the clock above the court ticked closer to tip-off. Music pulsed through the speakers. A Liberty player dunked during layup lines and the crowd roared. Paige glanced toward the bench.

“I should probably get back,” she said, sounding reluctant.

You tilted your head. “Are you starting?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’ll—um. I’ll try not to trip in front of you.”

You smirked. “No promises from me. I might cheer for the other team just to keep you on your toes.”

Her mouth parted like she didn’t know whether to laugh or challenge you. “You wouldn’t.”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll be number five. Wings jersey. You know. Just in case you decide you want to cheer for the right side.”

You leaned back, eyes gleaming. “We’ll see how you play.”

She took a few steps back, still facing you, then finally turned around just as Arike finished her impromptu photo with Charles and bounded after her.

You watched her go—watched the easy way she moved, the subtle glance she cast over her shoulder before disappearing behind the bench.

Alex elbowed you gently. “So. That was a very long conversation for someone who only came over because of Arike.”

You tried for casual. “She was being polite.”

Charles snorted. “Mon dieu. She was flirting and she was terrible at it.”

“She was sweet,” you corrected, still smiling faintly.

Alex leaned in. “And you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your water, eyes trailing back to where Paige now stood with her teammates, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, gaze already scanning the court—but every now and then, flickering right back to you.

And each time it did, your heart fluttered a little faster than it had on any starting grid.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

You weren’t sure what to watch during a basketball game—when to focus on the ball, when to look at the off-ball movement or when to just follow the flow of the players gliding across the court like it was muscle memory. The speed surprised you. The precision. The sheer athleticism of it all.

But what surprised you most was how often your eyes were drawn back to her.

She moved like she didn’t need to think, like the court was just an extension of her breath. One second, she was at the top of the arc calling for the ball, the next, she was slashing into the paint, drawing a defender with her before dishing out a no-look pass that made the crowd gasp and a teammate drain a three.

You leaned forward unconsciously. “She’s really good,” you murmured.

Charles glanced sideways. “You mean Paige?”

“Mhm,” you said without looking away. “She plays like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can solve.”

“She has vision,” Alex added. “Like a driver who sees the apex before the turn.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Paige picked off a lazy pass and darted up court in transition. She didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just read the defender’s body language and timed her steps perfectly before finishing with a layup that rolled off her fingers like silk.

The scoreboard ticked up in the Wings’ favor.

And Paige—oh, Paige—jogged back on defense with a half-smirk tugging at her mouth. Her eyes scanned the front row, just briefly, but when they landed on yours, they didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. She gave the smallest shrug of her shoulders—barely noticeable—but it said everything. That one was for you.

You blinked. A beat passed. And you smiled, just a little.

Timeout.

The coaches called for a break, and both teams huddled by their benches. Paige wiped her face with her towel, bouncing on her toes, sipping from her water bottle, listening with half an ear to what her coach was saying.

But her eyes found you again.

You didn’t pretend not to notice.

She raised a hand and waved—quick, subtle, a flick of fingers from low by her waist like she didn’t want anyone else to see.

You lifted your brows, amused.

She smiled again—shy, still—but different now. Confident in a way that felt like a quiet dare.

“She’s waving at you,” Charles said, practically choking on his soda.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, thank you, Cha.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “You’re distracting a professional athlete in the middle of a game. That’s impressive.”

“I’m not trying to distract her,” you muttered.

Alex smirked. “You’re not not trying.”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the armrest between you and Charles. Paige was back in the game now, standing on the wing waiting for the inbound pass. She glanced toward you again.

You didn’t wave, didn’t smile. You just raised one brow and tilted your head like Alright, Bueckers. Show me something.

And she did.

She moved off the ball like she was built for it—cutting, darting, changing direction so fast the Liberty defender couldn’t keep up. She caught the pass mid-motion, turned, and let it fly from just beyond the arc.

Swish.

The net barely moved.

Half the crowd screamed.

The Wings bench stood up, cheering.

And Paige? She jogged back, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to hide a grin—but didn’t try that hard. Her eyes met yours again, and this time she winked.

Winked.

You could feel Charles and Alex practically vibrating next to you.

“Ay dios mío” Alex said under her breath. “You’re in so deep already.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I just met her. I didn’t even know how to say her last name.”

“You know,” Charles said, “I always imagined you’d fall for someone complicated. Mysterious. Dangerous.”

“She plays basketball,” you said flatly.

“She’s clearly dangerous to your self-control.”

You ignored him. Sort of.

Because you were watching her again. Watching the way she locked in when she played. The way her teammates looked to her instinctively. The way she trusted her first move—no hesitation, no overthinking. Paige Bueckers played basketball the way you did data analysis mid-race… fast, decisive, and like the margin for error was nonexistent.

And every time she made a big play, her eyes flicked back to you.

Like she wanted to know if you’d seen.

Like she needed you to.

By halftime, your heart was pounding harder than it had in any garage on race day.

You’d come here for something simple. A distraction. A break from being Charles Leclerc’s little sister or Ferrari’s engineering prodigy. Monaco’s Princess. 

Instead, you got Paige Bueckers.

And every time she looked at you, it felt like she saw right through the noise.

The final buzzer sounded like a sigh.

The game had been close—closer than anyone had predicted from what you gathered in the crowd chatter around you. Liberty fans were loud, but by the fourth quarter, you started to hear more Wings chants pick up momentum. You didn’t understand every foul or call or play, but you understood Paige.

You understood how her team trusted her. You understood how she handled pressure like it was gravity. You understood how, after every big moment, her eyes found you.

And now, it was over. Scoreboard locked. Jerseys drenched in sweat. Fans buzzing in that familiar post-sport high.

You stayed seated as most of the arena stood to leave. Charles was scrolling through his phone, nodding occasionally at a fan who called his name but otherwise keeping low-key. Alex sipped the last of her drink, curled comfortably against his arm, while you just… watched.

The court was still alive.

Paige was surrounded—first by teammates, then reporters, then fans pressed against the rails. She was gracious with each person, smiling wide in photos, laughing at something a little girl said, holding her sharpie with care as she signed the backs of posters, jerseys, and phones.

“She’s got that same energy you do after a podium,” Alex said gently.

You glanced at her. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward Paige. “A little exhausted, a little adrenaline high, kind of glowing but pretending not to notice.”

You looked back. Paige was crouched to take a photo with a kid in a Wings jersey two sizes too big for him. She gave the camera a thumbs up. Her pony was messy now, strands of blonde hair falling loose around her face.

She glanced toward you. Saw you still there.

And smiled like it meant something.

You felt it like a pull.

Paige whispered something to a staffer and took a final photo, then jogged toward the bench. Her teammates were heading back to the locker room, but she lingered. You stood as she approached, not sure what you were expecting.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “I said I’d stay until the end.”

Her eyes flicked to Charles and Alex, who were now standing just behind you, watching quietly. Paige’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

“I, uh—I have to do post-game interviews,” she said, almost apologetically. “Media stuff. Probably fifteen, twenty minutes. But I was wondering…” She shifted, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her voice was softer now, meant only for you. “Would you wait?”

You blinked. “Wait for you?”

She nodded. “I just— I’d really like to talk more. If you want. I don’t know if you’re going somewhere after or flying out soon or—”

“I’m here tonight,” you said, cutting gently through her nerves. “We’re in New York for another day.”

“Oh. Good. Okay.” Her smile was so honest it made your chest feel warm. “So... would you?”

You could feel Charles and Alex still watching, but they didn’t say a word. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets and tilted your head.

“You want me to wait around in an empty arena just so you can talk to me again?”

Paige met your gaze. Didn’t back down. “Yes.”

The answer was so simple it made you grin.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll wait.”

Relief bloomed across her face. “Cool. I won’t be long. Promise.”

She started to turn, paused, then hesitated before glancing at Charles.

“I’m a big fan of yours, by the way,” she added quickly, cheeks turning red. “Both of you. You guys looked really good in Monaco.”

Charles lit up. “Merci. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear most of that conversation earlier.”

Paige laughed nervously. “Noted.” Then she looked back at you. “Be right back.”

You watched her disappear into the tunnel, every bit of her confidence lingering behind in the way she glanced at you over her shoulder one last time.

When she was gone, Charles bumped his shoulder lightly into yours.

“Does she always look at people like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.”

You shrugged. “Maybe she just appreciates a challenge.”

Alex grinned. “You’re such a liar. You’re already gone for her.”

You didn’t answer. Just sat back down and stared at the empty court where she’d just been.

And waited.

It was quiet by the time she returned.

The kind of quiet that only settles in after the world has exhaled. Most of the crowd had gone home. Security lingered by the exits, sweeping the rows. Staffers rolled carts of used towels and half-empty water bottles down the tunnel. The court was bare now. Just the hushed hum of the arena winding down.

You were still there. Sitting courtside. Jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers absently spinning the cap of your water bottle. Charles and Alex had wandered off somewhere to give you space. You hadn’t asked, but they just knew.

And then you heard footsteps again—softer now, not game shoes. Slides against the polished concrete.

You looked up.

There she was.

She was fresh from the locker room, face clean, blonde hair damp and tied loosely now. A W hoodie, oversized, sleeves pulled down over her hands. She wore simple black shorts and Nike socks pushed halfway down her ankles.

She looked like herself in a way that tugged at you—like all the edges were finally rounded off now that the lights were dim and the cameras were gone.

“You waited,” she said, quiet.

You gave her a small smile. “I said I would.”

She sat beside you, one seat in-between, giving you space but close enough for your knees to brush if you shifted.

Neither of you moved.

For a while, you just sat there like that. Silence stretching between you like a breath held, but not tense. Not awkward. Just... present.

She finally spoke. “So… be honest. What’d you think?”

You looked at her. “Of the game?”

Paige nodded.

You took your time. “It was like hearing a language I don’t speak, but still knowing exactly what everyone meant.”

She blinked at that. “That’s... really poetic.”

You shrugged. “I’m around fast cars all day. I don’t get to be poetic very often.”

Paige smiled to herself. “You said you’d never seen a basketball game before?”

“Never.” You glanced out at the now-empty court. “I came in expecting to get bored halfway through. I thought I’d be checking my notes on my phone by the second quarter.”

“And instead?”

“I forgot I even had a phone.”

She turned her head toward you, expression soft. “Because of the game, or...”

You looked back at her. “Do I need to answer that?”

She didn’t blush this time. But her eyes dropped for a second, and when they lifted again, they held something steadier. More certain.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

You studied her. “You mean that?”

“Yeah. I—” she hesitated, exhaling through her nose. “I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes when you play so many games, they all blur together. It becomes muscle memory. You forget what it feels like to want someone in the crowd to see you. Like, actually see you.”

You didn’t speak, not right away. Because that hit somewhere you weren’t ready for.

“Does it get lonely?” you asked softly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “Being known. By everyone. But not really known by anyone who isn’t part of the circle.”

She was quiet. You risked a glance at her. She was already watching you.

“It does,” she said. “It really does.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“I figured you would.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward you more. “You know what it felt like tonight?”

“What?”

She paused. “It felt like you weren’t here for the show. You weren’t waiting to be impressed. You were just... there. Watching. Like it was already enough.”

You held her gaze. “That’s because it was.”

You saw the breath catch in her chest before she tried to play it off with a quiet laugh. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

“Because I said something kind?”

“No. Because you meant it.”

That silenced you both for a long moment. You let it happen. Let the silence linger and swell and settle. Eventually, Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking out at the court.

“Do you think you’ll come to another game?” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you mirrored her posture, your shoulders touching ever so slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll be there.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh, low and fond. “God, you’re gonna wreck me.”

You smiled. “That’s not my intention.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s worse.”

The lights overhead dimmed a little more as the staff shut down sections row by row. A janitor passed with a sweeping broom. You didn’t care. You had nowhere else to be. Not in that moment.

She looked at you again. “Can I give you my number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was inevitable.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said, grinning now, eyes crinkling. “You could’ve been not interested. Or just—”

“Paige,” you cut in gently. “I waited for you.”

She smiled slowly.

You reached into your jacket and pulled out your phone, unlocking it and holding it out. She entered her number carefully, then hesitated before handing it back.

“What?” you asked.

She looked slightly sheepish. “Just thought my contact name should pay tribute to our first interaction to each other.”

You checked it.

Buckers

You laughed. “Wow. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope. It’s part of you now. You gonna change it?”

You didn’t. You saved it as is.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s us.”

You both stood when security finally made a quiet gesture that the arena was closing up. Paige stretched her arms above her head and gave you a look like she didn’t quite want to leave.

You didn’t either.

“Hey,” she said, more serious now. “Can I call you tomorrow? Or tonight? Or whenever it’s not weird? I just... I’d like to talk more. Without a clock running.”

You nodded, heart softening. “I’d like that.”

And then you leaned in—just slightly—and kissed her cheek. Slow. Intentional. Close enough that your lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

She froze. Exhaling softly.

When you pulled back, her face was pink, her eyes shining.

You whispered, “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

[marsdql]

hi hi, the heeseung and jake babying reader fics were so good im gonna sob !!! been thinking abt heeseungie babying u when ur grumpy n overstimulated after being out in public n ur jst so overwhelmed and snappy with him when you get back :((

hi anon! I love ur yummy brain for this one omg and sorry for being so late..

The front door clicked softly behind you, but the silence that followed was anything but comforting. Your small steps echoed in the apartment hallway as you kicked off your shoes a little too forcefully, barely noticing Heeseung’s careful gaze following you from behind.

You dropped your bag with a sigh that turned into a whimper.

Your skin still buzzed from the noise of the city, the push and pull of the crowd, the way strangers’ eyes lingered a little too long. Your thoughts were tangled—tight, hot, exhausting. It felt like everything was too much and yet nothing at all.

Heeseung stepped in quietly, closing the door like it might hurt you if it slammed. “Hey, bunny,” he cooed softly, already walking toward you. “You did so good, mm? I know that was a lot, my sweet girl.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t mean to be sharp, but your voice cracked. “I’m fine, Hee. Just—just leave it.”

He blinked, lips parting, but he didn’t scold you. Instead, he walked closer, long fingers brushing your arm. “That didn’t sound like my polite girl,” he murmured, voice syrupy and patient. “What happend sweetheart?”

You pressed your lips together, nodding stiffly, feeling so small. The words were stuck in your throat. You didn’t mean to be moody, not with him.

His arms wrapped around you gently from behind, warm and strong, pressing your back to his chest as he buried his nose in your hair.

“There we go… I’ve got you now,” he whispered, swaying slightly. “Shhh… my poor baby. You held it in all day, huh?”

You bit your lip as your eyes started to sting. “I-I didn’t wanna ruin anything,” you mumbled, barely audible.

“Oh, honey,” he hushed you, pulling you closer. “You could never ruin anything. I’d carry you outta the crowd if I could. You don’t gotta act all okay for me, not ever.”

He slowly turned you in his arms, hands cupping your cheeks. “Let me take care of you now. No more noise, no more people. Just me and you, ‘kay?”

You nodded, voice still trapped, but your eyes spilled anyway—quiet tears from too much stimulation and not enough safety until now.

Heeseung wiped them with the pad of his thumb, babying you in the softest voice. “There’s my precious little bunny. So sensitive and sweet. So brave. C’mere.”

He scooped you up without waiting, cradling you in his arms like you weighed nothing, like you were his whole world.

He took you to the bedroom, tucking you into the covers and crawling in beside you, drawing slow, warm circles on your back.

“You did so well for me today,” he murmured, his lips against your temple. “But you don’t gotta be strong all the time. You just gotta be my baby.”

And with that, the tension drained. Your body finally relaxed into his chest, tiny sniffles quieting in the cocoon of his arms.

Heeseung kissed your forehead, smiling into your skin. “That’s it, bunny. Let me take care of you tonight.”

taglist: @teddybeartaetae @heebear @tinycatharsis @kristynaah @heeseungsbm -> join

[mejaemin]

prompt 14 omg ☹️☹️ it’s soooo dk … to me….. i love everything about this pairing i love your writing you’re gonna do it soo much justice 💗

dokyeom + their safe word for wanting to leave a place because it’s too overwhelming is kissing the other’s hand

warnings: alcohol, being overstimulated, svt cameos, fluff !!! an: YAYAYA tysm my val for requesting !!! tysm for having faith in me 🫡🫡 i hope this fulfills your vision 1 to 13 mlist !!!

all this human interaction is starting to get uncomfy… you and seokmin were out shopping all day, and that was super fun because he bought you a bunch of stuff and you spent time with the love of your life, but now you’re feeling overwhelmed.

towards the end of your shopping trip you ran into seungkwan, who was walking with bags full of alcohol, and offered for you and the rest of the friend group to help him drink it all. of course, in such high spirits you both agreed!

now you regret it.

it’s about 2am now, and you’ve only had about two overly fruity mixtures that someone, you don’t even remember who, handed you. it’s been thirty minutes sitting on the kitchen counter with chan who’s been endlessly talking your ear off, and in his drunken stupor he hadn’t noticed the exhausted scrunch in your nose.

the music’s getting to be too loud, sounding like just noise in your ear, everyone’s laughter is too loud, and soonyoung’s laugh-cry-roar is even louder. your head hurts, and you can picture your comfy bed in your mind, and seokmin’s plush biceps for you to rest your head on.

“excuse me, channie,” you cut him off mid sentence to walk off, and he seems to be a little confused, maybe not at you but the entire world, so you feel a little less bad about walking away.

seokmin is sitting on the couch with the rest of the group, laughing away as they all talk about who knows what. you can’t hear any of it anyway. you’d feel some type of way about how he slouches, manspreading in his seat if you weren’t so overridden by other emotions. you go to squeeze in next to him, letting out a deep breath once your body touches his. he smiles at you, leaning down to kiss you at the top of your head. you smile softly in return, taking his hand in yours to fidget with his fingers.

you try to stick it out a little longer, listen to his conversation, but you just can’t. you want to go home, bad. raising seokmin’s hand to be face level, you lean forward and press a kiss to his knuckles. he freezes, albeit subtly to not draw attention, before turning to you with a raised eyebrow. you nod once, softly, and he’s already on a mission to get you home.

pulling his phone out of his pocket, you watch him go to the home camera app. you see doa, your little puppy, dozing away by the front door. suddenly, he sits up all shocked, turning to you with a face that almost makes you giggle with its faux urgency.

“oh no, baby, look! doa got into the garbage can again, we have to go stop her! come, let’s go!” just like that, he pulls you up from the couch, running to the front door to get your shoes on before leaving. he even took the glass of juice he was drinking with him, on accident.

the trip to the car is calm, in contrast to how everything just was. before he helps you into the seat he just holds you, letting you relax before leaving. “was that okay? are you better now?” you hum in response, choosing to avoid wasting energy on words, ready to sleep the whole way home, thanks to him.

1 to 13 🏷️ @markkiatocafe @ateez-atiny380

[rhettrosunsets]

Nights Like This - Bob Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Bob Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff!

Summary: On day's where your clothes suddenly don't fit right, everything's a bit too loud, the light's are too bright, and it feels like too much, Bob's there steady and comforting ready to ground you and remind you that he'll always be there for you.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Reader is overstimulated and overwhelmed, reader feels like they're broken. Use of pet names for reader. Reader lays on Bob. No description of what reader looks like. No use of Y/N.

Notes: I wrote this off some of my own experiences, other's may vary, but this is what it is like with my OCD and ADHD on somedays and I just wanted to write some cute hurt/comfort.

Some days, the world is just too much for you to handle.

You woke up already exhausted just knowing that today was going to be one of those days. The hum of electricity sharp in your ears, the ringing seems persistent. The way that your clothes suddenly seem unbearable every seam on your jeans making you angry as they brush against your skin. The way your turtle neck makes you feel like your suffocating. Everything feels like it’s pressing in at once as you just try to make it through the day. 

The lights are too bright and are a blinding white, not a gentle warm tone that you'd prefer. The sound of people talking over one another while music plays loudly in the background is enough to make you want to curl into a ball right then and there. Everything feels so heavy like a weight has been placed on your chest and you can’t get it off. The air feels thick and humid, making your breaths harder to catch as you try to calm down, just wanting to make it through the day. But then your phone buzzes, and the group-chat you have with the team is going off every few seconds.

As soon as you get back to the tower, you run up to your’s and Bob’s shared bedroom, immediately pulling off your suffocating jeans and throwing on one of Bob’s soft cotton sweaters before curling up on the edge of the bed, your knees tucked to your chest as you lay on your side, while your heart pounds for no reason that you can explain besides everything's just too much.

Bob finds you just like that around fifteen minutes later. He opens the door, and pauses for a second when he sees you laying on your side, your knees curled to your chest, wearing his softest sweater, and then crosses the room trying to be as quiet as he can so as to not disturb the silence you so desperately needed. His movements are always gentle, especially when you’re having one of those days where everything’s just a bit too much. “Hey, sweetheart” he mumbles softly as he sits on the side of the bed, trying to let you come to him and not force you to talk if you don’t want to. “Too much today?”

You nod, staying curled on your side not trusting your voice enough to actually respond to your boyfriend. You hate feeling like this more than anything in the world. You hate feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed, like everything’s on level 10 at all times. The lights in the room make your head pound as your shoulders shake, and even Bob’s voice makes you curl a bit inwards due to your current state.

But Bob doesn’t try to fix it or ask questions like some might, he just does what he knows will help you. He gets up and walks over to the light switch, flicking off the overhead light that’d you'd been too exhausted to turn off yourself, leaving only the soft amber glow of your salt lamp. He walks back over to where you’re curled on the bed, and then he kneels in front of you, his large hands resting on your side like a question mark, offering his touch if you want it but not forcing it. “Can I?” he asks, extra soft, being mindful of how you curled inwards earlier when he spoke.

You nod again, your face brushing against the soft pillow. He rises and climbs back onto the bed, before gently pulling you into his arms, careful not to jostle you too much. The moment your cheek hits his chest, it feels like you can breathe for the first time since you woke up that morning. His heartbeat is steady and slow beneath your ear, a familiar melody you know all too well, grounding you instantly. 

“I’ve got you, baby” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your head. You melt into him, your body slowly starting to relax. Relief starts to come to you, breaking through the walls of panic your body had trapped. He rocks you softly while his fingers trace gentle lines on your back, grounding you without overwhelming you with sensations.

“M’gonna turn on the sound machine, okay Sweetheart?” he whispers after a long while. You nod softly still not feeling like speaking yet. He reaches over with one hand, turning on the tiny speaker on your nightstand, and It helps smooth out the sharp edges in your head.

“That helping any?” he asks, voice still a whisper.

“Better” you manage to get out, your voice a shell of what it normally is, but you’ve managed to say something, which is a big improvement. He smiles softly, peering down at you and nuzzles his nose against your temple. “There’s my brave girl.”

You want to cry at how gentle he is with you, the way he never pushes you when you're like this. The way he has never once made you feel like you were broken or a burden. He just made you feel safe and loved.

Bob shifts the two of you so you’re lying down, grabbing the weighted blanket off the edge of your bed and laying it over your bodies and keeping you close to his chest. He whispers little things against your temple like, “I love you, you’re always so brave baby.” and “You’re doing so good, couldn’t ask you to be doing any better f’me.” and “I’m so proud of you.” You feel his lips littering small kisses against your temple, his presence grounding you more with each passing minute.

“I hate when this happens,” you murmur, your voice heavy with exhaustion “I feel like m’broken, like somethings wrong with me.”

Bob pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheek

“You’re not broken, sweetheart” he says firmly but keeping his volume hushed. “You’re human. Getting overwhelmed happens, and needing to take a minute doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken.”

He stays with you like that for hours while you drift in and out of sleep, adjusting only to pull you closer when you shift, and every time you stir, he’s right there murmuring to you “I’m here, baby. M’not going anywhere sweetheart.”

Eventually, the panic fades, and you drift off to sleep, while Bob’s hand stays firm on your back reminding you that even on your bad days, he’ll never leave, and you'll never be alone.

[sualette]

hi!!! i just found ur page and I AM IN LOVE.

I don't know if ur taking reqs or not but I'd love to see u write something like a second chance thing with exhusband!jake with like angst and smut. THANKS

HI WHAT THANK YOU SM !! + my comeback

warnings : smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), second chance ??

you didn’t mean to end up at his door.

but the city felt too cold, your chest felt too tight, and the only number you could dial when your hands were shaking was his.

he looked surprised when he opened the door. hair messy. shirtless. gray sweatpants slung dangerously low.

“...you okay?”

your throat clenched. “no.”

he stepped aside without a word.

and you walked back into the place you used to call home.

same scent. same hallway.

same picture frame on the shelf — your wedding photo. still dusty. still facing out.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he said after a beat, voice low. careful.

you laughed—bitter. broken. “i know.”

he stared at you. like you were a ghost. like he’d been haunted by you every night since the divorce.

“i tried to move on.” you whispered it like a secret.

his jaw tensed. “did you?”

you shook your head.

silence. thick. heavy. painful.

and then he crossed the room and kissed you like he hated you for showing up, hated you for leaving, hated himself for not stopping you.

your back hit the wall. his hands slid into your hair, gripping tight, tilting your head back so he could bite at your bottom lip, steal every gasp.

“you don’t get to show up like this and look at me like that,” he muttered against your mouth, breath hot, voice sharp.

“like what?”

“like you miss me.”

you whimpered when his hands dragged down your waist. “i do.”

he growled low in his throat—a sound of frustration. grief. want.

“take it off,” he ordered. fingers already yanking at your shirt. “everything.”

you didn’t argue. just stripped. and he watched you like it hurt.

"fuck," he breathed when you stood bare in front of him. “still so fucking pretty. still mine.”

“jake…” your voice cracked.

he kissed you again, hard, and this time he didn’t stop.

you ended up half-dressed in his sheets, legs spread for him, his mouth between your thighs like he’d been starving.

he sucked your clit with slow pressure, two fingers deep inside you, curling until you were panting his name like a prayer.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “god, i missed how you sound.”

you tugged at his hair. “please.”

he came up, mouth shiny, eyes dark. “you want me to fuck you?”

you nodded. desperate. “please, jake.”

he slid in without teasing—one slow, thick thrust that made your back arch and your mouth drop open.

“still fit me so good,” he groaned into your neck. “like your body never forgot.”

you clung to him—nails down his back, thighs locked around his waist, heart shattered all over again.

he thrust into you like he had something to prove. rough. deep. his hand wrapped around your throat just enough to hold your gaze.

“tell me you didn’t stop thinking about me,” he whispered.

“i didn’t,” you choked out.

“tell me you still love me.”

you cried. nodded. whimpered, “i love you, jake.”

his hips stuttered. his hand slid down to your stomach, pressing where he was deepest inside you.

“feel that?” he panted. “i’m right here. i always was.”

you pulled him in for a kiss—sloppy, teary, needy —as he fucked you harder. your orgasm hit like a wave, legs trembling, fingers gripping the sheets.

he didn’t stop. kept thrusting through it. chasing his own high with a raw, ruined look on his face.

“can i?” he breathed. “inside?”

you nodded. too overwhelmed to speak.

and he came with a broken moan—buried deep, holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear again.

when it was over, he didn’t move. just stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you sweaty and quiet and exhausted.

“you never stopped being mine,” he whispered.

and you didn’t dare argue.

© sualette

[hoe-in-deepspace]

Im literally obsessed with your blog, and the fact that were practically the same age..their both a warm.balm to my soul 😫! Can i request something from one zayne girlie to another? We all knkw that caleb is considered a panty sniffer but...what if zayne is a bra feeler, and you catch him in the act? (We know he got some crazy hidden kinks as well 🤭). If you decide to do this, then my aether embedded heart will beat once more.

Omg thank you so much!!!! That makes me very happy 🥰 Similar age AND both Zayne girlies??? The universe must want us to be friends 🙂‍↕️ I'm drooling over the Zayne pic bc goddamn he looks breathtaking 😍

You are absolutely right about Zaynie being kinky (it's always the quiet ones) and I could definitely see him having a thing for bras

I haven't really written much fanfiction so there is no guarantee that it'll be good but I did my best for you!

P.S. I made the bra a red lace one to match the red lace panties in that panty sniffer Caleb edit 🤭

Dividers: enchanthings

Caught Red-Handed

Zayne x Reader

CW: Mentions of reader having breasts/wearing a bra but otherwise written as gn as possible (tagging as x fem reader just in case), pre-established relationship, two yearning idiots, Zayne realizing he is a horny freak for reader's bra (pops a boner that's never mentioned again). I think that's everything. Let me know if I forgot anything that should be here please.

Everybody knows that Zayne shows his love and care through acts of service. Which is why he's currently in your laundry room moving your freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer and into the laundry basket that's resting gently between his arm and hip.

You had casually mentioned to him earlier in the day that you were exhausted from the countless missions the association had sent you on for the past week but couldn't spend your day off resting as there were many things you needed to take care of at your place. You had been putting the tasks off until you had more time and now that you finally had the time your body decided it only wants to rest. To say you regret leaving everything to be done on the same day is an understatement.

When you confided in Zayne about your predicament you hadn't thought he would show up on your doorstep 20 minutes later with your favorite drink in hand along with a small paper bag containing a few sweet treats for you two to share.

Once you both finished eating, Zayne adamantly insisted on helping you with your chores under the guise of not wanting the stress of it all to overwhelm your already exhausted body and heart. You knew he was helping simply because he cares about you but you couldn't resist the urge to ask if he's this caring with his other patients. His response? "Only the ones who cause as much trouble as you." You gasp. "There are others?" you joke with a faux look of shock displayed on your face. The corners of Zayne's lips quirk up ever so slightly before he breathes out a small "No".

Seeing as how Zayne wasn't going to take no for an answer you decided to leave him in charge of washing the laundry since it was the easiest task on your list. You know he works hard day in and day out at the hospital so the idea of letting him take on your biggest tasks on top of all that made a twinge of guilt bubble up in your chest.

Zayne carried the now full basket of clean clothes to your room and sat it down on the edge of your bed before proceeding to fold its contents.

When you had suggested for Zayne to wash your laundry he had politely asked if you wished to remove any intimates you didn't want him to see from the pile. He reassured you that he had no issue with handling such garments and was only asking out of respect for your privacy. You quietly thanked him before sorting through your laundry pile until you had collected all of your intimates to be washed by you later.

Zayne sorted your clean clothing as he folded them making separate piles for your t-shirts, jeans, socks, hunter uniform, etc. Once everything in the basket was folded and separated he began putting them away in the places you instructed him to. The closet was first and once everything that belonged in there was put away he moved on to the dresser. You had specified that your t-shirts go in the top drawer on the left but when he opened said drawer he came face to face with your collection of bras and underwear instead.

Realizing he must have made a mistake when remembering your instructions he goes to close the dresser drawer until a certain red lacy bra catches his eye. He stops in his tracks and stares at the garment with increasing intensity. He gets an overwhelming urge to pick up the bra and feel the delicate lace between his fingers but pushes the feeling down. Or at least he tries to.

Before he knows it he's got the red lacy bra in his hands. He drags his thumb slowly across the underside of the right cup. His fingers follow along down the length of the band before gently making their way to the straps. It's clear to Zayne that this bra serves as fashion over function due to the rather fragile natural of the straps. He imagines how they'd struggle to hold up your perfect breasts (no matter what size they are). The way they'd practically beg to be slipped off your shoulders so they can get even a few moments of respite from their losing struggle with your breasts. After Zayne's careful assessment of the garment he concludes it's rarely worn (if at all) based on the near perfect condition it's in. This discovery brings a sense of relief to his yearning heart. Next he uses his long fingers to stretch the cup out as if it were being worn by you. His breath hitches as he imagines your breast filling the cup. The way the lace would stretch across the tissue as if it were a second skin, giving the illusion that the lace was just another part of your gorgeous body. How despite your breasts being covered there is still very little left to the imagination. The growing tightness of his pants pulls him from his lewd thoughts.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knows it's wrong but he can't seem to get himself to stop no matter how hard he tries. He's never been so drawn to a piece of clothing before so he had no way to mentally defend himself against such an occurrence.

After fighting with himself internally, he cautiously continues running his fingers across the bra tracing the pattern of the lace on each cup. His breathing becoming more rapid and audible as a slight blush creeps across his face and ears. Eventually losing the battle with his intense urges, Zayne slowly drags the delicate fabric across his cheek to then ghost over his lips. A languid sigh escapes him as his eyelids flutter shut. The lace barely touched his lips but it's enough to make him weak in the knees.

While Zayne was busy fighting his demons in your bedroom you were in the kitchen putting away the last of the dishes you just finished cleaning. Suddenly you remembered (a bit too late) that you had rearranged your clothes in your dresser last week to make more room and things were now in a different spot than you had told Zayne they'd be. You mentally scold yourself for making such a mistake. You had given him the rundown on where everything goes while you were busy washing the mountain of dishes that accumulated over the last few days. That coupled with how exhausted you were led to you telling Zayne the spots those clothes used to go.

As you make your way to your bedroom to apologize and correct your mistake you can't help but wonder why Zayne hadn't come out to address it as it had been almost half an hour since he had taken your clothes out of the dryer. Surely he wasn't still folding them? Maybe he just opened the rest of your drawers to figure it out himself? But he had been so respectful of your privacy earlier so there is no way he would have gone through your other drawers without your permission, right? Questions ran through your head as you finally made your way into your bedroom.

"Sorry Zayne I-" you start but quickly cut yourself off as your gaze lands on what's happening in front of you. There stands Zayne slightly hunched over your open dresser drawer with your red lace bra in his hands and a deep blush on his face.

Zayne immediately whips his head in your direction and looks at you with widened eyes before quickly looking back down at your bra in his hands. He's been caught red-handed. He stays quiet for a moment while he tries to come up with any possible excuse that could explain why you found him in such a state. All the while his blush deepens.

You were so caught off guard by the situation that all you can manage to say is "is that my bra?" to which he just slowly nods while still avoiding your gaze. Before you can say anything else Zayne speaks up. "I apologize for my behavior. I don't know what came over me." You notice he still has your bra in his hands and has started nervously running his fingers along it. It's such a small movement that you doubt he even knows he's doing it.

The pieces of the puzzle connect in your mind as you realize Zayne, your usually composed doctor friend you're in love with, was just helplessly touching (and who knows what else) your lace bra he accidentally stumbled upon while you were in the other room. Your face heats up at the implication of the situation. Zayne wouldn't have acted the way he did if he didn't have feelings for you right? Maybe you're reading too much into this? Your mind is plagued with questions that you desperately need an answer to.

Mustering up all the courage you have you slowly move closer and gently place your hand over Zayne's to stop his fidgeting fingers. You both look up at each other and lock eyes. The two of you stand there in silence for a brief moment before Zayne instinctively looks away and clears his throat. He knows he should release your bra from his hands but that would mean removing his hand from your gentle grip. It would mean losing the feeling of your warm palm and slightly pruning fingertips against his cool skin. Zayne may often seem calm and collected on the outside but inside he deeply craves touch and affection. But not just anyone's will do, no, he craves your touch and affection. Which is why he's going to stand here as long as you'll let him with your hand on top of his.

Zayne makes no effort to move from the current position so you decide to take it upon yourself to gently remove your bra from his hands. He shows no resistance to your movement but carefully watches you from the corner of his eye. It's as if he's studying your expression for any signs of anger or disgust. He sees neither on your face but that does little to calm his racing heart.

Once the bra is free from Zayne's grip you drop it into the still open drawer and quickly close it. A deafening silence rings in the air as neither of you know where to go from here. Unable to cope with the lingering silence any longer you spit out the first thing that comes to mind. "I've never worn it. I thought I would save it for a special occasion". Zayne hums softly in response. "What occasion would warrant such attire?" he questions with a teasing lilt in his voice. You exhale a small laugh as some of the earlier tension dissipates. "I'd probably wear it on a date if I really liked the person." you half joke.

Zayne finally turns to face you before uttering lowly, "and if I was your date?" He prays you understand the underlying meaning behind his words. That you understand he's not just interested in seeing you in that risque garment. That he wants to see you in every facet both physically and emotionally. He wants to see you when you're happily gushing about a show you like, when you're sad because your favorite restaurant stopped serving your go to meal, when you're laughing over something he said, when you're too tired to get up for work in the morning because you stayed up late playing a video game. He wants to see you.

He looks at you with a mix of hope and fear in his eyes. Hope that you'll return his feelings and fear that your friendship is over if not. His heart is beating a mile a minute as he awaits your response.

Luckily for Zayne, you understood exactly what he meant. You knew he was never the type to make crude comments so it was clear to you that he was saying a lot more than the words that came out of his mouth. After being friends with Zayne for so long you had learned to pick up on the subtle ways he would express his intentions without actually voicing them. Even after all those years apart this still rang true.

A small smile appeared on your face and Zayne's heart clenched in his chest. Finally, after what felt like hours, you respond.

"I'm free this Saturday if you'd like to find out."

A/N: Ahhh I hope you liked it! I didn't mean for it to be this long but my inspiration was just raring to go apparently. I thought about making it smutty but didn't want it to be too long so maybe I can do a part 2 if people are interested. Never wrote smut before but I read a lot of it so maybe that'll be enough to help. Anywho, thank you for reading!

[jut-and-dae-enthusiast]

Calling Them “Oppa” Just to See Their Reaction

(8/8) Jeongin

Warnings: slight angst, Jeongin feels insecure, argument

Note: Thanks for all the love on this series! Excited for the next one :) (also this is my first time writing innie so pls be nice thanks)

Being the maknae had its perks. Jeongin would be the first to admit it. His hyungs doted on him often and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention. But when it came to you, it irked him. He hated when you babied him, even if it was just in a loving way. He would sigh and roll his eyes any time your voice would get high and squeaky.

On those weekends where Jeongin was basically living in the recording studio, you would try to make time to go out with your friends. This particular weekend, your friend group decided to go to your favorite bar. Everything had started out fine- the music was good, the drinks even better. You all were laughing and dancing and having a generally good time until a group of extremely drunk gentlemen wandered in your direction. They were creepy from the start, a little too handsy for any of your liking. You and your friends were trying to leave, but these guys somehow would cut you off and every attempt. Overwhelmed, you pulled out your phone and called the first number in your recent calls.

"Hello?" The Aussie accent rasped over the line, his voice sounding exhausted.

"Hey, Chris. I'm sorry to bother you, but there are some guys who won't let us leave the bar. Can you come help?" Your voice wobbles a bit at the end.

"Of course. I'll be there soon." He agreed and hung up.

Within 20 minutes, you see Chris enter the bar with Changbin and Jeongin following close behind. They scan the room, eyes landing on you as they make their way over. Chris and Changbin are clearly putting on their "tough guy" act, chests puffing out ever so slightly. But Jeongin seems like he's not acting. Like he's truly angry, his jaw ticking as he makes his way over to you. His arm goes around your waist immediately, pulling you close to his side as the two of you follow everyone else out. His eyes shoot daggers at the drunk guys who are now slumped against a table. They yell out something, but you can't hear them over the sound of the music. When you get to the sidewalk, you lean your head into your boyfriend and sigh.

"Thanks for coming, Baby." You smile up at him, but when he looks down at you, his eyes are narrow.

"We'll uh, make sure everyone else gets home safe, yeah? Seems like you two need to talk." Chris looks between the two of you and nods. You agree, sighing softly as you watch them all walk away. The walk to Jeongin's car was quiet, his irritation radiating off of him. Once inside the car, you reached for his hand.

"Are you upset, love...?" You ask softly, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, you noticed? Yeah- I'm more than upset; I'm pissed." His grip tightens on your hand ever so slightly. "Why didn't you call me?" He inhales deeply through his nose, his eyes trained on something far away.

"I was just panicking and-"

"And you called the manliest person you could think of?"

"Baby, that's not-"

"Even though I'm your boyfriend, I wasn't the first person you thought of when you needed help. You always do this, Y/N. You treat me like I'm some little baby- do you know how awful that feels?" He sighs deeply and shakes his head, looking down. "I want you to see me as a man. I want you to know you can rely on me in situations like this. God I just... You make me feel so insecure. Like, I'm not enough just because you're a little older." Even though he's upset, his hand never leaves yours. His emotions are raw, straight from the heart. You give his hand an assuring squeeze and nod.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I had no idea you were feeling like this. I'll be more mindful going forward, okay?" You speak softly, wanting to honor his vulnerability. He turns his head ever so slightly to look at you and nods, the smallest smile starting to grow on his face.

About a week later, the two of you were out to dinner. Coordinated outfits, fancy meal, soft candle light. It was a dream, honestly. You were fixing your hair, looking at it scrutinizingly in your pocket mirror as you waited for your food. Jeongin quietly watched you from across the table, smiling softly to himself.

"Oppa, does my hair look okay?" You asked, glancing over at him. He blinked once. Then again. After the third blink, pink began to bloom on his cheeks.

"What?" Was all he could muster. You chuckle; his reaction is amusing enough for you to say it again.

"I asked if my hair looked okay. Oppa, are you even listening?" You smirk, giving his hand a squeeze. He breathes out a laugh and nods heartily.

"Your hair looks perfect, baby. Always does." Something about the way he speaks shows how pleased he is. His chest puffs out a little, his entire posture changing ever so slightly. A level of confidence that you've only seen from him on stage suddenly emanates from him. If something as simple as calling him "oppa" makes him feel this way, you would gladly call him such every single day.

Thanks so much for reading! Be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed :)

[chimckenns]

Showing vulnerability was something…foreign to Darlin’. They were so used to being on edge, reacting to other people’s actions, constantly being aware of what they might do or perceive them as.

Of course they never showed Quinn any of their real self. He was there for pleasure - a distraction from the loneliness they felt after running away from the pack.

And that clearly turned out well.

With Sam it felt different.

It wasn’t that they felt like they couldn’t show him any vulnerability in fear that he’d hurt them in some way.

Darlin’ was more scared that once they showed that side of themself he’d leave them alone.

Quinn always said they were a burden.

The last thing they wanted was to hear those words coming out of Sam’s mouth.

So they built up a mask.

They finally felt the touch of what heaven could feel like when the southern vampire made his way into their life. The last thing they wanted was for him to leave them.

They finally got a bit of their family back.

Darlin’ didn’t want to be alone again.

They spent five hours watching the love of their life be tortured by the poison of their past spilling out of Quinn’s mouth.

Five hours.

They couldn’t bring themself to look at Sam, afraid to see the look on his face as he heard everything they did with Quinn. Darlin’ kept their eyes to the floor, the only thing holding them together was David’s firm grip in their hand.

When they finally got the information about the girl out of Quinn, Sam came in the room, clearly exhausted, and wasted no time to pull Darlin’ into a hug.

Darlin’ didn’t reciprocate.

They felt like they didn’t have the right to anymore.

He knows how tainted they are now. The shit they did under Quinn’s control was out in the open. The past they tried desperately to hide was unearthed.

They kept their gaze on the floor, bracing for the moment Sam would tell them that he couldn’t do this anymore. That he wanted to leave. That they were more than he could handle.

That they were a burden.

The moments after felt like a blur, and when they blinked they found themselves in the living room of their home, sitting on the couch, with Sam next to them holding their hand.

Darlin’ couldn’t bring themself to say much. They tried listening to Sam’s words of comfort, but their mind kept echoing the toxicity Quinn had said moments before. It overwhelmed them, replaying over and over again.

That was all they were, wasn’t it.

A thrall. A blood bag. Something to be used.

How naive of them to think they could ever be more.

They spiralled, feeling themself slip away and start to accept the truth. Better to mentally prepare now for the inevitable. They’ll end up alone again. They were a fool to think they changed at all.

Darlin’ faded in and out, only registering some of the words Sam had said. They knew they should listen - it’s probably the last time he’d ever bother to talk to them. But the fear of hearing those words they dreaded kept them from focusing.

There was so much noise.

Sam’s hand on their cheek, gentle like he always was, stopped them in their tracks.

“Darlin’… you are nobody’s thrall. Least of all his.”

They finally looked up.

And he could see in their eyes that they were about the fall off the edge.

A singular tear spilled onto their cheek - a final call for help.

In one swift movement he gathered them in his arms, enveloping his whole body around them.

The comfort of his warmth helped them let go, and they released the dam of emotions they had built up over the months.

He held them through all of it, each sob racketing through their body like a shot to his heart. He held them like they did for him back when he was in a dark place, never letting go or loosening his grip.

The noise and mess of thoughts were immediately silenced the moment they fell into his arms. They didn’t know if it was the magic in him, but for the first time in what felt like a long time their head wasn’t splitting open, and they found themself relaxing in his embrace.

They almost forgot what peace felt like.

“I’m not going anywhere, Darlin’.”

[peachiejeongin]

Hello honey! Thank you for blessing us with your wonderful writing! You are the best!

Been in a bit crappy this week and a comforting channie fic where he gives all the cuddles and spoils the reader is definitely needed. So could I request a bang chan fic where the reader is feeling low but doesn't say anything but chan notices and without any confronting or questioning just takes the day to wrap his girlfriend up and just hold her tight and waits on her all day with cuddles, tea and chocolate to make her feel as loved as comforted as possible and the next few days when she finally perks up he SPOILS her even more so (because let's be honestly chan would ruin you all the time with surprises and gifts etc) like you turn up to work and have a massive delivery of your favourite flowers and come home to millions of candles and a bath running and a brand new pair of expensive gift wrapped silk pjs on the bed etc and of course more cuddles from channie ❤️

Wrap You in My Arms (and Everything Else Too) | Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Established Relationship Warnings: Mentioned of stress Notice: Hello, my love! Thank you so much for your request!! I am so sorry you had a rough week :( I hope this story can cheer you up! I am such a sucker for Chan cuddle/comfort fics, so please enjoy! word count: 1.2K

Life was too much.

Anything that could go wrong this week, went wrong.

From little mistakes at work that you would never make under normal circumstances, to family drama, and even quarrels between friends that you found yourself in the middle of, life would not stop when you so desperately needed to.

The worst part was you had not said anything about it.

You were too afraid to do so.

Afraid that bringing it up to anyone would be a hindrance to them, or that it would overwhelm you as every event of the week would implant itself back onto your brain.

Thus, you stayed silent. Unusually silent.

And Chan noticed.

He noticed when the smile you gave him in the morning was half-assed. He noticed when you skipped your morning coffee, choosing to instead indulge in the tiredness you were swiftly becoming accustomed to. Most importantly, he noticed how you chose to spend most of your off-days curled up in your bed or on the couch, lost in some video on your phone or sleeping the day away.

This was not you.

And he knew that.

He always knew that.

Thus, he made it his mission to make you feel better.

The first night of his plan, he found you on the couch, once again, curled up into a ball as you focused too intently on the television. He took matters into his own hands, curling up beside you and wrapping you tightly in his arms.

“Channie?” you mumbled, voice worn from exhaustion.

“Shh,” he hushed gently, holding you close to his chest. “Just let me take care of you, baby.”

You nodded into his shoulder, circling your arms around his waist tightly, and melting away all of your worries into the snuggle.

There were no questions.

No protest.

Just you and Channie, wrapped up in each other.

The next few days continued like this.

You started and ended your days with a nice, long cuddle from Bang Chan. In the mornings he had to leave early for practice and could not snuggle you, he would leave you a mug filled with your favorite kind of tea. Similarly, at the end of the night when you came home from work and he was not able to be there, your favorite chocolates would be on your nightstand, along with dinner already cooked or ordered on the kitchen table. In all instances, a handwritten note would lay right next to the affectionate gift with a loving message.

“I love you so much, baby!”

“You’re so strong! Take on today!”

“You’ve got this, love!”

For the first time in days, you felt a smile on your lips whenever you read his notes, whenever you ate dinner, or whenever you would be tightly content in his arms.

On the days and nights Chan was present, you were even more spoiled, if that was possible.

He would practically wait on you hand on foot, catering to your every need and want. You had errands to run? He would run them for you, and he would pick you up a gift on the way home. You wanted takeout? He was getting you takeout. You wanted to sleep in all day? He was right beside you, basically as your human pillow.

Throughout the day, lighthearted giggles would be shared, half-serious pick-up lines would be cracked to make you smile, and kisses would be brushed against your forehead when Chan thought you had dozed off.

When you would crawl into bed at night, wrapped comfortably in his hoodie and still lightly sipping on your tea, Chan would pull you right back into his arms, rubbing your back gently as he soothed your stress of the day.

“I love you so much,” he would whisper into your ear. “Please never forget that.”

Then the next few days came, and something shifted.

You were smiling again, heartedly laughing at Chan’s cheesy jokes, and drinking your morning coffee like it was a lifesafer.

You were back, and though he never directly mentioned it, you could see in Chan’s eyes that he was relieved, proud to have his baby back.

And in typical Chan fashion, he did not just notice your returning glow.

He celebrated it.

For instance, that Thursday morning as you showed up to work, a large, blooming bouquet of flowers was placed right beside your desk, almost making you trip over them. A note came with it:

“I’m so proud of you baby. Your smile is blooming again <3 - Chris”

Your face was still flushed when you walked through the door that night, smiling ear to ear as you brought in the lovely bouquets of flowers and set them all over the tables around the house.

Well, tried to, at least.

Every table you attempted to set the flowers on had a candle upon it, making the apartment smell of cinnamon and spice. The candles led to the bathroom, some in the corners of the hallway; you settled for setting the flowers in an empty spot on the floor, figuring to worry about it later.

You followed the path of candles, directly to the bathroom. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw Chan standing in the doorway.

“Hey, beautiful,” Chan greeted softly.

“What have you done?” you asked in a tone that was a mix of cheeky and adoration.

“My way of making your hard week a little better,” he explained, looping his arms around your waist.

“Chan, you have already made this week so much better,” you lightly told him. “What more could you possibly do?”

“Hm, not much I guess,” he faux shrugged. “Just, y’know, this.”

He stepped out of the way and revealed the sight of the bathroom to you: a warm bath was running, the scent of lavender soap filling the air, rose petals adorning the water, with a snack tray set just to the edge of the bath with a glass of chilled water and a book you had mentioned wanting to read weeks ago.

You turned to Chan, eyes glassy in awe.

“Channie,” you whispered.

He just kissed your forehead.

“Enjoy, baby,” he whispered. “And by the way…” He took your hand, leading you to your shared bedroom just nearby and flicking on the slight.

“You’ve got these to change into when you’re done,” he said, handing you a shopping bag. You took it, giving Chan a brief, ‘what on earth did you buy me’ look. As you took out the tissue paper in the bag, you nearly gasped.

A pair of beautiful, silk pajamas lay in the bag, neatly folded in your favorite color.

“You—” You could not speak, mouth agape. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Well, if spoiling my baby during a hard week is unbelievable then so be it,” he responded with a giggle. 

You sat the bag down on the bed, coming closer to Chan and hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you softly said. “You have turned an awful week into something amazing.”

“Don’t thank me,” Chan replied, tightly hugging you back. “It’s my job to make you feel better.”

He pulled away just enough to kiss your lips, soft, gentle, and passionate.

“Now,” he continued. “Get to your bath before the tub overflows.”

You laughed, immediately doing as you were told.

After your long, relaxing soak with a good book and good snacks, as you lay in Chan’s arms, wrapped in the silk pajamas, eyes fluttering shut, your mind could finally rest, knowing Chan was your safety net ready to catch you when you fell in life.

And you were so, so lucky to have your safety net.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @ᴀquazero

🏷️@amararosesblog @velvetmoonlght @amarecerasus (dm/inbox to be added!)

[ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ? ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ, ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ!]

[littlepinkbirdie]

The Moment He Arrives

The steady rhythm of your contractions had shifted — growing stronger, closer, undeniable. The room was quieter now, all eyes on you and Lewis, who held your hand with a grip so firm it felt like the only solid thing in the universe.

The nurse checked in with a gentle smile. “You’re about ready to start pushing. Have you thought about pain management?”

You glanced at Lewis. His eyes were soft but steady, silently asking you what you wanted.

“I want to try unmedicated,” you said, voice trembling but sure. “I want to feel every part of this.”

Lewis nodded, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I’m with you. Every breath, every second.”

The room transformed into your sanctuary.

The lights dimmed, soft music played, and your birth team—Lewis, your mom, your sister, and the nurse—formed a circle of calm around you.

Lewis was your anchor. His hands cradled your hips, his voice low and steady as he coached you through the overwhelming waves.

“Breathe with me. You’re doing this. You’re amazing.”

You pushed through the fire and flood of every contraction, sweat beading on your forehead, muscles trembling with the incredible work of bringing your son into the world.

Time became a strange, sacred thing.

With every push, your body and your baby worked together in perfect harmony.

And then — suddenly — the world exploded into sound.

A sharp, urgent cry filled the room.

“He’s here,” the nurse announced, tears shining in her eyes.

Lewis caught your son gently, lifting him to your chest.

Your breath hitched as you saw his tiny, wrinkled face, his fists clenched and his eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey, little man,” Lewis whispered, voice breaking. “You’re perfect.”

You cradled him skin-to-skin, feeling the miracle of warmth and life pressed against your heart.

Time stopped for a moment as the room held its breath with you.

Your baby’s cries softened to quiet whimpers.

Lewis kissed your temple, eyes glistening.

“We did it,” he breathed. “You did it.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him close.

“Welcome to the world, our son,” you whispered, tears streaming.

Later, when the nurses cleaned up and your family peeked in, the room was filled with awe and love.

Your mom smiled through tears, “He looks just like his daddy.”

Lewis laughed softly, eyes locked on your baby. “He’s got your eyes.”

You sighed, exhausted but overflowing with a new kind of joy.

“He’s ours,” you said. “And he’s everything.”

[barbielore]

At a certain point, you can only conclude that there is at least one (and possibly more) Barbies themed around just about everything under the sun. There will come a time of Peak Barbie, where every single possible release has been exhausted and there are no more Barbie concepts. At that point, Mattel will either have to retire the brand or start again from the beginning.

Anyway.

Fruit Style was a playline release in 2001, featuring a variety of Barbies in fruit-themed attire. At this time, "fruit themed" apparently meant they were all wearing colour-coded minidresses with a giant fruit applique on the skirt.

The cherry I find quite cute, but the grape one looks so disproportionate to me that it's almost unsettling.

I don't know why they went with that design. Actually, now I look, it's not really any bigger than the cherry, but the cherry looks smaller to me because the stem takes up a large part of the picture. The grapes don't have an equivalent, so they look kind of overwhelming.

Fruit Fantasy, on the other hand, from 1998, features a full-length ballgown-style dress with a fruit pattern.

Missed opportunity, in my opinion, to have a blonde strawberry-themed release and NOT use a hair colour which could reasonably be described as "strawberry blonde". Mattel, I have ideas.

The Fruit Fantasy Barbie also stands out because Mattel released a special edition version of these dolls in conjunction with Avon (yes, the direct sales company that probably sold moisturiser to your grandmother).

Strawberry was represented in both with strawberry Fruit Fantasy and Strawberry Sorbet, but the other regular Fruit Fantasy doll was Peach, while the second Avon release was Lemon-Lime Sorbet.

[cubur]

Hi ,

I thought I would just check in and see how you are.

I hope life is getting easier for you and that you are getting time to do the things you love.

The world is going crazy at the moment, please take time to look after yourself.

😘😻❤️

Hi there, thank you for checking in！！

Things have been incredibly heavy lately. I've been going through a lot personally, and I had to step away from everything, especially from this account. Y'know, life is financially overwhelming. I mean i've been trying to keep my head above water, juggling responsibilities and debts. There are days I can't even look at my art without guilt or exhaustion swallowing me whole.

I disappeared not because I stopped caring, but because everything in me was too tired to speak …too tired to show up. I didn't know how to explain that my silence was never indifference, it was survival.

Yeah, I'm slowly starting to draw again …and not just for others, but for myself. It's a slow process, but still i'm grateful for the gentle souls like you who still send light my way 🙏

Hope you're safe over there！

[brunhilde-oldest-valkyrie-ror]

⚡ SFW and NSFW Headcanons – Thor x Wife! Reader⚡️ Disclaimer: GIF is not mine credits go to its creator

SFW:

• Y/N is one of the few people who can truly reach Thor emotionally. She’s the calm in the eye of the storm—her presence alone is enough to ease the thunder in his soul.

• When Thor is overwhelmed or introspective, Y/N never pushes. She simply stays close, letting him know she’s there—and that’s all he needs.

• Their home life is surprisingly simple. Thor enjoys slow mornings with Y/N—silent breakfasts, occasional cuddles in fur blankets, and watching her move around the home with soft eyes.

• She often brushes his long red hair for him. He never asks for it, but sits down quietly and waits for her to do it—it’s their quiet love language.

• Thor doesn’t express jealousy outwardly, but gods help anyone who threatens or disrespects Y/N. The air itself will grow heavy, and the look in his eyes alone is enough to make even the boldest warrior back down.

• He’s not verbally affectionate, but he always keeps a hand on Y/N when they’re together. Whether it’s a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, or holding her close—he grounds himself through touch.

• In public, he’s the fearsome God of Thunder—silent, deadly, untouchable. In private, he’ll rest his head in Y/N’s lap, let her trace the scars on his skin, and hold her like she’s more sacred than the heavens themselves.

⚡ NSFW: if you don’t like it you can skip this part MDNI!⚡️

• Thor doesn’t say much—but the way he looks at Y/N during intimacy says everything. His intense gaze while holding her hips or kissing her deeply can leave her trembling.

• He listens to her body, her breath, every sound she makes—and uses it to guide every movement.

• He tries to be gentle, but sometimes Y/N teases him into losing control just a little—and when that happens you’re In for a treat. He’ll pin her down with just one arm, hold her wrists with ease, or lift her like she weighs nothing.

• He’s extremely aware of his strength and always makes sure Y/N is okay—even when he’s being rougher. The aftercare is divine.

• To Thor, Y/N is his goddess. He kisses every inch of her slowly, reverently, and devours her like she’s a blessing from Valhalla.

• If she ever feels self-conscious, he’s quick to shut it down with his hands, his mouth, and the other various ways he can think of making her feel like the most wanted being in existence.

• Thor doesn’t talk much, but the rare things he does say—especially in a deep, low voice—wreck her:

• “Mine.”

• “ Look at me baby.”

• “I’ll never let you go.”

• After he’s done completely ruining her (in the best way he knows how to🤭), he’ll hold her for hours. Big spoon, strong arms, heartbeat like distant thunder in her ear.

• Sometimes he’ll fall asleep with his face buried in her hair or her chest, fully relaxed—because in Y/N’s arms, even a god can’t let go.

Extra: NSFW because why not😌

Thor x Wife!Reader | NSFW | Post-Battle Intimacy | Emotional + Physical Release. Also he’s red your pink I didn’t really know what other color to choose.😓

⸻

The crowd’s roar had long faded. The arena had emptied. The blood had dried.

Thor stood in the private chamber reserved for the gods, his massive form still scarred, chest rising and falling with the slow ache of divine exhaustion. Mjölnir rested against the wall, still humming faintly like a growling beast that hadn’t quite settled. His knuckles were bruised. His back was torn. But his eyes—his fierce, stormy eyes—softened the second she stepped in.

“My love.”

She rushed to him without hesitation, her hands reaching up to touch his face, brushing damp red hair back behind his ears.

“You’re hurt,” she whispered, fingers trembling slightly over a jagged bruise on his cheekbone.

He caught her wrist gently, pressing it to his mouth in a reverent kiss. “I won,” he said quietly. “But I feel like I lost something.”

She understood. The fight against Lü Bu hadn’t just been physical. It had been personal. Brutal. Almost beautiful in its destruction.

“You didn’t lose anything,” she murmured, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re still mine. Still here.”

Thor let her push him down, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing tethering him to this realm. She climbed into his lap, straddling him, cupping his jaw. Her thumb brushed over the blood just starting to dry near his ear.

He leaned forward, foreheads touching, his breath warm and shaky. “Touch me, please my love,” he growled softly. “Make me feel alive again.”

She didn’t hesitate.

Her mouth met his in a deep, consuming kiss—slow at first, tender, until his large hands gripped her hips and ground her against the heavy tension building between them. The god who had just shattered a warrior of Lü Bu’s caliber now clung to his wife like she was the only softness left in the universe.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered against his lips. “You don’t have to.”

Something snapped inside him—something raw, buried under all that divine composure.

In one fluid motion, Thor flipped her beneath him, his mouth trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, worshiping her with a hunger that had nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with need. His movements were desperate but reverent. He didn’t want to take her—he needed to merge with her, to feel something other than the echo of violence.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he entered her with a guttural groan, the heat of him filling her completely. She gasped, arching into him, fingernails raking down his scarred back. Every thrust was deep, unrelenting, but full of purpose—like he was trying to erase the battle from his memory and replace it with her.

“Say it my love,” he growled against her throat. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Thor,” she moaned, head thrown back. “Only yours. And always yours.”

That pushed him over the edge. His pace grew rougher, each thrust slamming into her with godlike force—but always controlled, always focused on the way she gasped, the way her eyes glazed over, the way her body sang for him.

And when they both shattered together—him with a low, primal growl, her with a cry muffled into his shoulder—it wasn’t the end.

It was the healing.

⸻

Afterward, Thor didn’t move. He just held her. Buried his face in her hair. Let her fingers stroke through the crimson strands of his, steady and soothing.

“You bring me peace,” he said quietly, voice barely audible. “After the chaos… there’s only you my love.”

She smiled against his chest, heartbeat slowing to match his. “Then I’ll always be here—when the storm clears.”

[ambssssssssss]

Find Our Harmony

Five times Rumi is held by Mira while she sleeps and one time Rumi holds Mira instead.

Also read on AO3

ONE

The first time it happens, Rumi doesn’t have the energy to resist. She’s absolutely exhausted, physically and emotionally, from the exceptionally long day she’d had. From the failed Idol performance, to the big, onstage fight that revealed her patterns, to Mira and Zoey aiming their blades at her. That alone had been enough to break Rumi, to shatter her fragile self-image into a million pieces and then the hits had just kept coming. Jinu betrayed her, Celine tried to act like everything could be fixed with long sleeves and a sweet lie. Rumi had watched her inner demon come forward, her skin glowing with patterns and her eye changing shape and color, an unearthly growl seeping into her voice no matter how hard Rumi tried to keep it out. 

Rumi’s faults and fears had been put on display for the world to see. When she’d walked into that arena, filled with mindless drones singing praises at their demon idols, Rumi hadn’t been certain that she’d walk out again. She didn’t have Mira and Zoey, she barely had herself. But she still had her voice and maybe it wouldn’t have been enough, but it would’ve been something. Another life saved maybe. That would’ve been enough. 

We are Hunters, voices strong. Slaying demons with our song. Save the world and make it right. When darkness finally meets the light. 

Rumi’s darkness had met light and instead of being bathed in the shadows she’d feared her whole life, she’d been met with fractals of light. Mira. Zoey. They were just as broken as Rumi, in their own ways, but their broken pieces fit together like a puzzle, the fractures filled with gold. Not seamless, not perfect, but real and whole and beautiful nevertheless. It was something like peace, even if they weren’t strong enough on their own. 

Then Jinu sacrificed himself and Rumi shattered all over again. Not physically, not a complete collapse, but the edges of her freshly mended heart chipped away, cracks in the same pattern as the likes that decorated Jinu’s skin. Still, his sacrifice gave them the advantage they needed to create a new Honmoon and seal Gwi-Ma away again. The magical lines aren’t gold, but they are strong and true and Rumi knows, deep in her soul, that they’ll keep the demons at bay. 

The endless night turns to day and their work isn’t quite done yet. The demons had been defeated but now HUNTR/X had the much more dangerous issue of a possible PR scandal. Bobby handled it beautifully, as he always does, and their fans are able to accept that battle for the world as very elaborate special effects. Rumi’s patterns are not quite as vibrant to the naked human eye, but they are visible and it doesn't take long for fans to notice them. The tattoo excuse is flimsy but it’s not like they can explain what the patterns actually mean. Their fans, as adoring and trusting as always, praise Rumi’s new look and, after hours of signing autographs, taking pictures, and dodging questions about the Saja Boys, HUNTR/X is finally able to go home. 

Rumi, exhausted from the physical and emotional toll of the day, stumbles as they leave, only to be caught by Mira’s strong hands on her shoulders. She flinches away from the touch without meaning to, and though a brief look of hurt crosses Mira’s features, she doesn’t let go. Zoey comes up to Rumi’s other side and takes her hand. 

“Sorry,” Rumi says, unable to look either of them in the eye. “I just -” 

“It’s okay.” Mira replies, squeezing Rumi’s shoulders lightly. The patterns are warm beneath her palms. “Let’s go home. The couch is calling my name.” 

“Couch! Couch! Couch! Couch!” Zoey cheers, pulling Rumi along by the hand. Rumi laughs as she follows, her overwhelming desire to sleep for at least a day alleviated by the warmth of Zoey’s hand in hers and the steady pressure of Mira’s hands on her shoulders. 

Half an hour later, the three of them are piled on the couch in their living room, a mountain of food piled high on the coffee table in front of them, and thoughts of everything except getting some well-deserved rest pushed far from their minds. It feels deliberate when Mira and Zoey pull Rumi down to sit between them, but Rumi doesn’t have the presence of mind to think about it. She eats her weight in noodles and snacks, not really paying attention to anything but how cold the apartment is. She’s traded her normal hoodie for a tanktop and she’s surprisingly cold as a result. Rumi doesn’t mention it to the others, who are too busy competing to see who can put the most food away while some random show plays on the television mounted on the wall in front of them, but eventually the mountain has become more of a hill and the three of them are curled on the couch. 

Zoey curls up with her head resting on the arm of the couch, her favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around her and her feet stretched to rest across Rumi’s lap. Her eyes are big and bright as she focuses on the television. Mira and Rumi had let her pick what they watched now that they were done eating and she had picked one of her favorite movies from growing up in America. Rumi was still sitting near the middle of the couch, though she’d moved over slightly to allow Zoey the room to stretch out. She’s looking at the screen without really taking anything in, replaying the events of the day before in her mind over and over again, until a soft touch brought her out of her thoughts. 

It’s Mira, who had unearthed a second blanket and had thrown it over Rumi. She moves a bit closer on the couch, wrapping her arm around Rumi’s shoulders and rubbing her hand along the upper section of Rumi’s arms. 

“You looked cold.” Mira says when Rumi gives her a questioning glance. 

“I’m not used to wearing short sleeves.” Rumi manages a half smile with the words. Mira hums softly and inches closer. Her voice drops a little lower. 

“I won’t ask if you’re okay, because that’s a dumb question.” Mira says. Rumi huffs a laugh. “But I will ask if there’s anything I can do? Anything you need?” 

Rumi hesitates, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she finally shakes her head. She doesn’t know if she’s really processed everything that’s happened in the past two weeks but she knows that she’d spent hours feeling lost and alone and that was the scariest part of it all. 

“Maybe just - stay. With me.” Rumi shifts closer, lets her head fall onto a slim but strong shoulder. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“We’re not going anywhere.” Mira squeezed her shoulder again. “I won't leave you. I promise.” 

Rumi nodded, sinking into the warmth of Mira at her side. She freed one of her hands from beneath the blanket, resting her palm on Zoey’s calf in her lap, and finally let go of the tension building in her body. Her muscles relaxed, Mira shifted her to rest more securely against her side, and Rumi found her eyelids drooping further down with each passing second. She was asleep before the movie finished its first act, safe and warm between her friends. 

TWO

The second time Rumi falls asleep on Mira is an accident. They’re in the studio again, working on their new album. Technically, HUNTR/X is on hiatus at the moment. They’d earned their three months off with blood, sweat, and tears, but none of them were able to switch off completely. They hadn’t performed since the failed Idols, but they’d made a few public appearances. Never planned, never coordinated, but enough to keep both them and their fans satisfied for the moment. One fan's hope for new music had spurred the trio into action, lyrics and beats flowing from their lips like they used to. It’s easy, simple, and free. 

They lose track of time easily when they’re tucked away between the walls of their home studio. They’d made the executive decision early in their career to ban their cellphones from the room in the name of limiting distractions, which had the predictable effect of also ensuring that they were basically unreachable while they were recording. Celine would be able to get through to them sometimes, and Bobby would let himself into their condo if they took longer than a few hours to respond but aside from those two, no one could find them. It was exactly what they needed to get their music made. 

They’d worked out a system for their music years ago. They’d start with the lyrics, getting a chorus or a bridge or a verse and then finding a beat that matched it. Once they had a base, it was time to explore it, roundtable style. They’d work together to find the words and the chords, shouting suggestions until they had something usable. Then, once they had a song rather than an idea, they’d split to their own talents. Zoey would refine the lyrics, Mira would take over finalizing the music and overall style of the song, and Rumi would work out the harmonies and line distribution. This had been Celine’s job back when they started, their mentor often favoring Rumi ahead of the others, but Rumi did her best to make it even. She’d never wanted to be a solo act and Zoey and Mira both deserved their time in the spotlight. 

They had finished one song and were starting on another when the lack of sleep Rumi had been getting started catching up to her. She hadn’t been sleeping well since they created the Honmoon, her dreams interrupted by visions of hellfire, golden demon eyes, and anguished cries of the people she held dear. She saw Jinu’s last moments over and over again, but the smile he’d had the day of was replaced by a pain filled grimace. The cheers of the HUNTR/X fans were drowned out by screams. The glow of the Hunters weapons that Mira and Zoey wielded were blinding as they plunged deep into Rumi’s stomach. 

Rumi would wake up, sweaty, pale, crying, with nothing but the glow of her patterns and the soft fur of Derpy the tiger for comfort. She could only be thankful that she hadn’t been crying out in her sleep. She didn’t want to make Mira or Zoey lose sleep either. The nights leave Rumi with heavy circles beneath her eyes, covered with makeup, and a miserable lack of energy. 

Now, sitting in their studio with Zoey mumbling lyrics to a new song while she scribbles away in her journal and Mira sitting close at her side, absently strumming on a guitar, Rumi can feel her limbs growing heavy with sleep. She doesn’t remember what she’s supposed to be doing in preparation for their next song and she doesn’t have her phone to distract, so it’s only a matter of time until she begins to lean to the side. Her head finds the back of Mira’s shoulder, her eyes falling closed at the same time that her breathing slows and deepens. 

“Oh.” Zoey squeaks when she turns with an idea, only to see their leader asleep on Mira’s shoulders. “Should we take a break?” 

“Just let her sleep.” Mira responds. She glances at the lavender hair on her shoulder. Her lip quirks into a small smile. “She clearly needs it.” 

Zoey agrees, flipping to a new page, but there’s something about her smile that makes Mira narrow her eyes at her. 

“Are you ever going to -” 

“No.” Mira interrupts, freezing in place when her unintentionally loud voice makes Rumi shift in her sleep. Rumi stirs slightly, mumbles something that neither of them catch, and then settles again. “She’s got enough on her plate already.” 

Rumi, awake enough to know that Mira is speaking but not enough to track her words, moves closer, wrapping her arm around Mira’s middle in an attempt to get more comfortable leaning against her. She doesn’t feel the way Mira’s breath hitches at the contact or the knowing smirk in Zoey’s eyes. A beat passes and the other two members of their trio turn back to their tasks, Rumi’s soft snores grounding them both in the moment. 

THREE

The lights are low, the covers drawn over the windows as the adrenaline fades from the trio of superstars soaring through the sky in the aftermath of their first comeback concert. The performance had been a raving success, from the songs to the choreography to the harmony of the HUNTR/X on stage. They moved around one another with grace, trading smiles and even a few quick jokes as they pass one another. Their smiles are genuine, their voices unwavering. Rumi’s patterns seem to shine beneath the stage lights, mesmerizing the crowd. Even Mira seems momentarily distracted by the blue-purple-pink lines that slice across Rumi’s skin when they have a few moments backstage for a costume change. 

The fans are screaming for an encore at the end and the trio pulls out a stunning performance of ‘How It’s Done’ to end the evening, leaving them sweaty and panting as the lights fade and the crowd roars. The descending platform that guides them to the space beneath the stage moves them out of sight, where they are quickly ushered into their dressing rooms to change into comfortable clothes for travelling. 

An hour later, the HUNTR/X jet is flying high, and the girls are settling in for a few more hours of travel before they’ll get to the hotel in the next city. Their comeback tour isn’t a massive one, only a handful of stop compared to their last one, but after three months of down time, they’ve sort of fallen out of the rhythm of it. Rumi doesn’t mean to fall asleep before she’s even done eating her post-concert snack. She doesn’t even realize she’s fallen asleep at all until she’s gently woken up. 

“What’s ha-” 

“Nothing, nothing, we’re not there yet.” Mira says. It’s her hands on Rumi’s shoulders that had woken her up. Rumi blinks at her in sleepy confusion. Mira half-smiles at her, eyes soft in the dim lighting of the plane. “You were sleeping with your head hanging weirdly. Your neck is gonna hurt like a bitch if you keep that up.” 

Which, yeah, Rumi can already feel the crick in her neck from the awkward sleeping position and she’s vaguely aware that she’d been holding chopsticks in her right hand when she’d fallen asleep, but those are gone now. A sleepy glance to the side reveals the chopsticks and the noodles she’d been eating had been set in the cupholder for her. Rumi looks back at Mira and makes a soft noise, almost a laugh, almost a huff, that manages to communicate her understanding and appreciation. 

Mira smiles and it’s different than her normal smile. Softer, somehow. Rumi finds herself smiling back before she stretches out her neck and yawns so wide it makes her eyes close. Mira is sitting beside her when Rumi’s eyes open again, her phone in hand. Rumi is still just sleepy enough to not hesitate in leaning her head against Mira’s shoulder. Mira accepts the weight of Rumi against her with a quick shift of her weight, her own head tilting to rest against Rumi’s. 

Rumi watches over Mira’s shoulder as she scrolls through various social media feeds, occasionally popping in to comment or react to their fans showing them all the love after their concert. She threads her arm around Mira’s at one point to double-tap a post and then leaves her hand there, resting on Mira’s arm. Her eyes are drooping again when she feels Zoey join them on the large seat. Zoey lays her head in Rumi’s lap, eyes locked on her own phone. Rumi’s free hand comes to rest gently on top of Zoey’s head and then she’s asleep again. 

“You know she-” 

“Shut up, Zoey.” 

Rumi is woken up again as the plane is coming in for a landing, Bobby cheerfully announcing that there’s a crowd of fans waiting to greet them despite the late hour. The trio of pop stars rallies to the occasion, leaving their jet with warm smiles and waves to the crowd, but they don’t linger for too long. Rumi ushers Zoey along, the youngest member of their group also having taken a catnap on the plane and as such is slightly less reactive than normal, and Mira follows behind them like a guard. They pile into the SUV waiting for them, Rumi and Zoey both drifting in and out sleep as they make the short drive to their hotel. Mira, the only one other than Bobby who is fully awake, gets them into the elevator and then into their room. 

Zoey collapses into bed without prompt, and Rumi is awake enough to chuckle softly as the younger girl wraps herself in the blankets. Mira huffs, a sound that communicates amusement, annoyance, and fondness all at once as she plucks Zoey’s phone from her hands and sets it to charge. When Mira steps into the bathroom, Rumi shakes herself awake enough to pull their suitcases into the room, set their alarms for the morning, and lock up the hotel room before she changes out of her travel clothes. She’s just pulling down the blankets on the second bed when Mira returns to the room proper, also changed for bed. Rumi settles beneath the blankets and watches Mira look between the beds. 

“There’s no way I’m getting even an inch of that blanket.” Mira says, looking at the blanket burrito that Zoey had made around her. Rumi laughs softly. 

“Probably not.” She agrees. Mira shoots her a glare that only makes Rumi laugh more. She gestures to the open other side of the second bed. “Just share with me.” 

“Oh.” Mira pauses and for a minute, Rumi isn’t sure why she would hesitate at the idea of sharing a bed. Rumi’s been making a habit of falling asleep against her shoulder everywhere else. Why would a bed be different? But then, Rumi remembers that they’ve never done that. Before her patterns were exposed, Rumi wouldn’t have offered to share her bed. She wouldn’t even be in the room with them, too scared that they’d discover her secret and isolating herself in an attempt to avoid it. 

“I mean, if you want. I-I-I don’t mean that you have to sleep with m- in the same bed as me.” Rumi feels a flush rising up her face. She’s never been particularly tongue tied or nervous, at least not around Mira, and she doesn’t have the energy to analyze why she is in that moment. She just knows that she feels safe when Mira is beside her and for the past few months, the only time she hasn’t had nightmares is when she fell asleep beside Mira. 

“Don’t have a conniption, Rumi.” Mira says. There’s a physical shift in her that Rumi can tell is a manifestation of the inner walls Mira has being made stronger, though Rumi can’t fathom why Mira would need to build up her walls here, in their hotel room with Zoey asleep and Rumi bleary eyed and half-asleep herself. “If you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask.” 

Rumi groans and throws herself back onto the pillows behind her. Mira is almost cackling as she rounds the bed and crawls in beside her. Rumi finds herself laughing along, turning on her side to watch Mira settle with hazy, half-amused eyes. She waits until Mira is settled before she slides over, placing her head in the crook of Mira’s neck. She feels Mira tense and then relax and has just enough presence of mind to check in. 

“This okay?” Her voice is muffled by the sleep creeping in. She feels Mira’s arm wrap around her, hold her closer. 

“Yeah.” Mira says. She waits until Rumi is asleep before she speaks again. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

FOUR

They’re three weeks into their tour when it happens again, but Rumi can admit that it’s not exactly an accident anymore. There’s comfort and safety when she’s near Mira, when Rumi’s able to let go of the pressure of being their leader, both on stage and off, and allowed to just be for a moment. To breathe. Mira never complains when Rumi inevitably ends up lounging against her, or when Zoey joins them and they become a pile of tangled limbs and hair that gets everywhere. She’s tense at times, her spine straightening like she feels like she has to stand taller whenever Rumi leans on her, but she never admits that anything is wrong when Rumi checks in. 

It’s the second half of their short comeback tour and Rumi can feel the tiredness creeping in more and more. Touring is incredible and exciting and something that Rumi will never take for granted, but it’s also a gruelling, demanding series of events with very little downtime. Between travel, rehearsals, actual performances, plus interactions with VIP fans and promotional duties, tours are mentally, physically, and emotionally draining. The Honmoon is still holding strong and they haven’t had to justify getting a new plane because theirs was hijacked by demons or sliced in half, but that’s the only thing that keeps the tour from transitioning from draining to exhausting. 

They’re on a bus instead of a plane. It’s midday and the small space is bustling with activity. They’ll go straight into a sound check when they get to the venue, an unfortunate result of the interview they’d done first thing that morning, so they spend part of the drive refreshing the setlist and their minds for the performance to come. They aren’t lacking in songs to choose from, with a five year discography to choose from, and they’d silently dismissed ‘Takedown’ from ever being performed live again. They didn’t want to remind their fans of the very public fight the song had been last time. They didn’t know that demons had been masquerading as Mira and Zoey. 

Bobby is explaining their rather tight schedule for the next few days when it starts to be too much for Rumi. She’s already fighting off a lack of sleep induced headache - she’d never travelled well on buses - and knowing that it’s going to be more of the same for the next few days isn’t reassuring her. She listens just enough to offer an affirmative sound when Bobby asks for one and then collapses back against the couch when he moves away to speak with the makeup artist on board. 

“Hey, you okay, Rumi?” Zoey asks her softly. Rumi nods and offers the girl a smile. 

“I’m fine. Just a headache.” She replies, shrugging sheepishly. “I’ve never slept well on these things.” 

Both Mira and Zoey blink in surprise. It’s something that they should have known well before now, Rumi knows. This is hardly the first time that they’d ridden on a bus for multiple days in a row. They’ve been doing this for five years. This shouldn’t be new information to them but it is and Rumi can’t help but feel guilty about that. Her shoulders drop in an attempt to make herself smaller. 

“Oh, well,” Zoey shares a look with Mira that feels significant. Rumi can’t decipher it. The two of them reach some kind of conclusion though as Mira leans back against the cushions with an expectant look towards Rumi and Zoey darts away from them, returning a moment later with two small, disposable cups in her hands. “Here, take these.” 

Rumi does so robotically, already leaning towards Mira’s side like a magnet is pulling her there. Her confusion must be visible on her face or in her body language as after she’s swallowed the two pills and handed both cups back to Zoey, Mira speaks up. 

“We have enough time for you to take a nap.” Mira explains, directing Rumi’s head to her shoulder like it belongs there. Like there’s nowhere else that she expects Rumi to have her nap other than pressed against her side. 

“Don’t we have things to do before we get there?” Rumi asks, but she’s already settling into place, wrapping her arm around Mira’s waist and curling her feet up on the couch. Her toes end up tucked beneath Zoey’s thigh when she joins them again. 

“Nothing that’s more important than you getting some rest.” Mira answers. 

“We’ve been doing this for years. They barely need us to run any of the pre-show stuff.” Zoey agrees. She has her switch in her hands now and Rumi can hear the soft sounds of one of her usual, mindless games coming up. One that she plays to pass the time rather than because of a good story or challenge. 

“We’ve been on the road for almost a month.” Mira’s hand brushes through Rumi’s hair, just beside her signature braid. “We can take a break for a few hours.” 

Any protest that Rumi wants to make dies when Mira’s hand continues to play with her hair, gently so she doesn’t mess up her hair, but enough that her nails scratch against Rumi’s scalp in just the right way. Instead, Rumi sighs, presses closer to Mira’s side, and lets the sleep that she’s been lacking take over her. 

“She certainly looks comfortable there.” Zoey remarks once she’s sure that Rumi is asleep. Mira is still absently playing with Rumi’s hair, a faraway look on her face. “So do you.” 

“Zoey.” 

“Mira.” Zoey matches her tone. “C’mon, Mira. You’re going to have to tell her eventually.” 

“There’s no rule that says that.” Mira can’t look her in the eyes. Zoey rolls her eyes and turns back to her game. 

“When are you going to admit to yourself that those walls you’ve built up are pointless? She’s already on the other side of them and you know it.” 

Mira doesn’t respond. 

A few hours later, Rumi wakes up in almost the same position that she fell asleep in. She’s still curled against Mira, but Zoey has moved further down the bus to get her makeup done. The open countryside outside has been replaced with the familiar sights of an upcoming city, dense traffic included. Rumi yawns and rubs her eyes but she doesn’t pull away from Mira yet. 

“Have a nice nap?” Mira asks. Rumi nods.

“Thanks for being my pillow.” Rumi says as she pulls away. Mira turns to her with a smile, the features of her face highlighted with her usual stage makeup. Rumi wonders if Mira had stayed there, letting Rumi sleep on her shoulder, while her makeup was done instead of risking waking her up by moving. The thought makes her feel warm inside in a way that has been growing increasingly familiar over the past few months. 

“Anytime.” Mira promises. Rumi knows she means it. 

“Oh, good, Rumi. You’re awake.” Bobby says as he comes up. “You’re up next for makeup. We’re just under an hour out from the venue. I’ll have your pre-concert carb load waiting in your dressing room.” 

“Thanks Bobby.” Rumi stands, and stretches. The bus sways slightly and Rumi feels Mira’s hand on the small of her back to steady her. 

“No problem, girls. You know I’m here for anything you need.” Bobby smiles at them. “Oh, and you’re already trending. Those HUNTR/X pre and post concert cuddle pics are doing numbers online.” 

Rumi raises an eyebrow as Bobby is distracted scrolling, sharing a look with Mira. Now that she’s certain Rumi is steady on her feet - not that she was ever unsteady, but Mira had reached out before she thought about it - Mira’s hand drops back to the couch cushions and she gestures towards the makeup chair with her chin. 

“Go make your face even prettier than it already is.” 

As her makeup is applied, Rumi pulls out her phone and finds the trending pictures. As Bobby said, the pictures are of the three members of HUNTR/X resting together. The first is from their first night on tour, with Mira resting her head against Rumi’s, who is curled against her side. Rumi’s other hand is resting gently in Zoey’s hair, the youngest girl resting with her head in Rumi’s lap. All three of them appear to be asleep in the picture. The second was one that had been taken only a few hours ago. Rumi is the only one asleep in that picture, but Mira and Zoey are both the picture of relaxed grace on either side of her. 

In both photos, Rumi can’t help but notice how peaceful she looks. All the tension in her body is gone. She’s almost smiling in her sleep, an easy, unconscious joy that brings a smile to her face now as she looks at them. She saves both photos to her personal HUNTR/X album on her phone. 

FIVE

The tour ends with a great deal of fanfare and more than a few tears - from fans and stars alike - but it does come to an end. Their condo in HUNTR/X tower is warm and inviting when they get home, the couch calling to them with an offer of unmatched relaxation. Rumi is unsurprised to find both Derpy and Sussie in her bedroom. They’d both been frequent visitors while the tour had been going on, but they’d stayed out of sight for the most part. Rumi is happy to see them both, laughing slightly as they both jump up to greet her and the motion makes Sussie’s hat almost come off. 

Rumi takes a long shower, washing away the layers of sweat and makeup and the pressure of an ever present audience so that when she finally emerges, fresh faced and hair down, she feels more like Rumi again. She dresses in shorts and a cropped tank, drying her hair until it’s no longer dripping before she steps back into her bedroom. Derpy and Sussie follow her out when she heads towards the kitchen, greeted by Zoey’s excited squeals when they enter the room. 

The trio spends their dinner time talking animatedly about the tour, scrolling through the videos and pictures and comments posted online with joy. They snap a picture to share with their fans before Rumi mutes her phone for the night. It’s not particularly late, but Rumi can feel sleep calling her name already so it’s not long after dinner that she bids the other two a good night and retreats back to her bedroom. 

She’s been too busy with the tour for the nightmares to creep in, but despite the exhaustion she feels, all the bad dreams she’d been subconsciously holding back when sharing space with Mira and Zoey come rushing in. But they’ve changed. 

There’s still hellfire. There’s still the voice saying that Rumi could never be enough, that she doesn’t belong because she’s an abomination. There’s cries of pain and outrage. There’s Rumi’s voice being taken over by something dark, something angry. But there’s also Zoey turning her back on Rumi, ignoring any attempt Rumi makes to get her attention. There’s the voice of Jinu in her ear, a whisper full of disdain and hate. 

‘You honor my sacrifice by loving her?’ 

There’s a flash of familiar pink hair. The glow of Mira’s spear as she spins it in her hands. The blade comes to a stop, pointing at Rumi’s chest. Rumi can see her reflection in the metal of the mystical blade, can see the way that the patterns on her skin have darkened and that her eye has turned yellow. When Rumi looks up at Mira, only now aware that she’s laying helpless on her back with Mira standing over her, she doesn’t see the lightness in her eyes that she’s become so accustomed to. There’s no warmth, no affection, not even the hint of her inner walls hiding her feelings. There is only hate and disgust. 

‘You think I could ever love you? Someone so tainted by the darkness, you willingly gave your heart to a monster?’ 

“Please.” Rumi begs. “Please, Mira. You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” She’s crying now. Mira’s blade presses into her chest hard enough to draw blood. Rumi gasps from the pain of it. 

‘You’re not you anymore, Rumi. You’re just a demon.’ 

“No, Mira. I’m still me. I am. I still care about you.” 

Mira’s smile is nothing but malice, the glow of the hellfire around them giving her an ethereal look. Even as her blade presses deeper into Rumi’s chest, Rumi can’t help but think that she's beautiful. 

‘Demons don’t have feelings.’ 

Mira steps away, leaving her staff buried in Rumi’s chest. She turns and walks without stopping. She doesn’t turn when Rumi calls her name. Gwi-ma’s laughter, dark and threatening, fills the space. Rumi is still crying Mira’s name when her body jolts forward. 

Her eyes snap open, a sob escaping her lips as she comes to the waking world. The light is on in her bedroom, casting shadows along her wall. Rumi can’t breathe against the pressure in her chest. 

“Rumi. Rumi! Rumi!” The voice breaks through her panic. It’s Mira. Rumi’s gaze finds her, eyes wide with worry and hair mused from sleep. She’s kneeling on the edge of Rumi’s bed, her hands resting on either of Rumi’s arms. “Rumi, breathe.” 

Rumi takes a deep, shuddering breath. She pulls away from Mira’s hands, still feeling the phantom weight of her spear in Rumi’s chest. She shuffles back and away, dodging the hands that reach for her until she’s on her feet. She needs air and space. The balcony door is pulled open and Rumi tumbles into the space outside her room. 

“Rumi, what’s wrong? Talk to me. Please.” Mira follows her out but she keeps her distance now, watching as Rumi struggles to get control of herself in the wake of her nightmare. “Rumi?” 

She doesn’t have the breath to answer yet. She just shakes her head, sliding to the ground with her back against the wall and her knees curled against her chest. She hears Mira copy her position with enough distance between them that Rumi doesn’t feel crowded. Derpy appears at her side and presses against her. 

“I’m here, Rumi.” Mira promises softly. “I’m not leaving.”

Slowly, Rumi’s breathing slows. Her limbs relax, the hands that she’d clenched into fists uncurl enough to tangel in Derpy’s fur. The phantom pressure in her chest dissipates slowly, growing lighter with each steady exhale. Mira sits in silent vigil until Rumi finally looks up at her. 

“Hey.” Mira says softly. The multicolor light of the Honmoon reflects in her eyes and Rumi can’t see anything but care in the hues she finds there. 

“Hey.” Rumi sighs the word. Her shoulders droop slightly. Mira scoots fractionally closer. 

“Must have been an awful nightmare.” Mira speaks softly, like she’s afraid Rumi will break if she raises her voice. “I’ve never heard you cry like that.” 

Rumi swallows thickly, only now aware of the soreness of her throat. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Rumi says instead of addressing the nightmare. Mira, of course, sees right through her flimsy attempt at changing the subject. 

“What happened? I thought the nightmares were gone. You didn’t have any when we were on tour.” Mira’s voice is still soft, but Rumi can hear the current of worry in her words. Rumi shrugs slightly in response. 

“I basically collapsed from exhaustion every night of the tour.” She says. She can’t look at Mira so she focuses her gaze on the skyline stretched before them. “And I wasn’t sleeping alone.” 

“Were you having nightmares before the tour?” Mira asked, again shuffling closer. She was near enough now that Rumi could feel her warmth even as she curled further into herself. Rumi nodded before setting her chin on her knee. 

“They weren’t as bad. More memories than anything else. Of that night. The performance. And when you and Zoey found me after…” 

“You have nightmares of me pointing my blade at you?” Mira’s voice has changed, something cracked and broken slipping between the words. It’s completely inappropriate, but Rumi wants to laugh at the question. She wished the nightmare had stopped at that. “Rumi, you know I’ll never do that again, don’t you?” 

The hum that Rumi responds with is noncommittal. She knows that she can trust Mira. Mira doesn’t say anything that she doesn’t mean, but the words are soured by the memory of her spear pressed into Rumi’s chest in her nightmare. 

“No, Rumi, I need you to believe that. I’ve never regretted anything more than the way I reacted that night.” Mira insists. She’s even closer now, close enough that it would take no effort at all for Rumi to turn and curl into her arms. She almost does it, too, drawn to the comfort of Mira’s embrace like a moth to a flame, but Mira’s words from the dream come back and halt her movements. 

‘You think I could ever love you?’ 

“You were scared and blindsided.” Rumi shrugs. “I don’t blame you for reacting the way you did.” It was what Rumi had always known would happen. 

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.” Mira says. Rumi doesn’t respond. Mira waits a moment and then presses on. “Is that what you dreamed about tonight?” 

“Yeah.” Rumi sighs. “That’s how it started anyway.” 

“How did it end?” 

“With your blade in my chest as you walked away.” Rumi doesn’t mean to say it, but she can’t hold it back, and Mira would see through any lie she tried to spin. Mira gasps. “After you told me that you could never love someone tainted by darkness. Especially after I fell for a demon.” 

“That’s - I can’t - I’m so sorry, Rumi.” Mira’s voice has changed again, filled with something deep and soulful. Rumi turns her head just enough to see Mira’s face clearly. There’s tears in her eyes and Rumi unwraps one of her arms from around her knees to wipe them away. 

“I know that it wasn’t you. I know that you never break your promises.” Rumi says. “It just felt real. Really real.” 

Her other hand rubs at her chest, where dream-Mira’s blade had cut into her skin. 

“I’m sorry.” Mira covers Rumi’s hand on her cheek with her own. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“You’re here.” Rumi feels the first flicker of a smile on her lips since she woke up. “That helps.” 

A moment passes. Rumi’s hand is still pressed to Mira’s cheek, gently caressing along her cheekbone. Her own tears have dried and Rumi feels her earlier exhaustion return to her. Mira must be able to see it sweep over her again because she rises to her feet and holds her hands out to help Rumi up as well. Once they’re both standing up, Mira pulls Rumi into a hug that finally dispels the lingering shadows in her chest. She can’t feel the phantom pressure anymore, or the sting of dream-Mira’s words. She can only feel Mira’s body pressed against her own, the warmth of her hands resting on either of Rumi’s hips, the steadiness of her breathing as she holds Rumi close. 

Rumi doesn’t have to ask Mira to stay. They climb back into Rumi’s bed as a unit. Mira reaches out to pull Rumi closer rather than waiting for Rumi to move on her own. They curl together now, not just a head on a shoulder and a half embrace but fully tangled together. Mira’s arm curls around Rumi’s back, her fingers stroke a soothing pattern down her spine. Rumi’s head finds its place in the crook of Mira’s neck and she drapes her arm over Mira’s abdomen. Their legs tangle together. She feels the soft pressure of Mira’s lips against her forehead. Derpy curls up at the foot of the bed, close enough that Rumi can feel his warmth too. 

When Rumi falls back asleep, her dreams are filled with quiet warmth and soft affection. And from somewhere far beyond her understanding she hears Jinu’s voice. 

‘Let yourself live the life you deserve. That will honor me more than anything else.’ 

+ONE

It’s a few weeks later when the first tear in the Honmoon appears. They’d known it would happen eventually. Rumi had never thought that they’d killed the demon overlord, only subdued him. As long as humans existed, Gwi-ma would hunger for their souls. 

They’re rehearsing for a local event when the rip appears. Bobby doesn’t even have time to question where they’re going before the HUNTR/X stars have seemingly disappeared into thin air. They fall into the familiar rhythm of battle, singing as they go. Rumi almost laughs when the familiar lyrics of ‘How It’s Done’ fall from their lips. Her blade is still imbued with Jinu’s soul, glowing brighter than usual and cutting through the demons easily. 

Rumi feels Mira and Zoey moving beside her, their movement as fluid as their choreography on stage and doubly as impressive. Mira catches her eye and winks. Rumi feels a blush climbing up her cheeks at the motion and she can tell that Mira sees it from the way she smirks. 

“Can you guys flirt when we’re not fighting demons?” Zoey complains, but there’s no heat in her words. 

“We’re not flirting.” Rumi fires back as she slices the head from the demon charging towards her. 

“Just like we haven’t been sleeping together.” Mira quips. Zoey cackles as she throws her knives out, taking out four demons in one fell swoop. Rumi turns to glare at Mira as she flips over her head and stabs through another demon. 

“Oh, careful, Mira, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch.” Zoey backflips away from a striking demon and slices across its throat. 

“I still have my own room.” Mira points out. Two demons rush towards her. She kicks one and knocks the other back with her spear. 

“I’ll send Derpy in there.” Rumi jokes, well aware that Mira and Derpy have a playful rivalry of Rumi’s attention going on. The tiger would absolutely block Mira from sleeping in her own bed if Rumi asked him to. He might even do it for fun. 

Mira’s response is cut off as the ground rumbles beneath their feet. The demons have retreated and reformed, a massive creature now attacking with a ferocious roar. 

“Fight now, banter later.” Rumi orders as Mira and Zoey step on either side of her. 

The demon looks like an amalgamation of a monkey and a lion, its head framed with a mane of fire and a sharp tail whipping back and forth menacingly. Its hind legs are bulky with muscle, the front ones slimmer but topped with viscous looking claws. It charges forward with a roar, front paws and tail whipping out. The hunters are forced to dodge, each of them moving in a different direction. Mira and Zoey dash to the sides while Rumi leaps up and over, slicing along the demon’s back as she flips over it. 

The fight that ensues is longer than it needs to be. This demon isn’t as mindless as the ones they normally fight. Despite its massive size, it’s surprisingly nimble. They have to get in close to get any meaningful hit, but the paws and tail make that a difficult task. Rumi flips over a swinging paw but doesn’t manage to make contact with her sword. 

“We need to distract it.” Rumi tells Mira and Zoey. Mira’s weapon has the most reach. If she aims it correctly, she can deal a killing blow from above while Rumi and Zoey distract the demon from below. The plan is quickly put into motion as Mira darts behind a column and then around, using a combination of flips and jumps to get into position. 

It takes three minutes of dodging, jumping, and making small strikes before Mira gets a good enough opening. The demon’s tail whips towards her as she launches herself towards it, the yelp of pain she releases drowned out by the demon’s furious roar. When the demon rears up on its hind legs, Rumi and Zoey both move to strike at its heart from the front. The demon fades from the overworld, the rip in the Honmoon sealing in its wake. Mira lands on her hands and knees, her weapon fading away as her hand reaches for her side. 

“Mira!” Rumi is at her side instantly, Zoey right behind her. Her hand rests against Mira’s back, eyes sweeping over her form in concern. 

“I’m okay.” Mira says, though her grimace leaves room for doubt. “Bastard got in a lucky shot.” 

“Let me see.” Rumi requests gently. Zoey helps Mira to stay steady as Rumi looks at the cut that slices across her stomach. 

The cut isn’t too deep, the blood already beginning to coagulate as a result of their Hunter abilities that enhance healing, but it is a long mark, beginning just above Mira’s left hip and slicing across her stomach to just below her ribs on the right side. It will heal, thankfully, but Rumi worries that it might leave a scar. 

“It’s not bad, just long.” Rumi says. “You’re not going to be doing any more rehearsals today.” 

“At least we have a few days until we have to perform.” Zoey offers comfortingly. Mira groans but lets both Zoey and Rumi help her to her feet. She drapes her arm over Rumi’s shoulders once she’s standing. “I’ll call Bobby.” 

Zoey steps away and presses her phone to her ear. Rumi wraps her arm around Mira’s waist and lets the taller girl lean against her, easily supporting her weight. 

“You’re not gonna make me sleep on the couch, right?” Mira asks. Rumi laughs. 

“Did you honestly think I would?” She asks with a raised brow. 

“Maybe, until you got cold.” Mira shrugs then winces. Rumi smoothes her thumb over Mira’s hip in a soothing motion. Rumi hums softly in reply, neither confirming nor denying Mira’s statement. Neither of them add anything else to the conversation, content to stand there together until Zoey makes her way back over to them. 

“Good news, we don’t even need an excuse for not finishing rehearsals today!” Zoey cheers. “That group that was doing the reunion performance needs extra time to get their act together, so we’re off the hook until tomorrow.” 

“That is great news.” Rumi agrees. 

They make their way back to their tower and pile into the elevator together, idly discussing new song ideas as they go. Zoey moves into the kitchen to get started on an early dinner and Rumi orders Mira to go shower so they can properly bandage the cut on her stomach. Once both tasks are done, she leaves Mira in control of the remote while she helps Zoey with dinner. 

After, when the food has been consumed and the mess from it cleaned up, Rumi and Zoey position themselves on either side of Mira on the couch. Zoey curls against the arm as she normally does, pressing her toes beneath Mira’s thigh. Rumi wraps a gentle arm around Mira’s waist and pulls her close, guiding her head to rest in the crook of Rumi’s neck. Mira hums softly as they settle. 

“That’s usually my job.” She says, tapping her finger against the hand curled over her hip. 

“It’s my turn to take care of you.” Rumi presses her nose into Mira’s hair and breathes her. She feels Mira smile against her neck and hears the rumble of a soft laugh. “What’s so funny?” 

“You made me sleep on the couch after all.” Mira jokes, giggling softly even as her eyes begin to fall closed. Zoey snorts from her place beside them. 

“Behave, or I’ll leave you here after the move is over.” Rumi threatens. Mira only laughs. 

“Nah, you’d never leave me.” She says, with all the confidence of a woman who believes every word she says. Rumi presses her smile to the crown of Mira’s head. 

“No,” she says softly. “I wouldn’t.” 

Mira falls asleep a few minutes into the movie. Rumi doesn’t know how she sleeps through the high speed chase and explosions scenes, but Mira’s breathing remains steady and calm, her body relaxed in Rumi’s embrace. Zoey watches them out of the corner of her eye, sneakily taking a picture of them curled together like puzzle pieces. 

“Not flirting, huh?” 

“Shut up, Zoey.” 

[muffinsin]

helllo, hope you're doing well. I'm wondering if you'd be interested in doing a scenario where one of the Dimitrescu faints, you can choose who, and you can choose why and where it happens.

My only request is if there could be a bit of mama worry and care as well as sisterly care- I know your not a fan of writing alcina but I've been seeing her pop up more often so it makes me believe you're getting more comfortable writing her? But still add her if you want and I hope mother care and sister care is not to much of a big ask.

Im trying to keep this ask to have more freedom in case of writers block sooo idk if it will help but here you go 🫰🏽

Hey, hon! :) I absolutely am interested, this sounds adorable! I love writing Alcina in fluffy prompts, actually XP But I find her quite difficult to write. Anyway, let's get some good mama bear and protective sisters incoming

Let's get into it!

Masterlists

Bela overworking herself is... an understatement

Between a busy schedule cramped with a nearly impossible mountain of tasks, spontaneous issues and worries being dropped on her by the staff and, perhaps most of all, constantly having to monitor her younger sisters, Bela is known to tackle more than enough tasks a day

So headstrong, her mother praises

So perfect, her sister mocks

So capable, her other sister admires

So resilient, others speak highly of her

An impressive heir. A dedicated worker. A respectful woman. The prime example and role model of a sister

Bela Dimitrescu

None know what is behind the titles, the overwhelming amount of stress, the angry tears and breakdowns each night, the headaches daring to overwhelm her after neglecting meals in favor of working more, or simply being too stressed and forgetting about them entirely

Alcina, always praising her for being so headstrong, for the tasks she accomplishes in record time, could never guess the intense toll it takes on her eldest

She knows only of her bright smile when she is praised, cannot catch a glimpse of how her precious eldest breaks herself to perform better, faster, more tasks than she is given, more tasks than anyone ought to take on, desperately chasing the next words of praise from her

Cassandra, mocking and rolling her eyes when her sister scolds her, just rarely sees the utter exhaustion in her well kept features, just rarely picks up the unease her sister's swarm seems to convey, just rarely notices how her sister trembles when she crosses her arms and scolds her

Daniela, who so often mocks and pouts, who so often causes more trouble, intentionally or not. Always looking up at her sister, yet incapable of looking at her, the eldest constantly surrounded by thick walls shielding the true exhaustion her life brings

Bela Dimitrescu

Desperate to do good, to be a good role model, to be worthy of her family's love. Desperate, to keep her family safe

It's like this that she pushes herself too far

She doesn't understand what's happening, doesn't understand how she could trap herself in this room with no escape

She wants to blame Cassandra

She wants to snarl about how she told her to catch the man-thing and she deliberately let him go, only to continue on and postpone her childish, sadistic hunt

Naturally, catching him is now her task

What she didn't account for, however, is being locked inside a room with two large, broken windows and the cool wind causing more and more of her flies to drop rapidly

She feels pain course through her entire body as shots are fired at her, feels as her body trembles, then falls to the ground, her knees weak

Everything goes blurry first, her vision swimming, her head so light and mind hazy

Then, darkness, pain, and silence

She awakens to...noise?

Whispers, hushed voices and snarls. Her eyes feel heavy, her body even more so

She's cold, terribly so, but feels something warm surrounding her. A blanket? No, there must be more than one. Three thick ones, at least

Bela stirs a little as she feels her body be readjusted, her mind reeling as she attempts to figure out where she is

Next, however, she picks up a series of familiar scents

Rich perfume and roses- her favorite scent, the one bringing her the most comfort- Mama is here

Then, there is the scent of iron and blood, of pine trees and the kind of indescribable smell that belongs to rain and water- Cassandra is here

She picks up the last, too, the sweet perfume mixing into the coppery scent of blood- Daniela is here

Ah, but she hardly needs her scent to tell that. She winces when she feels something press against her stomach, her eyes fluttering a little as the thing- a hand, she is sure- is immediately removed and she picks up the hushed snarls of Cassandra as she scolds the redhead

"Move it!"

She opens her eyes to the sound, feeling her body protest as it yearns for just a little more rest

Immediately, she gasps as a body crashed against hers and she feels her youngest sister's head bump against her throat. She hugs her, so tight it hurts, her front and dress rubbing up uncomfortably against the countless wounds on her body

She doesn't dare push her away

"I'm so sorry!", she hears her cry. Again, she feels the discomfort of warm breaths hitting her neck and wet tears running down her skin, though she doesn't dare push the younger woman off. Instead, she groggily raises her aching arms to wrap them around her, not trusting her voice judging by how dry her throat feels

Opening her eyes fully, she finally recognizes the room she's in

She's in her mother's arms, four blankets piled on top of her and countless smaller things- pillows, dolls, stuffed animals and dead mice set up around her almost like an offering of comfort and a plea for forgiveness. Too exhausted, she can't bring herself to smile, though weakly raises her fingers towards her other sister until she feels Cassandra hold them wordlessly, not daring to meet her eyes

She knows, after all, it was her job to kill the man-thing. Her task to get rid of him. Her fault her sister collapsed and nearly froze over, she's sure, unaware of just how hard she has been pushing herself prior

Still, despite the pain she's in, she croaks out a little laugh when Cassandra eventually tugs at the back of her sister's dress, drawing unhappy whines from her as she's yanked back and away, completely oblivious to how the blonde breathes a sigh of relief now the pressure on her wounds and aching body has been lifted

She feels a large hand lovingly cup her head and sighs in relief yet again, leaning into the touch as her eyes slip shut again

She doesn't dare meet her mother's eyes, not after this. She couldn't bear the immense worry in her eyes, knowing she caused it. Knowing it's her fault

Despite her efforts, however, her mother knows

She always does

Bela whines lowly at the back of her throat as she’s turned and her chin is lifted, pressing her eyes shut when she feels tears build up

She couldn’t bear the disappointment she is sure Alcina must feel

Instead, her eyes snap open wide when she feels the woman kiss her forehead as she has so often back when they were still little. Much to her embarrassment her bottom lip wobbles when she catches the utterly loving and caring expression her mother’s face shows

No disappointment- at least not revealed by her expression

She jumps as she feels a body against her back, giggling tiredly as she feels Daniela sling her arms back around her, sniffling quietly by her ear

Her heart aches again as she hears the woman whisper and sniffle, promising to be “the best sister in the world and never cause trouble again” if only she gets better and doesn’t die

She wants to promise her; she won’t die, but the words die in her sore throat and she’s left coughing, which seems to only have her younger sister panic more

Her golden eyes wide and bottom lip quivering, Daniela watches as Bela is guided to lay back again, her eyes closing momentarily at the warmth surrounding her

Still, just to make sure, she allows some of her flies to rest by her sister’s head

For protection

As Bela nestles back against the many blankets around her and feels her mother’s hand stroke soothing circles against her shoulder and back to warm her up, she catches both her sisters looking at her expectantly, as though unsure what to say or do

Guilt. Love. Hope. She easily picks it up in their expressions and pose

She sends them a gentle smile, her throat aching a little as she croaks out an “it’s okay”

Daniela is the first to cuddle up when beckoned closer, by her left

She can only smile again as she feels the woman steal away some of the blankets for herself and whine for Alcina’s other hand until she too receives gentle head scratches

Cassandra stays back for a moment longer, her eyes downcast again until she too joins the pile of blankets

She doesn’t dare meet her sister’s eyes, doesn’t dare bump into her in fear of worsening the pain she’s sure she must be in

She does, however, snarl automatically in surprise when she’s yanked closer, her eyes finding other golden ones as she eventually too curls up against her sister and the blankets

Maybe, it was her fault

But maybe, it doesn’t matter now, with Bela recovering, with her forgiving her

[lovelyleech]

Music save me