#why is it always that and not anything else

[demilypyro]

Star Trek is actually one franchise where I'd prefer to never have any character arcs about being queer. Because to imply that being gay or transgender or poc or female or nonbinary or disabled or polyamorous or anything else is *difficult* in this universe would be a mark against its vision of utopia. It would be a sign that society hasn't progressed since the 21st century. This is why Star Trek tends to handle topics of discrimination through allegory. Racism can exist between two alien species, but never between two humans. Jadzia struggles with her attraction to another woman, not because she's queer, but because that woman is the partner of her previous life, and her Trill culture is against that. Bashir isn't "autistic", he's "genetically modified". Human culture in Star Trek should always be an exemplar of how things COULD be. Not a direct mirror of how they are.

[bunbun007]

ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴛʀɪᴘ - ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ: ꜰᴀᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴅʀᴜɢ

Warnings: Mentions of demon pacts ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ ) Word Count: 1.9k Pairings: Saja Boys x Reader Chapter sum: You have come to accept the fact that your soul belongs to a group of demons and try to coexist with them. It's hard.

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It was moments like this that made you consider that maybe, just maybe, the one suffering from making a pact with demons was them instead of you. Honestly, it was a funny conclusion, but given the fact that they were lying on the ground weeping, it seemed like it.

“We are so doomed. Hopeless.” One of the demons whined as he ruffled his short pink hair. “You hopeless, useless human! How come you are poor?”

Classist. That’s what this group of five demons was.

Not only were they ungrateful for your soul—your precious, all-worthy soul, thank you very much—they had the nerve to complain about your living situation.

“This is some sort of joke, right? You didn’t just summon us to have us live in this… hovel.”

You gasped dramatically while clutching your shirt, throwing daggers at the blue-haired demon. “I’ll have you know that the only reason why I summoned you was so that I could get out of this situation. And yet, regardless of everything, my ‘situation’ is not that bad! I’m just a few months behind in rent!” And your diet consisted mostly of instant noodles below 1,000 won. But hey, how could they judge? They didn’t even own a home.

“Wow, you are just sad.” The demon in the middle —heavens, why was he always standing in the middle?— gave you a small smirk as he walked in front of you, his black hair being covered by a black gat that matched his hanbok. “But fear no more, human. We’re here to make it better. We’ll help you out, yeah?”

You gulped — that being the only sound in the room.

“Why me? What type of demons even are you?” Your voice cracked. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was the growing, horrible realization that you were in over your head.

Silence.

One of the demons stretched out across your bed, yawning like a cat who owned the place. Another picked up a cracked mug on your table and sneered at it. Then, finally, a soft chuckle came from behind you.

“Why not you?” a voice purred, lilac hair draped over his eyes as he tilted his head. “You’re cute. You’re sad. And you’re clearly desperate enough to sign anything, aren’t you? Besides, it was either you or the middle schoolers who knew nothing about idols. And—” he walked closer, booping your nose softly and snickered— “they weren’t nearly as alluring.”

You took a step back. Idols?

“Idols, as in performers? What is it to you if I know about idols or not?” You stood your ground—or tried to, at least—but these creatures were weirdly enticing, as if an invisible force was pulling you toward them. The pact was getting stronger the more time you spent with them. “Is that why you all have colored hair? Must be it. Are the hanboks part of your theme too? Most demons are supposed to be scary, terrifying. But you are all… handsome.”

Finally, the last demon—who had yet to talk—walked behind you, his light pink bangs fluttering in your eyes as he held you by the shoulders and tilted your head back. “Quite. Thank you, dear. You clean up after yourself quite well.” He winked as he held you in this uncomfortable yet butterfly-inducing position.

Your stomach dropped as you pried away, holding your hands in front of your chest to keep some distance, but your shoulder hit something else.

A yelp escaped your lips as a flash of blue hair came into vision and a soft hand held the side of your waist to prevent your endangerment.

“Aye, careful there. Wouldn’t want our little human to get scratched, or hurt.” You froze, only straightening when the demon pushed your back forward so that you stood on your own.

A hand ruffled your hair as you steadied yourself.

“There, there. You look stressed. Poor thing looks ready to snap.” A sudden hand ruffled your hair messily as he fixed you a smirk, the only thing visible due to the purple locks covering his eyes.

A strong arm circled your shoulders and pulled you toward him in spite of a small sound of dissent from the one who held you before. You tilted your head to face the demon and he flashed you a smile. “Our starshine sure does. Relax, little one. We won’t hurt you—unless you want-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the last demon called. Given the fact that the others stopped pestering you, it was a sign he was their leader. “You guys know how humans are—their little hearts can’t take it. And judging by their body language, this one is at their limit.” He walked closer. “Come here, starshine. We’ll explain everything.”

And they did.

Well, it’s not like you could do anything but listen. They were the owners of the chains you were now bound to. As their voices filled with teasing contempt, they revealed that whoever bore your contract… owned your soul.

As a visual representation of their power, they started throwing this small piece of paper around—a folded black envelope—and smirked at you. When you asked, they just laughed.

“Oh, this? This is your soul, Moonbeam. It’s ours to play with.”

⋆｡˚✩˚｡⋆

There’s a truth in sad boy literature: you don’t know how lucky you are until you miss that shine you took for granted. The magic behind being alone and at peace. But now, you were being trailed by a group of five sad-looking, handsome men.

“Why are we here…” The blue-haired demon whined. He unmistakably whined in a way that would usually be considered annoying—were it not for his handsome face. Pretty privilege. He tugged at your hair audaciously. “Hey human, this is so boring~”

You stopped in your tracks and turned around painfully slow.

“Stop being such a baby. You guys might be free from hunger, but I’m not. And if you want me to be able to promote your sad excuse of a boyband, then let me have this.” A sharp arm wrapped around your waist. You nearly dropped your basket.

“Now, Moonbeam, we wouldn’t want you to lose your cute little ability to talk back. Now, would we? If I were you, I would be nicer to us.” The light pink-haired man spoke softly in your ear, holding you more sternly as you tried to pull away.

To anyone else, it looked like a cute couple being close and shy with each other.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic…” You gritted your teeth and detached from his embrace, the hair on the back of your neck standing. “I’ll take your suggestion. Thanks.” You gave him the fakest, most obvious smile you could muster.

All that charm, and still can’t fix his attitude? Tragic.

Breathe.

“But if I were you, I’d be nicer to your manager. After all, I know how the world of entertainment works. While you…” Your gaze lingered on the black hanboks they were still wearing—pedestrians thought they were some kind of cosplayers. “…are undoubtedly lost. Face it, you guys need me.”

What you needed was power. Being your rightful owner again.

You needed them to free you.

The demon in the center smirked as he grabbed your chin and forced you to face him. “I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart. Remember your place, human—we could have you six feet under if we please.”

You saw red. But tried to breathe.

Yeah.

That didn’t work.

"You want to own my soul? Fine. But if you're going to drag me to Hell, you better do it right—because right now, you're all just dragging your feet." You snatched the man's hand away from you and pulled him dangerously closer. “If you want your little show to work, then you’ll have to hand some of the reins over. The summoning connects us both ways. Don’t think I don’t know that, demon.”

The demon froze, his eyes scanning your face as his lips fought to hide a small smile.

“Whatever you say, Polaris. But if you want to threaten me, do it by cursing my name. Jinu."

⋆｡˚✩˚｡⋆

You were being dragged to another store. Because, apparently, that’s the only way demons knew how to guide you anywhere they wanted to gaze at.

After spending the day with them, you had come up with a few nicknames for some of the demons—the ones that teased you most.

There was Baby, the smug, annoying one who kept tugging your shirt and making flirtatious comments when older women were present, making you a stuttering, ashamed mess.

There was also Romantic, which was originally just you being sarcastic—he had yet again threatened to end your life if you didn’t buy him a shiny necklace he liked.

Mysterious, who didn’t speak much, except for the small remarks he made when he thought you couldn’t hear him.

And Abby—who originally wanted to be referred to as Abs—who had a weird habit of holding your shoulders to show off his muscles.

Apart from the comic dialogue that had filled the silence in your head for most of the day, you were set on a single thought:

The demons needed clothes.

You didn’t know how you would pull off the whole boyband idea, but it was more than obvious that you wouldn’t be able to do it with them dressed like a historical Korean drama.

“I saw this exact fit on J-Dragon,” Romantic said proudly, shoving a hanger of glittery skinny jeans in your face. “Fancy, aren’t they, Moony?”

“From what year?” you asked, stepping back to admire the pair of slacks fully. You made an expression better left sealed than shown to the world. If side-eyes could kill, those pants would be long gone. “Those things are banned by Big Bang now.”

“2010, maybe?” he said.

“Exactly.”

Baby was already halfway into a pair of skin-tight pants. You didn’t know how he moved so fast—or how his bones were even intact.

“I look good,” he posed in front of the mirror like he was auditioning for a role in Twilight. “Humans will drool over me, won’t they, little star?”

You groaned. “You are so old, it’s painful to see.”

“No, no,” Mysterious spoke from beside you, making you jump as he appeared out of thin air. He flipped through a rack of mesh tops with a sinister kind of interest. “It’s vintage now. Retro. Cool.”

They were all going to get arrested for crimes against fashion.

“Bold of you to talk about crimes,” Jinu said, humming as he smirked your way—not understanding the definition of personal space.

…Did you say that out loud?

He tried on a leather jacket with zippers that went nowhere. You had to give it to him—he could wear a trash bag and still look good.

“Since we’re not paying for any of this.”

You froze. “What?”

They didn’t answer.

...

The alarms went off fifteen minutes later.

You walked briskly. They strolled—bags in hand, not a single receipt between them. Not even pretending to care. One of them even waved at a security guard on the way out.

“This is shoplifting!” you hissed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you tried to escape mall security. You were sweating bullets, and you weren’t even the one who committed a property crime.

“We don’t call it that,” Jinu said calmly, adjusting the lapels of his coat. “We call it… redistribution of aesthetic resources.”

“It’s theft!” you hissed again. “You could’ve gotten us caught!”

“No one saw you do anything,” Baby said, patting your head like you were a toddler who just learned object permanence. You pushed his face away as he laughed. “We handled it.”

The worst part?

They had.

Did I make everyone flirt with the reader? Yes, and I was blushing the whole way JAJAJA But then again, I don’t want to make them soft straight ahead. Because…they are demons.

ANYWAYS

Reader being nicknamed after stars bc when souls go to the demon realm, they look like shooting stars. Each character had a special nickname which will be unlocked throughout the series start.

Here are the unlocked nicknames until now:

Romantic — Moonbeam Why: “Moonbeam” feels elegant, timeless, and full of ‘gentle’ affection — perfect for someone who says “dear” like he invented the word. It's also a little melancholy, which fits “Come now, Moonbeam, don’t pout. The night would weep without your light.” Jinu — My Polaris Why: He sees you as his an anchor. The nickname reflects deep respect and connection. It’s not flirty — it’s reverent “You don’t have to prove anything, my Polaris. I’ll follow you anywhere.” Maybe, still a work in progress: When the whole nicknames are revealed, the story will break into individual routes for each character. Like otome games.

Special thanks to: @lillycore @apelepikozume @junni-berry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @crescent-z @arieslucy @enerofairy @soldmygenderforglitter

☆ ～('▽^人)

[batsandbirdbrains]

A thought before I go to bed: Dick Grayson being the test child for essentially every single JL member would do unrepairable psychic & emotional damage. It’s not anything obvious, it’s not anything outright.

But he was their test pancake. The one you put on the griddle to test that the temperature is right and the batter is the way you want it. He turned out a funny shape, burned on one side, and lost half himself before he fully grew up.

And every other child that comes into their lives, every other sidekick after him benefits from his suffering. He’s the one they had to push to the limits to be able to find out what boundaries they should be setting. He’s the one who broke a leg because an adult hero tossed (threw him like a sack of potatoes) way too hard for him to make a landing. He’s the one who got a concussion during training because an adult knocked him down too hard.

He’s the one who got shot by a rogue and then yelled at for it, who got fired (even if it was taken back, even if Bruce swears he was just trying to protect him), he’s the one who got kicked out when he was still a kid. It doesn’t matter that Bruce let him back in. To this day, he hasn’t told Bruce what happened during the four months he spent away from the manor. He doesn’t tell him how he had to play apprentice to Deathstroke the Terminator. He doesn’t tell anyone what he had to do to escape.

He’s the one they forgot on special occasions the first time and then after that made sure to never forget a kid’s special day they were invited to ever again.

One person showed up to Dick Grayson’s high school graduation. He was salutatorian and graduating a year early. Alfred Pennyworth was the only one there, watching, clapping for him, taking photographs, congratulating him. Took him out to dinner to celebrate then had to watch as Dick cried over a bowl of pasta he didn’t even end up eating.

Everyone else either forgot or put the mission first. Dick never forgives any of them. He never forgets it. He may not bring it up, he may not hold it over their heads, but he’ll never forget how alone and worthless he felt when he looked out into the crowd as he was giving his speech and he saw an entire section of empty chairs with Alfred sitting on the end.

He listens to their excuses and their apologies. But then he sees every other kid after him have a whole section of heroes cheering them on when they get their diplomas, and Dick can’t help but feel bitter about it.

And it sucks, because on one hand, he’s so glad these actual adults aren’t fucking up other kids like how they fucked up him. But on the other hand, why couldn’t they have just been there for him? Why couldn’t they have gotten their shit together for him? Why is was it always him?

Anyway nighty night perhaps I’ll expand upon this thought process tomorrow

[baepsays]

Musician Geto Suguru and his never-ending beef with his bandmates over your attention.

The thing is, as their main producer and just a very sought-after producer in the industry, he's barely able to leave his studio. Things were different before the scandal, before he was reintroduced to you, and before you two went official. His schedule was simple then—studio, recordings, shows, parties and clubs he was a regular at, getting high out of his mind on coke and weed, and going back to his studio. He barely saw any light, and his apartment felt foreign; hotel rooms were more homely than his apartment. Now it's lived in, with traces of you and the life he is building with you. Your—and now also his—scoundrel cat's claw marks are everywhere; there are stains on the couch, and all the smooth and shiny furniture is now matted. He also prefers his home studio, which he never came around to using, much better than the one at the company.

To simply say, things are mundane in the best way possible. Having lunches and dinners with his bandmates and just talking about things other than work or how he's losing himself was much more fun, he has to say. Especially when no one is throwing punches at him backstage, ahem—Sukuna—ahem. Of course it took more effort to carve out this new usual than how he used to just live off of drugs, caffeine, burning through cigarettes, and barely any food. He much prefers the boring days where he just goes from work to home to see you only at the end of the day, of course, not more than when you come to their shows. But he'll take anything, just to have you around for more than the mornings before and nights after work; it's a privilege. Even having you for more than just 3 shows for a tour is a blessing, due to the vast difference in your schedules.

Which is why he truly looks forward to days when you drop by to have lunch with him. Those weekdays are always a highlight of his week. So when he has to compete with his own bandmates for your attention or the home-cooked lunch you make for him to eat with him in the privacy of his studio, preferably sitting on his lap.

He wants to fight his own bandmates as violently as he used to. Choso, he gets; after all, Choso is the sweetest of them all; it sometimes does not make any sense to him how he ended up in this edgy rock band. But then again, where was Suguru going to find a vocalist and guitarist of Choso’s caliber? Yet still, Suguru does not appreciate it when he takes up your time when you two exchange recipes. Then there is Toji, always barging in to steal the precious food you made for Suguru, eating up most of the food while always making excuses about just one small bite. Suguru would have made Shiu (their CEO) kick Toji out of the company itself, just because of this petty reason, if there was anyone else better on the drums than him. 

Then there is Sukuna. Probably the one who pisses him off the most. Because why is the broody, scary, and one of the quietest men that Suguru knows like a social butterfly around you? Sure, you legally represent their band, but why is he so chatty around you about everything and anything? Is it not enough that he has to deal with one social butterfly, aka the nation's most desirable man and industry's favorite actor, Gojo Satoru, snitching out Suguru to you? There's now also Sukuna, snitching to you about how Suguru skipped meals to hole himself up in his studio for days or smoked more than two cigarettes a day. The worst part is when you drop by, you text in the group chat you are in with them to see if they would be at work that day. And you bring extra food for them or invite them sometimes to eat out with you two (and yet Toji still manages to steal off of Suguru's plate), and if it's just a you and Suguru kind of day, you still see them before or after your boyfriend locks you up in his studio with him.

Just like today, when you dropped by with a packed lunchbox for him and got roped up, yet again, with his bandmates. He got your text at exactly 13:34 PM that you entered the building, and sure, his studio was on the 19th floor, but it took only 5 minutes or so to get there. Unfortunately for him, he had to wait more than 30 minutes for you because you texted him you were just a floor below, in their practice room with his bandmates. And when 40 minutes were about to pass, Suguru had to essentially go down and abduct you by carrying you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and making a run for it with your bag in his other hand. He could hear Sukuna yelling his name from behind, but he made it just in time to the elevator to get away with you.

“The only reason why I will ever go fully solo is because of your little fan club.” He walked into his studio while grumbling and with you still dangling on his shoulder.

“Issok, I will replace you.” He threw you on the black leather couch and lay on top of you, like he just fought an army of hungry coyotes and ran a marathon at the same time. “Hmm, I see you guys are scheming behind my back now.” He looked up at you from where he buried his face in your chest.

“I say it's very up front.” You giggled and pushed away the loose strands of his hair covering his face, and he didn't reply. Instead, he lifted himself off of you to hover and then moved up to kiss you. It was sweet, smiling, warm faces basically pressed together. Everything still feels surreal, how mundane life is right now for him considering even just two years ago the kind of mess he got himself into. That how his life looked doomed after that moment, and yet here he was.

“I have this new track in the works.” He broke off the kiss and hovered over you with his hooded eyes and a smirk so sleazy, it always made you wonder about your life choices. “Oh, am I hearing it?” You raised your brows at him, and his smirk only widened into a half smile.

“Nope. You're getting on it.” Which basically translates to, ‘I am about to make you moan, and the recording is going into the track.’ You threw your head back into the couch as you tried to push him away and groaned in annoyance. Which was not much avail to you when, despite your efforts, he nuzzled his face in your neck and started leaving a trail of kisses from the base of your neck to your jaw, then up to your lips. And when his lips met yours, a small moan just absentmindedly left your lips as his lips slotted with yours. Suguru’s lips stretched into a big smile while his eyes remained closed, and he continued kissing you until he stopped to murmur into your mouth.

“Ooh. Save all of that for the track.”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE II FIND MORE ABOUT MUSICIAN GETO

a/n: dividers by @/hyuneskkami

you can think about this as the epilogue to the musician geto au :3c which will take time. I have not graduated yet lol fuck lab exams and i am brainrotted by prince geto soooooo. you can assume what the scandal may beeeee you will be finding that and more band dynamics in the fic!

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Baby and his Partner.

Author's Note : I might do one of these for each of the Saja Boys and Huntr/x girls. I started with Baby though because he currently has no pairing (and is actually my favourite Saja Boy lol)

You work at a small convenience store somewhere in the Hongdae shopping district. 

Your store is close to one of the popular schools but it’s small so most don’t even notice that there was an actual convenience store there.

One day the bell chimed, alerting you that someone came in.

You looked up from your phone only to come face to face with some cat eyed, blue haired boy. He looked familiar. Kinda like one of the boys on the ramen cups that were flying off shelves (when people actually came into the store).

“Welcome to Y/N’s convenience, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, as though studying you, and all of a sudden you feel self conscious.

“You have anything spicy here?”

Your eyes widen noticeably in surprise. You didn’t expect his voice to be so deep or rough, especially when he had such a baby face.

Clearing your thoughts, you motioned to the back shelves with your head. “There should be some stuff back there. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask” you nodded before sending him off and leaning back into your seat.

As you opened your social media account, the very first video that popped up had the guy's face on it. “Join the pride,” he smirked at the camera as he stood next to a group of 4 other guys. 

Before you could look into it even more, the guy slammed a thick bottle of jalapeno sauce on the counter. You began to ring him up when he asked, “You wanna hang out?”.

Baby definitely came back the next day and every day after. 

He'd pretend to try new spicy combos, but really he's just standing in the ramen aisle waiting for you to notice him.

When you ask, “Didn’t you come in yesterday?” he just shrugs and responds, “I missed the vibe.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but you fixed your hair the next day before your shift.

He ends up really enjoying your presence, and really enjoying how much he can annoy you.

He’ll “accidentally” knock over the chip display just to hear you sigh and call him a menace.

Would bring you random drinks to “taste test” but makes you guess which is which by sniffing them. 

It was something he had tried on Mystery back in the dorms when Jinu was busy yapping to them about how they would be defeating the hunters. 

He eventually earns what he likes calling ‘behind the counter’ privileges. 

Basically means you allow him into the workers area, and behind the cash register so he doesn’t have to talk to you from across the counter.

He doesn’t do much working though. Mainly just watched youtube on his Ipad.

He always acts like you’re the one flirting with him. 

If you ever blush around him, he has his hands up as though surrendering or calming a rabid animal. “Woah, relax. I’m just here for the spicy chips.”

He calls you “Cashier-nim” for the first two weeks of knowing you, then switches to “pretty thing” whenever he feels like teasing you.

The day you finally found out he was actually THE Baby from Saja Boys, you were mid-bite of your snack and almost choked.

“Wait. You’re famous?”

“Duh.”

“Why are you HERE?”

“You’re here.” he says deadpan.

He once livestreamed from the store without telling you, and suddenly you had a line out the door and business took off.

He likes that you didn’t fangirl or scream when you found out. It makes him feel like a real person.

He also likes how calmly human you are. You’re one of the few that don’t go crazy because of his idol image but also don’t want to kill him. Not that you knew he was a demon anyways.

You’re one of the only people who can see past his teasing and know when he’s actually tired or stressed.

You don’t know why but you're pretty sure it's probably pressure from being an idol or something else.

He’ll sneak into the shop near closing time, hoodie pulled low above his head, hands in pockets, and just sit behind the counter with you while you do restock. No words, just chilling.

If fans ever asked if he was dating anyone, he’d smirk and go, “Maybe.” Not only are the fans shocked but so are the other boys.

They didn’t expect baby of all people to actually fall for a human and not tell them

They insist on meeting you but Baby refuses. He’s so calm about it too. 

Easily avoids all of them and poofs out of the building before they can follow him.

You two don’t do super fancy dates. You’ll walk the streets of Hongdae with spicy corn dogs and bubble tea, trying every new snack he spots.

He loves making you try unnecessarily spicy things just to watch your reactions, knowing you won’t be able to handle them. “C’mon, you survived me. You can survive this.”

He takes horrible selfies with you.

 Tongues out, fake gang signs that make him feel cool (he saw them on tiktok) and captions like “me n my boss lady”

Does he get jealous?

Baby? Nah, not really… Okay fine, a little.

If some schoolboy flirts with you while buying gum, Baby will suddenly “appear” from behind a shelf with 20 spicy ramen cups in his arms like “Pretty thing, help me figure out where to box these up yea?”

He’d dump the cups in your arms so he could take over the cash register and would absolutely glare into the boy's soul as he rings up his order.

The boy leaves.

He would call you things like: 

Cashier-nim : when you first met.

Boss Lady : Whenever you order him around.

Snack : When he tries to resist the urge to bite you. 

Trouble : When he wants to accuse you of flirting with him.

Pretty Thing : To get you flustered

Y/N-ie : Only calls you by your name during quiet and VERY sincere moments.

You call him things like: 

Spice King : You watched him down like 5 ghost peppers with ease.

Little Brat : Whenever he’s being annoying on purpose.

Incompetent toddler : You see the pattern?

Pretty Boy : Only when he’s being sweet.

Baby : It’s literally his name

He would confess to you by leaving a sticky note on the counter that says “Employee discount for boyfriends??”

Though its not super duper straight up, he’s still pretty to the point with it.

When you look up confused, he just winks and says, “I like you. Now say yes before I buy out your whole damn store.”

[maskedbyghost]

toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni, you are your worst enemy...

You didn’t plan on ending up here. Not tonight, nor ever again, if you were being honest with yourself, which, let’s be real, you usually weren’t....

It was just supposed to be a drive. Just to clear your head, and maybe scream along to some angry music. You weren’t even heading toward his part of town until you were. Until your hands made the turn like muscle memory, because they knew what you needed before your brain could shut it down.

And now you’re sitting in the parking lot of his building, staring up at that third-floor window where the lights are on.

You wonder if he’s alone. Wonder if someone else is in his bed now, touching the parts of him you used to kiss. The thought makes your stomach twist, and you hate yourself for that, hate that it still hurts, that he still has that kind of power over you.

He always did.

Simon was the kind of mistake you didn’t just make once. He was the kind of mistake you returned to. Burned for. The kind of man who made you forget your name with his mouth on your neck and then left you wondering if he ever actually gave a shit in the first place.

And still, you’re walking up the steps to his door.

Your hand doesn’t shake when you knock, but your heart does. You already regret this, and you already know exactly how this ends.

The door opens almost instantly, and there he is.

Shirtless, with sweats low on his hips, and that familiar smug look already curling at his mouth like he knew it’d be you.

He leans on the doorframe like the cocky bastard he is, eyes flicking down your body slowly. “Well,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. You had a plan, you even had a whole speech rehearsed. But now that you’re here, standing in front of him, all you can hear is the low hum of his voice and the way your own blood is rushing in your ears.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you say finally.

He smiles like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day.

“No,” Simon says. “You really shouldn’t.”

But he steps back anyway. Opens the door wider and doesn’t say anything else. He just waits.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t beg, he doesn’t chase. He just stands there looking like that, with tattoos and sweat and sin wrapped in a body that ruined you more times than you want to count.

And, of course, you step inside.

The door clicks shut behind you, and that sound alone sends your nerves into overdrive. You can feel the heat of him without him even touching you. Feel the way the air shifts when you’re in the same room.

“I’m not staying,” you say, already lying.

He walks past you toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the counter like you’re not coming apart inside just from looking at the curve of his back and the flex of his arm as he pours water from the tap.

“Didn’t ask you to.”

Your jaw clenches. “You texted me.”

He sips his water and shrugs. “Yeah. Said it was important.”

You narrow your eyes. “So?”

“So I lied.”

That stops you cold. “You’re serious.”

Simon sets the glass down and turns back to you, arms crossed loosely over his chest. There’s a gleam in his eye now, something dark.

“Wanted to see if you’d come. That’s all.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re still standing in my flat,” he says smoothly. “Guess we’re both consistent.”

You want to scream, to slap him, or to kiss him until you forget why you hate him so goddamn much.

He walks toward you slowly enough to make your breath hitch, and your back hits the wall behind you before you even realize you’re moving.

“You really think I don’t know why you came?” he says. “You needed it. Needed me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did,” he says, leaning in until his mouth is at your ear. “You do.”

His hand skims your waist, barely there, but it might as well be fire. You hate that your body still reacts, that you still ache for him in ways that feel more like addiction than affection.

“You like the way I ruin you, don’t you?” Simon whispers, and fuck, your whole body goes tight at the sound of it. “Missed how it feels. The way I make you forget every lie you told yourself after you left.”

“Stop talking,” you breathe.

He grins against your cheek. “Make me.”

And that’s when you finally give in and stop pretending this is anything other than inevitable.

You kiss him to shut him up.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself later. That’s why you grabbed the back of his neck and crushed your mouth to his... because you were angry. Not because you missed this. Not because the moment his lips touched yours again, your knees went weak and something hot and humiliating twisted low in your stomach.

But you did miss this.

The way Simon kisses you is like he’s claiming you. Like you belong to him, and he’s been waiting to remind you. His hands are on your hips in an instant, dragging you close, hard fingers digging into your sides like he’s trying to bruise his name back into your skin.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s been killing him not to hear that again.

“Fucking knew you’d come back,” he mutters, lips dragging along your jaw, down your neck. “Knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“I hate you,” you gasp, but your hands are fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.

He grins against your throat. “Yeah, yeah. Hate me harder, sweetheart.”

He grabs your ass and lifts you like you weigh nothing, and your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your body moving with him even though your brain is still screaming at you to stop this.

He carries you to the bedroom and tosses you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off,” he says, standing at the edge of the bed, voice calm.

You hesitate, just for a second.

And he notices. Of course he does.

“C’mon, baby,” Simon says, tilting his head. That cocky little smirk back on his face. “You already made it this far. Don’t go all shy on me now.”

Your glare doesn’t land the way you want it to. Not when your hands are already pulling your shirt over your head, not when your body is already humming at the way he looks at you.

He drops his sweats, and fuck, you forget how to breathe.

You remember everything all at once. The weight of him, the stretch, and the way he used to fuck you like he was angry at you and obsessed with you at the same time.

He climbs on top of you, presses your wrists down into the mattress, and looks you dead in the eye.

“You gonna let me remind you how good I make you feel?” he asks, low and close.

You hate yourself when you nod.

His mouth crashes into yours again, and suddenly he’s everywhere, hands on your waist, mouth on your chest, dragging his tongue down your stomach until he’s between your thighs and spreading them with both hands like he has a right to.

“God, I missed this cunt,” he groans, voice muffled against your inner thigh, and your whole body jolts at how fucking filthy he says it.

He licks you slowly at first, teasing you lazily. Just enough to make you whimper and grind down against his tongue without meaning to.

“Still so fucking needy,” he murmurs. “Bet no one’s touched you like this since me, huh?”

You’re already shaking. Already breathless.

He knows what he’s doing. Every flick of his tongue, every pass of his fingers—he’s doing it slow on purpose, drawing it out, making you beg for it.

And he waits for it, too. Watches you through his lashes, eyes burning as he drags a finger inside you and curls it just right.

Your back arches, just as a cry slips out.

“There she is,” he murmurs, and it’s the smugness in his voice that pushes you over the edge. “Told you... You like the way I ruin you.”

You come with your fists in the sheets, thighs trembling, his mouth still on you.

He doesn’t even give you time to catch your breath before he’s crawling back up, grabbing your jaw, and making you look at him.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, voice low and dark. “Gonna fuck you like I know you want it.”

“Then shut the fuck up and do it,” you snap.

He laughs, and then he’s inside you in one rough, perfect thrust, and it’s too much and not enough and exactly what you needed all at once.

You moan so loud you’re glad the neighbors already hate you.

He moves like a man possessed. Like he’s punishing you and praising you all at once. His grip bruises your hips as he thrusts into you hard, rough, trying to fuck the memory of anyone else out of your body.

“You still mine?” he growls, grabbing your throat but not squeezing.

You don’t answer.

So he fucks you harder.

“I said,” Simon hisses through his teeth, “are you still fucking mine?”

And you don’t want to say yes. You really don’t.

But you do.

“Yes—yes, fuck, yes—”

He groans, low and deep, and slams his mouth to yours, biting your lip, tasting you like he needs to.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Don’t know when you stopped pretending this wasn’t going to happen. Don’t know when you gave up fighting him.

You come again with his name on your lips like a prayer and a curse, and he spills inside you with a growl, pressing his forehead to yours.

Neither of you say anything for a long time.

But when he pulls out and lies beside you, he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t kiss your shoulder or pull you close.

He just lies there, and eventually, he says:

“You’ll come back again.”

You roll onto your side, heart still racing, breath shaky.

“Don’t count on it.”

He just chuckles. “Already am.”

PART 2

-----------------------------------------

i finally cleared out my drafts...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb

[bucketsp]

pazzi - best friends but real lovey dovey on each other and paige does anything azzi wants her to do in front of their teamates

the space between us

pairing : pazzi

content : fluff, slightt angst (friends to lovers, mutual pining)

a/n : thank you anon for this request 🙏 i changed it up a little bit, but i hope you still loveee. also based it off of 23 - 24 roster because i miss niknik and lili. thank you as well for the support on snow day and repped, if you haven't read those, maybe u should? please remember this is all fiction. enjoy reading!

-------------------------------------------------------------

from the day they met, it was always something a little more with them.

like the way azzi would ask, “can i sit here?” on every away-game bus ride, even though paige always saved her the window seat.

or the quiet, “can i have a sip?” as she reached for paige’s water bottle mid-practice. and paige never said no, she never even blinked.

they were best friends. that’s what they told everyone.

but best friends didn’t flirt like that, didn’t look at each other like this, didn’t act like it had always been them, a team of two, orbiting each other, no one else getting close enough to matter.

they didn’t need to say it out loud.

they had each other. and that was enough.

until it wasn’t.

it started with azzi spending more time with this girl from the track team. bree. funny, loud, magnetic in a way that drew people in. she was the kind of person who never hesitated, especially with azzi when she asked her out right at the door of the champions center, handed her a smoothie and said, “you free friday?”

paige saw it from across the court, of course. yet all she did was watch azzi smile back and say yes.

and something in her chest cracked open, soft and sharp at the same time.

not because she was jealous, not exactly. she was happy for her, but because suddenly she wasn’t the first one azzi told about her day, and suddenly the pre-practice routines were off, the stolen glances in the locker room or the shared inside jokes as the team was being told off by geno.

and paige didn’t know what to do with that.

so she did nothing.

-------------------------------------------------------------

practice the next day was tense. azzi kept looking at paige like she wanted to say something. paige kept pretending not to see it.

and then, during a full-court drill, paige fumbled a pass and muttered under her breath.

azzi jogged over, concern on her face. “you okay?”

“i’m fine,” paige said, too quickly. “you don’t have to check on me.”

“what does that mean?”

“nothing"

“paige.."

“just go, az.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

-------------------------------------------------------------

they didn’t talk for two days.

paige stayed late in the gym, long after everyone else had left. it was easier to be around ghosts than to look azzi in the eye and feel that ache in her chest grow stronger.

until friday night, when azzi walked in just as paige was lining up a free throw. she didn’t say anything, just caught the ball on the rebound and passed it back.

paige stared at her.

azzi crossed her arms. “you’ve been avoiding me"

paige swallowed. “i’ve been busy, march madness is coming up”

“you’ve been hiding"

a beat.

“maybe.”

“why?”

paige was silent. she caught the ball again, dribbled once. twice. then let it fall.

-------------------------------------------------------------

it starts at ted’s.

because it always does. late-night runs after big games, when the adrenaline’s still in their veins and no one wants to go back to their dorm just yet. it’s loud inside, a little sticky, the lights a shade too bright, but it feels like home. like uconn tradition.

paige sits in the corner booth with azzi pressed in beside her. her thigh is warm against paige’s. her hair’s tied back, but a few loose strands fall forward, and paige has to grip her root beer float like it’s keeping her alive.

they’re not talking. not really. just sitting in that kind of silence that’s not awkward, but heavy. azzi’s bouncing her knee. paige keeps glancing at her. she looks nervous. too quiet, too still in the wrong ways.

"paige,"

and even before paige could even look directly at her azzi's already leaning in.

slow.

intentional.

her hand brushes against paige’s jaw like a whisper.

and then she kisses her.

it’s soft. hesitant. it tastes like cherry coke and something sweeter. like hope.

and paige, she’s waited forever for this, dreamed of it, begged for it in silence.

but she pulls back.

just an inch. just enough.

"azzi, stop. you're drunk"

“i'm not, paige.”

paige tenses. "you are, what happened to bree?"

azzi looks down, then back at her. her eyes are clearer than they should be, considering how many fries she just devoured. “i have to tell you something.”

paige stiffens. her hands go cold, but she feels a little hope inside her.

“i never told you,” azzi’s voice doesn’t waver. “we broke up.”

paige’s heart stutters. “when?”

“a week ago.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

azzi lets out a breath. “because i didn’t want to lie to you about why. or pretend like it didn’t matter when it did.”

paige stays quiet, letting her talk.

“she cheated on me,” azzi says flatly. “with some guy from the LSU football team. i found out the day after that scrimmage. i didn’t tell anyone.”

paige stares. “what?”

azzi shrugs, like it’s nothing. like it’s old news even though it’s clearly not. “i think part of me already knew. not about the guy. just… that she wasn’t the person i wanted to tell good things to. not anymore.”

and then she looks at paige.

really looks at her.

“you were.”

paige swallows. hard. her throat feels too tight. the air’s too heavy.

“you always were,” azzi adds.

paige’s eyes flutter shut. “then why’d you pick her?”

“because you scared the shit out of me,” azzi says. “and because i thought i had more time.”

it’s not perfect. it’s not a line. it’s just true.

“you’re sure?” she asks. “this isn’t about bree?”

azzi shakes her head immediately. “this has never been about bree. not even once.”

“she cheated on you.”

“and you stayed,” azzi says. “even when i made it impossible.”

paige covers her eyes. her voice cracks when she speaks.

“you don’t get to kiss me if you’re not sure.”

“i’m sure,” azzi says.

and this time when she kisses her, it’s different.

hungrier, deeper, like nothing else mattered.

and paige kisses back like she’s drowning. like she finally found the surface.

they don’t even notice kk standing there with her milkshake in hand, eyes wide as saucers.

not until kk blurts, “HOLY SHIT.”

paige freezes. azzi jumps a little, lips still inches from paige’s.

then the rest of the team explodes.

“FINALLY,” aaliyah yells from a booth behind them.

“i knew it,” nika says, pointing her fry at aubrey like she won a bet.

“i had money on them making out before the tournament,” ice mutters.

“you owe me twenty,” aubrey says smugly.

kk just stares. “yo. that was kinda hot.”

paige groans, hiding her face in azzi’s shoulder. azzi’s laughing now, full and free, her arm curling around paige’s waist like it’s always belonged there.

“i guess this means it’s official?” aaliyah calls out.

azzi grins, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“yeah. it’s official.”

and paige, with her heart finally whole in her chest, just nods.

“took you long enough,” nika says.

but paige doesn’t care.

because azzi’s still holding her hand under the table.

and this time, she’s not letting go.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Another one inspired by this anon who asked abt fics where Dick turns out to be younger than everyone thinks and the recs that were given:

Can be pretty much any setting I suppose, sometime when Nightwing is supposed to be 21. His friends all threw a big party for him. Dick Grayson had a special gala hosted by Bruce Wayne and everything. He’s been drinking (well, he’d been drinking illegally for years now with his friends, but that’s beside the point). Fact of the matter is, Dick is supposed to be 21 and he’s done things that wouldn’t otherwise be legal for someone under 21. He had a whole phase where he needed a cigarette every time he had to deal with Batman (Camels, the best cigarettes, either Blue or Gold, because Dick has Good Taste). That phase may have started before he turned 21 because Roy gave him one after a particularly bad fight with Bruce and then couldn’t say no whenever Dick asked for another.

But really, he hadn’t actually been eight when Bruce took him in. His parents and the circus changed his age on paper all the time so he’d meet the minimum age requirement to perform with them. In Gotham, that minimum age was eight.

In reality, Dick was five. They said he was short because he was a gymnast. It wasn’t totally unbelievable.

But then he forgot to tell Bruce about it until it was several months after living with him and being Robin, and Dick was scared that if he told him the truth, that he’d lied about his age, that Bruce wouldn’t want him anymore.

So he never told anyone. And he was able to convince Bruce to let him be homeschooled the first year or two, and Alfred was a rigorous teacher. He was all caught up with his supposed age group by the time he started at Gotham Academy. Then, he overcompensated so much that by the time we was supposed to be 13, it was recommended he go into high school instead of 8th grade.

It was a lot. It was a stressful time. Dick was a ten year old freshman and also Robin on the side. Bruce really shouldn’t have given him such shit for not wanting to go to college, he was so burned out. But he couldn’t tell him why. It was exhausting. Besides, Dick gets plenty of college credits by doing the random online class here and there. Dick actually managed to get a degree, he just never told anyone. One day, he’s going to whip it out during an argument with Bruce just to prove a point and spite him. He has it all planned out.

But now, there’s some magic shenanigans going on, and everyone on the planet over the age of 20 is separated from those under 20.

And Nightwing is with everyone under 20.

No one says anything at first, Nightwing is the obvious leader of those on his side of things, and they coordinate with the JL on the other side via Captain Marvel going back and forth to relay messages.

But as soon as the threat is dealt with and everything is back to normal, Batman is standing with one of his hands gripping Nightwing’s arm so tight, there isn’t a doubt in Dick’s mind that it’s going to leave a bruise.

“Hey B,” Nightwing says, chuckling nervously. “Good to have you back.”

“Tell me why you were on the side with everyone under 20.”

“Well, you see, that’s a funny story-”

“I’m not laughing, Nightwing.”

Everyone else is very clearly eavesdropping, they’re all obviously just as curious. And Dick feels like he’s under a microscope. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, and he pushes all the panic down and sends his most charming smile to Bruce.

“Can we talk about this at home?” he asks, his voice strained. “Please?”

Batman squeezes his arm a little tighter, then loosens his grip. But he keeps hold of Nightwing’s arm, then drags him to the transport room to take him back to the Batcave without saying a word.

“Please don’t be mad,” Dick begs once they’re back at the Batcave. “It wasn’t - I didn’t do it in purpose! I just, it always changed, everything was happening so fast, and then you brought me home, and you were really nice to me and Alfie was really nice to me and I didn’t want to leave and I was scared you wouldn’t want me anymore and-”

“Dick, Dick you need to breathe,” Bruce tells him, pushing the cowl down and guiding Dick to sit near the Batcomputer. He peels Dick’s mask off slowly, gently, then cups Dick’s cheek in his hand. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“You have to promise you won’t hate me,” Dick begs, and he’s so mad that he can feel tears starting to form in his eyes, that his vision is starting to blur a little bit.

“I could never hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

Dick’s voice is strangled, scared. And it breaks Bruce’s heart. Sure, they’ve had their disagreements. And sure, Bruce may have told him to stay with his friends for a while so Bruce could cool down between arguments. But he loves Dick. He’s always loved Dick.

“Please just tell me what’s going on,” Bruce begs. “Because you have no idea how scared I was when I realized you weren’t with us. I thought I’d lost you, that the spell must have made some people disappear entirely. Please, Dickie, just tell me.”

Dick looks at him for a moment, both of them quiet. But then Dick is closing his eyes and tears are falling down his cheeks and he lets out a muffled sob as he holds a fist over his mouth.

“It’s not how I wanted you to find out,” he whines, not opening his eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you, I didn’t know what to do!”

“You don’t have to know,” Bruce says gently. “Nothing in this family ever seems to go how we originally plan, does it?”

Bruce laughs a little, his smile feeling a little less forced when Dick lets out a wet huff of a laugh.

“They changed the documents all the time so I could perform,” Dick says quickly. “Different cities and countries have different rules, different age minimums. For insurance or something, I dunno. People changed their ages all the time in the circus, I thought it was normal.”

Bruce feels his stomach drop, but he moves to hold Dick’s hands and squeeze them tight.

“How old were you when you came to Gotham?”

“They told me I was eight in Gotham,” he says, but then he opens his eyes. “But they were good parents! It wasn’t anything bad, it was so we could perform together, so we could be a family!”

“I don’t think they were bad parents,” Bruce says quickly. “Not at all. But Dickie, I need to know how old you were, how old you are now. Please.”

“I forgot, at first,” Dick explains. “When you took me in. I just forgot, I swear, I didn’t keep it a secret on purpose. But then my birthday was coming up and you thought I was turning nine and I remembered I wasn’t and I got so scared and I didn’t want you to get rid of me.”

“I would never get rid of you,” Bruce assures him. “And I’m not going to be mad, I promise.”

Dick is quiet for a moment, and he doesn’t say anything until his breathing has evened out, until he’s calmed down and not panicking.

Then he admits in a quiet voice, “I was turning six.”

“So you were five?” Bruce gasps. He’d been kneeling in front of Dick’s seat, and he falls back to sit on his feet, feeling like he had the wind knocked out of him. “Oh God, you were five.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head. Bruce feels like he’s just had ice dumped over his head.

“You’re eighteen right now?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah.”

“Jason is older than you?”

“Barely!” Dick huffs. “Only a few months! You can’t tell him, don’t tell him!”

Bruce smiles then, because leave it to the sibling rivalry to be what gets Dick to snap out of his panic.

“We have to tell them, chum,” he says gently. “You can’t keep it a secret anymore.”

“Why not!”

“Dick,” Bruce sighs. “Do you really want to keep it a secret now? Now that you’ve told me?”

Dick is quiet for a while, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from Bruce.

“And you’re not drinking again until you’re actually 21.”

“That’s not fair!”

“I think it’s plenty fair.”

“You’re being totally lame!” Dick whines. But whatever. Dick will just drink behind his back with his friends like he did before he turned fake-21.

[yuwritesstuff]

Headcanons about Satoru as a Girl Dad 🌺✨

He cried the first time he held her. Not in front of anyone else — he was joking and cocky and obnoxious at the hospital, trying to hide all the worries. But when it was just the three of you and she curled her tiny fingers around his pinky, he broke. Quietly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he cradled her and smiled happily. He had the whole world in his arms, given to him by his loved one.

She’s the only one (except her mom, of course) who can boss him around. “Daddy, sit.” And he does. “Daddy, today I choose what you’re gonna wear!” And these are the most mismatched pieces of his wardrobe, an absurd combination. But he puts these on and goes to meet with the higher-ups. “Daddy, put me on your shoulders!” And the world becomes even more interesting for her from the perspective of his height.

He’s obsessed with her laugh. He’ll spend hours doing the dumbest things just to hear it — ridiculous dances, jokes, and parodies. That sound is his favorite in the world. It means she’s safe. She’s happy. She’s so real, his little sweet baby. He hopes that this will be one of the things she’ll remember best from her childhood. That laughing is always allowed, even for adults.

She’s just as sharp as him — and it terrifies him. One time, she tricked him into giving her dessert before dinner. A four-year-old. He was both horrified and deeply, deeply honored. “She’s definitely my kid,” he said, wiping away a proud tear. But of course, he often falls for her tricks just because he likes to spoil her.

He teaches her how to stand up for herself. From day one, he tells her: “You don’t have to shrink for anyone. You don’t owe the world softness unless you choose to give it.” And she listens. She learns. It’s like a protective mantra that he whispers to her as she falls asleep, hoping that these words will stay with her and she will realize its meaning later.

He has zero resistance to her tears. If she starts crying, his whole world stops. No jokes. Just soft panic and immediate scooping up. “Who do I have to fight?” he whispers. “What made my baby cry?” His heart is aching, and he’s ready to do anything to make her feel better. It’s hard for him to say “no” if it’s tears of demand, so she’s already spoiled by him from a very young age.

He sees her mother in her constantly. Sometimes he quietly watches her, observes her gestures and behavior, and sees you in her. Mom’s features are intertwined with dad’s, and it strikes him to the core — this is a little person made of both of you. You soulmated so hard that you created another heart, a cute little friend for both of you. She’s everything.

Oh, but she definitely has his temper too. She once looked up at him mid-lecture and said, “Is this gonna be long? I have blocks to build.” He nearly exploded with laughter. “Siblings? What are the pros and cons of that?” she wonders seriously when you ask if she wants a brother or a sister. “If they’re as cool as me... hmm, I’ll think about it!” she sticks out her tongue and giggles. His little smartass.

He keeps her drawings in his wallet. Folded, worn, cherished. Even when he’s across the world on duty, her crayon versions of the three of you remind him why he fights. When he comes back from work, they draw together, and his own drawings are no better than a child’s spontaneous doodle, but she praises him so sincerely that he melts.

They have wild inside jokes no one understands. Even you, her mother. It drives you crazy sometimes because they act like real idiots. But they’re your favorite idiots. Like synchronized “dramatic faints” at the breakfast table. Or gossiping about you quietly with a sly smile on their faces. Or their secret handshake that takes 40 seconds (you counted). Sometimes they just treat life like a game they’re winning together.

She shares his love for sweets. He buys her all kinds of goodies and treats her with the best desserts in the city, on weekends he pampers her with custom-made sweets from a pastry shop. So when it’s time to visit the dentist, you send him with her to the doctor as a lesson. He taught her to brush her teeth well. It’s nobody’s fault she has a sweet tooth like him!

He loves to put her to bed. He reads her fairy tales and tells her funny stories, assures her that there are no monsters under the bed and checks it several times if she’s scared. “Your daddy is the strongest monster fighter!” he winks. And when she falls asleep, he kisses her on the forehead and just lies next to her for a while before going to his beloved wife to make another such cutie pie.

He talks to her like an equal — always. He doesn’t baby her thoughts or shield her from the truth. He explains the world gently but with honesty. She asks hard questions. He never lies. It’s not easy when she realizes what a complicated world she lives in. Every time something inside him breaks when she gets a little more mature. But he knows that this is part of the journey too.

He’s incredibly protective, but in stealthy ways. He won’t be the loudest dad at school (surprisingly). Instead, he’ll silently ward off anyone who makes her uncomfortable — a quiet glare, a sudden presence. Nothing gets past him. He doesn’t want to get into things that she has to experience on her own, but he also doesn’t want to be on the sidelines if something hurts her.

He’s terrified of failing her. Beneath the jokes and playfulness, he carries a deep fear — that the world will hurt her the way it hurt him. So he watches closely, listens deeply, holds tighter when she sleeps. He knows that there will definitely be challenges and pain in life, but while she is so young, he will protect her and her childhood with all his best. She will have a different, better life.

He tells her every day: “You’re loved. Always.” Not just “I love you” — but “you are loved”. By him. By her mom. By the universe itself. He wants her to know it, feel it, believe it in her bones. Despite all the hardships, there is so much beauty in the world, and it’s a true miracle that we are all here, so fragile and eager for love and validation. He deeply realizes it when he becomes a father. And he wants her to feel it too.

He dreams of seeing who she’ll become. Whether she becomes a sorcerer or an artist or a chaos gremlin scientist — he’s there. Sometimes he forgets about all his bravado and feels something that he hasn’t felt much before. Fear of leaving this world too soon, not being a present father and partner. He wants to have a future in which he will see his child grow up. Happy, no matter what path she chooses. “This is her story now, and I just wanna be a part of it for as long as possible!” he smiles.

[moonlight-lillies]

you asked for kpdh requests yes? I-- anything with Abby. please i need more of this man, anything with this man.

there's more?! a lot of people fail to realize that there are other monsters in this realm. thank you for your submission! (idk why this took so long, i couldn't think of anything :[, but i got a random wave of creativity!) abs saja (ahn beomseok) x reader! CW: gave abs saja a real name, pure fluff, drabble!, ghost!reader

when you have lived a good life, you die. it's as simple as that. some fall into despair and look for ways to get revenge on those that have wronged them. others, like yourself, are content with how you lived your life.

ghosts are often overshadowed by the demons and the hunters, both having something to fight for; but ghosts, they just live the rest of their life as someone who gets to watch everything unfold.

you wouldn't have met beomseok if you hadn't died. it's a dramatic thing to say, but it is true. you died in 1912, beom sold his soul in 1809, and he was the first demon you met. it was love at first sight.

there are many different dynamics of couples in the monster realm. there's the typical werewolf and vampire, and the ghoul and soul-eater, but ghost and demon was a bit rarer. ghosts rarely invaded the human world, but with watching your boyfriend work to destroy the honmoon, you made sure you were at every concert and promotion.

possession wasn't common but for beom, you would do anything. and he would do anything for you.

sitting at a shrine, looking out at the desolate paths, you both didn't say anything. presence was enough. you had taken your 'idyllic' form, a term basically used for when you're not able to walk through walls.

beom just looked at you, lips parted, but no words formed.

"take a picture, it'll last longer." you deadpanned. tucking your hair behind your ear.

"have you ever thought about what a ghost idol group would look like?" he always did have the weirdest way of saying whatever was on his mind.

"have you ever thought of a jpop ghost idol group?" you responded, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"dope..." he said, nodding his head.

you laid your head on his chest, taking in the night air. beom's hand fiddled with your fingers, some of them popping. he looked down at you, to everyone else he was an untouchable idol, to you he was your other half.

he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"i know i'm not, like, romantical all the time, but i really love you." he breathed out. his eyes meeting yours.

"i know you do." you sat up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from the bench.

you faced each other, hands interlocked, eyes never leaving each others. you stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. his lips found your forehead, then your cheek, your nose, and then your lips.

you loved when he did that.

a big whirlwind of air sprouted beneath the two of you. leaves and sticks where pushed away as a crack of thunder was heard. but beom didn't move, he pushed himself into you more.

the light headedness wasn't only from the kiss, it was from what was happening around you. the life was sucked from flowers and small sparks of pink danced around hedges. you held onto his shoulders to ground yourself, the patterns that ran up his arms and neck pulsating under his shirt.

it was so dramatic, so romantic, but it was how you knew you two loved each other.

he didn't want to let you go, you didn't want to be let be go.

when you reluctantly pulled apart, there he was in his hanbok. all black, his patterns shining. you looked down, noting the white cloak you now wore, your eyes a pure white, skin glistening.

he offered his arm, the two of you in the forms that you fell in love with. you happily took it.

walking off into a realm far from here.

fin.

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[everest81]

Even if I'm fine with being called specifically "dude" I fucking dies inside seeing that happen once before I transitioned. I didn't even have Tumblr or really grasped how bad it was but I knew in my gut that it was just... Evil. You're denying a woman's identity for what? Not being able to stare at her boobs the whole conversation? Because you think it's some fucking fetish for others to be happy?

For those who are just on the cusp of grasping it, but can't, try imagining someone doing that to a cis person

This is Kathy. Kathy has been a woman since birth, born with specifically female genitalia and body parts, and has a conventionally effeminate body type by 9/10 normal standards. One day, she gets hired by a tech company that has her testing out websites and occasionally games that are very very early in development.

Around a month or two after she's gotten to know the general group of people she's had to and will work with, a new employee named Toby is hired and put into her group. She doesn't know anyone named Toby, nor does any of her friends or immediate family members. A nephew of hers would gladly tell you about Ticci Toby, his second-favorite creepypasta behind Sonic.exe, but nobody knows any IRL Tobys.

Toby completely refuses to call Kathy by her real name, instead insisting that she's referred to by names like Kyle, or Kevin, ECT, when anyone has to refer to her when talking to him. He acts like someone's joking with him, insulting him, or making up a fake employee when anyone else on their team mentions Kathy by her real name. Toby also consistently uses passive-aggressive language about Kathy —or, should he also be by or going to the bathroom, glares at her and matters things she can't quite catch— whenever she goes to the bathroom, insisting that she should be using the men's room.

On one frightening —and possibly dangerous— occasion Toby physically blocked her from the bathroom by standing in front of the doorway and pushing her away from it. It doesn't matter how gently he pushed her, he still pushed her away from a basic necessity. This was Toby's first strike, according to her boss, but if you asked Kathy, "I cannot tell you how many times I've wanted to fucking punch that guy. He's so fucking annoying — I can never get shit done when I have to work with him in any capacity! Got forbid we have to have a meeting! He's either saying anything about anything else to stall time, or taking my shit and telling everyone that some fuckin'.... Mystery member's been busting his ass off for me in the background, or something...! It's always some Kieth or Kurt or-... whoever the fuck he's made up this week."

Everyone, especially Kathy, is incredibly uncomfortable with how Toby acts. Lately he's been getting especially aggressive, as his passive-aggressive remarks about her and her body have been evolving into outright insults and remarks about how "he's slandering God's image of Adam and mankind". Kathy still to this very day has no idea what happened between them, nor does she have any clue why someone like him wanted to physically assault her, beating her behind her office building with a pocket knife —almost slitting her throat— and scarring both her face and her psyche for the rest of her life.

Toby might have been arrested for assault and attempted murder, but she refuses to walk behind any building that vaguely resembles where she was attacked and almost killed... Because she existed.

I am so sick and tired of seeing the trans women around me being slowly hot coaled into the closet and into essentially being forced back into "Men who would really love being women but Can't because they Aren't". It is so painful stop fucking doing this to our trans women. Stop forcing them to be "Fine" with being called dude bro man he and biologically male stop it stop it stop it you are killing her. You are killing her.

[strawberrystepmom]

"Are you in love with me?"

Even though Dante is pretending to be asleep, curled over your back with a forearm thrown over you to pin your body against his chest, the cadence of his breath changes as soon as you get the words out.

It's like you caught one and stole it for yourself – not an uncommon occurrence.

The question lingers for a second. And another. Then a few more. Thankfully you abandoned shame in pursuit of love long ago, leaving you free from the burn of rejection or pain in case that’s what the silence means.

It also helps that you are confident this is not what his silence means. 

You know he isn’t asleep, at least not all the way yet, but you can still practically feel the trepidation dripping from his fingertips where they skim your bare hip. 

“Silly me, I know you’re asleep,” a featherlight lie drops from your lips. 

He nearly exhales in relief, fingers relaxing against your skin. In response, you tense, back straightening and shoulders squaring. 

“So, I’m going to say this while I still have the courage. I am in lo–”

Dante’s hand slides from your chest to your mouth, covering it gently. 

“I am.” His disused voice rasps.

Pulling his hand down from your face, you pipe up. “You are…?”

“In love.” He kisses your temple for the briefest of seconds before lifting his chin to fully tuck his head beneath it, cradling you as though it’s what he was born to do. “Pathetically, stupidly, life changingly in love with you.”

Silence returns but your heart pounds so hard in your chest it echoes in your ears. You weren’t quite expecting him to drop the act entirely and fess up.

“This is, uh, harder than I thought it would be.”

Trying to lighten the tension, you clear your throat. “First time?”

He can’t see your cheeky smile but thankfully he can picture it.

“Yeah, actually. Never had any reason to say it to anyone else.”

What if your heart bursts? It feels like it may when you consider the implication of being the first woman he has loved aloud at the very least. Your clammy palms remain wrapped around his forearm, clutching him.

“You terrify me.”

Such a statement might not be the best method of diffusing the tension but he’ll try it anyway. 

“That’s fascinating coming from a big bad guy like you.”

Chuckling, he tightens his grip around you. His chin drops to rest against your shoulder, voice loud and clear right in your ear. “Maybe I’m not as big and bad as I look, have you ever thought about that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, finally turning in his arms and slipping your calves between his legs. He can finally make out the smile you’ve been struggling to hide even in the dim light, his breath stolen once again. 

“All the time, handsome.” You reach up to brush his mussed hair off of his face. “Alllll the time.”

“And it never makes you love me less? I mean, let me not get ahead of myself here – you do love me, right?”

“If you would have let me finish before playing the hero you definitely would’ve heard me say it the first time. But…” 

You look away, a little flustered despite that abandonment of shame you were so proud of. 

“God, yes. I think I’ve loved you since that first night, as insane as it sounds.”

Insane or not, he’s always felt it too. 

“Oh, so that’s why you hid from me for two weeks after that?”

You roll your eyes, reaching behind him to pinch his thigh. “It was three and yeah, exactly. Now you’re getting the hang of things.”

Both of you devolve into a small fit of giggles, bodies rubbing together while sleepy laughter wracks your chest and shakes your shoulders. It dies down, the tension mostly dying with it.

Still, there’s just enough left that tells you he has more to say. 

“Permission to be honest?” He asks, in a far smaller voice than usual.

“You have my permission to be anything, Dante.”

You can only hope he understands how true it is. 

“You terrify me because I don’t think I would know how to live without you now that I’ve had the luxury of living with you.” 

Smiling, you raise your eyebrows. “The luxury, huh? What a flatterer…”

“Hey,” he warns, capturing both of your hands in one of his and pressing your fingertips against his puckered lips. “You gave me permission to be honest, remember?”

Straightening up, you purse your lips and suck them inward, pretending to shut your mouth tightly. Your wide eyed stare makes it difficult for him to keep it together, a laugh on the precipice of his tongue. Somehow, he holds back, knowing that this is his chance. 

“The luxury. The privilege. Whatever you wanna call it.” He continues, eyes soft despite the tense set of his jaw. “I don’t want to fuck it up or eventually make you regret ever signing up to be a part of this thing I call a life.”

The amusing expression on your face turns somber before his eyes. 

“Do you want to know why I eventually gave up the whole running away bit?”

Feeling guilty for dampening the sweet mood, he opts to keep quiet and simply nods in response.

“Because I wanted to be part of your life. It’s not a thing, Dante - it lives and breathes and…it matters.” You smile, shaking your head. “Your life, you, us. It’s more precious than anything to me.”

“The only thing you could ever do to disappoint me would be to hurt me.”

“I wouldn–”

“I know. Not you, not ever. You’re not the type.” You crane your neck to kiss him. “Plus, I’m almost surprisingly hard to run off once I find somewhere worth being.”

“Then I really did get lucky.”

“No. You’ve just ended up where you’ve always been meant to be.”

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER TWO

content: language, a cam roman crash out disguised as humor, mention of a panic attack (not an actual one, literally a mention), implied mental health issues, HORSE as foreplay, author won't pretend to know anything about the dallas geography

wc: 7.2k

notes: not gonna lie, this was lowk a rly tough chapter to write but im happy with how it turned out 🙂‍↔️ i love paige and cam so bad and i can't wait until we get to the heart of their relationship once the season actually starts. also i honestly wasn't gonna post this tn but somehow the wings won so why not. do not expect future updates to be this fast. shout out li yueru tho thats my goat fr. if i missed anyone on the taglist pls lmk !!! anyways i really appreciate the love on chapter one and i love hearing from y'all 🫶 as always i hope y'all enjoy this one ❤️

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo

Before now, Cam isn’t so sure that she’s ever thought much about retirement.

She’s 26. She easily has another ten years left in her, but she’s always dreamed of having a long career that could rival Taurasi’s. She knows for sure that she’s not turning in her resignation papers without a league MVP, a championship ring, and an Olympic medal. Whether she retired as a Dallas Wing or whether she signed elsewhere was another story entirely. Maybe she’d spend her final season in the league as a Golden State Valkyrie, giving her last year to the city that had raised her.

Either way, the end wasn’t ever something that was a topic of thought for her. Cam liked to stay focused on the present – on her workouts, her training. The seasons always passed by so quickly that dedicating your energy to anywhere but the present was wasting the already limited time you had.

But now, as Cam stares at a very naked Paige Bueckers, whose face is wrought with a sudden shock and a damning realization, whose hair is mussed and whose neck is littered with enough marks that Cam has half a mind to call the cops and report herself for assault and battery, she sees her entire career flash by her eyes.

She recalls her draft night vividly. She still has the white, floral dress she wore to it hung up in her closet. She remembers her first rookie press conference and the reporter who backhandedly called her a “decent player, given the options the Wings had in the draft.” She remembers her debut, her lackluster thirteen points and five rebounds, how the media considered her a bust only five games into the season. Cam remembers how she fought to show up every day despite the fact that all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and cease to exist.

Cam remembers how she made a name for herself in spite of it all. She remembers their winning season, and how it all came crashing down in 2024 when they only won nine games. She remembers the embarrassment of not being selected for the 2024 Olympics and how quiet the dinner table was after Coley only brought home a silver. Romans display their gold, her father had said, hardly sparing a glance at his youngest. Anything else is as good as a coaster.

They always say that, when you die, your fondest memories replay for you in one final surge of happiness. Cam is sure that’s what she’s feeling now because clearly her career is over.

She’ll have to request a trade. The Wings organization is already being held together by a thin piece of twine and the hope that Curt Miller, Chris Koclanes, and Paige Bueckers can be the one to pull them from the depths of hell and turn them into something that the rest of the league wouldn’t laugh at. Cam doesn’t know how anyone would be able to recover if word got out that she slept with Paige Bueckers – number one draft pick, Wings rookie (Cam’s rookie), future of the franchise, in case you’d forgotten – on the very same night that she lifted her jersey.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t the same night, considering they didn’t make it back to the hotel room until well after midnight, and Cam was sure that the clock on the wall read something like 2:49 by the time the last of their energy was depleted and Paige spooned her from behind like they’d been in a position a time or two.

Obviously, that’s not the point – not if Camille’s ensuing panic attack has anything to say about it.

The point is this entire situation is a major conflict of interest. Morally, technically, probably legally. Cam was supposed to be the responsible one, the veteran. Granted, she and Paige aren’t so far apart in age, but she’s going on her fifth year in the league. She knows better. And everything is so fragile right now. She might have just risked the health of the locker room in exchange for one night that, admittedly, was nice.

The most terrifying part of this entire situation was that Cam was supposed to take care of Paige. Not in a coddling manner – Paige could handle herself. She was grown. But adjusting to the league, to the pace, to the expectations…that wasn’t something you should do alone. She was supposed to help Paige find her footing, support her, advocate for her. She was supposed to do what any good veteran would do for their rook, but somewhere in between all of that anxiety bubbling in her gut, she feels that ever present feeling of failure creeping in.

She hadn’t even made it back to Dallas before she fucked it all up. And this feeling – this fear, the dread, the overwhelming sense that she just did something she can’t take back, it feels worse than anything she’s ever felt before. It’s worse than getting blown out in front of a home crowd that gets quieter and quieter with every turnover, every missed shot, every collapse on defense that leads to an uncontested three.

Welcome to the league, Paige Bueckers. Bet you wished it really was an Alyssa Thomas screen, huh?

“Okay,” Paige says after a while, her voice surprisingly calm given the gravity of the moment. “It’s not that bad.”

Cam throws her hands into the air, overwhelmed and exasperated. “Not that bad?” she exclaims, her heart hammering against her chest. “Paige, we just slept together.”

The blonde swallows, her eyes flickering down, and it seems like it takes a genuine effort to lift them back to Cam’s face. “Trust me,” she says, her voice cracking a little. “I ain’t forget.”

Cam glances down, taking in just how fucking naked she is, too, and with a growl that borders on equal parts panic and humiliation, she rips the comforter off the second bed in the room and wraps it around her body. It keeps Paige’s gaze off of her chest, but Cam isn’t sure what’s worse – having Paige see all of her or the fact that, despite the early morning, Paige’s eyes are impossibly blue, alert, and trained on her face. Somehow, it makes her feel more vulnerable than having stood in front of her naked.

“Are you…okay?” Paige asks tentatively.

That makes Cam’s shoulders sag, a huff of air escaping her lips. It’s hard to tell if it’s a scoff or something more like amusement, and she takes a seat at the foot of the bed as she digs through the pile of clothes on the floor for her underwear. “Yes,” she says, the word sounding stale. Paige makes a soft noise behind her that sounds like disbelief. Cam sighs. “No. I don’t know, Paige.”

“Are you hurt?”

That makes Cam pause, drawing her lip between her teeth in contemplation as she slides her bottoms over her legs. “Sore,” she admits after a while.

“Yeah?” Paige goads, and it fills Cam with the urge to turn around and smack her head. She rolls her lips so as to not smile and doesn’t give Paige the satisfaction of getting a reaction. “I’d apologize, but…you seemed pretty okay with it.”

“Paige,” Cam stresses. The reminder of last night makes her walls raise again. “Be serious.”

“Sorry,” she says for real, and it sounds genuinely apologetic. “Do you, uh, regret it? I didn’t like – force you, or anything?”

Cam sighs again, reaching for her bra, dropping the comforter to slide it over her torso. She feels Paige’s gaze leave her. The respect is touching. “I was drunk,” she admits, listening for the hitch in Paige’s breath. “We were drunk. Not helpless. Or out of control. You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t…want. Or consent to.”

Paige exhales a relieved breath. She’s silent for a few moments, her eyes tracing Cam’s figure as she slides into her baggy cargos, then her crop top. “Then why are you freaking out? You’re okay. Mostly.” She adds the last part as an afterthought, and it makes the ghost of a smile spread across Cam’s lips. “You’re not hurt. You don’t regret it. Please tell me what’s wrong, Cam. I’ll fix it.”

Cam takes a deep breath, twisting around in bed and leaning against the headboard. Paige adjusts too, keeping the comforter pressed close to her chest, the chain around her neck glimmering. “We’re teammates,” Cam states. “Like, you know that was the whole point of the draft last night?”

Paige nods seriously, trying not to smirk at Cam’s sarcasm. “Trust me. I ain’t forget that either.” Cam rolls her eyes, the humor helping to make her relax. “Plus, we’re not technically anything until I sign that contract. And, you know…teammates sleeping together isn’t a new thing. Look at Dee and Penny. DB and AT.”

“Are you also aware that those individuals are married?” Cam emphasizes, exasperated again.

“You don’t have to be married to sleep with someone,” Paige retorts, and it makes Cam bury her head in her hands. Paige sighs. “Hey – I’m sorry, okay? I’m tryna be reassuring. Emotions were all over the place last night. You found out you really liked Shirley Temples. And…I guess we have really good chemistry.”

Cam can’t hide her smirk this time. “Hopefully that chemistry translates to the court, or we’re screwed for this season.”

“Cam,” Paige whines, pressing her face into the pillow. That draws a real laugh out of Cam now. Their eyes meet again, both gazes softening. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s okay. It happened. Can’t change it. I don’t regret it, you don’t regret it, and we can be mature adults about it. Yeah, we’re gonna be teammates. This won’t affect the locker room, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Cam exhales sharply, trying to find the right words. It’s not just the locker room. It’s everything. Cam has no idea who was at that afterparty, if anyone has any clips of her and Paige dancing on each other or leaving the party together. It’s the fact that she feels like she has so many eyes on her, even though there’s nobody but her and Paige in this room right now. Between the realization that this entire situation is a moral landmine and how guilty she feels because she let herself be free and indulge in one night, all Cam feels is overwhelmed. That emotion doesn’t mix well with the residual exhaustion. “It’s just–”

Her alarm rings again, causing both her and Paige to flinch, and she silences it quickly with a ragged sigh. She closes her eyes tightly in an attempt to regulate her breathing and her emotions.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, her hand extending to brush across Cam’s back. “You’re good. We’re good. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Cam nods, not quite trusting herself to speak, and she sucks in a breath. She doesn’t meet Paige’s gaze when she says, “I have to catch a flight back to Dallas. When are you flying in for the rookie press conference?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. I’on know.” She swallows thickly, nodding to the ground. “Can you…uh, grab my phone for me?”

“Yeah,” Cam says quickly, if not a little awkward, and she leans over to fumble with Paige’s clothes on the floor until she finds the blonde’s phone tucked into the pocket of her pants. She hands it over wordlessly and Paige breathes a sigh of relief when she finds that it still has some charge.

Paige scrolls through her phone for a few seconds before she clears her throat. “I’ll fly in on the morning of the 23rd.”

“That’s fine,” Cam agrees quietly. “We’ll talk after.”

Paige lifts her head ever so slightly as she watches Cam shuffle around the room, searching for wherever her shoes had ended up. She’s unlacing one just as Paige says, “What hotel are you staying at?”

“Hilton,” Cam answers. “Why?”

Paige hums, her attention back on her phone. “Getting you an Uber back.”

“Paige,” Cam sighs, standing up straight. When Paige glances back up, an amused smile is on her face – probably because Cam has only one shoe on, her clothes are rumpled, and her once neatly styled hair is out of place. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Least I could do,” she says, her tone a little softer. “I got you stressin’ for no reason on a Tuesday morning. What kind of rookie does that?”

Cam huffs out a laugh at that – a real one. She finds her other shoe and starts working on getting it on her foot. “A really annoying, yet really thoughtful one.” Paige pats her chest proudly as if to say that’s me. When Cam is finally dressed, she palms her pockets for her phone, keys, and wallet, exhaling in relief when she has them. “Hey.” Paige looks up, and Cam bounces on her heels, a sheepish expression on her face. “Sorry for freaking out on you. I just–”

“I know,” Paige interrupts gently. Cam’s shoulders sag, appreciating Paige’s understanding more than she probably knows. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that? It takes two to tango. It’s not like I was an unwilling partner.” Her cheeks are flushed when she admits, “Maybe a little too eager, though. That’s the last time I chase a shot with a Shirley.” Cam can’t help her laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “If there’s a blame, then we’ll share it. Or I’ll take it for you. Rookie duties or whatever. Just don’t freak out, okay? We’re good. We will be. I swear.”

“...Thanks, Paige,” Cam whispers, and Paige’s reassuring smile makes everything feel like it’ll be okay again. “See you next week?”

The reassurance falls victim to mischief, because something sparkles in Paige’s eyes when she says, “Don’t miss me too much, Cam.”

Cam rolls her eyes, pursing her lips to stifle a smile, and she and Paige exchange one last goodbye before Cam steps out. The door clicks shut behind her with a resounding noise and it takes everything in Cam to not pause and press her forehead to it dramatically. Instead, she sighs, and reminds herself of the Uber waiting for her, the flight she has to catch, and makes her way out of Paige’s hotel.

Maybe she overreacted a little. Truth be told, she still feels a little unmoored, like she’s not quite sure of her role anymore. She, the veteran, was the one freaking out in Paige’s, a rookie’s, hotel room as she reassured her and told her they didn’t fuck anything up. Cam can’t help but feel like that should have been her job.

It’s hard to understand why she’s fumbling so badly now. She didn’t have this issue last year with Jacy Sheldon – granted, Cam didn’t sleep with her, but Cam was confidently the veteran to Sheldon’s rookie. There wasn’t a single misstep. She coached the young guard, helped develop her, and did everything a veteran was supposed to do.

But Paige is something else entirely. An enigma. A challenge. Something Cam was prepared to be unprepared for because she knew that Paige was always a caliber above the rest. In her game, her mentality, her ambition. 

As Cam slides into the backseat of her Uber, smiling politely at the driver, she realizes that she has to run a tighter ship. She has to be poised, professional, the exact things she was supposed to be anyways before she let Paige Bueckers unravel her.

She’s here to play ball, and as far as she’s concerned, making her relationship with Paige more complicated than it already is will be the reason why everything crashes and burns.

Cam lands back in Dallas around 10am. She takes an Uber to her apartment, where Bobby, her characteristic orange cat, and Gatsby, a very particular tuxedo, greet her at the door. She’d managed to squeeze a few hours of rest in on the plane but she feels ready to collapse as soon as she’s back in. Before anything else, she scoops up both Bobby and Gatsby and plants a long, dramatic kiss to their foreheads and diligently portions out some wet food for them.

She makes her way into the bathroom to get ready for her presentation at UTA, then she’s back out of the house as quickly as she’d made it there in the first place. The presentation is a breeze, holding enough of her attention that she doesn’t get lost in thought about the blonde rookie who she’d left in bed at 5am, and the subsequent workout with her trainer after lunch drains her to the point that she doesn’t think about anything that’s not how sore she is the entire way back home.

Cam doesn’t even make it to bed. She curls up on the couch, curls damp from the shower she’d taken at the facility, hoodie sticking to her skin, and promptly falls asleep with Gatsby stretched out across her stomach.

That’s how the rest of her week goes. She tries – and more often than not, fails, to keep her mind on task. She throws herself into workouts, into running mindless drills, but part of her still can’t help feeling anxious. Paige had said they were fine, but Cam wonders how much of that was true, or if it was just the easiest thing Paige could think of to stop Cam from crashing out in her hotel room completely.

Or – and this is the million dollar answer right here – maybe Paige was genuine, and meant it, and Cam had no reason to be freaking out like she was childish and ten years younger.

The return to routine had helped a little. She had no reason to catastrophize, anyhow. Paige was right. They weren’t really teammates – yet – and the whole teammates having sex thing was pretty accurate, too. As long as they were able to keep it professional, cordial, and responsible on the court, Cam didn’t think the front office would particularly care, unless they were at risk of being a PR nightmare. Although…considering Paige’s celebrity, they probably are bordering on PR nightmare territory.

Either way, both of them were adults. It was consensual, Paige was incredibly chill about it, which meant Cam could probably be chill about it, which meant she didn’t ruin the locker room chemistry before it had the chance to grow.

At risk of fucking up their own chemistry, Cam knew that night wasn’t something they were going to repeat. Like, ever. If anyone asks, Cam has developed a sudden allergy for alcohol and is getting too old to be up past 9pm. If locking herself in her room like a tower-trapped damsel is what it takes to keep her relationships clean, orderly, and distraction free, then she’d gladly do it. She was committed to being responsible. She and Paige would just have to be friends. Very platonic friends who, sure, slept together one time when they were celebrating the biggest night of Paige’s life and they were both drunk on Dirty Shirleys, but that doesn’t have to define the course of their friendship.

Cam’s fine. Everything is fine. She got scared, overreacted, and maybe took it out on a poor rookie who’d only had two hours of sleep and a hangover. They could move past this and work together on the court without blurring the lines. Just friends. Just a rookie and a vet. Nothing more.

When the day of the rookie press conference arrives, Cam feels as though she has a better grasp on reality. She’s up early, goes on a morning run, showers, and is out of the door by 9am, only stopping for a chai latte before she makes her way to the facility. The first part of the morning was set aside to introduce the rookies and Cam was planning on taking advantage of the empty courts to run some drills and clear her mind.

The court smells like wood and fresh wax, a scent that makes Cam relax immediately. She’s probably spent more time between the hoops than she has anywhere else. She can see the three point line when she closes her eyes, imagine the height of the basket in her sleep. If the world had no room for her, then the one place she can confidently say she belongs is on the court.

She started playing basketball at a young age. Story of any player’s life, she’s sure, but it’s been one of the constants in her life for as long as she could remember. Despite that, it took her a long time to find genuine love in it. Basketball was an expectation. Greatness was, too. Lacing up her sneakers and working with private trainers had become routine, a way to earn pride and affection. Her mother always told her – and Coley, too – that she and her father were proud of them regardless of whatever sport they played or what they didn’t play.

People have different aspirations, Valerie told her when she was seven, in the throes of a tantrum because she’d been invited to a weekend sleepover that she would have to miss because her father had signed her up for a basketball clinic in Brooklyn. Different dreams. But you’re allowed to make space for what you love to do and what you live to do. You’re allowed to be a kid.

But Cam was sure that her father only smiled when she had a ball in her hand. She just wanted to make him proud – she looked up to him in so many different ways and wanted to boast gold medals just like he did. She wanted a career and a life to be proud of. So she’d sucked it up and went to the clinic, even if she spent every water break thinking about what her friends were up to.

It took a few years. She struggled to differentiate whether or not she played for the love of the game or for the need for approval. If she played because she saw the court not as polished wood and painted lines, but as the X’s and the O’s and as rotations and cuts, or if she played because she just wanted to be seen by the one person she always looked for.

On her own terms, she found herself falling in love with basketball in a way that was hers completely. She lived for teamwork, for the fact that playing good basketball meant knowing your teammates completely. The box score shows an assist, but doesn’t reflect how years of practice, study, and playing together prepares you to anticipate how your teammates move. She lived for the sisterhood of it all, the trust built between people who had the same goal and the same dedication to achieving it. She lived for the stillness on the court when she was at the line and the only thing between her and the hoop was fifteen feet of surety.

But Cam blinks back the memory, exhaling calmly as she laces up her sneakers on the bench. She ties them the same way every time – tight, double knotted, the ends tucked into the mouth. She doesn’t like practicing with music because it throws off her focus. There’s a rhythm to basketball that you only become privy to after years of breathing the game. The rubber echo of the ball against the court, the squeak of her sneakers, her own heartbeat – it grounds her, keeps her locked in.

When she’s satisfied with her shoes, she stretches out her legs, not doing anything too insane since she stretched before her morning run and was still feeling loose from it. It’s more to settle the residual noise in her brain.

After she picks up the ball, palming it between her hands, everything fades to a distant hum. It’s just Cam, the ball, the swish of the net. She runs a few drills just to get reacclimated with the feel of the ball in her hands, the way it bounces between her legs as she dribbles.

She moves onto shooting drills about ten minutes later, starting with a classic five spot drill. She doesn’t move on to the next spot until she makes ten in a row, but when she finds herself at the top of the key, three makes into her routine, the sound of the door pushing open causes her shot to clang off the rim.

She sighs, having found a rhythm, but steps off to pick up the rebound. Cam is only partially surprised to find Paige standing at half-court with a sheepish expression on her face and a pair of basketball shoes clutched between her fingers. The blonde has her hair up in a sleek ponytail, donning a black and white striped Nike sweatshirt (looking something like the Hamburglar, if Cam has to be honest), and a pair of matching black pants.

“Already trying to escape from the media?” Cam asks teasingly, holding the ball to her hip.

Paige shrugs, a little smile on her face. “I was tryna be good and mind my business, but I heard you dribbling. It was calling to me.”

Cam laughs. “Oh, I’m sure,” she says. “You sure you didn’t peek in, see it was me, and decide that annoying me was more worthwhile than getting to the press conference on time?”

“I still got thirty minutes,” Paige argues smugly. “I’m punctual and shit. Plenty of time to make you reconsider which rookie you actually wanted first dibs on.”

Cam hums, noting how comfortable she truly feels with Paige. She was expecting their first time seeing each other again to be a little more awkward considering how they left things, but their casual banter and teasing makes Cam feel like nothing had truly happened at all. Maybe she didn’t actually have too much to worry about. They would be fine, and she’s sure that the conversation they’ll have later would truly round it all out.

Then, she smiles, the curve of her lip indicating a challenge. She checks the ball over to Paige, who grabs it reflexively, her eyes wide in question. “How about some HORSE, then? Prove to me that you’re worthy of being the Camille Roman’s rookie.”

Paige scoffs, but she grins, setting her shoes down on the polished wood as she dribbles the ball. “What, was the natty not enough for you?” she teases. “Or going number one? Or buyin’ all your drinks?”

“I seem to remember those drinks of yours getting us into a lot of trouble,” Cam retorts, but the reminder doesn’t fill her with as much anxiety as it used to.

“You call it trouble. I call it vet and rookie bonding.”

Cam raises a brow. “Yeah? You gonna bond with Arike, too?”

Paige flushes, losing the handle on the ball as it bounces off her shoe, and Cam grabs it instinctively as she laughs. Paige, to her credit, recovers quickly, and she’s smirking when she says, “Nah. My vet says I’m off limits. I’m a one woman kind of girl.”

“Good answer,” Cam says. She checks the ball back with a loose, carefree smile. “First shot’s yours, rook. Make it count.”

Paige dribbles it once, twice, the smile never leaving her face as she inches closer to the three point line. She sets her feet shoulder width apart, crouching slightly, and she throws the ball underhanded towards the net. It sinks in gracefully, and Cam shakes her head in amusement at her over the top celebration as she tracks down the rebound.

“Don’t miss,” Paige says unhelpfully as she and Cam swap places. Cam rolls her eyes, not bothering with a response, and she steadies herself for her shot. Just before she gets it off, Paige adds, “You gonna repay me for all the concealer I had to buy last week?”

Her words startle Cam, but the shot is still money – it bounces off of the rim into the net, and the blonde sighs when her distraction effort fails. “You are such a cheater,” Cam gripes.

“What?” Paige cries, feigning innocence. “It was just a question.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters under her breath, but her cheeks hurt from grinning. She scoops up the ball and shoves Paige out of the way with her hip. Paige huffs, moving, and Cam sits flat on the ground. Cam can feel Paige’s gaze on her as she lines up her shot and sinks the ball in with ease. “Two for two.”

Paige extends a hand to help Cam up, shaking her hand, and Paige grabs the loose ball and takes her spot on the court. The blonde readies herself to shoot, but just before she flicks her wrist, Cam steps up next to her, her calf barely brushing Paige’s shoulder.

The ball sails off course, clanging harmlessly off the rim, and Paige looks at her with a betrayed expression. “You’re cheating for real!” she declares, gazing forlornly at the hoop, and Cam laughs as she helps her up.

“That’s H,” Cam states simply, a mischievous smile on her face. Paige doesn’t respond as she tracks down the basketball and studies the court to look for her next shot. “I don’t know, P. I think Aziaha would have made that one for sure.”

“Nah, don’t piss me off,” Paige grumbles, which makes Cam giggle. She steps up behind the hoop, squares her shoulders, and Cam is peacefully silent as Paige shoots the ball over the backboard. It circles around the rim once before falling in and she exhales a breath of relief.

Cam raises an impressed brow despite herself, grabbing the ball as it bounces back towards her, and Paige pats her on the hip with a smug look when she passes. “Make this next shot if I’m your favorite rookie,” she declares.

“How old are you?” Cam asks as she lines up her shot. “Twelve?” Paige grins in a way that makes Cam regret asking, having spent enough time at youth camps to know that Paige’s retort would sound a whole lot like twelve inches deep in your mom. “Don’t answer that.” She exhales to calm her mind. Paige, thankfully, watches in silence, but it’s for naught as the ball bounces off the rim, anyways.

“How’s that H taste?” Paige is beaming as she checks the ball back to Cam, who rolls her eyes in amusement.

“Like you’re not my favorite rookie,” Cam chirps sweetly.

Paige squawks in indignation, which elicits a round of laughter from Cam. They go back and forth like that for a few more rounds, trading buckets, misses, and banter that gradually decreases the distance between them. Before a shot, Paige would pretend to massage Cam’s shoulders like she’s a fighter in a boxing ring. Cam would nudge her elbow before she shoots, attempting to throw her off her game, but she pats her hip when she makes it regardless.

Cam didn’t think it could be this nice. She thought that night at the hotel would have ruined her and Paige’s friendship and chemistry – both on and off the court – but she’s finding that, in a way, it’s brought them closer. She would never call it a mistake. She would be the first to admit that she wanted it – in the moment. Paige is good company, keeps her on her toes, and is obviously attractive, although there are some things you can’t have twice.

She’s closer to making her peace with that night. The conversation that she and Paige plan to have later would hopefully give her some more clarity and comfort in it, but she knows without a doubt that they can’t have a repeat of it. They can’t let the lines blur or push the boundaries more than they already have. That’s enough for her.

Both her and Paige have accumulated HORS twenty minutes later, and the both of them know they have to wrap it up soon so Paige can freshen up before she actually has to head out for media. The thing about Cam is that she’s not going to bend over and let Paige win just because she won’t concede the game. She and Paige both nailed the half court shot, which meant that game point relied on whether or not they could make it from full court.

“I don’t even think I have the arm strength for this,” Cam admits, standing as close as she can to the back wall so she has plenty of room to run forward. “The fact that you’re a point guard gives you an unfair advantage.”

“You tappin’ out?” Paige goads, grinning, and Cam has to bite her tongue. If there was anything Paige was good at besides basketball, it was baiting Cam.

“Rookies first,” Cam states.

“You don’t want the smoke,” Paige responds. Cam has to fight the urge to shove her, but she’s sure that would only motivate the blonde more.

Paige glances up at the hoop, nearly one hundred feet away, and she readies her shot. With a running start, she plants her feet at the baseline and grunts as she lobs the ball across the court. Cam’s eyes track its movement, the clean arc, and her jaw drops in complete and utter disbelief when it hits the backboard and swishes in without further fanfare.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groans, not really enjoying the taste of defeat on her tongue, but she can’t really be mad for long as Paige grabs her by the shoulders and shakes in excitement. She rolls her lips to stifle her smile.

“Just go ahead and take that E,” Paige says, passing over the second ball they brought to the baseline. Cam takes it with an eyeroll. “You don’t gotta embarrass yourself in front of me.”

Cam doesn’t dignify that with a response. She palms the ball in her hands, pushing herself closer to the wall, and takes a deep breath like she’s about to sink a free throw instead of launching a ball almost one hundred feet across the court. With a running start, she plants at the baseline and lets her right hand do most of the heavy lifting, and the ball sails out of her grip.

Both her and Paige watch with a bated breath as it arcs in the air. It flies closer, and closer, and closer, until it circles around the rim once, then twice, and falls out unceremoniously.

As Paige celebrates for the second time that afternoon, all Cam can really think about is how badly she wants to fucking retire. Paige jostles her as Cam stares at the hoop, deadpan and unblinking.

Premonition might be a curse. She just had to tell Rickea that the 2025 class was all about energy and how they’d be welcoming vets to the league. Cam just can’t believe she got welcomed by Paige during a game of HORSE that started as a joke more than anything else.

Cam just sighs, extending her hand, and Paige daps her up with unadulterated glee on her face. “Say the thing,” she requests sweetly.

Cam’s tone is flat as she states begrudgingly, “You’re my rookie.”

Paige pumps her fist in the air, looking nothing like the nonchalant final boss she claimed she was. Then, if only to add salt to the wound, Paige nudges her with her elbow and says, “Welcome to the league, Cam Roman.”

Cam can’t find it in herself to be upset. She supposes Paige did earn it, and hypothetically if she does get tagged in a few press conference clips later about Paige claiming she welcomed Cam to the league, she only reposts the clip out of integrity on her Instagram story.

When Cam told Paige that they’d talk after the press conference, she wasn’t really expecting it to be over takeout at Paige’s barren apartment, but she figures it’s a good venue as any. 

Paige welcomes her in with a sheepish expression and the smell of Chinese in the air. “I’m embracing the minimalist lifestyle,” she declares, gesturing minutely to the cardboard boxes sprawled around the room. There’s one in front of her couch, overflowing with a few trinkets like lego sets and framed photographs of Paige and her family and friends. Cam winces a little, briefly wondering who supervised Paige and her diabolical packing, but Paige’s apartment door clicks shut behind her and draws her attention back to the present.

Despite being lived in for only a few hours at most, Paige’s apartment is cozy and open. She has floor to ceiling windows in the kitchen overlooking the skyline, a cornucopia of takeout boxes littering the counter, and a few candles burning in the living room. They’re both dressed in casual clothes – Cam’s opted for a pair of comfortable, white gym shorts and a Wings t-shirt, while Paige has a loose pair of grey sweatpants hung low enough to reveal the band of her boxers and an old UConn tee.

“You’re doing better than I did when I first moved out here,” Cam admits, toeing off her slides and following Paige towards the kitchen. Paige throws a smile over her shoulder to let Cam know she’s listening as she sorts through the boxes. “I think I had takeout for a week straight because I didn’t have time to go buy pots and pans.”

“Shit,” Paige says instantly. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Cam snorts. Paige passes a container to Cam, a simple order of lo mein and orange chicken, while she keeps the white rice and sweet and sour chicken for herself. There’s a bag of crab rangoons and eggrolls to share.

Almost absentmindedly, Paige pulls out the barstool at the counter for Cam before settling into the one next to it. Cam raises her brow but doesn’t say anything, taking a seat in the chair next to Paige, who passes a packet of plastic silverware and chopsticks like they’ve been in this position a hundred times before.

“You settling in okay?”

Paige shrugs a tired shoulder, shoveling a forkful of rice into her mouth. “Getting there,” she confesses. “Got a lot of shit to unpack, but…didn’t want it easy, right?”

Cam smiles knowingly at her. “I meant challenging as in getting your shot blocked by BG a couple of times. Not getting your ass kicked by cardboard boxes and IKEA instruction manuals.”

“I happen to be very handy,” Paige sniffs. “Don’t need no instruction manual. Or all those extra screws they pack in there.”

Cam stares at her unblinkingly. Paige stares back, something like mischief in her eyes as she spears a piece of chicken with her fork. The corner of her lips twitch ever so slightly. “Please tell me I’m not sitting on a chair that’s gonna collapse.”

“If you fell, I’d make sure you were okay before I laughed at you,” Paige offers unhelpfully.

Cam huffs. “Thanks. Just what any girl wants to hear.”

Paige smiles, and the two of them settle into a comfortable rhythm as they eat their dinner. Paige shares a couple of stories from media, telling Cam all about the embroidered cowboy hat she got and how done she is with random reporter questions about the Dallas heat and TexMex. That makes Cam laugh – it’s fitting to see that the reporters hadn’t gotten any better questions to ask besides food and the weather.

The peace lasts for a few moments until Paige’s fork hits the bottom of her takeout container and the last of her chicken is done. She clears her throat, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Elephant in the room?” she asks hesitantly.

Cam nods, pushing her leftovers away, and pauses for a moment. Finally, she settles on her words. “I think I might have overreacted a little,” she admits.

Paige offers a gentle smile. “I think it was a pretty valid crash out,” she states. “You were concerned about the locker room and making things awkward. I also get that the entire world would probably explode if word got out.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees. She rests her chin in her palm. “I mean, I’m also…your vet,” she says carefully. The blue of Paige’s gaze is intense, but Cam forces herself to meet her eyes. “That night was out of character for me. I’m not usually so…”

“Carefree?”

“Reckless,” Cam supplies, and Paige nods, understanding. “I don’t regret it. You don’t either. That’s something we’ve got to stand on. I just wasn’t really thinking about…you know, the consequences of sleeping with my rookie.” Her words are dry, which makes Paige chuckle. “I don’t wanna deal with red tape from the front office. Definitely not the media. And I definitely didn’t want to make things weird with us.”

Paige’s smile turns a little crooked. “We’re good. I told you. We’re responsible adults.”

“Friends, if you will,” Cam adds.

Paige sounds all too smug when she pipes in with, “Best friends.”

Cam scoffs, rolling her eyes in amusement, feeling the final bits of tension leave her shoulders completely. They were good. No more issues. “Don’t push it, rook.” Paige raises her hands in surrender, a coy smile on her face as she slides out of the bar stool to start grabbing their trash. She waves off Cam when she tries to help, her expression far too adamant, so she bites her tongue and stays seated while Paige cleans up. “Paige?” she asks hesitantly.

“What’s up?” She glances at Cam briefly over her shoulder, the diamond studs in her ears glinting in the light as she turns, and Cam’s fingers drum lightly over the granite of Paige’s countertops.

Her voice is small when she says, “We can’t let it happen again.” It gives Paige pause, and she turns fully, leaning against the countertop. Her gaze is imploring – not offensive, just as though she’s trying to understand. “We’re friends. I’m your vet, you’re my rook. Nothing more. No need to make a good thing complicated, yeah?”

Paige raises a teasing brow. “You sure you can handle that, Cam?”

She narrows her eyes, which draws a laugh from Paige. “Can you?” she retorts. “You’re obsessed with me. It’s sickening.”

“I’m keeping you young,” she emphasizes. “Big difference.” Cam exhales, the noise sounding more like a breathless laugh. Paige clears her throat, fiddling with the towel in her hands. “I hear you,” she says, just so it’s absolutely clear, and the expression on her face eases when Cam meets her eyes. “I care about you and the team. We’ll keep it clean. But don’t think for one moment I’m gonna make your job any easier. You chose me on draft night – you’re stuck with me.”

Clean. Cam could work with that. There wasn’t any reason to change who they were or how they bantered, and if Cam was being honest, she didn’t want to. She liked this relationship she had with Paige, the slight push and pull and how they challenge each other. The mutualistic getting on each other’s nerves.

“Easy’s boring, right?” Cam reminds her, and a grin grows on Paige’s face, matching the sly one on Cam’s. Paige returns to the dishes, throwing jokes over her shoulder that Cam can’t help but laugh at. They’d keep it clean. Orderly. No chaos.

But entropy has to increase or remain constant. There was no circumventing that – it was a law of the universe. Ease wasn’t, though. Ease wasn’t just boring, and for Paige and Cam, they’d realize that it would be downright impossible.

[all4yoi]

𝓣he 𝓓addy 𝓓iaries

!? . . ★ 𝓦here 𝓛ove 𝓖rows — the moment your bump finally shows and how each of them reacts to seeing the first physical proof of the little life growing inside you.

➹ enhypen hyungline x fem!reader ✦ cw: fluff !! mentions of kissing, reader is in her undies for hee's, mentions of feeling fat, jake makes a joke ab enjoying dinner too much, lmk if i missed anything else! not proofread

➹ taglist 2: open! SEND AN ASK — SERIES MASTERLIST

LEE HEESEUNG

Ever since you moved in with Heeseung back when you were still just boyfriend and girlfriend, you'd both grown completely used to changing in front of each other.

Heeseung would always watch with a teasing smirk, sometimes whistling or tossing out a cheeky comment. Other times, he'd come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and press warm kisses to your bare shoulders. It was a routine you'd grown used to, his affection, his presence, his love.

So you were surprised now, standing in your bra and underwear in front of the mirror, brushing your hair only to find your husband unusually quiet from his spot on the bed.

You glanced at him through the mirror, and Heeseung looked like he'd been hit with something heavy.

Then, wordlessly, he stood and walked toward you. He stopped just behind you, his hands hovering over your stomach like he was almost afraid to touch you.

"Baby," he whispered, finally resting his palms gently against your skin, "you're showing."

You froze, eyes widening as you looked down, then at the mirror then back down again. Your hands lifted to cover his, resting over your small but clearly visible baby bump.

"I didn't even notice..." you breathed.

Heeseung smiled, shaky and soft, lowering his chin to your shoulder as he looked at your reflection beside his.

His eyes were glassy, and his smile trembled.

You let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing your thumb along his forearm. "You big baby... are you crying?"

"I just love you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And this little nugget.. so much."

He pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw, then hugged you tighter, like he never wanted to let either of you go. — more under the cut!

PARK JONGSEONG

Even though you were now pregnant, Sunday night dates were never skipped. Jay had religiously taken you out every Sunday ever since you'd said yes to being his girlfriend years ago, and now that you were his wife and carrying his child, nothing had changed.

Well... almost nothing.

Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted your maroon, form-fitting dress that stopped just below your calves, frowning. It just didn't feel right. You tried earrings, lipstick, even a cardigan.. but no matter what you did, you didn't like what you saw. You felt off. Heavy. Not you.

Sighing, you stepped out of your shared bedroom, heels clicking softly on the stairs until you stopped at the bottom looking at where Jay sat on the couch, waiting patiently.

He was dressed in a black button-up shirt, the top few buttons left undone and sleeves rolled up to his forearms, like always. Effortlessly handsome.

You looked at him, then down at yourself. "Let's cancel tonight," you mumbled.

Jay's brows lifted in confusion as he stood up, walking toward you. "Why?"

"I feel... fat in this dress," you said quietly, tugging at the fabric near your waist.

He didn't say anything at first, just stood there, eyes scanning you from head to toe. Then a breathy chuckle left his lips as his hands landed gently on your hips, pulling you closer.

"Baby," he whispered, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek, "you're not fat." his hand slid to your stomach. "That's our baby. You're showing."

You blinked, looking down, you finally saw it. The curve you'd been trying to hide in cardigans and loose dresses. You weren't just gaining weight. You were growing life.

"They're finally saying hi," Jay murmured, wrapping his arms fully around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

He smiled to himself, already imagining the story he'd tell later. About the night he got to take both of the loves of his life on a date for the first time.

SIM JAEYUN

You were lounging on the couch, nestled comfortably between Jake's legs, clad in an oversized hoodie that clearly belonged to him. A movie played quietly in the background, but Jake, as always, needed something to fidget with. This time, it was your fingers, which he absentmindedly played with while watching the screen.

He let out a small laugh at one scene, his right hand dropping gently to your stomach. He pressed lightly and tilted his head.

"Lovely, are you bloated? Was my pasta that good?" he teased, leaning down to pepper your neck and jawline with kisses.

You let out a laugh, half-heartedly swatting at his arm. "Stop it!"

You lifted the hoodie until the hem rested just below your chest, revealing a small but visible bump. Jake paused. His playful expression shifted as he stared at it.

"You calling our baby pasta?" you asked, amused, looking up at him with a smile tugging at your lips.

He stayed quiet, his hands now cradling the bump with a kind of reverence. He rubbed soft, slow circles on your skin, still in awe.

"Woah.. They're actually bumping, baby," he whispered, voice full of wonder. "That's our little bean."

You melted into his warmth as he kept talking softly to your stomach, his hands never leaving your skin. You didn't stop him when he stood up from his position to grab his phone and started taking pictures from different angles, even if the camera flash made you squint.

"God," Jake breathed, pressing a kiss to the very center of your bump, "I can't wait to meet them."

His palm settled gently at the base of your belly, holding it like something precious.

"I love you," he whispered, eyes back on yours. "Thank you."

PARK SUNGHOON

Since it had taken nearly a year to get pregnant, there were days you both forgot you actually were. You'd only be reminded in the early mornings, hunched over the toilet, or in the dead of night when you craved weird food combinations no one in their right mind would put together.

That also meant you hadn't let go of your favorite silky, skimpy sleepwear just yet.

You were in front of the bathroom mirror, casually spreading moisturizer across your face, wearing a white silk tank top trimmed with black lace that stopped just an inch above your belly button and some matching shorts. You didn't even look up when your husband came in, half-asleep from his nap and shirtless, preparing to shower.

He stood beside you for a moment before his eyes lowered, and then he stilled.

You caught his reflection hovering just behind you. Sunghoon's gaze was locked on your stomach. Slowly and wordlessly, he stepped closer and gently placed both hands over your stomach. You flinched at the sudden chill of his palms.

Your brow raised slightly. "Hoon?"

He didn't answer right away, still fixated on your reflection in the mirror. His calloused thumbs moved gently in circles over your skin, so quiet you almost didn't hear him.

"You're really pregnant, huh?" he murmured, voice thick with something between disbelief and wonder.

You followed his gaze down to the small, visible curve and placed your hand on top of his. "I guess I really am," you whispered, leaning back into his chest.

He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to your temple, his breath warm against your cheek. One arm slipped around your waist instinctively. Protective and grounding.

"I think it finally hit me now," he said quietly.

You smiled, fingers running through his hair as you leaned into his warmth just a little more.

taglist 1! bold can't be tagged — @stawberri @saphiranishimurashan @strxwbloody @heesexual74 @jooniesbears-blog @ayablogsblog @teddybeartaetae @gandaengene @snowprincehoon @e-r-i-15 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @maveysoup @hhyvsstuff @tobiosbbyghorl @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia @lostwonderwall @starlit-rin @luciathcv @kkamismom12 @1-hypegirl @50-husbands @talesofthegreatest @kristynaaah @izahere @aeri-shi @shawnyle @riribelle @storeyz @17ericas

[p0liticking]

Goy here, but also: if a Jew tells you their opinion on the Israel/Palestine conflict and you disagree with it, and then use that disagreement to then be antisemitic—you were always antisemitic and a fucking bigot in the first place.

If a black person disagrees with you on something and you resort to calling them the n-word, saying you hope they get lynched, and/or start spreading racist lies about them—you are a racist.

If a gay person disagrees with you on something and you resort to calling them the f-slur, saying you hope they get sent to conversion therapy, and spreading homophobic rhetoric against them—you are a homophobe.

If a woman disagrees with you on something and you start talking about how you hope she gets abused/raped/has rights taken away from her/etc.—you are a misogynist.

If a Muslim disagrees with you on something and you start calling them a terrorist, talking shit about how backwards/savage/etc. their religion is, and spreading Islamophobic lies about them—you are an Islamophobe.

And if a Jew disagrees with you on something, I don’t give a fuck what it is—they could be a Zionist, they could be anti-Zionist, they could want a two state solution, they could want an abolishment of one country over the other, they could be racist against Israelis or racist against Palestinians—anything, and you use that as an excuse to start calling them slurs, celebrating/hoping for their deaths, hoping they get raped/tortured, saying they should’ve been killed in the Holocaust, participating in Holocaust revisionism and/or denial, spreading antisemitic lies, using antisemitic dog whistles, and anything else—YOU ARE AN ANTISEMITE!

Someone could have the most disgusting opinions known to man and if you used their marginalized identity against them then you actually are 100% fine with bigotry, so long as it’s not happening to you personally or people you give a shit about.

This isn’t a revolutionary concept, it was actually a pretty popular one a few years ago, so why don’t y’all stop ignoring it when it comes to Jews.

Okay people, it has come to my attention that a lot of y'all don't know when you're being antisemitic. There's a very common form of antisemitism that I think largely goes unnoticed by gentiles, but is very stressful and upsetting (and sometimes actively dangerous) to Jews. So I'm gonna do my best to explain it.

Asking Jewish people what they think about Israel/Palestine when they have not invited that topic of conversation is antisemitic.

Yes, really. Yes, always. Yes, no matter what.

There are two primary reasons that this is a form of antisemitism.

Someone being Jewish in public is not an invitation to discourse. No one has a right to our opinions on anything we do not wish to share, Israel included. It is entitled and discriminatory to single out Jews as people who "should" talk to you about this. Do you ask African Americans what they think about politics in Nigeria? No? Then why do you think you have a right to ask Jews about Israel?

In many cases, this question is used as a litmus test or trap for Jews. It is used to sort out Good Jews from Bad Jews. And that means it is actively dangerous for Jews to share their opinions on it when asked. Even if you, the person asking the question, happen to agree with their answer and mark them down as a Good Jew, other people will consider the same answer a sign that they are a Bad Jew. By interrogating Jews about Israel, you are asking them to put themselves at risk to gain conditional acceptance.

If we have opened the topic or joined a conversation that was already about Israel, it is okay to ask (respectfully) what we think. It is not okay to approach people who are publicly Jewish when they are talking about something completely different, or not talking at all, and demand to know our thoughts on the subject.

Our thoughts are not public property. We do not owe you our opinions.