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dakusan · 1 month ago

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H O W S K Z T E X T W H E N … T H E Y ’ R E D R U N K

stray kids ot8 x reader | drunk texting, emotional whiplash, chaotic flirtation, love at 2AM

🌙 synopsis: They said they wouldn’t get that drunk. They got that drunk. Somewhere between the third shot and their thumb hovering over your name, they forgot how to act normal. They text like it’s a confession booth. They voice memo like it’s their last voicemail. Some of them send “u up?” with a smile. Some send “i miss u” with a death grip on denial. And some…? Just wanna draw you asleep and call it art. This isn’t just drunk texting. It’s SKZ being hopelessly, tipsily, embarrassingly into you. Soft boys. Unfiltered feelings. Typos that say too much. Welcome to the inbox you dream about getting.

💌 a/n: hi. yes. it’s me. Sunday softdrops baby. i blacked out and woke up in a google doc full of emotionally unstable drunk men with fluffy hair and no texting filter. did i write han’s entire section from personal experience? maybe. did jeongin flirt with me through my own writing? also maybe. am i okay? no. but it’s fine. 🫠 thank u for reading my little brainrot. u deserve a drunk text from your bias tonight. or at least a meme and a forehead selfie. p.s. reblogs = aftercare 🥺 p.p.s. if you read this and didn’t feel something, check your pulse babe. p.p.p.s. omg it took me longer to make that fucking banner than it did to write this entire post i’m losing my mind 💀 pls validate me it’s cute right

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "Love Scenario" — IKON

Bang Chan // 방찬 ✨ The “Accidental Soulmate Confessor” Emotional | Heartfelt | Always just one beer away from writing you a wedding vow | Thinks he’s texting normally — he’s absolutely not.

[2:04AM] u kno ur the best thing that ever happened to me right [2:05AM] like not just in a 😚❤️ way but in a 🌎☁️🌟💍 way [2:07AM] am i spelling good? is this good spelling? [2:08AM] imma write u a song rn brb need to find my mic. love u. (You later receive a 32-second voice memo of him singing about your eyelashes before snoring kicks in.)

📱 Text style: Long heartfelt paragraphs cut into chaotic line breaks. One (1) existential crisis per text chain.

🥂 Drunk vibe: A soft ball of love. Tears up mid-sentence. Thinks about forever while holding his water bottle like it’s a mic.

💿 Aesthetic: Hoodie sleeves over his hands, star projector spinning, acoustic lo-fi playing, and the word “love” typed and retyped 12 times.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Two whiskey highballs and half a glass of wine he didn’t mean to drink that fast.

Lee Know // 리노 😤 The “Angry-That-He-Misses-You” Drunk Tsundere | Bluntly Flirty | Lowkey Clingy | Mad that you make his heart soft

[1:47AM] don t get used to this i m n ot cute i jst miss ur dumb face [1:48AM] ur the only person i wldnt throw a slipper at. tha means smthing [1:49AM] “come over so i can insult u in person 🐱🖤 (Follows with a blurry selfie in your hoodie: “it doesn t smell like u anymore fix it”)

📱 Text style: Aggressively incorrect spelling + love disguised as threats.

🥂 Drunk vibe: Angry at feelings. Loudly defensive. Will call you annoying then stare at your contact photo for 10 minutes.

💿 Aesthetic: One earbud in, black hoodie pulled tight, cat curled on his lap, 2 unread messages from you he pretends not to obsess over.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Soju bombs and a shot he claimed he didn’t like but still asked for another.

Changbin // 창빈 💪 The “Buff Romantic” Loudly Affectionate | Jealous in a Healthy Way™ | Protective Softie | Wants to fight your sadness and win

[12:33AM] LISTEN i don’t say it enough but UR 🔥 and funny and i wanna squish ur cheeks [12:35AM] also i think i saw a guy look at u once and i didn’t like it i think i’m jealous?? [12:37AM] but like in a healthy communicative way😤💕 (Sends 12 progressively zoomed selfies of his forehead.)

📱 Text style: Caps lock + muscle emojis + randomly tender confessions

🥂 Drunk vibe: 50% flirt, 50% hype man. Will body slam your insecurities if given the chance.

💿 Aesthetic: Heavy chain necklace, Spotify on sad R&B, heart-shaped Post-its on his gym mirror, three selfies in your messages before you even respond.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Tequila shots and one suspicious pink drink the bartender dared him to finish.

Hyunjin // 현진 🎭 The “Poetic and Probably Crying” Drunk Hopeless Romantic | Art Boy Delusions | Will write you a sonnet and cry while doing it | Thinks your hand is a masterpiece

[1:11AM] i saw a moon tonight and thought it was u [1:12AM] no wait it was a streetlamp but i still meant it [1:13AM] ur hands r my fav shape [1:15AM] can i draw u asleep? not in a creepy way. ok maybe in a little way. (Sends a blurry sketchbook page that just says “pretty” written over and over.)

📱 Text style: All lowercase. No punctuation. A poem in disguise.

🥂 Drunk vibe: Gazes out the window with a single tear. Dramatically clutches his chest while texting you you’re “divine.”

💿 Aesthetic: Scented candles, sketchbook covered in flowers, red wine stains on notebook paper, whispered voice notes that make your heart ache.

🍷 What he got drunk on: One bottle of red wine, a playlist titled “tragically yours,” and exactly one bite of cheese.

Han // 한 🌀 The “Unhinged Meme Lord with Accidental Feelings” Chaotic Neutral | Otter Memes + Unplanned Confessions | Panic Texts | Actually Madly in Love

[2:55AM] i just rememebred u like otters. here’s an otter. also me when u smile 🦦🫠🫶 [2:58AM] how do i send a pizza to ur house without knowing ur address?? wait nvm i do know it. im smart. genius. [3:00AM] ok but like... i love u. oh no i pressed send wait nO (Follows up with: “jk unless??? 😳”)

📱 Text style: Meme. Confession. Apology. Repeat.

🥂 Drunk vibe: Flirting through chaos. Will quote SpongeBob and then cry because “you’re the only one who gets him.”

💿 Aesthetic: Hoodie up, random snacks around his desk, YouTube playing a conspiracy video in the background, one hand hovering over the delete button.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Soju + cider mix, three jello shots, and something called “angry peach tornado” from a sketchy bar.

Felix // 필릭스 🌻 The “Sunshine Becomes Liquid Gold” Drunk Emotionally Soft | Hug Dispenser™ | Cries Because He Loves You Too Much | Wants to tuck you in spiritually

[11:45PM] hiii 💛 just want u 2 kno ur like my fav person ever like ever ever ever [11:46PM] u ever seen a star and been like wow that’s them?? bc that’s me rn with u [11:48PM] sending hugs via telepathy did u get it?? 🫂☁️💫 (Includes a 3-second voice note: “hiiiiiii... ur cute. ok bye.” followed by a giggle.)

📱 Text style: Stream of consciousness kindness + giggles in voice memos

🥂 Drunk vibe: Becomes 100x more affectionate. Holds your hand tighter. Cries over how lucky he is to know you.

💿 Aesthetic: Lavender candle burning, soft knit sweater, arms wrapped around a pillow, 7 open tabs of photos he wants to send but thinks “are too much.”

🍷 What he got drunk on: Sparkling rosé and one (1) baby bottle of peach soju. He got tipsy halfway through dessert.

Seungmin // 승민 😐 The “Denial But Obsessed” Drunk Pretends He’s Sober | Insults You Lovingly | Texts Like He’s Not in Love (But He Is) | Regrets Everything the Next Day

[12:12AM] i’m not even drunk lol u just looked really nice in that one outfit from last week [12:13AM] don’t let it go to ur head. average. 6/10. ok fine 11/10. whatever. [12:15AM] if i die tonight tell my dog i loved u more (Next day: “that wasn’t me. i was hacked.”)

📱 Text style: Passive-aggressive flirts + “idc but here’s my heart” energy

🥂 Drunk vibe: Thinks he’s subtle. Is actually fully feral. Will send “you up?” but claim it was a typo.

💿 Aesthetic: Glass of wine untouched, sarcasm layered over panic, piano keys he’ll pretend he doesn’t play when thinking of you.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Expensive red wine he “hates” but keeps sipping like it’s vengeance. Also maybe a whisky cola he didn’t finish.

I.n // 아이엔 🍓 The “Too-Sober-to-Be-This-Flirty” Drunk Composed | Mischievous | Knows EXACTLY What He’s Doing | Flirts with a smirk you can feel through the screen

[10:44PM] not drunk just thinkin. bout u. in that outfit from last week lol [10:46PM] r u free rn or should i keep pretending i don’t wanna kiss u [10:49PM] missed my stop btw. not bc of u. but also yes. entirely bc of u. (Sends a photo of his shoes and says: “u could be in front of these rn just say the word”)

📱 Text style: Quiet confidence + emotional landmines disguised as jokes

🥂 Drunk vibe: Barely tipsy. Still 100% in control. Uses texting as a weapon and you never see it coming.

💿 Aesthetic: Glossy lips, streetlight reflecting on his rings, late train ride, voice memo he replayed twice before hitting send.

🍷 What he got drunk on: Soju + soda with ice and a lemon wedge. He’s classy. He’s dangerous. He drank it slow just to mess with you.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #sundaysoftdrops

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touchme-teezme · 2 months ago

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I'm Sorry.

PAIRINGS | collegeboy!seonghwa x fab!reader

TAGS | plot with some porn, strangers to lovers, one night stand situationship, idk man he came over to build legos, there’s some attempted flirting and teasing, lots of making out, lots of tongue, unprotected vanilla sex, seonghwa lowkey a bop, bruh i am so bad at tagging bye i give up

RATING | NSFW 21+ (Minors pls DNI/if it makes you uncomfortable don’t read thx)

SUMMARY | Seonghwa needed a break. He also decided something had to change — and that led him to a few unexpected places in one night, including something dangerously close to his disaster feelings and while you were clearly the escape, he ran the other way.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | …hey…. how y’all doing?… sorry i was getting cheated on and also started a really important internship. It just ended (the internship and the relationship) so… we’re so…back? Thank you for being so sweet in the inboxes, this was a long one. i finished editing during valentine’s day i think? i was thinking about hwa’s slutty fingers after seeing that one concert video and ugh my mind went places oK omg i will shut up now. Bye, enjoy.

Inspired by 'Do You Like Me?" by Daniel Cesar. I have been listening to that NEVER ENOUGH album so much lately.

💌 click here to see my Love Interrupted series masterlist [ot8] — check out the other parts!

This was going to be the first and last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung.

In his defence, he’d hit a new low. Lower than rock bottom. Which is why the resident exemplary student, honour roll with a self-imposed 9 p.m. bedtime was standing outside the hottest nightclub in Itaewon, sporting a fresh haircut and an outfit entirely stolen from his roommate’s wardrobe.

His dating life chewed him up and spat him out, and now he was determined to do the absolute most to cope. He was hurt and hell-bent on distraction from whatever the fuck was even going on in that part of his life.

How he ended up getting ghosted by his situationship wasn’t nearly as baffling as how Wooyoung had somehow convinced over half their friend group to spend their Friday night here, of all places. They weren’t really party people — well, half of them weren’t. The ones who were into it had conveniently been excused from showing up.

Yunho, on the other hand, had been on the dance floor non-stop, while Wooyoung played hype man from the booth, cheering him on like it was a solo concert.

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa’s shoulder with his knee from the top edge of the booth like a gremlin surveying chaos.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you all night.”

Seonghwa shot him a flat look. “And?”

“And,” Wooyoung slid down from his perch and dropped onto the seat beside him with a dramatic sigh, “Yunho and I are taken, and those two are a lost cause.”

Seonghwa glanced across the table. Hongjoong looked like he was losing a battle with sleep, while Yeosang scrolled through his phone, sipping from Hongjoong’s drink. He hadn’t smiled once all night — clearly here for the same reason Seonghwa was: moral support. But the chaos of the club made heart-to-hearts impossible.

“That leaves you,” Wooyoung said matter-of-factly. “Dude. She’s hot and interested. You’re hot and miserable. Classic rebound opportunity.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” Wooyoung shrugged. “But I’m also right. Just look.”

He reached over, grabbed Seonghwa’s chin, and turned his head toward the bar.

And there you were — leaning back with easy confidence, swirling your drink, eyes locked on him with a smirk that stole the air right out of his lungs.

“Trust me,” Wooyoung grinned. “She’s perfect for helping you forget that loser.”

This would go down as the second and definitely the absolute last time Seonghwa ever took advice from Jung Wooyoung. Five minutes later, he’d been kicked out of the booth with one order: Don’t come back without her number.

That’s how he found himself now, seated next to you, drink in hand, trying to remember how to function like a normal human.

“Not a fan of clubs?” You asked, leaning slightly nearer to him to yell over the loud music.

“I hate it. I think I’m having an identity crisis,” He blurted out as he shook his head, the liquor loosening his lips faster than his brain could catch up.

You laughed, but not unkindly. “I'm sorry to hear that. Well… I don’t live far if you wanna have some peace and quiet.”

“Oh. Uh…”

“I…have a cat, too. She loves company if you like cats.”

Your invitation slipped past his defences smoother than the drink in his hand. One last sip, and he was already on his feet—jacket in one hand, your purse slung over the other shoulder.

That was all it took. Seonghwa couldn't help but wish it was the way you were looking at him or how your skirt was riding up coincidentally the longer he sat next to you. But nope, it was the thought of being able to distract himself and pretend like this night out never even happened and getting him far away from whatever this hellscape was.

Clubs really weren’t his thing.

He barely registered the triumphant double thumbs-up from Wooyoung or the way Yunho covered his dropped jaw as he watched the two of you walk out together.

Seonghwa’s heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. Taking a cab to your place with a confident, effortlessly cool girl like you was far outside his usual playbook. For a second, he wasn’t even sure what to say.

Thankfully, conversation came easily to you.

The ride melted into light chatter about university — shared gripes about professors, mutual hatred for certain classes. You discovered you were in the same course but at rival schools, which only added to the banter. There was laughter, playful jabs, and an unexpected comfort that settled between you.

By the time the cab pulled up to your place, Seonghwa was far more at ease than when he’d left the booth.

Your apartment was warm and cosy, lit with soft golden light that cast slow-moving shadows across the walls. Seonghwa stepped inside and hesitated in the middle of the living room, awkwardly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, unsure of where to stand or sit.

You smiled as you hung up your coat, amused by his stiffness.

“Relax. Make yourself at home.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry.” He took in the space again, then gave you a sheepish look.

“So… is this the part where you admit you don’t actually have a cat?”

“Would you be mad if I did?” you teased, stepping a little closer.

His heart stuttered. He opened his mouth to respond, but then-

“Oh, shit!”

His eyes went wide as they landed on something across the room — a pristine box of a Lego orchid set sitting on the coffee table. He practically rushed over.

“I’ve wanted this for so long!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, his excitement too endearing to be upset over what the box represented.

“Oh, yeah. It was a birthday gift for someone… but I never got to give it to him. I was going to return it tomorrow or something.”

He glanced down at the box in his hands. “Have you ever built a set before?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t have the patience for Lego,” you admitted.

He held out a hand, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “This one’s easier than my last build. We’ll be done in no time. I promise.”

Somewhere between sorting bricks and swapping stories, Seonghwa realized he was actually getting to know you. What started as throwaway chatter had spiraled into a shared spiral; bad dates, worse decisions, and the Valentine’s Day disasters that landed you both at that club.

Now sitting cross-legged beside you, he was down to the last few pieces, fitting them together with ease —until your voice cut in again.

“I still think it’s insane how yours just ghosted you,” you voiced your opinion once his story was over as you laid on your stomach, “If I was in that position, I’d be running for a second chance, like that wouldn’t have even been a question.

Seonghwa’s hands faltered, fingers tightening around a tiny brick as he felt heat rush up to his cheeks. He let out a breathy laugh, snapping one of the last pieces into place. Then, a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it was my fault. I come on too strong sometimes and… it just didn’t work out.”

“Which is exactly why I think it’s crazy,” You clarified, with your chin resting in your hands, propped up on your elbows. “Like, if I had you chasing after me? Wow.”

You were only yapping away, if anything it was to keep yourself awake. You let out a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of saying something like that to someone you literally just met, but you caught the way he was looking at you. And maybe… the way you said it didn’t sound so hypothetical anymore.

His fingers tightened around the last brick in his hand, looking down at it.

“…What would you do?” he suddenly asked, the words slipping out before he could think them through. “If I was chasing you?”

You shrugged, still focused on finishing your flower, but there was something different in the air now. You could feel it. The way his voice had dropped, how his eyes lingered just a moment too long.

“I don’t know… anything you’d want. Like, come on.” You tried to brush it off with another laugh, but even you could notice the shift in the air between you both.

“Come on… what?”

He didn’t laugh back. Instead, he leaned in a little, just enough to close the space between you. His gaze was intense as it focused on you but the question still hung in the air.

You slowly looked up at him, you knew exactly what he was doing.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

He huffed a quiet breath, trying to ground himself. “You didn’t invite me here for some peace and quiet, did you?”

You felt your carpet under the palms of your hands as you sat up, still watching him. “Technically… I invited you back for peace and quiet away from everyone else.”

“To do what?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” You couldn't bite back that smile. “Me inviting you is one thing, but why did you come?”

He didn’t respond, just held your gaze. You leaned in and your fingers found his jaw, light and slow. With that, you closed the gap, pressing your mouth firmly against his. Your hands roamed down his hard chest, tracing the contours and marvelling at how he flexed beneath your touch.

A low moan escapes his throat as he returns your kiss with equal fervour, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your tongues moved together, exploring every nook of each other's mouths.

The kiss momentarily broke for him to trail his lips along your jaw. You slowly rose up from your knees with his guidance. His hands firmly on your sides with no signs or intentions of letting you go just yet. His lowered eyes focused on you as you helped him out of his black tank top, throwing it off over the jacket he laid out neatly on your couch.

You took his hand straight to your bedroom door. Opening it, your tuxedo cat jumped out before making its way to the zip line for the kitchen where her bowl of water and food was waiting. You turned to Seonghwa who looked back at you, delightfully surprised.

“So you do have a cat.”

“I was lying about her being a fan of people though,” You shrugged. “Come on.”

He smiled as he looked down at you, his gaze locked on yours with a mix of curiosity and anticipation and as you both reached the edge of the bed, you gently pushed him down onto the mattress.

His lips pressing together nervously as his eyes drank the sight of you stripping down.

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“Yeah… just not… it’s been a while…” Seonghwa was blabbering.

He was in the middle of an internal battle, wondering if this was a mistake. You were just nodding along to his words, finally slipping out your skirt before straddling him, hooking your arms behind his head to continue kissing those lips of his.

Seonghwa was without a doubt a kisser. He knew exactly how to do just how you like it, how to hold you and move his tongue – the way he moved with yours with practiced precision sent shivers down your spine.

It was no wonder you were already getting soaked between your legs, and he wasn’t even naked… but he was hard, and from how he was rubbing it up against you, you could tell he was more than eager.

His kisses felt tender yet intentional, and it was driving you insane. He was holding down the sides of your throat to kiss your neck and collarbones.

“Fuck, Seonghwa please—“ You reached down to the bulge clearly wanting to be freed, looking up at him when he had you pressed against the mattress on your back.

It felt good to be wanted and to be desired. He wasn’t lying when he said it had been a while, especially with someone like you, who carried yourself with such certainty.

“Shhh… let’s take our time.”

His hands found their way onto the mounds beneath the lace of your bra which he had pushed above your breasts teasing your left nipple with fingertips he had wet with his tongue. Your knees pressed together, as he showered the other one with feathery kisses.

He took your hand from behind his head, intertwining it with his fingers before planting it right above your head. When his skilled tongue found its way against yours again, you had to let out a deep moan in his mouth — especially with his fingers teasing your slick folds through your panties.

“Oh my god…” You rubbed up his arm in encouragement.

“Where do you want me, beautiful?”

You swear you could’ve melted from how gentle his voice was and how his eyes were glossing at you.

“Anywhere.” You unhooked your own bra out of sheer impatience, getting chills from how he smiled at your shamelessness. “Everywhere.”

“Let’s start… here.” His hands dipped in between your legs.

Seonghwa's hands moved with a confident grace, exploring every inch of your core with a precision that spoke of practiced skill. His thumb traced gentle circles over your clit, eliciting a soft grunt from you as the sensation washed over you. Your core tightened in response to his focused attention, and your hips began to move involuntarily, grinding against his fingers.

You were lost in a fit of absolute pleasure and enjoyment, your body arching off the bed as Seonghwa's fingers delved deeper into you. In a moment of pure instinct, you grabbed his chin, pulling him closer. His mouth was open, and before you could think twice, he sucked your fingers into his mouth, his lips and tongue working over them with a hunger that mirrored your own.

You noticed the glint in his eyes as he watched you, his gaze flickering between the action and your reactions with a possessiveness that lit up his eyes. "Are you just going to watch?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

Your fingertips brushed his smile, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned down. "But I like watching you," he murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His fingers continued their tormenting, curling and twisting inside you in a way that had you squirming beneath him. He could feel your wetness coating his fingers, and it only spurred him on further.

"I n-need a little more," you whispered, but your words were swallowed by the intensity of another finger joining the first, and everything around you seemed to fade away.

Seonghwa groaned, quickly undoing his button and fly with one hand, while the other ensured your legs remained parted. Before you could compose yourself, he dropped his head and began lapping at your clit as if he were starving. At first, it was just his tongue and lips, but when you felt his fingers curl back in, you let out a loud moan of pure pleasure. You didn't even notice his growls of approval as he continued the motion, flicking his tongue faster and faster, as if you might run away at any moment.

The sight and feeling of having such a beautiful face devouring you distracted you from how he was advancing towards you, appearing in front of your face just to dip down and kiss your chest. Distracting you, he was getting ready to take out his hard-on, pumping it in his hands, coating it with your own slick.

“Do you have uh…” He started to ask, but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about that, just… now… p-please,” you urged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled a little at you, leaning down to hold you with one arm snaked around your waist and the other hooked under your knee as he laid you both on your side. Holding onto him by his broad shoulders, you braced yourself for what was to come.

“Ah, fuck..”

He took your lips between his as he finally had you around him. The way he teased your bottom lip with his teeth, the way his tongue had explored every crevice of your mouth — it reminded you just how much you personally missed the feeling of being this intimate with someone.

Seonghwa groaned into another kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he rolled his hips, grinding his slightly curved cock deeper into your stretched folds.

"Mmm,” he murmured against your lips, nipping at them playfully before trailing his mouth down your neck. "Is this what you wanted?”

You bit back a grin, nodding aggressively as you continued to moan out all while his shaft slipped in and out at a steady pace with your hands clutched onto the back of his neck.

He caught a pert nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “You smell incredible, I’ve wanted to tell you that all night.”

You scrunched your nose, “I smell like the club.” Cigarettes and liquor.

To emphasize his point, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before placing an open-mouthed kiss there. “I mean your skin, babe. Fuck me…” He suckled lightly, intent on leaving a subtle mark.

"How does that feel?" He asked in a low, seductive rasp as he continued his sensual stroke a little quicker.

Your breathy silent approval ignited something primal in him.

“Yeah? Faster?” He complied, increasing the pace of his thrusts. The new rhythm had him driving into you harder, deeper, the thick ridge of his cockhead kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

It was wild how he seemed to anticipate your every move before you could even react or give him instructions. The fluidity of his actions felt almost surreal, which sounds absurd when you consider how quickly everything unfolded. You had just met this stunning stranger, with hair flopping over his eyes – you were building brick flowers merely moments ago and now here you were focused on a different set of bricks.

One large hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as the other tangled in your hair, resting his forehead against yours intimately as he pounded into you. His lips brushed yours in fleeting, feverish kisses between ragged breaths.

"Yes, just like that," you grunted, feeling the sweat on his brow against your forehead. “Whatever you want, just take i-it.”

You felt Seonghwa's hands curve around your skin, to press down on your stomach. As his fingers dug in, it was as if they were anchoring you to the moment, making it impossible to escape from under him. Not that you even planned to.

He rocks into you with an increased urgency, driven by the overwhelming desire of how your body is responding instinctively. His eyes locked on yours, a mix of possessiveness and adoration that made your heart race. The way his muscles flexed with each thrust, sweat glistening on his skin, and his lips parting in a shameless moan.

"I-I’m…i’m almost there," He rasped, while his hot breath fanned over your skin.

Just as you're teetering on the brink, he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. With a guttural roar, he stills, his cock twitching as he fills you.

When the pulses gradually slowed, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer intensity of you both unravelling at the same time. His lips sought yours in a tender, lingering kiss, pouring all your affection into the simple gesture.

"Oh my god…" he breathed, still reeling as he brushed a strand of sweaty hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“God…” You chuckled, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “I needed that so badly.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement with an eyebrow raised as your bluntness, “Glad I could’ve helped–”

You placed a finger to his lips, silencing him momentarily before you flipped him over to straddle his chest. Your eyes sparkled with mischief despite the exhaustion etched on your face. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and the sight of you climbing atop sent a thrill through his veins. His semi-hard cock twitched in anticipation as he idly watched you position yourself and slowly shift downwards, making sure to plant butterfly kisses all over his lower abdomen as you made your way down his happy trail.

You looked at him with a playful smile, your eyes glinting with excitement that you were going to taste yourself off him. Then you leaned in, capturing his cock in a deep mouth. Your tongue danced with the tip, exploring every inch of it as you savoured the taste of yourself and him. He groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow as your warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock.

You took your time, lavishing attention on every inch, your tongue swirling and dancing along the sensitive underside. The sensation of tasting yourselves together was intensely arousing. He threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

"Mmm, shit, that feels incredible," he praised, his voice thick with pleasure. "You look so good with me around your mouth."

You hummed in agreement, the vibration sending shivers up his spine. You picked up speed, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder, your saliva coating his shaft.

"Don't stop," he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair, guiding your movements. You could feel the tension building in his body, the muscles in his legs and arms tensing as he neared his climax again.

With a final, powerful thrust of your throat, he let out a guttural roar, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he released once more. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, and then pulled back, licking your lips clean. You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction and a hint of mischief. He was breathless, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're something else.” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and admiration as he watched you clean after yourself so well.

You smiled, leaning into his parted lips.

The whole thing was deliciously reckless… Yet, easy. It started off as one of those nights where the music was too loud, the drinks too strong, and yet somehow it led you here – it led him here. Seonghwa didn’t plan on meeting anyone, let alone ending up tangled in someone’s sheets, laughing at your terrible jokes between kisses that felt way too good to stop for the rest of the night.

By the time the sun started creeping through the blinds, you were both wrecked in the best way. Not just tired, but happy-tired. Wrapped up in each other like it was the most natural thing in the world — just easy conversation, lazy kisses, and that warm, quiet buzz of maybe-this-could-actually-be-something.

“So, what do you think about dinner? My place this Saturday?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Isn’t it Saturday already?” he replied with a chuckle.

“Then I guess you’ll have to stay.” You muttered with a cheek pressed against his chest.

He let out a small laugh, pulling you closer. You drifted asleep first, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back as his chin pressed lightly down the top of your head. He wasn’t tired yet, but he had a few things on his mind until his phone started going off in the other room.

He carefully untangles himself from you. His movements were quiet, practiced. He slipped his boxers on and cracked the door open to quietly head over to shut that stupid thing off.

It had to be one of the guys. That’s what he told himself. It had to be them asking if he got your number, if last night was good, if he was even still alive after stumbling out of there with you.

That’s why it came as a shock when he finally registered what he was reading on his phone.

DO NOT ANSWER Missed call (2)

DO NOT ANSWER I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to but Donghyuck said he saw you and your boys last night and… that you left that trash place with someone?

Did not know you were that kind of person…

Can we talk? I need to see you. I’m at your dorm.

It didn’t matter if it was inappropriate, offensive, or downright insane to come back after all the mental acrobatics Seonghwa was put through because his body was already moving, back to your room to quietly pull on the rest of his clothes. Every few seconds, he glanced back at you, at the way your hair fanned across the pillow, at the warmth still lingering in the sheets. With a quiet sigh, he grabbed a sticky note from your desk.

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what felt worse: leaving you, or running back to the person who only came back when he was one foot out the door, just to prove how wrapped around the finger he was. He didn’t know how to feel about any of it — but knew that he had to go. Because even if this could’ve been the start of something real, something he might’ve actually needed… he thought he needed to be there, chasing the comfort of old chains that he knew all too well.

By the time you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the emptiness beside you. The second was the way your lips still tingled from the night before, still smiling as it remembered what he tasted like and how he treated you, recalling everywhere his lips grazed, even though he had already left. He had been for a while, he could’ve woken you. He also could’ve taken the Lego orchid with him. The day was almost already gone by now, but a part of you was looking forward to seeing him again later.

It wasn’t until you reached for a glass of water that you noticed the note, neatly pressed under a fridge magnet in the kitchen that the hopeful smile you carried around your apartment dropped instantly.

"Thanks for last night. I don’t think I can stick around for that dinner. I’m sorry."

The words weren’t sloppy or rushed. He had taken his time. Like he meant it. Like that had made it better.

#seonghwa smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #hwa fic #park seonghwa #atz smut #atz fanfic #ateez smut #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #seonghwa #atz reader #atiny

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lnfours · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, can you write the following prompt please "i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?"

after the week i’ve had, i need some lando fluff 🥹 also, i promise i didn’t forget about all your requests! life has been hitting me super hard the last few months

thank you all for being so patient with me and for sticking around 🫶🏻 i love you

cleaning out my inbox 💌

the door to the apartment closed, a sign that your boyfriend had finally returned home after a busy day.

you were in the kitchen, trying to find all the ingredients you needed in order to make dinner when you heard his voice, “i’m home!”

“in the kitchen!” you called back to him, the sound of keys falling into the porcelain dish by the front door echoing off the walls. he came into the room, clearly hiding something behind his back. a smirk on his face, that could only mean one thing.

he got you something.

“how was work?” he asked, moving towards you carefully in order not to show the surprise. you smiled when his lips found your cheek, giving it a soft peck. his usual, everyday greeting whenever he came home from a day of training.

“boring,” you mumbled, “how was your day?”

“same,” he said, “counted down the minutes until i got to come home.”

you chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as you finally addressed the fact that he was hiding something behind his back, “whatcha got there?”

“a surprise, close your eyes.”

you closed them, heating a quite ruffle of cellophane as he arranged the flowers to be in front of him, “okay, open.”

you opened your eyes to the most beautiful bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen. they were vibrant, but housed all your favorite flowers. you smiled as you took them from his hands, raising them to your nose, “i got you flowers,”

“for what?” you asked, now curious to know if there was any real reason. if it was a way of apologizing before he told you something had happened. you looked over at the calendar on the fridge, hoping you hadn’t missed any important dates.

you hadn’t.

“there has to be a reason?” he asked, a small playful smile on his face. you chuckled, shaking your head before placing them down on the counter top.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, his finding their home as they wrapped around your waist, “no, there doesn’t. i was just curious, that’s all,”

he hummed, “i saw them in the flower shop on the way home and they reminded me of you.”

you smiled, “they’re beautiful, thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” he smiled back, lips brushing against yours as he dipped his head down closer to yours, “i love you.”

“i love you,” you mumbled back before meeting his lips in a sweet kiss.

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mikaylathenerd5 · 26 days ago

Text

Somewhere Between Silence | Roman Reigns

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Summary: Over two years after a breakup neither of them recovered from, Roman runs into Nalani at a quiet grocery store—with a toddler who has his eyes. Grief, guilt, and the weight of silence crack open everything he thought he buried. Now he’s faced with a truth he never expected and a second chance he might not deserve.

Word Count: ~5.8k

Content Warnings: This story contains emotional tension, mentions of absent fatherhood, off-screen breakup and heartbreak, and grief related to missed time with a child. Nothing explicitly graphic, but the tone is heavy and introspective. Please take care of yourselves while reading.

Author’s Note: This one’s close to my heart. I wanted to explore what it feels like to come face-to-face with everything you missed—and still choose to try anyway. This is Part 1 of what’s looking like a slow-burn second chance fic, full of silence, softness, and hope that isn’t easy.

Thank you for reading—likes, reblogs, comments, or even just making it to the end means everything to me.

💌 Feel free to join the taglist or scream in the inbox. Let me know if you want a Pt. 2 🩵✨

“A man can miss a thousand moments and still choose to show up for the next one.”

The doors chimed low—barely a whisper—but Roman heard it.

He always heard the small things now—how silence could stretch and pull at you in ways noise never could. Grief warped his hearing—like a second pulse beneath his skin, tightening everything inside until he could barely think. You could be surrounded by people and still feel the absence of just one, sharp and unforgiving, echoing just beneath the surface. It was like a sixth sense he never wanted—tightening around his ribs, creeping in when he least expected it.

He didn’t know why he came in. He hated grocery shopping. Usually had someone do it for him. But this spot was tucked off a side street in the quiet part of Atlanta. No fans. No cameras. Just jazz playing low and light through the speakers and oranges stacked like sunshine in every corner. The kind of place with handwritten signs and employees who smiled with their eyes. It was the first time in weeks he felt like a man again, not a brand. Something simple. Something still.

And then he heard it.

A laugh—familiar, soft, round.

His spine went stiff.

His head turned on instinct, breath caught halfway in his chest. For a second, he thought he was wrong. That his mind was playing tricks again. That the universe wasn’t cruel enough to play this kind of game.

But then—

Her.

Nalani.

She stood in profile near a basket of strawberries, bent slightly as she steadied a toddler’s reach. Her hair was longer now, thicker curls tumbling over her shoulders, catching the light like strands of ink tipped in gold. No makeup. Gold hoops. Skin that still looked like honey beneath soft morning light. The sight of her hit like muscle memory—familiar, intimate, disarming. His body swayed forward a step before he could think better of it, as if the past had physically pulled him into its orbit. Roman’s grip tightened around the cart handle instinctively, a jolt running through his body like his nerves misfired all at once. His mouth dried, his hands freezing on the cart handle, as if time itself had stalled around his grip.

And beside her—gripping the hem of her dress with one chubby hand—was a little boy.

A chill spidered up Roman’s spine, the kind that made his fingertips go numb and his ears ring like he’d stepped into a different dimension.

The child was small. Maybe no more than two years old. Thick dark curls. Soft golden-brown skin. And something else. Something deeper.

He couldn’t stop staring.

The boy held a green toy truck in one hand and pointed with the other.

"Mama!" he chirped, voice still sweet and round. "Red ones! I want red ones!"

Mama.

Roman’s stomach twisted. Her kid?

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

He just looked like her. That was all. That had to be it. The shape of his eyes, the curve of his cheek—those could be hers, right? Roman’s brain scrambled for denial, for logic, for anything to explain away what his gut already knew. But it unraveled fast. Too fast. His thoughts spun, grabbing at any excuse—maybe she was babysitting. Maybe he was someone else’s child. Maybe this wasn’t what it looked like.

Except… he didn’t. Not entirely.

There was a shape to the boy’s mouth, a weight in his eyes.

The kind Roman saw in the mirror every morning.

He laughed softly, rocking on his feet. He furrowed his brow in a familiar, deeply embedded way.

A sharp inhale scraped his throat, like the air had turned to glass in his lungs.

"No," he muttered under his breath. "No way."

The kid bent down with his little knees and stuck his tongue out while trying to reach a loose berry.

Roman felt the air shift. His jaw clenched before he could stop it, throat bobbing around a breath that never made it out.

That was his look. His mother had teased him for doing that as a toddler. A habit he never outgrew.

And suddenly—he couldn’t breathe.

The apple slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. In that moment, Roman felt just as bruised—something soft and broken rolling out of reach. It rolled to a stop near the boy’s sneaker, soft and bruised.

Nalani turned first to the apple, then slowly lifted her gaze to him.

Time stalled.

She didn’t gasp. Didn’t stumble. But her fingers tensed, a flicker of something passing across her face—maybe shock, maybe something more. But her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her tote, the only crack in her otherwise flawless composure.

Just… stillness.

Her eyes locked on his like a switchblade snapping open.

She stood slowly, one hand adjusting the tote strap on her shoulder.

Roman’s knees nearly buckled. His chest moved like he’d forgotten how to breathe. He’d taken hits in the ring that hurt less than this.

He stepped forward.

"That’s…" His voice cracked. "That’s your son?"

She blinked. Once. Calm.

"No," she said quietly. "He’s your son."

Silence dropped like a blade.

Then, softer—after a long, almost cruel pause—she added:

"Roman."

The name landed like a punch to the gut—silent, wind-stealing, final.

His throat dried instantly. His jaw worked, trying to form words he no longer owned.

"You were…" he managed. "You were pregnant?"

"Yes."

"And you didn’t tell me?"

"No."

"Why would you—"

"You were already gone," she said. "You just hadn’t walked out yet."

The words hit him harder than a punch. Roman flinched, the breath catching in his throat, the ache rising so fast he had to lock his jaw to keep it from trembling. It wasn’t just a line—it was a truth he hadn’t been brave enough to admit until now.

The boy—Maleko—stooped to pick up the bruised apple. It was soft in his hand, damp from the floor. Roman’s chest squeezed watching him cradle it so gently—like even something hurt was still worth holding onto.

"I got it, Mama," he said, wobbling a little as he held it up.

Nalani crouched to take it. "Thank you, baby," she murmured, brushing his curls out of his face.

Her hand lingered there, on his tiny shoulder, and Roman’s throat went tight. A sharp ache bloomed beneath his ribs, like watching something sacred he no longer had a right to touch. Roman’s chest clenched, the weight of helplessness pressing into him like the grocery bag strap digging into his palm, unnoticed until now. Steadying. Grounding. Her thumb rubbed slow circles against his shirt, like if she let go—even for a second—she might crack open. Like she had to hold her own body together with that single touch.

Roman stood frozen.

He looked at her. Then at the boy. Then back.

"He has my name," he whispered. "My blood. And I didn’t even know he existed."

"You didn’t care to know," she said.

"I didn’t get the chance."

She raised her brow. For half a second—just a flicker—her lip trembled. But it was gone before it could mean anything.

"I gave you every chance, Roman. You didn’t take any of them."

"What’s his name?"

"Maleko."

His breath stuttered.

She’d given him a Samoan name.

Even when she hadn’t given him a single word.

Maleko looked up at Roman then, blinking. Curious. Small. The world seemed to pause in that breath—Roman’s heart thudding louder in his ears, the weight of recognition thick in the air—before the boy moved again. He squinted at him like he was trying to place a memory, and Roman’s breath hitched, a sudden sharp pull like someone had yanked the air out of his chest before he could even take the breath, then gave a shy, crooked smile—the kind that lit up his whole face without warning. He tilted his head slightly and rested one hand on his hip—exactly like Roman had just done. The echo of Roman’s stance in that tiny body gutted him.

Roman’s heart shattered in silence. In Maleko’s tilted head and crooked smile, he saw a thousand moments he’d never get back—sippy cups, scraped knees, sleepy yawns—and something deeper: a resemblance that left no room for doubt, only grief and fragile hope.

"Who dat?" the boy asked, pointing the toy truck.

Nalani crouched again, voice low.

"Just someone Mama used to know, baby."

The words split him open.

Roman’s guilt twisted into something sharp. Anger flared—not at her, but at the ache of everything he missed.

"You didn’t even try," he said, voice breaking. "You just decided for both of us."

Nalani stood, slow and deliberate. "I decided for him," she said. "And I’d do it again."

He wanted to fight it. To argue. To demand something back. But the memory of her walking away that night—her hoodie too big on her, her voice too small to stay—rose like smoke in his chest. He’d already lost that fight before he even noticed it was happening. But he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew—he would’ve made it worse back then. He wasn’t who Maleko needed. Not then.

"I want to know him," Roman rasped. "Please."

She looked at him long and hard.

"I don’t know if I want that yet," she said. "He doesn’t know you. And I’ve spent two years keeping his world safe."

He swallowed hard.

She reached down and took Maleko’s hand.

"Come on, baby," she said. "We’ll get you a smoothie before we go home."

Roman didn’t follow.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched her walk away—her son in tow, his curls bouncing as he skipped beside her, the toy truck now dragging along the edge of the cart.

And when he finally looked down, the apple was still on the floor.

Soft. Bruised. Just like the piece of him lying on that floor—unseen, left behind. The silence that greeted him now echoed like the one he carried in his chest, sharp with grief, the same silence that had followed him in and never let go. Birthdays, first words, first steps. A lifetime’s worth of memories he’d never even been invited to. And the silence she’d left in her wake? He was still sitting in it, long after the door closed.

Roman didn’t remember leaving the store.

One second, he was standing over the bruised apple. The next, he was outside, leaning against the hood of his truck, sun beating down on him like it had a personal grudge.

His shirt stuck to his back. Not from heat. From nerves. From shame. His pulse thudded behind his eyes. Too hard. Too loud.

He couldn’t feel his hands. His fingers were curled so tight into his palms they’d gone numb, but he hadn’t noticed until he looked down and realized he was trembling.

The air didn’t help. It was warm—early spring heat with a breeze—but it might as well have been ice.

He had a son.

A son.

Two years of moments. Two years of tiny shoes and teething cries. Of midnight feedings and first steps. All of it—gone. Erased from his hands like he was never meant to hold any of it.

"He doesn’t know you."

That line repeated over and over. It throbbed. Like it lived under his skin now.

Roman scrubbed a hand over his face, then over his beard, like the pressure might make something real. But it didn’t. It just left him feeling rawer than before.

He could still hear Maleko’s voice.

"Who dat?"

He hadn’t even said Dada. Had never said it to him.

Roman’s stomach turned.

He sat down on the edge of the truck bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He hadn’t cried in years.

But now?

His throat felt tight. His vision blurred. The kind of grief that didn’t roar—it sank. Quiet. Heavy. Unrelenting.

He remembered her barefoot in his kitchen, months before the end. Wearing his hoodie. Laughing. He’d kissed her temple. Said something about "someday." The same someday she’d once believed in—the same word she threw back at him in the last message she ever sent.

Somewhere behind him, a car alarm chirped. A kid laughed across the street. Life went on, oblivious.

But for Roman, time had stopped the second Nalani looked him in the face and said, "He’s your son."

A smashed grape on the pavement near the front tire caught his eye. He stared at it too long, chest tight. Everything was soft and ruined now.

He didn’t know how long he had sat there.

Didn’t know if it was minutes or an hour before the ache moved to rage—at himself. At what he lost. At how little he could do now.

"You should’ve known," he muttered, voice hoarse. "You should’ve fucking known."

He’d missed everything.

But maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t missed it all. And if she gave him even half a chance… what kind of man would he have to become to deserve it?

Over Two Years Ago

It started with a fork.

She’d left it in the sink, and Roman, half-distracted on a conference call, had tossed it in the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes. Just another thing to cross off the list.

But when she came home, she saw it. The silver tine bent slightly. The kind of detail only someone who cared too much would notice.

And she didn’t say a word.

The silence had weight. Not tension. Not anger. Just absence.

Roman stood at the end of the hallway, watching the shape of her through the cracked bedroom door. Nalani sat on the edge of their bed, elbows on her knees, staring at nothing. She wasn’t crying. That almost made it worse.

“I ordered Thai,” he said. His voice felt too loud.

She didn’t answer right away. Just rubbed her thumb over the edge of her ring finger—bare, for weeks now.

“I’m not hungry,” she finally replied.

Roman leaned against the frame. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

Nalani shrugged.

The TV was on in the bedroom. One of those home renovation shows she used to love. The volume was low, just enough to distract, not entertain. Paint colors, crown molding—none of it made a dent in the air between them.

“Do you wanna talk?” he asked, more out of guilt than intention.

She turned her head slightly. Not to face him—just enough to acknowledge she heard. “No point.”

That landed harder than anything else that night.

He walked in. Sat at the far edge of the bed, like the space between them had always been there. The distance wasn’t just physical—it had settled into the sheets, the floorboards, the walls.

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered. “You think I haven’t been trying?”

Nalani didn’t laugh, but he heard the breath she held back. “You’ve been reacting. Not trying.”

He said nothing.

“You show up when it’s convenient. You talk when it’s easy. You love me like I’m a job you forgot you signed up for.”

That one hurt.

And maybe she meant it to. But the worst part was—it wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t even a fight. It was exhaustion. Finality.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” Roman said quietly.

“You didn’t have to mean it.” Her voice was small now. “You just did.”

They sat in silence.

The show on the TV changed. A new couple came on, smiling wide, holding hands. Roman watched it for a second. Then looked at her again.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Nalani nodded once. “Then you should’ve held on before I started slipping.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“I—” he started, but the words jammed in his throat. He didn’t even know what he was trying to say. Sorry? Stay? Please?

And she didn’t wait for him to figure it out.

She stood up, crossed the room, and picked up a throw blanket from the chair. She wrapped it around her shoulders—not to leave, but to close herself off.

“I’ll stay on the couch,” she said.

Roman blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’m tired, Roman. I’m tired of sleeping beside someone who feels so far away.”

Then she turned the volume up just a little, pulled the blanket tighter, and walked out of the room.

Not out of his life.

Not yet.

But close.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, the remote abandoned beside him. He stared at the muted glow of the screen, at the couple smiling through drywall dust and fresh paint, and wondered how the hell everything had turned so cold.

Cold sheets. Cold air. The faint scent of her shampoo still on the pillow next to him.

He didn’t chase her that night. He thought about it—rising, saying something, anything—but the weight of it all kept him frozen in place.

Didn’t say what he should’ve said.

The hoodie she wore that night would still be in her closet over two years later, untouched. It still smelled faintly like him—warm cotton, a hint of cedar and smoke—and every time she opened the door, she pretended not to see it folded neatly on the shelf like a memory she couldn’t quite throw away.

And in the quiet, Nalani’s absence filled the room louder than any goodbye.

He sat there for a long time, staring at the wall like it might give him back what he’d just lost. She used to pull him closer in the middle of the night—just to feel his heartbeat. And it was always the hoodie she wore when she did. That same one folded neat on a shelf now, holding memories he never deserved to forget. Now, she could barely stand to share the same room.

He thought silence meant peace. He knew better now.

He hadn’t touched his dinner.

The takeout box sat unopened on the kitchen island, condensation pooling around the edge like sweat. The house was dark except for the glow of the TV playing on mute.

Roman sat on the couch, phone in hand, thumb hovering over a contact he hadn’t called in over two years.

He hadn’t saved her under a name. Just the emoji she used to sign off with: 🌙

It was still there.

He didn’t know what he thought would happen. That maybe the number would’ve changed. That time would’ve deleted it for him.

But it hadn’t.

He opened their old message thread, his thumb hesitating midair as if touching the screen might set off a landmine. His hands felt unsteady—too big, too clumsy for something this delicate. His shoulders hunched in toward the phone like the walls were closing in, breath tight in his chest as he scrolled.

The last message was hers.

“You said someday. That’s not a real date.” Delivered.

He read it over and over.

Then scrolled up. Through a hundred messages. Through photos. A blurry picture of her holding a grocery bag up like a trophy. A mirror selfie of her in his hoodie. A timestamped text from 2AM that just read: “Come home.”

He locked the phone and dropped it beside him.

He couldn’t reach out yet.

Not without something more than guilt.

He walked into the guest room. The one she’d used sometimes when they fought. Opened the closet. She hadn’t taken everything when she left. A few books. A sweater. A small drawstring bag with a cracked bottle of hair oil.

At the back of the shelf—folded too neatly to be ignored—was the hoodie.

His.

Hers.

He sat on the bed with it in his lap. Ran his hands over the fabric like it might speak.

Maleko’s smile lived in his mind now. The way he tilted his head. That voice.

“Who dat?”

Roman exhaled shakily.

He didn’t know if Nalani would let him back in.

But he knew this:

He wasn’t going to vanish again.

He got up and grabbed his keys.

Thirty minutes later, he was parked outside a familiar door—Jey’s place. He sat for a full minute, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, breath shallow. What was he even going to say? How do you open your mouth and admit you missed your own child? Eventually, he got out, walked up, and knocked.

Jey opened it in sweats, hair twisted up, one brow raised. “Yo. You good?”

Roman didn’t answer right away. Just stepped in, shut the door, and pressed a hand to his chest like he was trying to hold something in.

“Talk to me,” Jey said, already switching the TV off.

Roman sat down heavily. “I saw her today.”

Jey didn’t need to ask who.

“With a little boy,” Roman said. Voice flat. “A toddler.”

Jey’s jaw tightened.

“He’s mine.”

Jey sat down across from him. “Shit.”

Roman laughed—harsh, humorless. “She named him Maleko.”

Jey looked at him, eyes narrowing. “You sure?”

“I don’t need a test. I saw his eyes. His stance. He held himself like me, Jey. He even mimicked me.”

Jey exhaled slowly. “Damn, Uce.”

“I missed everything.”

They sat in silence.

Then Jey said, “So what now? Because I can see it’s tearing you up, and I’m not just asking for you—I’m asking for that little boy too. He didn’t ask for any of this, but now you know he’s yours. So what are you gonna do about it, Uce?”

Roman looked at him. Really looked at him. His shoulders sank slightly, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slipping out slow and shaky. “I think I need to earn a chance to know him. To know her. I don’t think I get to ask for it. Not yet.”

Jey nodded slowly. “That’s true. But you do get to show her you’re not the same man you were. Start there.”

Roman rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t even know what that looks like. I don’t even know who I am to that kid.”

“You’re his father,” Jey said. “Not because you made him. But because you show up. Now you show up, Uce.”

Roman’s chest tightened. “What if it’s not enough?”

Jey leaned forward. “Then you keep showing up until it is.”

Roman didn’t answer. Because that he could do. Even if it broke him open in the process. Even if it meant starting small—showing up at the library’s toddler hour, researching parenting classes, or quietly googling therapists who specialized in fatherhood and reconciliation. He didn’t know what she’d allow. But he’d be ready when she did. Ready with the hoodie in his lap and Maleko’s voice in his ears—haunting him, guiding him, reminding him of everything he still had a chance to be.

Nalani hadn’t slept.

The kind of not-sleep that clings to your bones. That plays memories behind your eyes like a projector reel with no off switch. Roman’s face. His voice. That fractured expression when he saw Maleko. It haunted her in a way she hated—because it wasn’t anger that lingered.

It was ache.

She sat at the edge of the bed, Maleko’s monitor soft and green beside her, heart ticking too loud in her ears. She’d meant what she said—she had protected their son. Had done everything alone. Had been enough. She’d rocked him through fevers, cried quietly in the bathroom while he slept, held her breath through first milestones with no one to share them with. And yet…

Seeing Roman had cracked something open. Not because she needed him. But because, for a second, she saw the man he might’ve been—still could be—if he chose right. She hated that a part of her wanted him to show up. That part was still soft. Still stupid. Still his.

Her phone buzzed.

It was a number she still hadn’t deleted. One she couldn’t.

Roman: Would it be okay if I came to the library this week? Just to watch storytime. No pressure. No expectations.

Roman: Only if you’re okay with it.

He remembered once—back when they still shared Sunday mornings—how she’d talked about the little library on Peachtree. How it had beanbag chairs and soft carpets. How she used to dream of taking their future baby to storytime there. He hadn’t said much back then. Just nodded. Maybe kissed her shoulder.

But apparently, he’d remembered enough.

She typed “No.” Then erased it. Tried “Not ready.” Deleted that too. Her chest felt too tight for something as simple as a reply.

It wasn’t about forgiveness. It was about safety. About making sure her son only saw love—never its collapse.

She stared at the screen. Thumb hovered. Then, finally—

Nalani: Thursday. 10:30.

She didn’t send anything else. But when she tucked Maleko’s jacket into his little bag the night before, she added an extra granola bar.

Just in case someone else was hungry.

She zipped the bag shut like a decision. Quiet. Small. But not nothing. A hush against the noise of doubt still swirling in her chest. Like a whisper in a storm—a yes she hadn’t spoken aloud yet.

Just in case he really came.

The first thing he noticed was how loud the quiet was.

Not the kind that haunted him. Not anymore. This quiet was stitched with whispers, giggles, and the low rustle of pages. The soft squeak of sneakers on carpet. Crayons clicking in little fists. A dragon puppet swaying in the hands of a librarian with kind eyes and a lilting voice.

And there—dead center on the rug—was Maleko.

Cross-legged. Focused. Unaware.

Roman stood near the back of the children’s section. Hat low. Hands deep in his Nike hoodie. Trying to slow his breathing.

He didn’t look at Nalani right away.

Didn’t need to.

He could feel her watching him from across the room. Guarded. Tense. The kind of look that warned him she remembered everything.

He kept his eyes on the felt board. On the soft shapes and smiling faces. On anything but her.

Maleko laughed. High and full and wide-mouthed. The puppet had just mispronounced 'banana'—'blanana'—and the kids lost it.

Roman bit back his own smile.

He didn’t move. Didn’t step forward. Just stayed where he was, soaking it in. Every second. Every sound. And for a moment, he doubted whether he had any right to be here—to witness this softness, this safety—when he hadn’t earned it.

This was what he’d missed.

Not just milestones.

The rhythm. The everyday joy. The quiet miracles.

A little girl near him dropped a crayon. Roman crouched and picked it up before her mom could react. Handed it over with a quiet nod.

He didn’t realize Nalani had noticed.

She had.

Her arms were folded, but her expression had shifted—barely. But enough. She watched him crouch to hand the crayon to the little girl—a small, quiet act—but there was a softness in his smile that caught her off guard, a warmth she hadn’t seen in years. Her grip loosened. Her jaw clenched. And then Roman handed a book to a child too shy to ask for one, and she saw it again—that flicker of softness. Like she didn’t know whether to fold or brace.

Her arms were folded, but her expression had shifted—barely. But enough.

Roman looked at his son again.

He watched another dad lean in and whisper something to his daughter. She giggled, her fingers tangled in his beard. Roman looked down. He’d never even held Maleko’s hand.

He blinked hard, throat dry. His feet itched with the urge to leave—to not ruin it. But Maleko laughed again, and Roman stayed.

Then Maleko glanced over his shoulder mid-story. Brief. Innocent. A flicker of curiosity in his small face. He watched Roman adjust how he stood—and without thinking, Maleko mirrored it.

Nalani saw it. Her breath caught.

And Roman just gave the tiniest nod.

Nothing more.

Nothing yet.

But he’d come.

He was here.

And for the first time in years, maybe that was enough to begin.

They locked eyes—Nalani and Roman—just once. Sharp, unintentional, and unspoken.

That tilt of Maleko’s head—Roman had seen it in mirrors. But the calm in his eyes? That was all Nalani.

A page turned. A child yawned. And somewhere between the silence, a second chance took root.

Nalani didn’t know what scared her more—that he came, or that part of her had hoped he would.

Roman caught up with them in the parking lot. Not too close. Just enough to be helpful.

Maleko had run ahead with a burst of post-storytime energy, nearly tripping over his own feet as he made for the car. Nalani caught up just in time to steady him, murmuring soft reprimands as she adjusted the strap of his little backpack.

Roman didn’t speak at first. Just bent down and opened the car door for her.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but the words never made it out. She saw the effort. She looked away before it could mean anything.

“Thanks,” she said cautiously, not looking at him.

He nodded.

“Let me help,” he offered, and she hesitated—but didn’t say no.

Together, they buckled Maleko into his seat. Nalani remembered him once carrying both grocery bags and her purse after a long day, cracking a dumb joke just to see her smile. His hands had always been careful, even when his words weren’t. Now, Roman’s hands moved carefully, like he was afraid to touch anything too long. When Maleko yawned, Roman smiled and tapped the crown still perched on his curls.

“Looks good on you, little man.”

Maleko grinned sleepily. Then leaned back with his hands behind his head, mimicking a pose Roman used to take on lazy Sundays. Nalani noticed. Her jaw tightened.

Nalani watched them both. Watched the way Roman pulled back slowly, giving her space even while his eyes lingered.

She didn’t invite him in.

But she didn’t rush him away either.

She climbed into the driver’s seat, started the car, and pulled her door shut with a soft thunk.

Roman stepped back.

He didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t have to.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, as she backed out of the space and turned toward home.

The car was quiet.

Not heavy like it had been two nights ago—but soft. Muffled. The kind of quiet where peace didn’t mean comfort, just distance waiting to be crossed.

Maleko was in his car seat, swinging his legs and humming. His curls bounced with each kick against the fabric, and he was still clutching the red paper crown the librarian gave out after storytime.

Nalani kept her hands at ten and two, knuckles pale. The light changed, and she turned left out of the parking lot like muscle memory. They always took the long way home on Thursdays.

She glanced at him in the rearview.

He was still humming.

Still content.

He hadn’t even noticed how hard she was breathing.

“What did you think of storytime today, mi amor?” she asked softly, voice breaking the air like a ripple in still water.

Maleko nodded. “I liked it,” he said, bouncing the crown in his hands. “The lady was funny.”

“She was,” Nalani agreed. She swallowed hard. “Did you see anyone else you liked?”

Maleko’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head, mirroring the way he had in the library.

“The man,” he said.

Nalani’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

“What man?” she asked, even though she already knew.

Maleko looked out the window. “The one who helped the girl. He was big.”

A beat.

Then: “He looked nice.”

She wished it didn’t matter. Wished her son didn’t already know how to spot goodness in a man he hadn’t even met.

Nalani didn’t answer.

She kept driving. Past the diner. Past the park. Past the place Roman used to get his hair cut every third Friday like clockwork.

Maleko yawned, dragging the crown over his face like a superhero mask.

“He smiled at me,” he mumbled.

Nalani blinked.

The light ahead turned yellow. She didn’t speed up.

She pulled into their driveway minutes later. Didn’t kill the engine.

Maleko was already nodding off, the crown slipping off his head.

Nalani sat with her hands still on the wheel.

She didn’t cry.

Didn’t speak.

She just stared out the windshield and let the silence press in again—soft, uncertain, and not entirely unwelcome. She stared out the windshield, breath held tight in her chest, like she was waiting for the quiet to decide what came next.

Roman sat on the edge of his bed, the hoodie still folded across the back of a chair. The house was quiet, the kind that used to settle him—now it just echoed. Too wide. Too still.

His phone sat screen-up on the nightstand. He stared at it. Picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up again.

He opened a blank message thread. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Roman: I know I don’t get to ask for anything. But I’m going to try anyway.

He paused. Backspaced. Started again.

Roman: If there’s ever a day Maleko has a checkup, or a preschool visit, or even a park trip… I’d like to come. Just to be near. I won’t say anything. I won’t cross your line. You set the pace. I’ll follow it.

He exhaled through his nose. Deleted the whole thing.

Typed again.

Roman: I started seeing someone. A therapist. Just so you know. I want to learn how to do this right.

Another pause.

Roman: If you ever need help—with him, with anything—I’m here. No pressure. No expectations.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then hit send.

The message flew off like a confession, like a promise written in digital air.

He tossed the phone on the bed and pressed both hands to his face, breathing deep. Not in regret—but in weight.

This was step one.

But actions had to follow. He thought of the birthdays that had come and gone, the milestones unmarked, the hundreds of days where Maleko had gone to bed without ever knowing his name. That weight couldn’t be undone by a single message. But it could be the first crack in the wall he’d built himself into.

That weekend, Roman showed up to his first fatherhood support group. Sat in the back, hoodie pulled low, heart pounding in his chest like a damn drum. He didn’t talk much—just listened. To men who’d lost time, fumbled love, missed too many milestones. Men trying to do better. Be better.

“I missed everything,” Roman finally said when it was his turn. “But I don’t want to miss him, too.”

Later that night, he mailed a package.

Inside: a worn copy of Where the Wild Things Are. His own name scrawled on the inside cover from when he was a kid. Tucked beneath the front flap, a note written in his stiff, careful handwriting:

Thought maybe he’d like this one. Used to be my favorite. No pressure. —R

He changed his phone wallpaper that night. Deleted numbers that didn’t matter. Installed a co-parenting app, even if she never added him. Set reminders for pediatrician timelines. Milestone tracking.

And then he sat back on the edge of his bed.

The hoodie was still on the chair.

But for once, he didn’t reach for it.

Because this was still step one.

And if it took a hundred more just to earn a conversation, he’d take every one of them.

📝 Author’s Note

This one… cracked me open. I wanted to explore what happens after silence—after the missed calls, the unread texts, the words we should’ve said but didn’t. Roman didn’t just lose time. He lost moments. And sometimes, the most devastating part of healing is realizing the clock never stopped. It just kept ticking without you.

If you made it to the end, thank you—truly. For holding space for this story, for Roman’s unraveling, for Nalani’s guarded softness, and for Maleko’s quiet, everyday magic.

I don’t know what comes next for them just yet.

🩵 If this moved you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Comments, reblogs, tags, or even just quiet feelings you’re still holding—I see you, and I appreciate you more than I can say.

✨ I love interacting with y’all. Truly. Some of the coolest, most thoughtful people I know are right here, and I’m constantly in awe of the energy you bring. Never be shy in my comments or inbox.

📌 If you’re on the Somewhere Between Silence series taglist and would like to join my main taglist for all updates, let me know in the comments or fill out my Google Form. There are so many more stories on my masterlist if you're in the mood for more heartbreak, healing, smut, or softness.

Thank you for being here. — Kayla 🩵✨

🏷️ @star017 @sheaabuttaababyy @tribalqueen20 @trippinsorrows @mamis-girly

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

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#roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns #black oc #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe x black oc #roman reigns fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #roman reigns x black reader

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rosemariiaa · 6 months ago

Text

~A Family Christmas Eve~

˖˙ ᰋ ── pairing: Paige x Azzi

˖˙ ᰋ ── rosie’s note: okkk, i loved the prompts in my inbox but i had two that were my favs so i out those together, i live for pazzi as moms omgg! but sadly this is the last oneshot until after a few chapter of HS, which should be coming out soon hah.. anyway happy reading lovelies 💌

˖˙ ᰋ ── theme: fluff

enjoy!!!

The living room is alive with the warm glow of Christmas lights reflecting off the shiny ornaments scattered on the coffee table. The smell of pine mingles with hints of hot chocolate from the kitchen, and the faint sounds of Christmas music play in the background. Azzi is kneeling in front of the couch, wrestling a tiny red pajama set onto a squirming two-year-old who has ideas of her own.

“Evie,” Azzi says patiently, holding up the pajama top. “Arms up, baby. Come on.”

Evie, soft curls framing her round face and lips set in a pout, crosses her arms instead. “Cookies,” she declares firmly, her voice carrying the kind of conviction only a toddler can manage.

Azzi sighs, sitting back on her heels and glancing toward the bedroom door. “Paige!” she calls out, clearly trying not to laugh.

“What?” Paige yells back from the living room.

“Your daughter’s holding me hostage,” Azzi shouts, her voice light but full of mock frustration.

Evie gasps dramatically. “Not hotage!” she insists, her little face scrunching up in indignation.

Paige appears in the doorway, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing a matching red pajama set. Her grin is immediate as she takes in the sight of Azzi kneeling on the floor and Evie sitting on the bed, stubbornly bare-armed. “What’s the problem?” Paige asks, crossing her arms.

“She won’t let me get her dressed because she wants to bake cookies right now,” Azzi explains, giving Paige a helpless look.

Evie points a tiny finger at Azzi. “Cookies now, Mama!”

Paige bites back a laugh and crouches to Evie’s level, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, Evie,” she says, her voice conspiratorial. “How about this—if you let Mama get you dressed, I’ll let you pick the first ornament for the tree. Deal?”

Evie narrows her eyes, clearly weighing her options before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she says, lifting her arms.

Azzi mutters a quiet “thank you” under her breath as she slips the pajama top over Evie’s head.

Just as they’re finishing, the sound of loud banging echoes from the front door. Paige groans, standing up quickly. “Oh my God. Who’s about to break our house down?”

Azzi stands, scooping Evie into her arms, the little girl’s curls bouncing as she giggles. “I have a guess,” Azzi says, smirking.

Paige opens the door to find the entire team—Caroline, KK, Ice, Morgan, Yanna, Sarah, Nika, and Amari—crowded on the porch in matching Christmas sweaters and grinning like maniacs.

“Twin!” Nika shouts, barging in first to give Paige a huge hug that nearly knocks her over.

“You can’t just—” Paige starts, but before she can finish, the rest of the team is pouring into the house, hugging both her and Azzi, and exclaiming over how festive everything looks.

“Where’s the star of the show?” Ice asks, looking around dramatically.

As if on cue, Evie wiggles out of Azzi’s arms and bolts toward Ice. “Auntie Icey!” she yells, throwing herself at Ice, who catches her with practiced ease.

“There she is!” Ice says, spinning Evie around.

The room quickly turns into a loud, chaotic swirl of hugs and laughter. Caroline helps Evie unwrap a candy cane, KK heads straight for the snacks Paige left out on the counter, and Amari spots the tree and claps her hands. “Alright, where do we start?”

“Nika, you’re slacking,” Azzi teases as Nika sits on the couch, already holding a mug of hot chocolate. “I thought you were her favorite.”

“I am her favorite,” Nika retorts, holding out her arms. “Right, Evie? Come to Auntie Nika.”

Evie scrambles out of Ice’s arms and runs to Nika, who picks her up and holds her close. “Told you,” Nika says smugly, sticking her tongue out at Azzi.

“Rah!” Evie says suddenly, spotting Sarah next.

Sarah grins, holding out her hand for a high five. “What’s up, Evie girl?”

“Moogan,” Evie says, pointing at the brunette, her small brow furrowed.

Morgan crouches down with a patient smile. “Mooorgan,” she says slowly, exaggerating the sounds. “Can you say it?”

“Moooo-gin,” Evie tries, frowning when it doesn’t come out right.

“It’s okay, baby,” Azzi teases, stepping forward and resting a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Morgan’s just the least favorite, anyway.”

“Wow, Fudd,” Morgan deadpans, narrowing her eyes as the group bursts into laughter.

Paige bites back a grin, watching Morgan attempt to recover her pride as Evie plants a soft kiss on her cheek to make up for it. “See? She loves you,” Paige says through her laughter. “You’re just not Nika.”

“None of us are,” Ice chimes in, throwing a fake glare at Nika, who’s still smugly cuddling Evie like a prized trophy.

“Alright, alright,” Azzi interrupts with a laugh, clapping her hands. “We still have a tree to decorate, stockings to hang, and yes,” she shoots a look at Evie, “cookies to bake.”

“Cookies!” Evie squeals excitedly, squirming until Nika sets her down. She dashes toward the kitchen, only to be intercepted by Caroline.

“Hold up, Evie. Ornaments first,” Caroline says, scooping her up and spinning her around.

Paige watches it all unfold with a fond smile, her arms crossed as she leans against the wall. She and Azzi have hosted team gatherings before, but this—everyone together, laughing, filling their home with chaos and love—this feels different. It feels special.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Azzi murmurs, stepping up beside her and bumping Paige’s shoulder lightly.

Paige turns her head, grinning. “Just thinking about how lucky we are. Look at this.” She gestures at the scene in front of them—KK and Amari tangled in lights, Sarah sorting ornaments while Ice takes an entire strand of garland for herself like a scarf, and Morgan carefully helping Evie pick the first ornament for the tree.

Azzi follows Paige’s gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah. We are lucky.”

“Also, you should’ve named her Christmas Eve,” Paige jokes, nudging Azzi again. “Because then it’d be Evie on Christmas Eve.”

Azzi groans, rolling her eyes. “Paige, that joke was awful.”

“No, no, it’s brilliant,” Paige insists, grinning even wider. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Azzi deadpans, but there’s no hiding the affectionate gleam in her eyes.

Before Paige can respond, Evie toddles over to them with an ornament clutched in her hand—a glittery silver star. “Mommy, Mama, look!”

Paige crouches down, holding out her hand so Evie can proudly place the star in her palm. “Perfect choice, baby,” she says, ruffling the little girl’s curls.

“Hey, Eve,” Nika calls from the couch. “Can I pick the next ornament?”

“No!” Evie says immediately, turning to look at her auntie with wide, scandalized eyes.

The entire room erupts in laughter, and Paige scoops Evie into her arms, peppering kisses on her cheeks. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re in charge tonight.”

Azzi watches them with a soft look on her face, her heart swelling at the sight of Paige laughing with their daughter. It’s loud and chaotic and entirely imperfect, but it’s theirs—this is home.

Just then, Evie runs to the window and presses her small hands against the glass. “Mama, Mommy! Deer!” she shouts excitedly, pointing outside.

Azzi and Paige exchange a surprised glance, walking over to the window just in time to see a small herd of deer grazing in their front yard, the snow lightly dusting their backs. The scene is serene, almost magical against the Christmas lights twinkling around their home.

“Well, looks like Santa’s helpers are here early,” Paige says with a grin.

Evie’s eyes light up. “Deers! Santa’s deers!”

Azzi wraps her arm around Paige’s waist, leaning in to whisper, “This is the Christmas magic I wanted for her.”

“Me too,” Paige replies softly, her voice filled with emotion as she pulls Evie into her arms, kissing the top of her head.

As the night goes on, the team makes themselves at home in every corner of the house. The tree gets decorated, stockings are hung, and the smell of cookies soon fills the kitchen as Evie proudly stands on a stepstool, helping Sarah and Caroline cut out shapes from the dough.

Paige sneaks a piece of cookie dough when Azzi isn’t looking, only to get swatted on the arm when she’s caught.

“Mommy!” Evie scolds, her little brows furrowed. “No eat dough.”

“Yeah, Mommy,” Azzi adds, giving Paige a pointed look.

“Traitors,” Paige mutters under her breath, though she can’t stop the grin tugging at her lips.

As the chaos swirls, Paige’s eyes narrow slightly as Morgan subtly nudges Azzi toward the dining room. “Az, can you help me for a second? These lights are tangled, and it’s a disaster.”

Azzi frowns, clearly suspicious. “Why can’t you ask KK or Amari?”

“They’ll just laugh at me,” Morgan says, pouting. “Come on, teamwork.”

Paige watches them disappear, her smirk growing as she turns back to the group. “Alright, you guys have five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes to what?” Caroline asks, already grinning as Ice pulls a roll of wrapping paper out from behind the couch.

“To wrap Paige as Azzi’s present,” KK says gleefully, tearing a piece of tape with her teeth.

“Not this again, that’s not what we talked about,” Paige groans. “I swear—”

“Shut up it’s tradition,” Ice insists. “The wives have to be presents.”

“It’s dumb,” Paige grumbles, even as Nika swoops in to lift Evie. “Evie, do you want to help wrap Mommy?”

Evie gasps, her little hands clapping together. “Mommy’s a pwesent?!”

“Yep,” Nika confirms, pulling Evie into her lap with the red ribbon in hand. “Special delivery for Mama Azzi.”

“Traitors,” Paige mutters as Caroline and Amari start clearing space, KK expertly lining up wrapping paper. “Every single one of you.”

“You’ll survive,” Ice grins, pulling Paige toward the center of the room.

—————

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Azzi is watching Morgan fiddle pointlessly with a string of lights. “I still don’t understand why you needed—”

“Almost done!” Morgan blurts out nervously. “Just—wait here for a second, okay?”

Azzi squints at her suspiciously. “You’re stalling.”

Morgan flashes an awkward smile. “Team spirit?”

Azzi mutters under her breath as Morgan blocks the doorway again, a little too obviously.

Back in the living room, Paige stands awkwardly, her arms wrapped tightly against her body under crinkled red and white paper. Ice slaps a giant bow onto her shoulder while KK sticks the finishing tag to Paige’s chest. In wobbly toddler letters, it reads: “To Mama, From Mommy.”

“Perfect,” Caroline says, grinning at her work.

“Azzi’s gonna kill you,” Paige mutters as Evie bounces excitedly.

Amari peeks toward the dining room. “She’s coming back! Get ready.”

The lights dim slightly, and Evie squeals in anticipation as the team scurries into position.

Morgan finally gives up and pushes Azzi toward the doorway. “Go see your surprise.”

Azzi steps into the living room, freezing as her gaze lands on Paige—fully wrapped, ribbon-tied, and looking both annoyed and amused. “What… is happening?”

“Merry Christmas, Mama!” Evie cries gleefully, pointing at Paige. “Mommy’s pwesent!”

The team bursts into laughter as Paige shuffles forward, the paper crackling loudly. “Your wife is the best gift you’ll ever get.”

Azzi blinks, then breaks into a soft, helpless laugh. “Oh my God. You guys did this?”

Evie scrambles over to hug Paige’s leg, her little arms patting the paper. “Mommy’s pwetty,” she declares proudly.

Azzi walks over, shaking her head as she cups Paige’s face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige smirks. “So… do you like your gift?”

Azzi leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Paige’s lips. “I think I’ll keep you.”

The team erupts into cheers, Evie clapping happily as Paige grins triumphantly. “Told you I was the best gift.”

“Wrapped and all,” Azzi teases softly, her gaze warm as she takes in the chaotic scene of their family. “Merry Christmas, P.”

Paige’s smile softens, her voice equally tender. “Merry Christmas, Az.”

—————

˖˙ ᰋ ── taglist:

@thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @juspeaks @sierrale8ne @imaginespazzi @makethemhoesmad @kmoneymartini @pazzilover101 @starlighttsv @lupinqs @absolutelydreadful @ashortyluvsports @melpthatsme @d3arapril @heyitssells

#asks ❣︎#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #fic talk #pazzi fics #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆

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stevesgother · 6 months ago

Note

ahhhhhhh there it is ! 💌 love letter officially deposited hehe

thank you sm for answering my inbox message and for taking in my request. Steve Harrington girlies forever and ever amen !!!

Pairing - Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

WC - 1.3k

Warnings - mention of character death, canon typical violence/gore, sad stebe, flangst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, depictions of ptsd

Request by @sheisjoeschateau w/ the prompts - barely proofread. i'm really sick, cut me some slack

“The panic between thinking you lost them and the relief of seeing they are okay” + “Just please, don’t leave me.”

“Let me go!” You all but scream as Nancy holds you back by your waist from the squelching, pulsating gate in Eddie’s trailer ceiling.

“You can’t go back, it’s too dangerous!” Dustin tries to reason with you but his pleas fall on deaf ears. Eddie’s down there– Steve is down there. Your Steve. If they aren’t going to help them, then you will.

You know you’ll be apologizing profusely for this later– already thinking of ways you can make it up to her as you rear back, driving your skull into Nancy’s nose with just enough force for her to loosen her grip. When she stumbles back, you don’t waste the opportunity to grab onto the makeshift rope and hoist yourself into that dank, unforgiving hellhole.

Not nearly as agile as Steve, you land on your back with a harsh ‘thump!’ and realize with a stark clarity that Eddie must’ve moved the mattress. There are a solid ten seconds where you can’t seem to convince your lungs to suck in oxygen, and you lie there squirming uncomfortably until your alveoli start to inflate again.

You hobble out of the trailer with as much agility as you can muster, calling for Steve and Eddie all the while. A trash can lid with nails protrudes from the ground, surrounded by tiny scraps of clothing littering the dirt. Bile rises in your throat at the thought that they could’ve belonged to Steve.

“Eddie!?” You whisper yell, as not to bring unwanted attention to your location. You may be impulsive, but you’re not stupid. Screaming down here would be like ringing the dinner bell for interdimensional demons, “Steve!”

About thirty yards from the front door of Eddie’s trailer, you see a bloodied and bruised figure hunched over another mass. From this distance, they seem to be moving– a rhythmic rise and fall of broad shoulders.

Knowing exactly who you’re looking at and expecting the worst, you sprint to the huddle as fast as your appendages will carry you. Your lungs burn from the exertion of it, combined with the less-than-stellar quality of the air in this alternate dimension.

Steve is giving Eddie CPR, or at least attempting to. He’s badly injured himself– his lifeguard training never prepared him for something like this.

“Steve!” You grab his shoulders when you reach him, and one look at Eddie informs you that he’s gone, “Steve, we have to go, I’m sorry,”

Lost to his dissociative state, it’s hard to tell how long he’s been down here hunkered over Eddie’s dying form for. He barely acknowledges your presence, only muttering a weak ‘gotta save him.’

“He’s gone, Steve,” you manage to bite back the sob that threatens to spill through your lips like hot blood, “We have to go. Now.”

Using all your will and every ounce of strength you have left, you pull your best friend to his feet with a promise to come back and get Eddie when this is all over. The gashes in his sides are weeping and caked with dirt, infection will set in soon. You needed to get him to a hospital yesterday.

The leather of Nancy’s Mercury Grand Marquis is cold and biting at the bare expanse of your right thigh; your clothes having been torn to shreds earlier in the evening. Steve’s head lies motionless against your lap where he’s curled into a fetal position on the bench of the backseat.

“Are we almost there?” You ask Nancy for the fourth time. The Earth had split clean in two– at least it did in your sleepy town that you’d called home your entire life. The home you’d met Steve in. The home you’d almost lost him in.

“About four more minutes,” she called back from the driver’s seat, “traffics’ backed up, I promise I’m going as fast as I can,” she hits a particularly deep pothole and Steve groans as he drifts in and out of consciousness.

You run a soothing hand over his albeit grimy hair, “I know, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay, Stevie,” you reassure, not even entirely sure he can hear you. You’d talk to Steve forever. In life or in death– in disaster or in peace. Whether he could hear you or not.

Nancy came to a halting stop in front of the Hawkin’s Memorial Hospital’s emergency room entrance. Despite being brushed off by several hospital staff, she continues to demand for a gurney until a resident sidles one up to the car for Steve.

Without thinking twice, you try to enter with him– his hand locked tightly in yours.

“Are you family?” The resident asks in a scruffy voice as he narrows his eyes at you questioningly.

“I–” Yes. No. Kind of? Not the blood kind. But he has no other family, at least not in the way that counts. Just you, and this ragtag group of teenagers. “Yes.”

He doesn’t question you again as he ushers the two of you into the emergency room, and the on-call doctor assesses his injuries.

Four hours and fifty seven stitches later, Steve still hasn’t regained consciousness. The staff assures you that he will– but that they gave him an anesthetic and pain medicine that’s keeping him knocked out cold. You lay with your head resting against his hospital gown clad chest, still keeping a firm grasp on his calloused hand. You didn’t plan on letting go any time soon.

A groan, not unlike the one he released in the car, breaks through the cacophony of hospital noises causing you to snap to attention. His eyes peel open slowly and one at a time– a look of recognition and fondness passing over his features when he realizes it’s you. His voice cracks with misuse as he says your name.

“Steve. You’re okay,” you try not to disturb his web of hospital wiring and stitches as you hug him a bit tighter.

“I’m okay,” he reassures you with a wobbly smile.

“I love you.” You blurt it out like it’s sour acid on your tongue– painful to keep it in for even a second longer.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you, too,”

“No, I–” you inhale a shaky breath, “I love you.”

“Oh…” he whispers, realization flickering across his features.

“I’m sorry– I know this is such shitty timing. Just, after everything, I mean I– I thought I was going to lose you before I ever got to say anything and I–”

“Hey–” he interrupts your rambling with a shaky hand to the apple of your cheek, “I love you, too,” he repeats the words in the same clarifying cadence as you did, causing you to crack a small smile.

“Let me go get the others,” you say as you get up, antsy to let everyone know he’s awake. But before you even have the chance to leave the chair, a firm hand grips your wrist.

You can see a flash of fear and the subtle well of tears above his lash line, “Don’t go,”

“Are you sure? They’re all really worried about you,”

“I’m sure just– just please, don’t go,” and the pleading look in his eyes crumbled what was left of your already deteriorating resolve.

“Okay, Steve,” you sit back down from where you were hovering over the uncomfortable plastic chair, “I’ll stay. I’m right here.”

Steve scoots his body close to the edge of the hospital bed, and you lie down next to him with an arm around his torso. The warmth of the embrace and the release of a ten-year-long breath is enough to lull you both into a peaceful sleep.

divider credit @cafekitsune

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theolderguards · 2 years ago

Note

you should know, the first time I saw fanart from Nimona of Boldheart and Goldenloin I thought it was Joe & Nicky 😳 and now I can't unsee it!

omg I actually couldn't help but think of Joe while watching it, with Ballister having those big brown eyes 😍 not sure about Goldenloin/Nicky?? ... but I certainly wouldn't mind reading an AU fic of Joe/Nicky based on Nimona/Goldenheart *hint hint to all the writers out there 😉

#Nimona #Goldenheart #Joe x Nicky #Immortal Husbands #thank you for coming to my inbox 💌

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joostsblog · 1 year ago

Text

the button ~ joost klein one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Description: You are a contestant on the dating show the button by cut and hit it off with one of the other contestants.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: watched this video and saw that bbno$ was in it so I got the idea, what if Joost was a contestant on there? some of the dialogue is stolen from that video btw. I've got some amazing requests in my inbox so I'm sorry for putting this out first but i just felt ✨inspired✨

Warnings: not proofread

"(Y/N), you can come with me, you're next," the production assistant informed you and you got up from your spot on the sofa.

"Good luck," Amber, whom you had just met in the green room smiled at you.

"You're gonna kill it!" Leah also cheered you on.

"Thanks, girls!" you smiled and waved.

As the production assistant led you onto set your heart was pounding. This was your first time being in front of a camera and to do something something like flirting with someone which was nervewracking for you even without all the cameras and the pressure was definitely a big deal. You walked up to the small white table and saw a tall guy with brown hair and glasses get up to greet you.

"Hi, I'm Alex, nice to meet you," he said as you shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N)," you introduced yourself before you sat down. Before you could even say much the button already spoke up.

"Do you guys goon at all?" it asked and you laughed.

"I don't know what that is," you admitted. "What is that? It sounds sexual," you joked.

"It isn't, I promise you," Alex said laughing and you couldn't tell whether he was being honest.

"Alex, why don't you explain gooning to (Y/N)?" the button asked.

"Okay, so do you know when you wake up in the morning and you're having a really tough day? So gooning is like that emotional state when you don't know what's going to happen, the uncertainty of it all," Alex explained and you were still sceptical.

"Suuure," you said.

"Do you watch Gary Vee at all?" Alex asked and the button turned red indicating that the both of you could now reject the other person.

"Not really," you said as you gently pressed the button with a sorry expression on your face. Alex quickly looked down at your fingers on the button and back up to your face and you immediately felt sorry. "I'm so sorry," you said with an apologetic smile.

"It's fine," Alex said as he got up from his chair.

"It was nice meeting you though," you offered. "This is awful," you said addressing the camera. "But I guess that's the format of the show," you said.

"You got it," the button said.

It wasn't long before the next guy was brought onto set. You got up to greet him.

"Hi, I'm (Y/N)," you said and shook hands with the brunette dressed in a grey suit.

"I'm James, my friends call me Juice," he said as you sat back down. "You can call me yours, that also works as well," he said and you laughed.

"Okay, what do you do?" you opened the conversation.

"Uhm, I'm a YouTuber," he said. "Tell me about yourself, what do you do, do you live here?" he asked. You hated the tell me about yourself phrase so you cringed a bit internally.

"Well, I don't live here, I don't even live in the US actually. I'm just visiting," you said. "And I do Social Media Marketing for work," you concluded.

"Alright, that's dope," James said.

"(Y/N), are you vibing?" the button asked.

"I'm always vibing," you offered.

"But are you vibing with James, is the question," the voice of the button pressed.

"Uhm," you started and were glad as the button turned red again and your hands flung forward in reflex to reject the guy. "I'm so sorry," you said again as your hand hit the button. James shrugged and got up. "Have a nice day," you said, head in your hands as you were embarrassed.

"(Y/N), why did you reject James?" the button asked.

"Uhm, I just think we weren't a match," you said.

"Alright, let's hope this next one is a match then," the button said before the next guy stepped onto set.

You got up from your chair again to greet him. He was a tall handsome blonde, scattered with some tattoos and a pair of glasses on his nose. You could tell from his looks alone that you were attracted to him. Immediately your heart started beating faster after you had just calmed down and gotten used to this situation.

"Hi, I'm (Y/N), nice to meet you," you introduced yourself again shaking the guy's hand.

"I'm Joost, nice to meet you," he said and you both sat down.

"Are you guys nervous?" the button asked before you could start the conversation.

"Yeah, man, I'm shitting my pants," Joost said and you laughed.

"Yeah, I'm shaking," you said and held up your hand for Joost to see.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one," Joost said. "Do you mind if I set the mood real quick?" Joost asked.

"Sure," you replied and Joost pulled something out of his jeans pocket. He placed an electric tealight on top of the table and turned it on.

"There we go," he said.

"Nice, I like it," you laughed. "I like your style," you complimented him.

"Oh, thanks, I like yours as well," he smiled, he was resting his head on his hands and you couldn't believe how cute he looked at that moment.

"So, what do you do?" you asked.

"I'm a musician," he said.

"Oh, nice. Isn't Alex also a musician?" you asked.

"So we're talking about other guys on our date?" Joost asked jokingly.

"I'm sorry," you said putting your hands in the air. "That was rude of me."

"No, it's fine," Joost said. "That's how we know each other actually," he explained.

"Oh, sick," you said. "Is there any of your songs that I might know?"

"Joost, will you sing a song for (Y/N)?" the button asked and laughed in embarrassment.

"Oh no, please no no," Joost begged laughing.

"No, please I wanna hear it," you said, your hands formed to a begging symbol.

"(Y/N), maybe you should hold Joost's hand to support him," the button chimed in.

"If you want," you said and put your hand beside the button.

"Alright," Joost said with a shy laugh and locked his fingers with yours. Your heart fluttered at the contact. The tattoos on his fingers looked divinely between your fingers you thought.

"Here it goes," Joost said and cleared his throat. You could tell that he was nervous, avoiding eye contact as he tried to mask his nervousness with a laugh. You squeezed Joost's hand in support and he smiled. Joost started singing: "Ring ding ding ding ding ding; Ring ding ding ding bem bem bem; Ring ding ding ding ding ding-"

"Oh, I think I know this one," you said as Joost continued singing.

"Ring ding ding ding baa baa; Ring ding ding ding ding ding; Ring ding ding ding bem bem bem," he sang with a big grin on his face.

"Wait, isn't this crazy frog?" you asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, it is," Joost said after he stopped.

"But that's not your-?" you asked confused.

"No, I wish," Joost joked.

Suddenly the button turned red again but you had no intention of pressing it this time so you just sat still. However, you could see Joost flinching as his hand left your grip but he stopped himself before actually hitting the button. Your mouth fell open in shock as you pointed at him.

"Did you just almost button me?" you asked laughing.

"No no no," Joost held up both of his hands. "I swear it wasn't my intention," he said. The button turned white again.

"Alriiiight," you said mistrusting.

"I thought you were gonna reject me so I thought I would have to push the button," Joost tried to explain. "I wouldn't reject you," he said.

"Whatever you say," you said and you narrowed your eyes at him. "Would you describe yourself as a generally mistrusting person?" you asked and Joost touched his chin as he pondered your question.

"Hm, I don't think I'm particularly mistrusting - just sometimes," he explained.

"Well, as you can see, you can trust me," you pointed out. "You, however," you pointed at him again. "have lost my trust, so you will need to gain it back," you said.

"I will try to make it up to you, I promise," Joost said.

"Do you guys find each other attractive at all?" the button chimed in.

"Jesus," you laughed, taken aback by the question. "Do you not have any decorum at all?" you asked.

"No, I don't," the button said. "Would you guys fuck?" the button pressed on in the blunt style it was known for.

You put your hands in front of your face in embarrassment. After you removed your hands again you looked Joost in the eyes and your heart fluttered. Of course, you would.

"Well, I mean I think you're attractive," you said timidly. "So, yeah," you said and shrugged your shoulders. Joost grinned.

"What about you, Joost?" the button asked.

"First off," Joost started with a big gesture and you wondered if this was the start of a thank you, but no. "I have the utmost respect for women," Joost said and put his hand on his chest over his heart "and I don't mean to objectify women," he continued and your heart was beating out of your chest. "but yeah, I would as well," Joost concluded and shrugged with a cheeky smile at you.

"Oooh, it's getting steamy in here," the button said.

"It's your fault," you pointed out.

"Can I get your number?" Joost said as he pulled out his phone and you giggled.

"Hey, this is not how this game works," the button protested.

"Yeah, you can have it," you said and started typing in your number in a new contact in Joost's phone.

"Alright, if you're gonna play by your rules," the button said. "I'm gonna go red for one last time and if you don't push me then you can go on a second date," the button explained and turned red.

You leaned back in your chair, crossed your arms and looked at Joost across from you. You were fully charmed by the man and you really hoped that he wasn't playing anything up for the cameras and that he was actually also into you. A few seconds of silence passed as you looked at each other before the button started lighting up in rainbow colours.

"Congrats, you've made it," the button said and Joost smiled at you.

You both got up from your chairs and you walked towards each other to hug. Joost was taller than you and as you engulfed each other in a deep hug his head could rest on top of yours.

"I can't wait for our date," Joost said.

"Same," you said. "Finally without all the cameras," you said as you pulled away and Joost looked at you with a knowing grin.

#joostsblog #joost #joost klein #joost x you #joost klein x you #joost x reader #joost klein x reader #joost oneshot #joost klein oneshot #joost imagine #joost klein imagine #joost one shot #joost klein one shot #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfic #joost fanfiction #joost klein fanfiction

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onesiesdaydream · 1 month ago

Text

Like Old Times I Dazai Osamu x Platonic! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara (Headcanons)

Summary: you're the mediator friend in a trio of idiots, and one of those idiots just abandoned you.

A/N: Hi again, love @formiito!! 💌 Here’s the second part I promised—all the post-departure headcanons that Tumblr wouldn’t let me squeeze into one post because apparently my emotions are too powerful (or just too long-winded, oops). Thank you again for sending the request—it was such a joy to write and I hope it hit you right in the emotional kneecaps 💔💕 As always, feel free to scream in the replies or the inbox—I’ll be right there squealing like a badly written shoujo lead with you.

TW: Dazai being Dazai (sucidal), use of fem! pronouns, swearing.

MASTERLIST

Dazai leaves with no warning. Not a note, not a goodbye — just vanishes from the Port Mafia overnight.

You’re the first to realize he’s gone — his coat’s missing, his signature boots are gone from the hallway, and his usual sarcastic morning quips never come.

You tear the city apart trying to find him. At first, you think it’s a kidnapping.

When the truth hits — that he chose to leave — it crushes you.

You’re not just hurt — you feel like you failed. As his friend. As someone who thought she knew him.

You remember your final conversation. Something about the stars.

You had found him on HQ’s roof looking out at the Yokohama skyline after a rough day. He joked about offing himself as usual.

It was a thought that terrified you, knowing there was always some level of truth behind his jokes.

You told him, “Don’t vanish on me, yeah?”

He smiled. Said, “I’m too dramatic to vanish quietly.”

But that’s exactly what he did.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Why not you, of all people?

You’d been his closest friend. His confidante. The one who stitched him up at 3 AM and talked him out of worse.

You can’t talk to anyone about it except Chuuya.

When Chuuya finds out, he nearly destroys his office.

The rage isn’t just betrayal — it’s personal.

“He didn’t just leave. He left you. After everything. After we—”

He doesn’t finish. He pours himself a drink instead. A strong one.

Chuuya tries to keep it together for your sake, but he’s just as wrecked.

He gets in more fights, turns more violent.

But you know the truth: He’s grieving.

Not Dazai — but the version of the three of you that no longer exists.

One night, he barges into your apartment uninvited.

You’re sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at an old picture.

The three of you — Dazai holding up a victory sign, Chuuya yelling at him, you laughing between them.

They promised, long ago — the three of you, drunk off rooftop beers and too-young loyalty — to kill anyone who hurt the other two.

And now? Dazai became the very thing he swore to protect you from.

You and Chuuya find yourselves falling into old routines — bickering over small things, sharing late-night cigarettes on the rooftop — but the air feels heavier without Dazai’s irreverent jokes.

Chuuya starts showing cracks in his armor — rare moments when he lets his guard down in front of you, letting you see the exhaustion behind his glare.

You start sharing little details about your day, things you never thought to say before, filling the silence with new memories instead of old pain.

You crack a rare, tired smile when he teases you about something stupid, and it feels like a small victory.

Dazai allowed himself to be captured by the Port Mafia.

But Chuuya knows him. Knows he wouldn’t get caught unless he wanted to.

Still, it doesn’t stop the anger simmering beneath Chuuya’s skin as he marches down into the basement.

Dazai is hanging by his shackled wrists, smirk ready, eyes shadowed but sharp.

Chuuya enters with slow, deliberate steps. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at him.

The silence is vile.

“Chuuya~,” Dazai drawls, lifting his head lazily. “I was wondering when you'd show up. You’re late. I was starting to miss you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Chuuya snaps, slamming the door shut behind him with a sharp clang.

He steps closer, each footfall echoing off the concrete. His voice is cold.

“You got caught on purpose, didn’t you?”

Dazai grins, tilting his head slightly.

“You always were the smart one.”

Chuuya narrows his eyes.

“Cut the act. Tell me what you’re after.”

“Information. You know how it is,” he shrugs like it's nothing.

“Besides,” he adds, voice light, “I knew you’d figure it out eventually. I trust you.”

That’s when Chuuya’s expression darkens.

“Don’t. Don’t pull that trust crap. Not after what you did to her.”

The room stills. Dazai’s smile falters, if only for a second. It’s the first time you are brought up.

“She spent weeks thinking you were dead,” Chuuya says, low and angry. “Barely slept. Took every suicide mission she could. You should’ve seen her, you bastard. You hurt her. And for what?”

Dazai doesn’t answer. He can’t. His eyes drop for a split second. Regret flickers. But he masks it fast.

“I couldn’t tell her,” he murmurs. “She would’ve tried to stop me.”

Chuuya’s jaw clenches.

“So you thought hurting her was better?” he spits. “You vanished, left her choking on silence, and I was the one picking up the fucking pieces!”

He slams his fist into the wall right next to Dazai’s head. Dust shakes loose.

“You remember what we promised? That night on the roof? We said we’d kill anyone who hurt the others. You swore it too.”

“...I remember,” Dazai says quietly.

Chuuya punches him. Hard. Right in the ribs. Then follows it with a brutal kick to the gut that sends Dazai reeling against the restraints, breath knocked from his lungs.

After a long pause, Chuuya unlocks the cuffs. Doesn’t say a word about it. Just turns and heads for the door.

“You’re letting me go?” Dazai asks, voice raspy.

“You’re up to something,” Chuuya mutters without turning. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

Just before he steps out, Chuuya glances over his shoulder. His voice is low, raw.

“She still waits for you, you know,” he mutters. “Don’t make her wait forever.”

The door shuts behind him with a final click.

Dazai stays where he is — silent, bruised, eyes fixed on the floor.

The ache in his ribs is nothing compared to the one twisting in his chest.

The tension is palpable the moment all three of you stand side by side again.

You’re silent. Chuuya’s scowling. Dazai smiles like nothing ever happened.

It’s unbearable.

Dazai tries to crack a joke:

“It’s like old times, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. Chuuya mutters, “Don’t push it.”

They both seem to fall back into their old routine of banter soon enough but you can’t find it in you to try to stop them like you used to.

The mission is chaos. Lovecraft is monstrous and nearly impossible to pin down.

You're giving everything just to dodge his tendrils and land shots.

The three of you fall into sync despite everything — the way you move, fight, shout orders.

The muscle memory is still there — like your bodies remember how to trust even if your hearts don’t.

They both know what has to be done with one glance — and you know that look between them.

“Don’t.”

“I have to,” he says, and that’s the end of it.

Watching Chuuya lose control of himself never gets easier. His power is beautiful and terrifying.

The explosion is massive. Lovecraft goes down.

Chuuya is wrecked — bleeding, limping, but still burning with energy and cackling while throwing gravity spheres everywhere.

He’s barely conscious when Dazai reaches him and cancels the ability with a tap of his hand.

You’re at Chuuya’s side in an instant, arms around him as he collapses.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay,” you murmur, voice tight, trying not to cry as you stroke back his sweaty hair.

Dazai kneels beside you. Quietly, almost too softly:

“He’ll be okay. I stopped it in time.”

Dazai stands a little ways back, watching — quiet, unreadable.

You finally glance at him. For the first time since he left, your eyes meet — no words, just raw, lingering tension and hurt.

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“...Thanks. For stopping it.”

Dazai blinks, almost surprised you’re talking to him at all.

You notice the cast on his arm, bruised and wrapped tightly just like it was when you saw him that morning.

Despite the bitterness still burning inside you, your voice softens with a hint of care:

“Is your arm... okay? That cast looks heavy.”

Dazai shrugs with a faint smirk, trying to keep the mood light:

“It’s nothing. Old wounds, new scars.”

You grit your teeth, biting back a retort about how he just vanishes and leaves scars everywhere — physical and otherwise.

Chuuya, still resting in your lap, groans quietly, his fingers twitching weakly against your shirt.

A gentle shush escapes your lips as you adjust your position on the floor, trying to make him a bit more comfortable.

Dazai takes a seat on the ground nearby, settling himself quietly.

Exhausted, you shift slightly, reluctant to move away from either of them.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, you rest your head on Dazai’s shoulder — a small act of comfort despite everything.

The weight of years and pain lingers, but for this moment, you allow yourself to feel a fragile kind of peace.

Dazai doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets out a soft sigh, his arm brushing lightly against yours.

Neither of you say anything more — words feel inadequate. But the silence between you is no longer hostile.

Chuuya mumbles something unintelligible but leans more heavily into your embrace, grounding you both.

The three of you aren’t fixed — not yet, and maybe not completely. But in this quiet moment, the walls between you start to crumble just enough to let hope sneak in.

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abigails-gf · 1 year ago

Text

abby anderson x f!reader.

abby comes home with a surprise. (or, abby fucking you with a double strap-on.)

warnings: smut, double strap-on, fingering (r!receiving), praise (r! receiving), reader has one (1) orgasm.

a/n: this was requested but i can't find the request in my inbox anymore. ugh. also, i love this concept sm !! never knew double strap-ons were a thing before this request. so thank u anon !! 💌 i made a taglist form! if you want to be tagged in next fics, all you have to do is fill out the form. thank u to the anon who suggested it! 🫧🫧

abby comes home later than usual. "baby?" she calls for you, walking to your shared bedroom. she finds you laying down on the bed, reading. you turn around and smile at your girlfriend. "abby!" she comes closer and kisses you softly. "you're late. was there traffic?" she shakes her head and grins. "got us a little somethin', pretty." you raise your eyebrow, what could she have possibly gotten, for the both of you?

only then do you notice the bag she has in her hands, it has the logo of your local sexshop. you look at her and smile. "what did you get?" you say, all excited to see what she bought. she sits down next to you and gives you the bag. "open."

you look through the bag; cleaning wipes for toys, some lube. and a box. "what's that? double strap-on?" you ask, opening it up. "a strap with two ends? like a double dildo?" abby nods. "mhm. except i can wear it, can thrust into you with it." she kissed your forehead. "you okay if we try it?" you nod. "words, sweet girl."

"yes, abby." and with that, abby pulls the strap out of the box. "hand me a wipe, baby." she cleans the strap.

"on the bed. gotta see if my girl's wet enough for me." you lay back down, looking at her as she takes off her shirt and unbutton her jeans. she looks up at you as she takes your pants and underwear off. "oh, look at that. haven't even touched you and you're already gettin' wet, baby." she says, putting her index between your lips. she fingers you for a few minutes, making sure you're wet enough for her strap. you buck your hips as she pulls her fingers out. "that's it. we don't want her to cum too soon, now, do we?" you whine.

abby takes her pants off, then her boxers. you almost whimper at the sight – her perky breasts, her hairy pussy, all for you to admire. abby rubs her clit in front of you, biting her plush bottom lip. "fuck, can't wait to fuck you, pretty girl."

she takes the strap in her hand. you get on all four, facing her. she taps your cheek, a signal for you to open your mouth. "gonna make you suck it a little, is that okay?" you nod. "good girl. now, open."

she slides the tip in your mouth. "that's it, wet it f'me. so i can fuck myself with it." you start to suck the silicone cock.

once she's sure the strap is wet enough, she puts it on. you help her tighten the harness around her hips and guide the tip to her folds. abby holds the other side of the strap, pushing it. "fuck..." she moans as it disappears between her lips. you can't help but stare at it. the way she's wrapped around the cock. "baby, need you to get on your stomach." you obey.

abby lets out some moans as she feels the silicone cock moving inside of her with each movements she makes. she makes sure to put some lubricant on your side of the strap, just in case. "ready, baby?" she asks, starting to push in. you nod and moan as she pushes the strap in. "that's it. good girl." abby moans once she's deep inside of you. "fuck, baby..." she pulls out and thrusts back in, her side of the strap fucking her just right, the silicone part that connects the two cocks rubbing against her clit just right. she grabs your hips and starts fucking into you. "abby!" you yell out. obscene wet sounds fill the room as abby fucks you. she lets out groans and presses her nails into the skin of your hips. "take it, pretty girl. take this fuckin' cock. oh, that's it." she moans as her side of the strap hits her sensitive spot. she's now mindlessly fucking into you, selfishly reaching for her orgasm. "fuck, pretty pussy gonna make me come, baby!" she lets out a few whines.

she quickly realizes – she can't let herself cum before you. it's something she established at the beginning of your relationship. you always get to finish before her. no matter what. she slows down her movements, slowly thrusting in and out of you, her hand on the small on your back. "why'd you slow down?" you look back at abby, pushing your hips back. "need to make you cum first, baby." she pulls out. "on your back, sweetheart." you lay down on your back. abby smiles at you, her face all red. "look at you... s'pretty." she kisses you, putting her tongue into your mouth as she pushes the strap inside you once more. you moan against her tongue, starting to suck on it. she starts to thrust back into you, and gropes your tits. "look at them, wonder how you'd react if i just..." she lowers her head and starts to suck on one of your nipples as she moves inside you. she moans against your nipple once the tip of her strap finds the right spot again. her tongue swirls around your hard nipple. you wrap your arms and legs around abby, pushing her deeper inside of you. "mhm, gonna cum, abs." you say, as she thrusts faster. "yeah? gonna cum on my fuckin' cock?" she groans as she feels the silicone deep inside her. she's so close, she just needs you to cum first. "cum for me, sweet girl. come on." she nibbles on your neck. "cum, baby. come on. or else i won't get to – finish." her hips stutter against yours.

you can feel it. it's coming.

another deep thrust and you're gushing around the silicone cock, moaning abby's name over and over. she fucks you through it, her head in your neck. "that's it. good girl, made a fuckin' mess, such a good girl. now, gonna let me use you until i cum?" you nod. she looks up at you. "baby, use your – words." she struggles. she doesn't wait until you speak, she can't help it.

she stands up, resting one of her hands on your lower stomach and the other on your hips. "you look so beautiful, sweet girl. i love you, love this pussy so much." she whimpers. "fuck, fuck. baby, 'm gonna cum." you moan as she uses your sensitive cunt. "please, abby, cum for me." you encourage her. she tilts her head back and thrusts faster into you, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. "fuck, feels s'good." she says as the silicone dildo reaches her sensitive spot once more. a few thrusts into you, the silicone pushed deep inside, and she's gone. she lets herself fall on you. "fuck, baby..." she's out of breath, baby hair sticking to her forehead, braid all messed up. your sweaty chests touch and she hisses when your nipples make contact. "you took it so well, pretty girl." she kisses you. you smile and and nudges her nose with yours. "feels good being full too, doesn't it?" she blushes and kisses your neck. "maybe next time i'll let you fuck me with the strap, baby, yes." she says, knowing you've been wanting to for a while now. "i'll make sure you come first." you answer.

taglist: @abbysprettygiiirl @bambishaven @bunniehrtz

#abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x f!reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson tlou #abby tlou #tlou fic #wlw nsft #sapphic nsft

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wintfleur · 1 year ago

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stop i need stella moments with her brothers in videos about them like “going home” 🙏🏼🙏🏼

౨ৎ going home (featuring Stella Hughes!)

﹕─┈ pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X siblings! Hughes brothers )

°. — details ( g; fluff. w; none really? wc; 1.k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I am sooo sorry for how long this has taken for me to get out !!! It got lost in my inbox lovely, but thank you sm for sending in a request! I loved writing it, so sorry that it’s short !!! Hope you guys enjoy !!! )

°. — this is based off this video.

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

﹕─┈ All of Stella’s moments during ‘Going Home | Quinn Hughes’

“Lukey was the best pool player in the family I would say, or in the house” Quinn answered Kate's question, as he motioned his head towards Luke who was leaning over the pool table with his stick. Stella’s lips twitched up into a smile, already knowing where her older brother was leading the conversation too. Quinn continued to speak with a small smile “He had like the best win percentage, and then he bought a pool stick.”

“For like 200 bucks” Luke was quick to interrupt Quinn, an annoyed frown on his lips as he looked back on the bad money decision, he should have listened to stella. Quinn let out a small chuckle and glanced back at Stella before continuing to tease Luke “Yeah, and he just his game went down the down the rails like. He was like one in ten.”

“What about you stella?” Kate sent the youngest Hughes a warm smile, looking at Stella who was sitting Criss crossed on the couch watching Luke. Stella perked up at the mention of her name and sent Kate a happy smile, but before she could answer, Luke was quick to jump in and answer for her with a laugh “Stella’s the worst!”

Everyone in the room laughs at the dramatic gasp that Stella let out. Jack, who was leaning against the wall, laughing louder than the rest at the offended look Stella sends him. Quinn just shrugs, he was not going to get in between Stella and Luke today. The Producer chuckles himself before asking Quinn another answer “are you the cook in the house?”

Stella zones out as Quinn answers the question, her eyes dropping down to her lap where her phone rested when she felt it vibrate, a shy smile coming across her face when she sees who texted her. She bit her bottom lip to hide her smile, not wanting to give her suddenly happy mood away.

lovey 🩵: do you think i'd survive sneaking through your window tonight?

pretty girl 🩷: are you brave enough to try? (i give you a 40% survival rate)

lovey 🩵: Bet! (i’d die happy though)

“Isn't that right stella?” Quinn asked Stella, wanting her to agree with how he's a much better cook. Stella looks up from her phone where she was lost in her own world and sees everyone looking at her for an answer, but the only answer they got was a confused frown and a small “Huh.”

Quinn and Jack chuckle while Luke narrows his eyes on her phone, Stella quickly shutting it off when she sees Luke's stare. Quinn chuckles and gives the camera a cheeky smile “I'm gonna take that as a yes.”

Stella sat in the corner of the boat, a blanket over her lap and her hands stuffed into the front pocket of Luke's hoodie that she stole. She wanted to go sit up on the front of the boat, curled up next to her mom but they wanted her to sit with Luke and Jack, the fans wanted to see the siblings together more apparently.

“Get your toes away from me” Stella quietly hissed at jack when he rested them up on the seat next to her, Luke who was laying on his stomach behind her stifled his laugh at the groan of annoyance stella lets out when jack teasingly moves his toes closer to her. Ellen leans forward and looks back at her children, she sends a warning look to her middle son and leans back, knowing that's all she'd have to do for him to stop bugging his sister.

Jack rolls his eyes and lets out an annoyed huff when Stella sends him a triumphant smirk, Stella leans back against the seat and looks out at the water as she listens to Quinn answer all the questions and talk about the lake. Luke absentmindedly played with a few strands of Stella's hair as he also zoned out looking out at the water.

Stella brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arm around her knees, resting her chin on top of them. She bounces in her seats at the waves quinn goes over, a laugh leaving her lips when her mother starts to shout at quinn and stand up “I’m kidding it's going to be fine” Quinn laughed as he watched his mom stand up, wanting to get away from the splashes of water.

A surprised gasp leaves Stella's lips and her body stills when she feels a cold chill run through her body, as she feels water come up and splash her in the face and neck. Everyone laughs on the boat as she hurriedly wipes off the water from her face, a loud laugh coming from quinn’s lips when stella whines “Quinnnn” Jack smiles and takes his hat off and drops it on Stella's head, protecting her face from the water.

Quinn gives the camera a big grin before shrugging his shoulders “oops.”

“What's the five for?” Kate asks Quinn as she motions towards the garage wall where four numbers in blue spray paint were written. 43,86,43 and 5. Quinn, Kate and the rest of the crew where in the garage, filming quinn as he shot some pucks, showing off the ‘shooting room.’

Quinn paused to catch his breath and turned to look back at the wall, memories flooding through his mind of him and his siblings all putting their number on the wall after the ‘shooting room’ was done. A great memory. Quinn smiled fondly as he looked at kate “Oh that's stella number when she used to play.”

“And I'm guessing those are hers too” Kate laughed as she pointed at the light pink skates that had a bunch of different stickers on them, the laces pink as well. Quinn chuckles and nods as he looks back at the skate's jack had gotten her a year ago, while Luke got her a new pack of stickers “yeah those are stella’s, she likes coming down and shooting with us.”

“Is she any good?” the producer asks, even though he already knew the answer. All the brothers have mentioned Stella's hockey skills before. Quinn leans down to take off his skates, ready to show them the next thing on the schedule. Quinn smirks at the camera “She's my sister, of course she is.”

At the end of the video the camera is filming all the guys playing a friendly skirmish, and you can see Stella sitting on the bench cheering for Cole who was on a breakaway!

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I bet you all can guess who she was texting !!! I just know the fans would eat the content up !!! I know it’s short but I didn’t really want to put a lot of Stella in this video, just a perfect amount where the fans would want more of her !!! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lxvelyzoe @bunbunbl0gs @lovings4turn x )

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