#and if they didn’t that’s also okay 💜

[runariya]

I am in love with that Jk merman story of yourssss , you are such a talented author !!!! Keep it up with the good work .

Even i want to request a prompt after that story because i believe only you have the capability to bring that prompt to life (only if you want to write ofcourse, no pressure )

I have never read an ABO fic with enemies to lovers troupe in modern era , I mean just imagine them being the high-school academic rival wolves who can't bear standing eachother

but the moment they turn 18 and their wolves will develop some special senses and powers, they both will realise that they both are actually mates . damnnn now image the strong pull their wolves will feel towards eachother making them go crazy ( their wolves will fall in love with eachother the moment they will recognize eachother as mate and start rebelling their human counterparts and start convincing them to love eachother too .)

and how bad they will try to hide it , deny their wolves forbid their animal counterparts from eachother only to fail miserably in the end because yeah that mate bond will win 🥹

You can choose any BTS member you want because I love and enjoy reading all seven of them so go for any member you want .

Borahae 💜 , no pressure if you are not interested in writing this prompt , I will still adore you and your work 💜 😘 so feel free to reject this request if you want .

part of the prompt game pairing: alpha!Jungkook x omega!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, "E"2L, ABO, high school romance warnings: Jungkook's the most pitiful teenager in all of existence, bad handling of emotions/feelings, a lot of cliques, denial, a little bit of physical fighting, mentions of blood, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.754

a/n: tysm for all your compliments, I'm so flattered 🫂 I've tweaked your request a tiny bit to fit the character of OC better and left out marking etc. bc they're still so young 🥹 hope that's okay 💕

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He hates you.

No, he loathes your entire existence.

That Miss Perfect attitude, excelling in everything you do as if it’s the easiest task in the world. You’ve been enemies since high school started—not because either of you declared it so, but because Jungkook simply can’t stand you.

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to this feud, always kind and friendly towards everyone, especially Jungkook. He doesn’t understand how you do it, staying so humble and kind towards him when he takes every opportunity to throw jabs your way, or cause you minor inconveniences, like not holding the door open or letting you trip more times than he can count.

It’s infuriating to watch you be so lovely, especially when you’re not only the smartest but also the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—something he will never admit. Ever.

“Jungkook?” Your soft, sweet voice startles him. He’s been too busy glaring at the papers scattered before him, his thoughts circling back to you. There's no one else in the lecture hall, and he didn’t even realise you’d entered. You seem to appear out of nowhere, catching him off guard. “I think you dropped this.”

You’re smiling again, that blinding smile of yours, starry eyes sparkling with joy, courteous as ever. He wants to scream. He doesn’t want this treatment from you, not when you’re a little older than him—well, only two months, but still. You’re 18 now, with your wolf, while he’s not, which only deepens his resentment. Once again, you’re ahead, better at something.

The whole school talked about your wolf. Despite your gentle nature, everyone was shocked to learn after your first turn that you’re an omega—one of the very few in the city, the only one known in school. It’s yet another thing Jungkook can’t stand, especially now that everyone, wolf or not, showers you with attention.

“Not mine,” Jungkook lies through his teeth, eyeing the pencil still held out towards him in your small, delicate hand, your nails perfectly manicured.

“Oh…” you murmur, glancing down at the pencil, your brows drawing together in disbelief. Of course, you don’t believe him. “But it’s got your initials, and it’s the one you’re always using.”

Damn you! Of course, you know it’s his favourite. He should’ve seen this coming.

“You think I’d use it after your germs have contaminated it?” Jungkook scoffs.

“That’s not very kind.” You purse your lips, those beautiful lips.

“It’s the truth, ___.”

“Is it okay if I keep it?”

What?! “What?” Jungkook can’t believe his ears. Why would you want to keep it?

“Can I keep your pen? It would be a waste to throw it away, especially when it looks so cool.” You repeat, smiling again.

The pencil is cool, and Jungkook has half a mind to just snatch it back, but he won’t give in. He won’t concede even the smallest defeat.

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. It’s enough to make you burst with joy, your face lighting up as you clutch the pencil to your chest.

“Thanks, Jungkook! You’re so kind!”

“Whatever.”

And ‘whatever’ indeed, because seeing you every day with his pencil, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, drives him mad. He regrets his decision. He wants it back. It’s his, and what’s his should stay his, but it isn’t—and it makes him livid.

Livid in a way that fuels his pettiness, pushing him to new lengths to make your life difficult. He puts fake spiders in your bag, bumps into you when you’re struggling with your food tray in the canteen. But all of it is in vain, because you’re an omega—everyone’s darling. Every time something inconvenient happens to you, a horde of people rushes to your aid.

This alone is enough to make Jungkook reconsider his actions—or rather, the attention he’s giving you. It’s not like you care. It’s not like you treat him any differently when he’s mean. So what’s the point? At some stage, he’s not even sure why he started all this, why he loathes you so much. If he’s honest, you’ve never actually wronged him. Not once. And now, he’s running out of ways to break you, to show everyone your true colours, because no one can be this perfect, right?

It’s the Friday before his birthday weekend when you approach him again, this time holding a small present. You look up at him as he stands by his locker.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say softly.

“What do you want?”

“Uhm, I know Sunday’s your 18th birthday and… well, I know you didn’t invite me to your party, which is totally fine! Don’t get me wrong! But I just wanted to give you this because it’s a big birthday, right? So, yeah…”

The tiny gift is wrapped in floral paper with a neatly tied bow, and it looks exactly how he imagined your presents would. It screams 'you', and he’s unsure what to say. He reckons he should just take it and thank you, but the way you’re looking up at him, so small and kind despite knowing you weren’t invited, bothers him like a sock slipping off mid-walk.

Jungkook reluctantly takes the present, ignoring the slight relieved droop of your shoulders and how your warm, soft fingers brushed softly against his.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes transfixed on the gift.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook. I hope it’ll be everything you wanted and beyond.”

And with that, you turn away, a light spring in your step, your hair moving behind you like a fairy’s wings.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time after you leave, ripping the gift open in a rush of curiosity, only to freeze, stunned, when a tiny jewellery box is revealed to him. He’s never received any jewellery before, and the fact that it’s a gift from you—a female ‘stranger’, no less—makes his nerve endings prickle with discomfort. The idea of receiving something so personal feels wrong somehow, and yet, despite this strange feeling creeping over him, he still finds himself opening the small red box.

Inside, nestled on an equally red velvet cushion, is a delicate necklace with a pendant that bears his initials. It’s the prettiest necklace he’s ever seen, and the worst part is that he can already picture himself wearing it, the style so perfectly matching his aesthetic that it’s rather unsettling.

He carefully takes the necklace from the box, letting it twist and turn in the sunlight, the metal gleaming ever so mesmerising. But that’s when he notices an engraving on the back of the pendant, and as he peers closer, he fights the urge to rub his eyes.

You’ve had ‘alpha’ engraved onto it. There’s no way anyone could be so bold as to assume another person’s future rank, and yet here you are, making such an assumption about him. Jungkook can’t help but think maybe he was right all along—there’s something strange about you. You’re just a little too perfect, a little too confident in your kindness, a little too bold in your presumptions.

Shaking his head, he lets the necklace fall back into the box, snapping it shut and tossing it carelessly into his locker, fully intending to forget about it sooner or later. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Saturday night and Sunday come and go in a blur of noise, people, and anticipation. Jungkook has invited practically everyone he knows to his birthday party, hoping that with the arrival of his wolf, his mate might finally be revealed as well. But no one who attends is his mate, and this realisation drags his mood dangerously low. He feels a nagging stab in his chest that he can’t shake, made even heavier by the recurring thought that you, little Miss Perfect, were right all along—Jungkook has become an alpha, just as you predicted. Typical.

What infuriates him even more is that on Monday morning, as you—like always—walk past his locker on your way to the lecture hall, the world seems to slow around him. He watches in disbelief as you suddenly stop, staring at him with wide eyes that shimmer with unshed tears. You look stunned, but more than that, you look happy, as though you’ve just discovered something wonderful. And then, in the midst of his confusion, his inner wolf starts to go wild, barking ‘mate’ over and over again, leaping with excitement inside him.

It should be a moment of joy, a moment where he feels relief and happiness in finally knowing who his mate is. But instead, all Jungkook feels is denial, a desperate refusal to accept the truth, even though, deep down, he knows that you’re everything he ever wanted in a mate.

Still, he turns away from you, ignoring the way your face crumples, the way your bright, hopeful tears turn into ones of sadness, the way you rush past him with your head down, leaving his wolf whimpering in confusion and hurt. Jungkook tries to convince himself that this can’t be real, that it can’t be right, even though every part of him knows it’s exactly what he wanted, what he’s been waiting for.

In the days that follow, he struggles to keep up his usual routine of tormenting you, making snide remarks whenever he gets the chance, but there’s no joy in it anymore. You’re not kind to him the way you used to be, not anymore. You don’t smile at him, don’t even really smile at anyone; instead, you accept his cruelty with a resigned, sad look in your eyes and a forced, brittle smile that never quite reaches your eyes.

Each day, it becomes harder and harder for Jungkook to suppress his wolf, who clearly isn’t on the same page with his cold treatment of you. His wolf growls at him, restless and unhappy, frustrated with the way things are. And Jungkook knows—he understands why—but he feels trapped.

How could he possibly make things right after all he’s done to you? How could he ever redeem himself after letting his bitterness and resentment carry him so far? It doesn’t help that the necklace you gave him is now tucked securely under his shirt, the cool metal pendant resting against his chest, near his heart, multiplying the ache that’s slowly but surely forming there as well. He fiddles with it absentmindedly, the action soothing in a way he can’t explain, though it only makes the guilt grow.

“Jungkook?”

He no longer startles when you appear, his wolf always sensing your presence before you even speak, and your voice has become so quiet, so broken, that it doesn’t have the same effect it once did.

Looking at you now, standing there with your eyes downcast and your voice soft, makes him wish he could take it all back—every harsh word, every petty action. He wishes he could go back and rewrite everything, build something good between you instead of tearing it down. But it’s too late for that, far too late, and he knows it.

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to continue, your voice wavering slightly. “I know it’s random, but I noticed your grades haven’t been as good as they used to be. I know you’re not the kind of person who needs help, but… if there’s anything I can do, just let me know, yeah?”

He wants to snap at you, wants to push you away, but he’s so exhausted—exhausted from pretending he doesn’t care, exhausted from pretending he hates you, and most of all, exhausted from fighting this undeniable bond between you.

Tears prick at his eyes, overwhelming him with guilt, frustration, and something else he can’t quite name. He’s so fed up with himself, so trapped in the mess he’s made that he doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t even know where to start.

“Hey… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say, your voice tinged with panic now as you shift nervously on the spot, your hands reaching out towards him only to pull back, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop!” Jungkook yells, and the sound of his own voice surprises him. You flinch, your entire body recoiling as if he’s physically struck you, your trembling hands clasping tightly in front of you.

“I… I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers, and before Jungkook can say anything else, you turn and run, disappearing down the hall, leaving him standing there with the misery of his guilt pressing down harder than ever.

To think it couldn’t get worse was the stupidest thought Jungkook ever had, because it got worse. Not only did his little outburst suffocate him in guilt, but it also made you avoid him every chance you got. It also didn’t help that most people noticed your changed persona, adding one plus one and recognising Jungkook as the culprit.

He doesn’t fault them, doesn’t really mind the insults coming his way, of being heartless for not wanting a mate like you, when he knows they speak the truth. He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve someone who he clearly hurts without a true reason.

And the way his inner wolf retreats now from him too, is something he understands as well, because there’s literally nothing he could do to mend what he’s broken.

It’s one afternoon after classes have just finished, and he’s walking out of the school when he notices you cornered against the wall by some other alphas, three in total. Jungkook’s immediately enraged, and it’s then that his wolf rises to full strength, baring his teeth and growling violently.

You’re clearly uncomfortable, clearly scared of what might happen, especially when one of these alphas gets in your face, giving you no way to escape. The last straw for Jungkook is when one runs his filthy finger along your beautiful face.

“Hey!” Jungkook roars, storming towards the alphas who have now turned to laugh in his face. “Back off.”

“What?! She’s fair game.” One mocks, while you’re still pressed against the wall, but your eyes are hopefully locked onto Jungkook.

“I said back off my mate.”

They do, but only to now lunge at Jungkook, thinking that outnumbering him will shoo him away. But it doesn’t—Jungkook won’t let anyone else touch you, his wolf and himself ready to do anything to protect you. And so, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take each one of them down.

Driven by adrenaline, he doesn’t notice the sting of the hits he couldn’t block, but it’s nothing compared to the urge to protect you with all he has, all he is.

One after the other falls to the floor, while blood trickles from his split lip, knuckles burning and swollen, his chest still heaving, his wolf still angrily jabbing at the air.

“Jungkook?” His eyes snap up to you when you call for him, and he’s relieved to find no repulsion or fear in them when they lock onto him.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” you nod, and his wolf wags his tail, barking mate, deafening all his other senses.

“Good."

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

You hesitate, and it makes him feel powerless all over again, but eventually you whisper, “Because I’m not who you wanted.”

It’s broken, it’s defeated, and it’s everything he never wanted his mate to say, because it’s not the truth. Never was. Never will be.

“But you are.” Jungkook tries to smile, despite knowing it’s not hopeful or kind, but sad in all the ways his decisions led it to be.

“I am?”

Seeing your eyes gradually returning to their lively, sparkly self is more than he ever wished to witness, more than he ever should receive, but everything he ever wanted.

“You are. Always were.”

And with that, he opens his arms, stepping over the still-groaning alphas to get closer to you.

With a push off the wall, you sprint into Jungkook’s arms, tears of relief running down your cheeks as he embraces you like you wished he would from the start. But it doesn’t matter, because no time apart could ruin the feeling of him embracing you and your bond.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair, inhaling the magnificent scent of you.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

And as you cling to him, your wolves finally as content as you are, you know that you’d never change a thing, because it’s better to be loved willingly than with no other choice.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Friends Without Benefits

Status: One Shot, Complete

Summary: Even if you don't believe it, Dieter Bravo is actually capable of having platonic friendships.

Word Count: 10.5k words

Warnings: strong language, heavy flirtation, sexual tension (no smut--can you believe it??), mentions of past affairs and scandals, alcohol consumption, references to Dieter’s reckless behavior, mentions of drug use, emotional vulnerability, humor, inappropriate jokes (because, Dieter!), legal contract about not fucking

A/N: Okay, I know what you're thinking… another Dieter fic? Yeah, I know—it’s like my fourth one, so clearly, the brain rot is real, and I’m trying to get it out of my system (seriously, I’m trying… sort of). I know I haven’t updated Lifeline in a hot minute, but we’ll get to that later, lol. This fic is a little different from the usual—there’s a lot more fluff and friendship stuff, but I really enjoyed playing with the dynamic of two people who could totally cross the line but decide not to (because, honestly, it’s working for them as is). Also, apologies for any typos—I tried proofreading, but doing it on my phone isn’t exactly ideal. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

P.S. My laptop, which served me well for 5 years, just gave out. With grad school, the recent loss of my stepdad, and ongoing medical bills, finances are tight. I’m currently managing writing commissions and my dissertation from my phone, which is okay but really challenging. If you can help with a donation or by commissioning some of my writing, or just by simply commenting or reblogging, it would mean the world to me. 💜 Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any support you can offer. 💜🙏🏻

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

It started with a rejection email.

Not the kind that offered hope for future opportunities, but the type that crushed your spirit in one curt sentence:

"We regret to inform you that your application for the Screenwriting Development Program has not been accepted."

She read it over twice, then a third time, hoping something had been missed. A reason, some constructive feedback, anything. But it was just a copy-paste response sent to dozens—maybe hundreds—of other hopefuls like her. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and put the laptop to sleep.

The screen faded to black, reflecting back an image she barely recognized anymore: tangled hair, circles under her eyes, and the lingering trace of a smile she hadn’t used in days.

“Whatever,” she muttered to herself. “I didn’t need it anyway.”

That was a lie.

The Screenwriting Development Program was her shot, her dream, the chance to step out of her day-to-day grind and into the world she’d always wanted. A world where she wrote stories that people would actually care to hear.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. In fifteen minutes, she had to be at the diner. She grabbed her apron off the back of a chair and stuffed it into her bag before heading out.

As usual, the shift was long. And slow. She spent most of her time refilling coffee for the regulars and plastering on a smile that barely reached her eyes. The rejection lingered like a dark cloud, reminding her how close she was to giving up completely. By the time her shift ended, she was so exhausted that she didn’t even change out of her uniform. She just grabbed her bag and headed out into the night.

The long walk up to her apartment felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t until she reached her front door that the next wave of despair hit her like a punch to the gut.

An eviction notice.

She stared at the paper taped to her door, her heart sinking.

“Great,” she whispered bitterly, ripping it off and crumpling it into a ball before shoving it into her bag.

Four weeks. She had four weeks to come up with the rent, or she’d be out on the street.

Later, she sat on her couch in her underwear and a camisole, trying to ignore the cold chill of the eviction notice that still hovered at the edge of her mind. The TV buzzed in the background, Dieter Bravo’s voice filling the small apartment with a familiar rasp. A half-eaten carton of ice cream sat beside her, its contents softening to a puddle as she mindlessly scooped the melting mess.

Hunger Strike was playing again. She’d lost count of how many times she’d watched it by now. Dieter’s performance was the kind that stuck with you, the kind that won awards. It wasn’t just a movie anymore; it was the movie that had put him on the map—had made him a star and earned him that Oscar. She didn’t care if everyone else had moved on to the next blockbuster; for her, Hunger Strike was it. Every look in his eyes, every rasp of desperation in his voice felt real, almost too real. It was like he wasn’t acting at all.

"We don’t need them. They need us!" His character was yelling now, his voice hoarse, raw with intensity. She could practically feel his pain, his determination radiating through the screen.

She wiped at her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was everything—her life, the rejection, the eviction notice looming like a ticking time bomb. Or maybe it was just Dieter. Watching him made her feel seen, like somehow, through all the chaos, someone else understood what it was like to be on the edge.

The credits rolled on Hunger Strike, but instead of turning off the TV, she did what any fan would—she went down the rabbit hole. The screen filled with suggested videos, interviews, and, of course, the latest tabloid scandals. Dieter Bravo was all over the place lately. She had seen the headlines—everyone had. It was impossible to ignore him, even if you tried.

She grabbed her phone and scrolled through Twitter, where his name was trending yet again.

"Dieter Bravo's Latest Scandal: Sex Tape with Male Assistant Exposed!"

"Gender Identity Crisis or Another Stunt? Dieter Bravo Caught in Love Triangle with Married PA!"

"Oscar-Winning Actor, Homewrecker? Dieter Bravo Linked to Personal Assistant's Broken Marriage!"

She exhaled sharply, half-amused, half in disbelief. Every few months, it seemed, something like this would pop up—another scandal, another explosion in the media circus surrounding him. But this one? A sex tape? With his male personal assistant, who was married to a woman?

It was outrageous. It was chaotic. It was exactly what you'd expect from Dieter Bravo.

How does one even make this shit up? she thought, as she tapped one of the articles. The details were just as wild as the headlines. Apparently, the PA was a guy named James, and he’d been with Dieter for years—right up until last week, when everything blew up.

An article excerpt says: "Sources say that the sex tape in question was filmed during a drug-fueled party at Dieter’s mansion. It shows intimate moments between the actor and his assistant, James, who is reportedly married to a woman. James has since left Dieter’s employment amid the scandal, and insiders claim the actor is ‘unapologetic’ about the affair. This is just the latest in a long string of public meltdowns for the once-revered actor. Dieter Bravo���s chaotic lifestyle has led many to question his mental stability and even his gender identity, as he continues to defy traditional labels."

She snorted, shaking her head. “Unapologetic? That sounds about right.”

It wasn’t that she supported his reckless behavior, but there was something about Dieter that always seemed to push boundaries in every direction. He lived like a car crash happening in slow motion, and yet, people couldn’t look away. The scandals, the chaos—they were just part of his public persona. But there was more to him than that.

She clicked on an older interview from the Cliff Beasts 6 press tour. That was the movie where everything started to unravel for him. The film was supposed to be a big comeback, but instead, it had exposed the man behind the Oscar-winning actor—drugs, sex, alcohol, and a level of unpredictability that no one in Hollywood could quite handle.

Interviewer: “Dieter, after your incredible performance in Hunger Strike, people expected another award-winning role in Cliff Beasts 6, but... that’s not what happened. Can you talk about what went wrong?”

Dieter Bravo (slouching, visibly tired): “Cliff Beasts 6... yeah, man, that was a mess. But, like, it was supposed to be a mess, wasn’t it? I mean, we were trapped in that goddamn bubble for months longer than planned, and by the end, it wasn’t even a movie anymore. It was survival.” He laughed, a rough, bitter sound. “I overdosed on camera, for fuck’s sake. People thought it was part of the documentary. Maybe it should’ve been.”

Interviewer: “So, the extended shoot during the pandemic—did that affect the film’s outcome?”

Dieter (rubbing his temples, shaking his head): “Affect it? It was the outcome. By the time we got to month six, no one gave a shit about the movie anymore. It was just about getting out of there alive. People wanted me to deliver some award-winning performance? Dude, I was barely holding it together. I mean, look at the film—Cliff Beasts was never about art. By the sixth one, it was just... noise. Star-studded, CGI-filled noise. People expected something big, but I gave them a disaster. Maybe that’s what it needed to be.”

Interviewer: “The overdose incident—was that something planned for the documentary, or did things just... get out of control?”

Dieter Bravo (smirking, then shrugging): “Planned? Nah, man, nothing was planned by then. I mean, the cameras were always rolling, right? So when I went down... they just kept filming. Thought it’d make for good behind-the-scenes footage or something. But that’s Hollywood for you.” He paused, letting the weight of it sink in before adding, “People don’t care if you’re falling apart. They just want to know if it’ll sell.”

Interviewer: “That’s pretty heavy. Do you think Cliff Beasts 6 was the start of your... well, decline? It’s no secret you’ve had a rough few years since.”

Dieter Bravo (lighting a cigarette, ignoring the studio's no-smoking policy): “Decline? Maybe. I dunno. I think people were already looking for a reason to tear me apart. Cliff Beasts just made it easier. It wasn’t the overdose that got people talking, it was the fact that it happened while I was making a movie no one cared about anymore. The sixth installment, man. By that point, the franchise was running on fumes, and so was I. But people love a good downfall, right? They see someone on top, and they wait for you to crash. They’ll stick a camera in your face and call it a documentary when really, it’s just a freak show.”

She paused the video, the cigarette smoke still curling from Dieter’s lips frozen on the screen. The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. It was no wonder the media loved to tear him apart; they were practically fed the narrative on a silver platter. His whole life had become the entertainment industry’s favorite sideshow.

She stared at the screen for a few more moments, Dieter’s face frozen in that half-smirk, half-exhausted expression. He was unraveling, and everyone was watching. Cliff Beasts 6 might have been the breaking point, but it wasn’t the cause. No, Dieter had been falling apart long before that.

In a different world, she imagined, she and Dieter could be friends. He’d probably laugh at the mess she just made, tell her not to sweat it. In another life, maybe they’d meet over coffee or work on some crazy indie project together. They’d both be swimming in their own chaos, but maybe that’s what would make their friendship work.

She wasn’t delusional; she knew Dieter Bravo was a celebrity—someone she would probably never meet, never know beyond the screen. But sometimes, when he said things like that, it felt like he was speaking directly to her. Like maybe, in some other life, they’d get along. They’d get each other.

Her eyes drifted down to the eviction notice sitting on the coffee table. Four weeks, it said. Four weeks to come up with the rent, or she’d be out on the street. It was hard to feel hopeful when every option felt like a dead end. And yet, watching Dieter talk about his own collapse, she didn’t feel so alone.

Her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her.

She ignored it at first, assuming it was just another bill reminder. But when she glanced at the screen, her breath caught.

Studio Callback - Screenwriting Internship.

Her heart stopped. A callback? After all this time?

Without thinking, she sat up too fast, the ice cream carton tipping over the edge of the couch and spilling melted chocolate onto the floor. “Shit!” she cursed, grabbing a towel and wiping at the sticky mess with quick, frustrated swipes.

It felt surreal. She had applied for that screenwriting internship months ago and had long since written it off as a missed opportunity. But here it was—another chance.

She stood there, towel in one hand, her phone in the other, staring at the message like it might disappear if she blinked. Four weeks until eviction, a job that barely covered her bills, and now, out of nowhere, this lifeline.

Her eyes flicked back to the TV, where Dieter’s face still stared back at her.

She picked up her phone and, without hesitating, replied to the message. Yes. I’ll be there.

–

The next day…

The waiting room buzzed with the same dreary energy it had since she’d arrived nearly an hour ago. Grey walls, uncomfortable chairs, and that humming fluorescent light that seemed to buzz directly into her brain. She sat on the edge of her seat, fingers tracing the spine of her portfolio, glancing at the door every time it swung open.

But this time, it wasn’t her turn.

It was him.

Dieter Bravo stormed into the room like a hurricane, sunglasses still perched on his face even though the room was dim, his hair a chaotic mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed—or maybe stumbled out of a party. His team trailed behind him, all looking frazzled and overworked. He barely acknowledged them as he flopped into a chair across from her with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“Well, this is bullshit,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m a goddamn Oscar winner, and they’ve got me sitting in this dump of a waiting room like I’m some extra on a low-budget indie film.”

She bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement. She knew who Dieter Bravo was the second he’d walked in—who didn’t? His face had been plastered on every tabloid for weeks. But there was something surreal about seeing him up close, in the flesh, like he’d been plucked straight from her TV screen. Don’t freak out, she told herself. He’s just a person.

Still, the excitement bubbled up inside her, and for a moment, she just stared at him, feeling the shock wear off.

He caught her staring. “What? You think this is funny?”

She blinked, pulling herself together, giving him a deadpan look. “I think you’re acting like someone who’s forgotten what a waiting room is.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or intrigued. “And you are?”

She shrugged. “Someone who’s been sitting here for an hour. Pretty sure I’m about to merge with this chair if they don’t call me soon.”

Dieter snorted, sitting up a little straighter, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like that. Not outside his circle, at least. “An hour, huh? That’s it? Try six months trapped in a COVID bubble filming Cliff Beasts 6. That’s real torture.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I saw that movie. Pretty sure it was a crime against humanity.”

He cracked a grin. “Hey, that movie’s still paying my rent.”

“Is it? Seems like you should be able to afford better waiting rooms, then.”

Dieter leaned back in his chair, adjusting his sunglasses even though they weren’t needed. “Touché.”

There was a pause, a silence between them that felt more comfortable than awkward. They were sizing each other up, like two kids sitting next to each other on a school bus, deciding if they wanted to be friends.

“So,” Dieter said, shifting his gaze toward her again. “What are you here for? You in trouble, too?”

She smirked. “I’m always in trouble.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Yeah, well, me too.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking around the room as if just noticing how drab it was. “You work here or something?”

She shrugged. “Depends if they think I’m good enough to work here.”

“Good enough for what?”

“I’m a writer,” she said, half-smiling, but there was a vulnerability in her voice. “Or at least I’m trying to be.”

Dieter’s eyes lit up with genuine curiosity, which caught her off guard. “A writer, huh? You got anything out there I’ve seen?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Only if you read stuff on Medium and Tumblr.”

Dieter laughed, the sound deep and unexpected, like he wasn’t used to laughing like that. “Tumblr, huh? So you’re a real writer.” He gave her a playful look. “What do you write? Fanfiction about guys like me?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a teasing glint in her gaze. “Nope. But if I did, it’d be better than that train wreck you called Cliff Beasts 6.”

Dieter clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Right in the ego.”

She smirked. “Ego as big as yours can take it.”

For a second, he just stared at her, genuinely caught off guard. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like this—like he was normal, not some Oscar-winning disaster wrapped in a scandal. She didn’t seem to care who he was or how many headlines he’d been in. It was refreshing, and he found himself more interested in her than he had been in anyone outside his usual crowd in a long time.

“So what do you do?” she asked casually, keeping the banter going.

Dieter laughed, a full, deep sound that made him look younger than he usually did in the tabloids. “What do I do? I’m a professional disaster. You haven’t heard?”

She chuckled, nodding toward the door. “I think you’re better at it than you are at acting.”

Dieter looked at her for a beat, his mouth twitching into a smirk. “You know, I don’t get a lot of people talking to me like this. Most people, they want to kiss ass or they just want something from me.”

She shrugged, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

He leaned forward, intrigued. “You like books?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What kind of books?”

“The kind that make people uncomfortable.”

Her lips twitched into a smile. “I see you’ve read Camus.”

He grinned. “The Stranger. Ever read it?”

“I did. Twice. Though I’m more of a Kafka fan.” She paused for a beat, her voice deadpan. “I like my existentialism served with a side of why is everything a nightmare and also I’m a bug.”

Dieter laughed again, clearly impressed. “You’re alright, you know that?”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, her tone casual, but inside, she couldn’t quite believe she was having this conversation. With Dieter Bravo. Of all people.

They stared at each other, neither blinking, as if trying to see who’d crack first. But before either could say anything more, the door opened again.

“Mr. Bravo?” A frazzled assistant appeared in the doorway, eyes wide as they motioned for him to come in. “We’re ready for you.”

Dieter groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he stood up. “Finally.” He paused, turning to her with a smirk. “Don’t go anywhere, book lover. We’re not done with this conversation.”

She gave him a small smile, though inwardly she rolled her eyes. Yeah, sure. Like you'd remember me in two minutes, she thought. Dieter was famous for being distracted, for forgetting people as soon as he turned a corner. Everyone knew about his ADD—it was practically part of his public persona. He’d probably forget her name before the door even shut behind him.

Inside the meeting room…

Dieter slouched into a chair, his eyes flicking toward the group of studio executives sitting across from him, all with tight-lipped expressions. They weren’t here to chit-chat. They were here to clean up his mess. Again.

“Alright, what’s the damage?” Dieter asked, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

One of the executives, a tall man with silver hair and an expensive-looking suit, sighed heavily. “We’ve already settled with James and his wife. They’ve agreed not to divorce, but we’re paying for damages—and couples therapy.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow. “Couples therapy? Really?”

The man didn’t blink. “Yes, Dieter. Really.”

The room was thick with tension, the kind that only came when the stakes were sky-high. Another executive chimed in. “The headlines are out of control. We need to distance you from this. Fast.”

“What do you want me to do? Apologize? I already said I was sorry.” Dieter’s voice was tired, edged with sarcasm, but underneath, there was a flicker of frustration.

The silver-haired executive leaned forward. “Dieter, this isn’t about a simple apology. You’ve gone beyond that. Your lifestyle—this hedonistic, Roman emperor routine you’ve got going on—it’s not just damaging your reputation. It’s hurting us. The studio. The people you’re supposed to be representing.”

Dieter blinked, caught off guard by the harshness in the man’s tone.

“We’ve invested millions in you,” the executive continued, “and right now, you’re a liability. There’s talk of ending your contract early. Cutting ties before you bring the whole house down.”

Dieter’s jaw tightened. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” the man said coldly. “I’m not.”

For a moment, Dieter just sat there, staring at the man, trying to process what he was hearing. They were serious. He was this close to losing everything.

Another voice chimed in—his publicist, trying to smooth things over. “We’re not saying it’s over, Dieter. But we need to fix this. Charities. Positive press. You need to lay low for a while.”

The executive nodded. “No public appearances, no parties. We’re going to find some charity work for you, get the public to see a new side of you. You’re going to disappear for a bit. When you come back, you’ll be better. Clean. Understood?”

Dieter clenched his fists, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

“And we’ll get you a new PA,” his publicist added. “Someone who can keep you grounded. Keep you out of trouble, hopefully, someone you could not fuck.”

Dieter waved them off, already bored with the conversation. His mind drifted back to the waiting room, to the girl sitting across from him, trading quips like they were old friends. At least she’s interesting, he thought.

Back in the waiting room…

She sat there, slumped in her chair, staring blankly at the wall. The interview hadn’t gone well. She hadn’t gotten the job. The casting director had been polite but distant, and she could tell by their expression that they already had someone else in mind. Her stomach twisted with disappointment.

No extra job. No extra paycheck. And no way to make rent by the end of the month.

She stared down at her portfolio, feeling the weight of her failure settle in. She’d have to start packing soon. Maybe call her mom, tell her she was coming home. She could already imagine the conversation.

“We told you so,” her mom would say. “You should’ve gone into nursing. Writing was never going to pay the bills.”

Her stepdad would nod in agreement, disappointed but unsurprised. “Creative writing? Really?” he’d say. “What did you think would happen?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to think about it. But the thoughts kept coming, relentless. She’d have to pack up, move back home, admit defeat.

God, I’m such a screw-up.

The door creaked open, and Dieter stepped out, glancing around. His entourage had already disappeared down the hall, leaving him standing alone for once. He spotted her instantly.

“Still here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She forced a small smile, shrugging. “Didn’t get the job.”

Dieter nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well... my meeting sucked too. They’ve decided I’m officially the next Caligula.”

She snorted. “That bad?”

“Worse,” he said, shaking his head. He stood there for a beat, looking around the room, then back at her. “You know what? Screw this. Let’s go grab a drink.”

She blinked, surprised. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Dieter said, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and exhaustion. “I need a drink. You’re funny. Let’s go.”

She stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. But he wasn’t. She could see it in his eyes—he was serious.

“You buying?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter grinned. “I’m an Oscar winner. Drinks are always on me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly stood up, tucking her portfolio under her arm. “Alright, Bravo. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He smirked, leading the way. “Baby, you don’t know who you’re talking to.”

–

The black Audi’s engine purred as Dieter navigated the dim streets, his phone vibrating endlessly in the cupholder. Text after text, call after call—all from his team. They were probably losing their minds, wondering where he’d disappeared to. He glanced at the notifications, scoffing, and shoved the phone further out of reach.

“So,” she said, glancing at him from the passenger seat, “do you do this often?”

Dieter smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “Do what?”

“Pick up random strangers and ask them to grab drinks with you.”

He laughed, the sound low and lazy. “No, I mean, I pick up random strangers... just not usually for drinks.”

She chuckled. “Well, you should probably get better at vetting your strangers. I could be a serial killer, you know.”

Dieter shot her a quick glance, grinning. “Even better. Might actually enjoy being murdered by you.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “You really are a disaster, aren’t you?”

“Disaster, masochist, artist... depends on the day.” He glanced over at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’ve got a hell of a sense of humor, though. I like it.”

“And here I thought you were the sadist for thinking being murdered sounds fun.”

“Nope.” Dieter grinned. “Definitely a masochist. But don’t let that scare you off.”

She smirked, leaning back in her seat. “Too late. I’m terrified now.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering through the tinted windows, casting shadows on Dieter’s face. It felt surreal, sitting in the passenger seat of Dieter Bravo’s car, heading to God-knows-where. But she didn’t feel uneasy. In fact, she felt strangely comfortable. It was weird how easily they’d fallen into this rhythm, like they’d known each other for years.

“So,” she asked, breaking the silence, “where exactly are we getting these drinks?”

Dieter’s smirk grew as he pulled into a parking garage, winding his way up to the fifth floor. “Here.”

“Here?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Dieter parked the car, and without another word, led her to the elevator. When the doors slid open, she was met with the sleek interior of his penthouse. Glass walls, dark furniture, and a view of the city that stretched on forever.

“Oh,” she said, stepping inside, taking it all in. “I thought we were going to a bar or something.”

Dieter chuckled, locking the door behind them. “Yeah, well, I’ve been told not to be seen in public too much for a while. You know... the whole ‘clean up the image’ thing.”

She turned, leaning against the counter, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Right. The scandal.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, that.”

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “So, should I be worried now? You could be the serial killer. I didn’t tell anyone where I’m going.”

Dieter grinned, moving toward the bar in the corner of the room. “Well, if I am, at least you’ll die with a good drink in your hand.”

Dieter’s penthouse bar looked like it had been pulled straight out of a high-end hotel. Polished wood, rows of bottles perfectly lined up, and a set of cocktail tools that would make any bartender proud.

He moved behind the bar with a familiar ease, pulling out a few bottles and setting them on the counter. “What’s your poison?”

“Vodka, Negroni... surprise me.”

“You got it.” He started mixing, moving around the bar like he’d done it a thousand times. She followed suit, sliding behind the bar beside him, the space between them feeling natural.

As they worked, they fell into a rhythm, like two old friends who’d done this countless times before. It was easy, the way they passed bottles back and forth, the clink of ice in glasses punctuating their conversation.

“So,” she said, shaking her drink, “you always this smooth with your guests, or am I special?”

Dieter smirked. “You’re special. I don’t let just anyone behind the bar.” He watched her expertly pour out the drink, nodding in approval. “You’ve got skills.”

She chuckled. “I bartend. Well, I used to, now I just work at a diner, but it counts.”

He laughed. “I used to bartend, too. Before all this.” He gestured vaguely to his sprawling penthouse. “I kinda miss it.”

“Miss what? Making drinks for drunk people at 2 a.m.?”

He shook his head, grinning. “No, the simplicity of it. The quiet moments before the rush. And, I guess, the people. You get to talk to all kinds of weirdos.”

She handed him the cocktail she’d just mixed, and he took a sip, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “Not bad. Actually, really good.”

She smiled, taking a sip of his creation in return. “Yours isn’t half bad either, weirdo.”

He snorted as he finished drinking, “Looks like we’ve both still got it.”

They clinked their glasses, a quiet laugh shared between them.

–

They moved to the couches near the window, drinks in hand, and the night outside stretched on in glittering silence. It was one of those rare moments when the city was alive, but they were in their own little world, insulated by glass and a few too many drinks.

She stretched out on the couch, swirling the last of her drink in the glass. “So, this is what it’s like, huh? Being Dieter Bravo. A penthouse with a killer view and a bar that puts most cocktail lounges to shame.”

Dieter leaned back, grinning. “You sound impressed.”

She tilted her head. “I mean, it’s nice. But I’m not that impressed.”

He snorted. “Figures. I’ve gotta work harder to impress you, huh?”

“You said it, not me.”

There was a beat of silence before he broke it. “So, what’s the story? Why’re you still working at a diner when you’re clearly way too smart for that?”

She shrugged, taking a sip. “You make it sound like I had a choice. You think I want to be a waitress?”

“No, but...” He trailed off, clearly thinking. “I don’t know. You strike me as someone who should be... doing more.”

She arched an eyebrow. “More, like what? Writing fanfiction for Cliff Beasts 7?”

Dieter laughed, the sound filling the space. “God, no. Please, spare me.”

She grinned. “It’s not for lack of trying. I just... haven’t found my place yet. It’s not as easy as, ‘Hey, I’m talented, someone notice me.’” She shook her head, her voice growing quieter. “It’s a lot of failing. Mostly failing.”

Dieter nodded, leaning back in his seat, his expression more serious now. “I get that.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice softer but still edged with sarcasm. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty damn successful.”

Dieter looked at her, really looked at her this time. “You think success means you stop failing?”

She didn’t answer, watching him with curiosity.

He set his drink down and ran a hand through his hair. “You fail more when you’re successful. Trust me. People are just waiting for you to screw up. And when you do... they’re there to watch you burn.”

“You’re talking about the scandal.”

He nodded, taking another sip. “It’s not just the scandal. It’s everything. There’s always someone out there with a camera, waiting for you to mess up. They don’t care about what you do right. Just the crash.”

“So you’re saying you’re a slow-motion car crash?” she asked, her tone dry.

He smirked, nodding. “Exactly. A car crash people pay to watch.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mind working through his words. “That’s... kind of tragic.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his grin fading. “It is, isn’t it?”

They both went quiet, the weight of his words settling between them. But then she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You ever think about, I don’t know... getting out of the car? Stopping the crash?”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “And do what? Go back to bartending? Give up the Oscar for a shaker and ice?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, her voice light but serious underneath. “Or maybe just... do something real. Something that’s not about everyone else’s expectations.”

Dieter looked at her for a long moment, something in his expression shifting, like he was seeing her in a new light. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do. Look, I might not be some hotshot writer, but I’ve always believed that what matters is the stuff that’s real. The art you make when no one’s watching. The stuff people don’t get to tear apart.”

“Yeah, but the problem is, everyone’s watching.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “So maybe that’s their problem.”

Dieter laughed, and this time it wasn’t the careless, guarded kind of laugh he usually gave. It was genuine. “You’ve got a point.”

“Of course I do. I’m always right.”

“Okay, Camus,” he teased, rolling his eyes. “You’re officially hired as my life coach.”

She leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief. “I don’t know if you could afford me.”

Dieter snorted, swirling his drink. “How expensive are you?” he asked, playful but intrigued.

She paused, pretending to consider it for a moment. “Depends… do you personally know Gérard Depardieu?”

Dieter grimaced, raising an eyebrow as he took another sip. “Gérard Depardieu?” He repeated, blinking in confusion.

She nodded, downing the rest of her drink in two big gulps, the alcohol warming her throat. “What? You don’t know him?”

“I mean, I do, but wow...” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a chuckle. “That’s a... pretty weird choice.”

“Well, what can I say? I like them like that.” She shrugged, her expression completely serious as she set her glass down.

Dieter threw his head back, laughing harder than he had all night. It was loud, unfiltered, and completely genuine, the kind of laugh that came when he wasn’t performing for anyone.

“You’re a trip, you know that?” he said, still grinning as he wiped at his eyes. “Gérard Depardieu. Damn. Haven’t thought about that guy in years.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, are you saying you don’t have weird celebrity crushes?”

He tilted his head, considering the question for a second. “I mean... I am the weird celebrity crush.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “How humble of you.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “You should hear the shit people say about me online. I’ve been everything from someone’s ‘gay awakening’ to someone’s inappropriate uncle.”

She snorted into her drink, barely containing her laughter. “Jesus. People are wild.”

Dieter smirked, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, c’mon. Who else you got? Who’s on your weird celebrity crush list? Lay it on me.”

She took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the moment, then said with a completely straight face, “Willem Dafoe.”

Dieter almost choked on his drink, eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at her like she’d just told him she was into cryptids. “Dafoe? Willem Dafoe?”

“Yeah,” she said, completely deadpan. “What’s wrong with Dafoe?”

He blinked, still recovering from nearly spitting his drink out. “I mean, nothing’s wrong with him, but... wow, that’s... unexpected.”

She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “I already shocked you with Depardieu. What were you expecting? Besides, Dafoe... he’s got range.” She gave him a wicked grin and added, “Plus, you know he’s freaky in bed.”

Dieter let out a loud bark of laughter, nearly doubling over. “Holy shit... you’re a freak. A true freak.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely not a bad thing,” he said, still chuckling as he reached over to refill her glass. “I’ve met some freaks in my time, but this? This is different. I like it.”

She eyed the freshly poured drink, tilting her head. “Not sure if I should feel good about that comment.”

Dieter grinned, clinking his glass against hers. “You should. Trust me.”

They both chuckled, the easy, playful energy between them lightening the mood even more. But then Dieter leaned back, giving her an amused look. “You know, I actually know Willem.”

Her eyes widened, her curiosity piqued. “No way. You know him?”

Dieter nodded, taking a slow sip. “Yeah. Great guy. Not as intense as his characters would make you think. Really down to earth. Freaky in his own way, sure, but... I get it. I guess I see what you see in him.”

She smiled, leaning back. “Well, that’s comforting.”

Then she paused, glancing down at her drink before adding, “I actually met him once. Worked as an assistant on a theater production he starred in a couple of years ago.”

Dieter’s eyes lit up. “No way. Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” she said, nodding. “It was this small indie thing in New York. I wasn’t his assistant or anything, just part of the general crew, but I did get to work around him a bit. He’s... different, in a good way.”

Dieter leaned forward, intrigued. “Okay, now you’ve really got my attention. You’ve done PA work before?”

She shook her head, swirling the ice in her glass. “Not really. That was more of a part-time gig while I was in school. I applied for a real PA job a few years back, but it didn’t exactly go well.”

Dieter’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

She sighed, her smirk fading as she stared down at her drink. “Well, I got all the way through the interviews, and then the celebrity—someone old-school—told me I was too chubby to work for them. Said I wouldn’t look good in photographs.”

Dieter’s face immediately twisted into a mix of shock and disgust. “Wait, what? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” she said, the bitterness in her voice barely masked by the nonchalance she was trying to project. “I didn’t even bother applying for PA jobs after that. Figured it wasn’t worth the hassle.”

Dieter shook his head, clearly appalled. “That’s... Jesus. I mean, I get that people in this industry are eccentric as hell, but that’s way too much. Who the hell cares what you look like in photos? You’re supposed to be doing a job, not starring in the damn pictures.”

She shrugged, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, well, some people care. Guess I wasn’t the image they wanted.”

Dieter looked at her, his expression softening with empathy. “That’s seriously messed up. I’m sorry you went through that.”

She waved him off, smiling more genuinely this time. “It’s fine. Honestly, it was a while ago. I just stuck to writing and waitressing after that.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Dieter said, leaning forward, “that guy was a complete idiot. You’d make a damn good PA.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Thanks. But I think I’m done with that world.”

Dieter studied her for a moment, then raised his glass in a small toast. “Well, here’s to not being the kind of asshole who judges people by how they look in photos.”

She clinked her glass against his, smiling again. “I’ll drink to that.”

The conversation lingered in the air after their laughter died down, a comfortable silence settling over them. She leaned back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the massive windows overlooking the city, the skyline glittering like a distant dream.

“Gotta say,” she began, her voice soft but still playful, “this penthouse is... something else. It’s almost too perfect, though. Feels more like a set than a home.”

Dieter glanced around the room, smirking faintly. “Yeah, that’s because it’s not home.”

She raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “It’s not?”

He shook his head, swirling the last of his drink. “Nah. It’s just a place I own. I use it for... all the shit you probably hear about in the tabloids.”

She snorted, leaning in. “You mean the orgies and sex scandals?”

“Pretty much.” Dieter chuckled, but there was something more behind the laughter. His expression softened as he set the glass down on the table. “It’s not where I live. My real home is out in Sherman Oaks.”

She tilted her head, surprised. “Sherman Oaks?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s an actual house. Big, built for a family, but too large for just me. I don’t bring anyone there. Not my... conquests, not my parties. Just me. I paint there, you know? I’ve got this studio in the back, and when the world gets too loud, that’s where I go. It’s the only place I feel... I don’t know, settled.”

Her eyes softened as she listened. She hadn’t expected this level of honesty from him, but the vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable. “That sounds... nice, actually. Quiet.”

“It is,” he agreed, his gaze distant, as if he could picture the house in his mind. “But the silence can get too loud sometimes. Especially now that I’m older. That’s when I come back here. The penthouse. To drown it out.”

She frowned slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “The silence?”

Dieter nodded, exhaling softly. “Yeah. You wouldn’t think silence could be so damn loud, but it is. Especially when you’re used to everything being... chaotic.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just watched him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a loneliness there, one that no amount of parties, conquests, or tabloid headlines could fill. It wasn’t just about being alone—it was about being seen. About finding a place where the chaos didn’t define him.

She took a breath, her tone gentle but sure. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes the noise. Not really.”

Dieter blinked, turning his gaze back to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, people see the chaos, the headlines, the scandals. But I don’t think that’s really you.” She paused, her voice steady. “You’ve got a whole world inside you that no one bothers to look at. You’re not just the guy who parties and ends up in the tabloids. You’re more than that.”

His eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe, or recognition. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued before he could.

“They don’t see the parts of you that matter. The parts that create, that make something out of all this mess. The fact that you’ve got a studio and you paint—that tells me a lot. You’re more than just an actor, Dieter. You’re an artist. And not because you say so, but because you are.”

For a moment, Dieter just stared at her, as if her words had landed somewhere deeper than he’d expected. She was looking at him like no one had in years. Not like a star, not like the scandalized mess the world saw. She saw him. The real him.

His throat tightened, and suddenly, the air felt heavier. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “You’re not just memorizing lines. You’re putting something into the world that most people don’t even take the time to understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s real, Dieter. And it matters.”

He blinked, the familiar burn of tears stinging behind his eyes. It was strange—he hadn’t felt this exposed in so long. The vulnerability, the rawness of being seen for more than just the surface.

A tear slipped down his cheek, slow and steady. He swiped at it quickly, but another followed. It wasn’t a sobbing mess, no dramatic breakdown. Just a quiet release, like the weight of everything he’d been carrying finally had somewhere to go.

“Damn,” he muttered, laughing softly through the tears. “You’re really messing me up here.”

She smiled, nudging him gently with her elbow. “You needed to hear it.”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning despite the tears. “Guess I did.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was comfortable, filled with an understanding that went deeper than words. In the quiet of the penthouse, with the city lights twinkling in the background, Dieter felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

But of course, Dieter couldn’t let the moment just sit there. He leaned over slightly, raising an eyebrow as a mischievous grin spread across his face. “So... is this the part where we kiss?”

She burst out laughing, her head falling back as she clutched her sides. “Oh my God, Dieter, you’re such an ass.”

For the first time in a long time, Dieter didn’t feel even a twinge of offense at being laughed at. In fact, her reaction made him laugh, too—a deep, real laugh that didn’t feel performative. It was just them, laughing like idiots in the middle of a moment that could’ve been serious, but wasn’t.

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, had to shoot my shot.”

She shook her head, still giggling as she nudged him. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me,” he teased.

“Debatable,” she shot back, smirking. “But that was not the move, Bravo.”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, still laughing. “Alright, alright, no kiss. Got it.”

She rolled her eyes, the amusement still lingering in her expression. “Seriously, though. You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Dieter said, smirking. But beneath the joking, there was a warmth in his eyes, a softness that hadn’t been there before. He liked this—being around someone who could take his nonsense and throw it right back at him, without missing a beat.

–

They had been hanging out for days—Dieter laying low like his team had asked, and her finding herself more and more wrapped up in his world. It was easy with him. The lazy mornings that bled into afternoons, the spontaneous outings, the hours spent talking about nothing and everything. It was like living in a bubble, where the real world and all its mess didn’t exist.

But it couldn’t last forever.

They were lounging in his penthouse, another aimless afternoon with the TV buzzing in the background, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“So,” Dieter began, his tone casual, but there was an edge of hesitation in it. “I’ve been thinking...”

She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. That sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled, but there was a nervousness in his smile. “No, I mean... I’ve been thinking about you. Us, I guess.”

She frowned slightly, sitting up a bit straighter. “What do you mean?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze for a moment. “I think I... I really like you. And I want to stay friends, you know? If you’re cool with it.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of course he liked her—they got along too well not to. But she knew what had to happen next.

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I don’t think we can keep doing this.”

Dieter’s face fell, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what? Why not?”

“I can’t afford to stay in LA anymore,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’m going home. To my mom’s and stepdad’s. The diner job just doesn’t cover rent or utilities, and figuring things out in this city isn’t really feasible for me right now.”

Dieter stared at her, the words slowly sinking in. His expression shifted from confusion to something deeper—sadness, maybe even panic. “You’re... leaving?”

She nodded, trying to keep it together. “Yeah. I’ve got no choice.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she’d just ripped the floor out from under him. Then, true to form, Dieter went into full dramatic mode.

“Are you serious?” he groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Like, ever.”

She laughed, despite herself. “Dieter, stop.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, flopping onto the couch like a petulant child. “You’re leaving me to fend for myself in this godforsaken city, and for what? Your mom’s house in the middle of nowhere? This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

She rolled her eyes, amused but touched by how much this seemed to affect him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Where’s your loyalty?” he muttered dramatically. “I thought we were in this together.”

She snorted. “I didn’t realize hanging out with you was a lifelong commitment.”

Dieter sat up suddenly, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just had the greatest idea of all time. “Wait a second...”

She eyed him warily. “What?”

“You still need a job, right?”

Her eyebrow arched. “...Yes?”

“I still need a PA,” he said, the excitement building in his voice. “My team hasn’t found anyone, and let’s face it—they’re probably going to stick me with some lifeless corporate robot.”

She blinked, not expecting this. “Wait, are you offering me a job?”

“Hell yes, I am,” he said, grinning like a kid with a new toy. “You’d be perfect. I mean, you know me. You get me. And you’re already here half the time anyway. Why not make it official?”

She hesitated, her mind racing. “I don’t know, Dieter. It feels like... I don’t know, like you’re just offering it because you feel bad.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “No, I’m offering it because I need you. And not in a weird way, okay? I mean, yeah, it’s a job, but it’s also more than that. I trust you. And I don’t trust a lot of people.”

She bit her lip, still uncertain. “Yeah, but it comes with a paycheck, right? That’s gonna make me feel... really dirty.”

Dieter laughed, leaning back into the couch. “Oh, come on. It’s a legit offer. And I’m paying you well, so you’ll get used to feeling dirty real quick.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Seriously,” he continued, his tone softening again. “Think about it. It’s not charity. It’s not a handout. I really need your company, and I think you need this too.”

She exhaled, staring at him for a moment. “I’ll... think about it.”

A few days later, she was back at the penthouse, this time with Dieter’s manager, his lawyer, and Dieter himself, all sitting around the sleek kitchen island. It felt surreal.

The manager went over the details of the contract, but it was hard to focus on the specifics when her mind was spinning with how fast everything was happening.

“And, of course,” the manager added sternly, “we have to include the no-fucking clause. If you two get involved, it’s not only grounds for termination but also blacklisting.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, looking slightly offended. “Seriously? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

She snorted, waving it off. “It’s fine, Bravo. I don’t think you’d want to fuck me anyway.”

He frowned, almost hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The manager chuckled, shaking his head. “He fucks anything that moves.”

She furrowed her brows briefly, her face showing a flash of disgust at the comment, but she kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to start an argument with his team. Still, she couldn’t shake the sour taste the comment left in her mouth.

Dieter noticed her reaction and shot his manager a look, but the moment passed quickly as the lawyer handed her the contract to sign.

Once the papers were signed, it was official. She was now Dieter Bravo’s new assistant.

After the contract signing, they were back in the quiet of the penthouse. She stretched her arms out, feeling a mixture of excitement and disbelief at the day’s events. Dieter leaned against the counter, still processing it all too, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there in silence.

Then she clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Okay, Bravo, I’m treating you to dinner.”

Dieter blinked, confusion crossing his face. “Wait, what? You’re treating me?”

She grinned, nodding. “Yeah, to celebrate. You know, new job and all.”

He hesitated, raising an eyebrow. “You just signed a contract. You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

She waved him off, rolling her eyes. “Take a chill pill. I just landed a sick new job with a really dirty paycheck. I’m excited, let me have this.”

Dieter chuckled, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I’ve taken way too many pills in my life. Not sure I remember which one the chill pill is.”

She burst out laughing, grabbing her jacket. “Well, then this will be the antidote. C’mon, we’re getting Five Guys.”

Dieter’s grin grew wider, his eyes lighting up. “Damn, baby, you know I can’t say no to Five Guys.”

She shot him a smirk. “Then let’s go.”

They drove in Dieter’s car, windows heavily tinted, cruising through the LA streets as the sun dipped below the skyline. They grabbed their order from the drive-thru window and found an empty parking lot, parking under the dim glow of a streetlight.

Dieter reclined his seat all the way back, pushing the front seats to give them more space to lounge. She did the same, their legs stretched out as they unwrapped their burgers.

“So,” he mumbled around a mouthful of fries, “what now?”

She shrugged, her voice muffled as she stuffed more fries into her mouth. “Idunno.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the radio playing softly in the background, the quiet hum of the city far off in the distance.

Dieter glanced at her sideways, studying her face. “You seem a little... off.”

She paused mid-chew, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, biting into his burger. “I dunno. Just felt like something’s been bugging you since we left the penthouse.”

She exhaled, setting her burger down, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Well... your manager pissed me off. Big time.”

Dieter stopped chewing, his eyes widening a little. “What? Why?”

“That comment he made,” she said, rolling her eyes, “about you humping everything that moves. It was gross. And unnecessary.”

Dieter’s face reddened, the blush creeping up his neck as he rubbed at it, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh... that’s just how he is.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

He chuckled awkwardly, setting his burger down. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong. You’ve heard the stories, read the articles, right?”

She stared at him for a beat, then sighed. She knew he wasn’t trying to defend his manager, and in a way, she found that endearing—his loyalty to people even after everything they’d said about him. All the rumors, the scandals, the affairs. But she tucked that thought away for another time.

“That’s not the point,” she said, shaking her head. “As someone who works with you, the first thing your manager should be doing is protecting you—even from your own team.”

Dieter blinked, her words hitting harder than he expected. He felt something crack open in his chest. She wasn’t wrong. And hearing her say it so plainly made him realize just how much he’d let slide because of loyalty. Because of fear.

He smiled softly, biting into his burger, his voice quiet. “Thanks for saying that.”

She shrugged, offering him a small smile in return. “It’s true.”

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned over, wiggling her eyebrows. “Besides, you haven’t tried to fuck me yet, so I don’t think what your manager said was true.”

Dieter choked on his soda, laughing and coughing at the same time. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat. “What? Am I not fuckable enough for Dieter Bravo?”

He immediately shook his head, his voice firm. “No, baby–you’re...fuck– you’re hot. Like, really hot. And I’m an idiot for not jumping you the second I met you.”

She snorted, clearly amused. “But?”

Dieter sighed, running a hand through his hair, his voice quieter but more grounded now. “Look, if we hadn’t had that first conversation, that night in the waiting room... I probably would’ve tried to sleep with you.”

She gasped dramatically, her eyes widening in mock horror. “Excuse me? What made you think I’d even want to sleep with you?”

Dieter burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Oh, c’mon, I’ve got ways. If I really wanted to, I could have charmed you into it.”

She snorted, shoving another fry into her mouth. “Yeah, right. You can’t charm your way into everyone’s bed, Bravo.”

Dieter stared at her, deadpan, raising an eyebrow. “Uh... yes, I can.”

They both broke into laughter, the moment light but laced with a shared understanding. Once their laughter died down, he leaned back, the humor fading slightly as he spoke again, this time more serious.

“But seriously,” he continued, his voice softer now, “I didn’t want to cross that line with you. Because... you’re different.”

She glanced at him, curious now, the playful energy between them simmering down as he opened up.

“I’m a messy person,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel, fingers idly tracing the edges. “In every sense of the word. My life, my relationships—they don’t end well. And I’ve ruined... too many things that mattered. I can’t ruin this. I won’t.”

She tilted her head, watching him closely. “Why do you think it would ruin things?”

He took a deep breath, the vulnerability flickering in his eyes as he finally met her gaze. “Because when I sleep with someone, I lose track of... what’s real and what’s not. It always starts out fine, but I mess things up. I make it complicated, and then it all falls apart. And I don’t want that to happen with you.”

She studied him for a moment, seeing the weight behind his words, the sincerity he rarely showed to anyone. This wasn’t the over-the-top, scandal-filled Dieter Bravo the world knew. This was a man who was genuinely afraid of ruining something good.

“Wow,” she muttered, trying to break the heaviness. “So you’re saying I was basically a goner if we hadn’t talked that first night?”

He chuckled, giving her a teasing grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really are full of yourself.”

“No, I’m just honest,” he said with a playful smirk. “But really, I don’t want to just fuck this up. You get me, more than anyone has in a long time. And I don’t want to lose that because I was... impulsive.”

She looked at him for a long moment, their earlier banter giving way to something deeper. It was clear that he meant every word, and it made sense in a way she hadn’t expected. Dieter Bravo might have been a disaster in relationships, but he was choosing not to be a disaster with her. And that meant something.

“Well,” she said, her smile returning as she reached for another fry, “that’s good to know. I mean, you’re still a complete disaster, but you’re my kind of disaster.”

Dieter’s grin widened, the tension finally easing as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll take it.”

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then added with a smirk, “Besides, now I’m legally being paid to not fuck you.”

He laughed, throwing his head back in genuine amusement. “And I’m legally paying you to not fuck me.”

She nodded sagely. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.”

Dieter chuckled, the heaviness of the earlier conversation replaced by their usual playful energy. “Yeah, it’s working out pretty well so far.”

They both sat there, comfortable in the aftermath of the conversation, knowing that while the chemistry between them was undeniable, the friendship was what mattered most. And neither of them was willing to risk it, even if they joked about it.

They sat in the car, the remnants of their Five Guys feast scattered on the console between them. The night had slipped into a comfortable quiet, the kind that came from hours of laughter, honest conversation, and greasy burgers. Dieter stretched, glancing over at her with a lazy grin.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You heading home now?”

She nodded, finishing the last of her fries. “Yeah. Gotta pack up my stuff and get ready for the big move.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Right. Moving in with me. Never thought I’d reach this point in my life where a woman’s moving in with me... and I legally can’t fuck her.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she leaned back into her seat. “Welcome to adulthood, Bravo. Full of responsibilities and boundaries.”

Dieter’s grin widened, leaning a little closer. “So, about this moving in thing—are you planning on, like, wearing layers of clothing at all times? Because I don’t need to make this harder for myself than it already is.”

She shot him a look, deadpan. “Harder for yourself?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know what I mean.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face. “Listen, I promise to be fully covered in the ugliest, most unflattering pajamas you’ve ever seen. Think, like, thermal underwear, oversized sweaters, maybe a balaclava if I’m feeling extra considerate.”

Dieter threw his head back laughing, slapping the dashboard. “Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I should be grateful or terrified.”

“Both,” she said with a smirk, grabbing the last fry from the bag and popping it into her mouth.

Dieter leaned back, sighing contentedly. “I still can’t believe it though. I’m actually gonna live with a woman. And she’s not some wild fling, but an assistant I’m paying not to fuck. Talk about a plot twist.”

She laughed, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Well, you better get used to it. I’ll be back in the morning with all my crap.”

Dieter grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Bright and early. So you better get your beauty sleep.”

He chuckled, looking at her fondly. “I’ll try.”

She reached for the door handle, pausing for a moment before looking back at him, her tone soft but teasing. “Try not to miss me too much tonight, alright?”

Dieter winked. “No promises.”

She stepped out of the car, waving as she walked toward her building. “See you tomorrow, Bravo.”

He watched her go, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back into the seat. “See you tomorrow.”

[perfectlyripeclementine]

"i want it to not be heavy for you to say no" "none of this is a loss or a compromise" i have been staring at this with tears in my eyes and absolutely aching. not sure i know how to imagine the pleasure that follows that kind of safety and tenderness, but i'm also really glad to read it and know people will be held in hands that believe this. responding eagerly to your touch because it adjusts and stays and cherishes instead of pushing or withdrawing. xo

Oh, sweet anon, this ask makes me so happy and sad at the same time. Thank you for your kind words about being happy for people who experience that kind of care. I promise you based on the reactions I got to that post alone I know there are many people that also feel the same as I do and I promise you can find someone like that too.

At the risk of giving some unsolicited advice, here are things I have thought about / have helped me getting to where I am with this type of communication. These are my own experiences; take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. And I want to lead with the thought that sex should always be about pleasure, even when it is also about pain, and a good partner will be curious about your pleasure. But they may be clumsy or unsure how to ask, and that is something you can work on together.

I think some of the pressure that stone folks often feel to perform certain things they aren’t completely comfortable with comes from a lot of folks (even queer folks!) not knowing what other options there are for pleasure outside of the obvious sex acts (oral, fingering, touching, etc.) Everyone has such a nuanced and complicated relationship to their own body and eroticism. Only you are the expert at what makes you feel good and a partner who cares about you and your pleasure will be eager and curious to give that to you. (I’m not stone, mind you, nor do I mean to project that label onto you if it’s not comfortable. Take what’s for you.)

I am grateful for my partners when they tell me they’re not comfortable with something, especially if it is something that we have done together before. It tells me they are in their body and checking in with themself, and that they trust me to respect their boundaries. It is especially helpful when they offer something else that I can do instead.

That can look like like: I’d rather not take my underwear off right now, can you touch me over them more? Or: I don’t like having my (body part) touched, but it feels really good when you touch (other body part) instead. You can also say these things before sex, or even after sex, if you find you went along with an act that didn’t work for you. It’s never too early or too late to help someone be safe for you. Or you can tell someone how you like them to check in with you, if it’s something you feel comfortable communicating non-verbally, or if there are certain physical motions you do that mean “back off” or “slower” or “softer.”

The other day, I did something with my partner that they had enjoyed with me in the past but I know is sensitive for them. It was the first time i did it without asking them for permission in words. I started very softly, looking up to them for their reaction, and it made me feel so cherished and safe and trusted when they automatically put their hand in my hair to guide me.

Sex should always be about pleasure and a good partner will want that for you as much as they want it for themself. Your boundaries should be not only respected but cherished. It’s cool and fun to be creative about the things that give us pleasure and to exit the hands-mouth-genitals pathway. I promise you that there are people who will hold these things preciously with you, and I hope you find them soon. ❤️

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny gets her sleepy FNAF guys mixed up,,

[robertsbarbie]

i like how the darkling is more unlikable this season but also that being said i still think i could fix him 💔

[mokacheer]

Was able to get a new piercing today, left eyebrow!

[pizzaqueen]

.

[yoohyeon]

32 and 03 .

03: Do you regret anything?

Oh you are new here right 🥲 My biggest regret is Ruining my most important friendship because I was a lil fucked up and a bad friend to them (also love them with the big L so that’s worst) also my studies that were a bit useless and waited so long to get help and find work 😭

32: What is your favourite color?

Again you’re new here hdjsbdj Purple ! Amethyst purple to be precise ! I also love turquoise and black 🫶

70 horrible questions

[akaashislover1]

How I think the jjk guys would join you in the shower…..

Yuji Itadori, Choso Kamo, Megumi Fushiguro, Takuma Ino [EVERYONE IS AGED UP TO THE PROPER AGE]

Yuji Itadori

He probably would bang at the door(which you’d have locked for reasons to follow) pleading that he’d have to pee.

“Go use the bathroom downstairs!” You yelled over the running water. Funny how he suddenly had to pee as soon as you started the shower.

“Please, baby, I gotta piss if I take one more step I’m gonna wet my pants!” He frantically exclaimed, trying the door handle.

“No, you’ll just make me late. Again.”

It was quiet. No begging, knocking. Nothing.

You sighed as you reached behind the shower curtain to unlock the door.

“Quick, get in here before I change my mind.”

Choso Kamo

You had undressed and jumped into the shower, the hot water welcoming you in.

“I also have to have a shower before we go to.” Choso politely urged you.

You peeked your head out of the curtain and looked at him brushing his teeth.

“Why don’t you just get in here now?”

Choso coughed on a bit of toothpaste. His hair was slicked back by one of your makeup headbands.

His face was so flushed but pale at the same time.

“W-what?! But you’re in the-”

“Cho. We just had sex last night, why are you acting like you’ve never seen me before?” You laughed and choso felt his face turn red in embarrassment.

Suddenly you dragged him into the shower before he could even take off his boxers.

He had his eyes closed respectfully.

“How are you gonna wash me up if your eyes are closed?” You asked and he opened one eye at a time.

When you gave him a smile he started to relax.

He took a moment to take the view of you in.

His throat lumped up in a knot as you passed him the soap.

Maybe he should’ve started showering with you sooner.

Megumi Fushiguro

He probably would already be in the shower.

“Can I join you?” You would ask him as you peeked through the shower curtain.

Megumi let out a breathy chuckle as he made eye contact with you.

“No, all you’ll do is try to fool around. We gotta meet Itadori and Gojo in an hour.”

You gave your boyfriend a stare and a scoff in an attempt to make him feel bad for you.

It didn’t work until you began to speak.

“Fine I guess I’ll just to take a nice long shower. By myself. Good thing that one has got an amazing shower hea-”

“Get in here.”

Takuma Ino

“Hey, babe! Please come in here quick! Hurry! It’s an emergency!” You screamed from the shower.

A few seconds later you heard the quick rumble of his footsteps.

The door opened and revealed to Ino’s eyes you lying perfectly fine soaking in the tub.

“Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?” He asked out of breath.

You nodded your head no but a pout made its way to your face.

“The water is too cold without you.”

Ini rolled his eyes playfully,

“I can see the steam coming from the water, you liar.”

You shook your head no as Ino kept his eyes contact with you.

“Remember when I asked if you wanted to join me when I had a shower and you said no? Remember that babe?”

“This is different! It’s a bath. A shower is so quick and you hog all the water! Don’t you wanna soak with me?”

Ino gulped the nervous rock that was stuck in his throat as he thought about your bodies soaking in the tub.

Sighing, he answered, “Fine, but I am still offended from earlier.”

Woohoo!!🎉 I actually really like this one I think it’s pretty cute!!

Might make a part 2 with some other fine ass jjk men. 🩵🩵

Link to part 2💜

[lnfours]

Heyyy congrats on the milestone🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Can you please do prompt 6 and 9 from list 2 where lan picks drunk reader up from a night out and just kinda takes care of her

Thank you💜

thank u anon! also the thought of this warmed my heart in a way i can’t describe ☹️ alsooooo best friend!lando bc.. yeah!!!!!

prompt 6: “hey, you’re shivering…” followed by their hand gently tugging your body closer to theirs while they rest their chin on top of your head.

prompt 9: being extremely gentle when you’re close to them.

join the 12k and annual celebration!

“where’re you at?” lando’s voice sounded through the speakers of your phone. however, you didn’t catch the sound of the jingle of keys in the background, or the sound of his front door closing.

“mm,” you hummed, turning around on the sidewalk to look at the bar behind you, “harry’s?”

he chuckled softly on the other end of the phone, car door closing as he hopped into the drivers seat, “you don’t sound so sure.”

“‘m not,” you slurred, “whatever bar has the really overly talkative dj. can’t believe he decided to get on the mic during the only good song he played all night. can you believe that?”

he smiled on the other end, putting the pieces together on where you were, “well, what song was it?”

you hiccuped quietly, but he caught it on his end, “best song ever by one direction!”

“that asshole,” lando said, typing in the address for the bar you were at, “listen, i’ll be there in ten minutes, alright? you stay put. don’t go anywhere with anyone. got it?”

you fake saluted, even though he couldn’t see you, “yes sir,”

“good, okay, i’ll see you soon.”

“see you soon,” you smiled, hanging up the phone before sitting down on the curb in front of the bar. after sitting there for a few minutes, your friends had finally walked out of the bar.

“we’re heading back to abby’s!” your friend, jasmine, smiled, “you coming?”

“no,” you shook your head, “my ride’s almost here.”

“did you call an uber?”

“something like that,” you smiled, “don’t worry, i’ll be fine.”

“what do you mean ‘something like that’?” the blonde, abby, asked. her question was answered a few seconds later when a car pulled up in front of your group. the mclaren being a dead giveaway of who you called.

the girls teased you, a cluster of ‘aww’s and ‘how cute’s coming from them before you flipped them off playfully. lando rounded the back of the car, clad in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that was a sign that he had been planning on going to bed before you called.

“evening ladies,” he smiled at the girls behind you before looking down at you, “ready, princess?”

you nodded, sticking your hands out to him. he helped you up off the curb, noticing your shivering state. the nighttime breeze and the revealing dress you were wearing making you cold.

“hey, you’re shivering,” he said, pulling you into a hug and leaning his head on yours in efforts to warm you up, “why didn’t you bring a jacket? you know it gets chilly at night in the fall,”

you hummed, basking in his warmth and the smell of him. he smelled clean, like he had just gotten out the shower, with a hint of the scent of his laundry detergent. his cologne from the day before still lingering on his skin. he smelled like home.

“accidentally left it on my bed,” you mumbled into his chest, his head resting on top of yours, “wasn’t cold til i came out here.”

he chuckled, “probably helped sober you up a bit,” he said, pulling away from the hug and leaning down to brush a stray hair from your face, “hungry?”

you nodded and he smiled, “okay, let’s get you in the car.”

you let him lead you to the passenger side door. the both of you bidding your group a goodbye as they all watched with knowing smiles and smirks.

once he got you buckled, he closed the door and made his way to his own side. he pushed the heat up for your side of the car, wanting you to get warmth back into your body.

“what’dya want for food?” he asked, pulling away from the curb before looking over at you.

“really want pancakes,” you said.

“you want pancakes at,” he paused to read the time on the display of his car, “eleven o’clock at night.”

you nodded, looking over at him and god he couldn’t say no to that face, “please?”

“okay, pancakes it is.”

you smiled, absentmindedly reaching for his hand on the center console, your cold hands wanting the warmth from his body back, “your hands are warm,”

he smiled, letting you hold his hand in yours, despite the fact that they felt like icicles, “because i actually dress according to the weather, thank you.”

“says the man who wears hoodies in the middle of summer,” you retorted, “no room to talk.”

he laughed softly, pulling into the parking spot in front of his house, “got me there, i suppose.”

he managed to get you in the house easily, you sitting at the kitchen counter and watching him rummage through the cupboards to find the ingredients to make pancakes. you couldn’t help but stare at him in the dim light, your heart clenching in your chest as you watched him.

he was making you pancakes. at eleven at night. after picking you up from the bar. what about him wasn’t there to love?

your feet were moving before you could think about it, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. he smiled as you leaned your forehead on his shoulder, his freehand coming down and placing it over yours.

“tired?”

you hummed in response.

“once you eat we can go to bed,” he said, his voice soft as he poured the batter into the pan, “promise.”

“can we cuddle?” you asked, picking your head up and smiling at him as he looked at you over his shoulder.

“whatever you want,” he smiled back.

[minisugakoobies]

Whipped | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, idiots to lovers, slightly crack-ish, non-idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: Mingyu's a stubborn idiot, but he's also the softest human alive, Minghao's kind of a jerk tbh, use of they/them pronouns for reader, this is honestly just fluffy nonsense meant to give you warm fuzzies

Word Count: 3.9k

Disclaimers: Obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: No matter what his friends say, Mingyu is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not whipped for you.

A/N: Yep, another Mingyu fic. I can't help it. 🤷‍♀️

Unbeta’d as usual. If you liked this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

Kim Mingyu is not whipped.

This is what he forcefully reminds himself when you walk into Minghao’s party, looking sweeter than a spring day, a phrase which if he’s being honest is maybe a little more poetic than he’d normally use. That’s okay. He can be a little dramatic if he wants. Why not? Seokmin does it all the time and no one bats an eye.

In any case. Mingyu is not whipped.

That’s why he turns his head, pretending he doesn’t see you dazzle everyone around you with your beautiful smile. While he’s pretending, he also acts like he can’t feel his own lips tug upwards at the soft chime of your laughter, a Pavlovian response to your happiness. No, his smile is unrelated to whatever you’re doing. He’s just in a good mood, one that didn’t suddenly ascend to the heavens when you entered the room.

Mingyu’s not whipped.

He sinks further into the couch where he’s sitting, a little off to the side of where Minghao, Jeonghan, and Seokmin are talking. Theoretically, he’s part of the conversation, adding the occasional hum or laugh, but he’s really not contributing much of anything. He’s too busy thinking about you. Not like that. 

(But not not like that, either.) 

In any case, Mingyu remains firmly unwhipped - solid, unshaken, definitely not falling apart over you. He’ll be absolutely fine, as long as you stay on the other side of the room, where your charms can’t reach him. Except that he can’t stop watching you, and now you’re looking at him, and even though he averts his eyes, it’s too late. He can sense you walking towards him, his heartbeat increasing with every step you take.

Not. Whipped. 

“Hey there, stranger.” 

Instinctively, at the sound of your voice, he glances up at you, like a flower tilting its face towards your light. He nods at your greeting, mumbling a hello of his own. The others sitting around him all greet you as well, but you merely nod in reply, your full attention on Mingyu. 

“Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

If Mingyu had a list of things he loved about you, which he does not, being straightforward would be near the top. Of this totally fictional list that does not exist. He admires it, actually, the way you have no patience for dishonesty or deception.

Even though your question is blunt, your smile remains soft as you wait for his response, and Mingyu rethinks his ranking. Item number one on that imaginary list - the way you smile, at him, specifically. It’s so warm, like being hugged by the rays of the sun itself. It makes him happier than he ever thought possible. He wants to curl up like a cat and bask in the feeling. If he’s not careful, he might start purring right now.

He’s totally super normal about you.

“Me?” he asks, stalling for time, praying that a somewhat reasonable explanation falls into his lap in the meantime. He’s only a fair-to-moderate bullshitter, so his hopes are low. He can feel the others staring at the two of you, very obviously listening, because no one in your friend group seems to respect boundaries. It’s not helping. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you chirp back, and he does, he knows exactly what you mean, just like you know exactly what he’s doing. “You’ve been ignoring my texts. What’s going on?”

What’s going on is that Mingyu is not whipped, even if it feels like his insides are turning to melty goo beneath your inquisitive gaze. 

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just been busy,” he shoots, aiming for breezy and landing just shy of nonchalant. 

“Busy doing what?” 

“You know. Stuff.” Oh god, he really sucks at this. “And things.” Jesus Christ.

You fold your arms, and Mingyu thinks it’s cute the way you’re squinting at him, one eye closed as you assess his response. Unbearably cute, actually, and getting worse the longer it goes on.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not good enough,” you inform him, and with one hand on his arm (Mingyu ignores the electric current that lights up his nervous system when you touch him. It’s just static and definitely not anything else), you pull him to his feet and lead him out of Minghao’s apartment and into the empty hallway. He follows, not because he’d follow you anywhere, but because he’s curious.

Once the door is closed behind you, you turn to him, a serious expression on your face. “Gyu. Be honest with me.” Always, he thinks reflexively. “This is about what those guys said the other night, isn’t it?” 

Of course you know exactly what it is that has his head spinning right now. The two of you have been friends for ages, but Mingyu still can’t get over how easily you always seem to read him. 

A few nights ago, Mingyu and you had been out to dinner with a few others, and it had been like any other time you were hanging out with your friends, lots of laughing and teasing and just being happy dumbasses together. Only on this particular evening, the food had taken a very long time to arrive, but the drinks kept coming in the meanwhile, and you’d gotten a little drunker than usual, and a little clingier, sticking to Mingyu like a magnet.

Not that Mingyu minded having you hanging on his side all night. Nor did he mind keeping a close eye on you, making sure you were drinking your water and eating to help soak up some of the alcohol. None of that bothered him at all - you were his best friend; why wouldn’t he take care of you? Especially when you smiled at him and thanked him for being so sweet, so good to you, over and over.

(He can’t even begin to explain how that made him feel.)

The others noticed. And commented. Mingyu tried to ignore them, but they just wouldn’t shut up. By the time they joked that Mingyu was your trained puppy, suggesting you buy him a pretty collar and a leash to go with it, he’d had enough.

And when he tried to express that, Minghao had shut him down with a scoff, a wave of his hand, and one word. 

“Whipped.” 

Mingyu admits that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a whipped man. He’s not. He’s not, no matter what the others say. No matter how you’re looking at him right now, concern etched all over your lovely face, lip tucked between your teeth as you wait for his answer. He’s strong. And proud. 

(And maybe a stubborn idiot, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He considers just not responding at all, but he knows how persistent you are, so he settles for a half-shrug. You sigh, leaning back against the wall, arms crossing in front of you. 

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” you say softly, shaking your head. “They were joking. They said so! And you know I didn’t take it seriously for a second.” 

“You didn’t hear everything they said!” he protests, crossing his own arms. You’d missed most of the barbs flying his way that night, too busy enjoying yourself. Which weirdly made him happy. He hated the thought of those guys ruining your night. “They said I was your pet!” 

“So? Jeonghan always tells Seokmin he’s got the zoomies when he gets hyper. He knows he’s not actually a dog! It’s just stupid jokes! Our friends are dumb!” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “That’s what we like about them!”

Mingyu can’t help it, he starts to laugh with you, but then he catches himself, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me understand.” 

How can he help you understand, when he’s not entirely sure he understands it himself, this storm inside him, clouding his mind? 

“I…” He glances wildly around the hallway, but there’s nothing out here to help him. He can hear the bass from whatever song is playing inside the party, a low, steady thrumming that contrasts the erratic thumping of his heart. “I don’t like being called weak.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what they said?” 

“Yeah. Or I guess… they implied it. When they said I was whipped for you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing he’s pouting and it doesn’t help his defense, but it’s just his default setting. “But I’m not.” 

Because he’s staring into your eyes as he speaks, he catches it - the quick expression of sorrow that pinches your brow at his explanation - but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant. If he weren’t watching your face so intently, he would’ve missed it. 

“Gyu,” you sigh, the corners of your mouth lifting in what is clearly meant to be a smile, except it doesn’t reach your eyes, and for a moment, the confusing tide of emotions inside him still, and he feels only sadness. That’s not how you smile. “Can you please let it go? Everyone was being an idiot. That’s nothing new! Besides…” You trail off, staring at the floor.

He waits a beat. “Besides what?”

You huff and shrug. “It’s nothing, forget it.” 

The uncertainty in your tone unnerves Mingyu even more than your fake smile. Where’s that directness of yours? 

“No, tell me. Besides what?” 

With a deep breath, you look him straight in the eye. “Besides, I’m not delusional. I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type.” 

Your voice grows quieter at the end of your sentence, just as the music coming from the other side of the door fades out, and to Mingyu, the silence only amplifies your words, leaving them ringing loudly in his ears like a sonic boom. You’re not his type?

He blinks rapidly, as if that will somehow help. 

“You - you’re not - “ He pauses, searching fruitlessly for the end of his sentence, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Right. I’m not.” 

The laugh you let out sounds so fake that he winces, and a terrible realization hits him. You’ve taken his stammering to be a complete thought - a confirmation of what you’d said, that you aren’t someone he’d like like that. Curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach, you shrink away from him, only a few inches but the distance feels so vast. 

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” 

Mingyu’s speechless. As his silence grows, so does the space between the two of you, until you’re standing by the door, hand on the knob. He feels like he should be doing something right now, snapping into action of some sort, but his brain is still stuck on your declaration.

“Okay,” he finally croaks, because it’s clear that you’re waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t know what else to do but agree with you, because you’re usually right and he usually agrees with you. 

“Right,” you say again, but you look slightly unsure, and it rattles Mingyu, making him feel even more unsettled than before. “Okay.” And then you open the door and slip back inside Minghao’s apartment.

Alone in the hallway, Mingyu slumps against the wall. Well. That was a spectacular failure. He’d tried to explain how their comments upset him and all he’d done was upset you. The shift in your demeanor was so obvious to him, a flashing neon sign basically screaming “you fucked up!” in blazing red light. 

He gives himself a minute to try to pull himself together, then he returns to the party. As soon as he’s inside, he scans the room, until he finds you standing in the corner, hanging out with another friend, Chan, talking and laughing like everything is fine. Which, as Mingyu feels deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows it is not. 

His previously vacated spot on the couch remains open, so he slips back into it, ignoring the curious looks of his friends. He doesn’t want to answer any stupid questions right now, doesn’t want to deal with any of their crap while he tries to wrap his head around what just happened in the hallway. 

Naturally, his friends immediately start nosing into his business.

“What was that all about?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Seokmin and Jeonghan both twist towards him, eager to hear his answer. 

“What was what about?” Mingyu replies, eyes flitting to you again. Chan must be bringing his A game with his jokes tonight, because you’re giggling Mingyu’s favorite giggle, the one that makes your nose twitch like a little bunny’s. It always makes him swell with pride when he coaxes it out of you with one of his dumb jokes, so seeing it right now and knowing he’s not the cause of it, well, it’s not exactly helping improve his mood.

“What was that dramatic exit?” Minghao gestures towards the door. 

“It was nothing. We were just talking.” Again he looks at you. And again, your attention is focused solely on the man beside you. Mingyu doesn’t understand. Can’t you feel him looking at you? 

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jeonghan drawls, miming the crack of a whip with his hand. Seokmin and Minghao crack up beside Mingyu, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying to catch your eye. He wants to see you smile at him. Just one smile. That’s all he needs to make him feel better. 

His friends lose interest in teasing him when he doesn’t respond, and the conversation moves on. As does the evening. Mingyu bonds with the couch, not leaving except to grab refills of his drink, but otherwise he’s a fixed point in this party, unlike you, who are constantly moving, floating from friend to friend, spreading joy across the room.

Spreading joy to everyone except him, that is. No matter how much he watches you, your light never shines on him again, not like it did earlier. He knows what this is. You’re the one doing the avoiding now. And oh my god does he hate it. He feels cold and lonely, withering away, dying for your attention. For your affection. Because he needs it to thrive.

Oh. 

Oh wow, he’s stupid. The others are right. 

Kim Mingyu is whipped. 

For you, and you only. 

Like it has been every few minutes since he returned from the hallway, his gaze is drawn back to you, and this time, it’s different. Because the mask you’ve been wearing all night finally slips, and Mingyu sees the wrinkle of your brow, and the slight downturn of your mouth, and he understands. You’re just as miserable as he is.

That absolutely will not do. He needs to fix this right now.

Mingyu rises to his feet again, not even waiting for Minghao to finish the story he’s been telling, not that he’s been listening anyway, and starts walking towards you. When he’s a mere arm’s length away, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have any plan, just an urgent need to make you look happy again. And also pay attention to him, because he needs your attention just like he needs you, so he panics, and grabs your hand. 

You look at him in surprise as his fingers slip between yours.

“Come with me. Please,” he adds, a bit hasty in his anxiousness, already tugging you out of the room and into the hallway. A pair of voices follow you both out, as Minghao and Jeonghan both jeer loudly at the sight of Mingyu dragging you away, but thankfully the door drowns them out, letting only the beat of the music through.   Which would be a good thing, except that now it’s just Mingyu and a very quiet you. With your hand still in his. 

“Is everything o-”

“You are my type.” 

You start speaking at the same time he does, but he’s louder, blurting his entire sentence out before you can finish yours. Your mouth freezes in an ‘o,’ and oh, Mingyu can’t believe what a dumbass he’s been for so long. How did everyone else see it but him? 

“I just. Wanted you to know. That you are the type of person. That I like.” Why can’t. He complete. A whole sentence? “Smart, funny, gorgeous….” 

You glance away from him, suddenly shy at that last word, and it just reinforces Mingyu’s point. 

Unfortunately, it does not make it any easier for him to say what he’s trying to say.

“But you’re not just my type? You’re the person I like. Hao’s right. They’re all right. I am whipped for you.” He frowns. “Damn it, I hate it when Hao’s right.” 

That makes you laugh, a quick “ha!” that makes your eyes light up, and Mingyu finds himself feeling stronger, so he doubles down. Might as well own it. 

“But he did, he got this one right. I’m down bad.” He brings your entwined hands up, clutching them in front of him, maybe pressing his luck a little, maybe laying it on thick, but it’s barely an exaggerated version of the truth if it’s not pure simple fact. 

“‘Gyu,” you groan, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth that won’t cease, and it makes his heart sing. “Knock it off. I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think you do.” He takes a deep breath and steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. Your hands are caught between you, and he presses the palm of yours against his chest, wondering if you feel the spike in his heartbeat when you inhale sharply. 

“Maybe you should tell me,” you say, eyes wide but voice calm, and again, he marvels at how you strike straight at the heart of the matter, and he decides he can do the same. 

“I’m telling you that I like you.”

The next few seconds are the longest in Mingyu’s life. Nothing has ever lasted this long in the history of time. Entire civilizations are built and fall within the blink of your eyelashes. You keep looking back and forth between his eyes, and he hopes that you see whatever it is you need to believe him, and tries his best to convey clearly what he feels. Even if he’s having trouble speaking his thoughts, at least his gaze can express it. 

“You like me…” 

He nods. “A lot.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it’s hitting him just how much.  

“You like me…” you start again slowly, frowning slightly, “but you don’t like it when others point that out?” 

“I just - “ Mingyu breaks off, a sharp puff of breath exploding out in frustration. How to explain it? “I didn’t like them saying it the way they did. It… it made me feel like they were calling me weak or something.” Your frown deepens and he stumbles on. “But - but that’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid. And I - I don’t care anymore.” 

He clings to your hands, a lifeboat in a sea of turmoil, the warmth of your fingers locked between his giving him hope that this isn’t going completely downhill, this sudden confession of his. It’d be just like him to ruin this with his impatience. He’s always too eager. 

“So what do you care about?” you ask, gaze burning into his. 

And then there’s you. Always so calm and direct. God, he adores you. 

“You. How you feel.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, you lower your eyes, in the briefest of glances at his mouth, and Mingyu feels that electric shock again, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He barely breathes as he waits for you to speak.

“If you really are whipped for me,” you finally say, “you should go tell them that.” You jerk your chin in the direction of the door.

If that’s what you want, then that’s what he’ll do. Without a second’s hesitation, Mingyu spins, his hand gripping yours to pull you back into the apartment with him. 

Seokmin gawks openly as Mingyu stomps across the room. Minghao and Jeonghan exchange a glance that last night would’ve set Mingyu spiraling, but now rolls off him like water. Mingyu comes to a stop directly in front of his friends, squaring his shoulders, trying frantically to corral his thoughts into something coherent. 

But before he can open his mouth, Minghao leans forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Shhh, guys, I think the puppy’s going to speak!” 

“Hao, shut the fuck up.” 

Minghao bristles when Mingyu snaps at him. Jeonghan and Seokmin both cackle, but then Mingyu glares at the two of them, and they fall silent. He takes a deep breath. 

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t care what you guys say about me anymore, because I like YN.” 

The words spill out of him so easily, not even the tiniest nudge needed. He glances at you to find you wearing a delighted expression and his heart goes buoyant again. He decides to ride the wave. 

“They’re amazing. I’d do anything to make them smile, so if that makes me whipped, then I guess I’m fucking whipped.” 

He’s facing you now, not caring if the others can see the obvious lovestruck look in his eye as he keeps talking, not to them, but to you. Aware that they’re probably all smirking at one another, because they figured it out before he did, but he doesn’t give a single goddamn. 

“I can’t get enough of their smile. And the way they laugh. I like how sweet they are. How honest.” Mingyu can’t stop talking at this point. It’s all gotta come out. “But never mean about it. Even when it’s something you don’t want to hear. Especially when it’s something you need to hear.” 

Your hand twitches in his with every sentence he states. He squeezes back gently as his statements get louder.

“I’m not kidding when I say I’d do anything to make them smile. I’d walk the ocean floor for them. Climb a volcano and surf the lava down barefoot. Capture a star fr-”

“Oh my god, we get it, you like them!” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Enough with the bad poetry.” 

“Also? We know.” Minghao snorts. “No need for the dramatic announcement, it’s not news.” 

Mingyu barely hears him, too lost in the way you’re smiling at him now. Forget his earlier rankings. This smile beats all the others. Shoots directly to the top of the list, which, now that he thinks about it, he kinda wants to write down and give to you, maybe framed. Or maybe he’ll stick it on his fridge - with a heavy magnet, of course, because it’s such a long list.

He completely loses all interest in the rest of the room, even though he’s pretty sure most of the party is staring at the two of you. Instead, he finds himself hanging anxiously on the breath you take, hoping for you to say something, to give him an indication of where things stand between you now. Because he knows you’ll be straightforward and get right to the point, whatever’s on your mind. 

You step closer, close enough for him to feel your soft laugh on his lips as you give him a look that sends his pulse rocketing. You’ve never looked at him like this before.

Forget a list. He’s gonna write a whole book. 

“Come on, whipped boy. Take me home.”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[merbear25]

Can you do Law, Zoro, and Ace x their beautiful S/O who is really really shy, but she gets a lot of attention because of her beauty and she gets really stressed and overwhelmed. ~ requested by anon

I’m so sorry that I deleted the original ask!! There was a weird glitch when I posted a different one yesterday where I accidentally posted that request to this one. Anyway, glad I copied it to another doc! I hope you like what I’ve written for you. 💜💜

CW: fluff, headcanons, fem!reader in mind but nothing specific mentioned

With a beautiful and bashful reader (Law, Zoro, Ace)

Law

He was incredibly observant—noticing reactions you’d make without you yourself realizing there was a pattern.

With your beauty attracting (mostly) unwanted attention, he did his best to steer others away from you, preferably without you noticing them at all.

Since you weren’t the confrontational type, shying away from the ones who got a bit too familiar with you, he made sure to step in to handle the situation. From his intimidation alone, they scampered away.

He’d be fairly protective over you, meaning he’d tend to stay close to your side or nearby. However, there were bound to be times he wouldn’t be able to be next to you.

Wanting to be sure you could work your way out of a nerve-wracking predicament, you’d spend a long time going over what you should do if x, y, or z happened.

Though it was far from ideal for either of you, it him some peace of mind that you could manage without him.

Zoro

It was obvious that you were shy and that it only became more difficult for you when others gave you that attention. It was more unfortunate for those who couldn’t take the hint than it was for you—being swatted away by Zoro wasn’t the most pleasant thing after all.

He was always the protective type—knowing you and his friends were safe was of high priority to him, as it would be for anyone.

That being said, he wasn’t going to suffocate you. He wanted you to have that independence to explore and experience things, so he wasn’t necessarily going to be hanging around you all throughout the day.

In saying that, he still kept an eye on you, especially when in crowded areas. Staying by your side, practically acting as a guard dog, his presence warded off any who so much as thought of flirting with you.

His temper wasn’t one that could easily be ignited. When it came to keeping you and others safe, remaining level-headed in the heat of the moment came naturally.

He didn’t even realize how much you needed someone like that, though. The rock that wouldn’t budge, even when you were being shaken to your core—it did more than he could ever understand.

Ace

As much as he thought your shyness was endearing and sweet, he wasn’t too fond of others giving you that same type of attention. Knowing that you didn’t like it either only gave him more of a reason to shield you from it.

Whenever you got stressed from the amount of attention you attracted, he was good at keeping you from spiraling.

Giving you stability that also came with a light-hearted smile helped ease your nerves, keeping that whirlwind of emotions from swooping you up in the storm.

Although he didn’t look extremely intimidating, he had his ways of getting people off your back.

He had charm and was good with people and when those mixed with his dash of mischief, he could easily trick them or distract them. It never took long after he swooped in to send them away practically forgetting the main reason why they’d come up to you.

Even if he was deeply bothered by how much those interactions weighed on you, his bright smile and laid back demeanor didn’t falter when he turned his attention back to you—just wanting to show you that everything would be okay.

[marlenesluv]

۵pairing: fem!albonsibling!ballerina x platonic f1 grid. also, reader x lando norris.

۵type: social media au

۵authors note: sorry it’s been so long! if you want a tag for new updates for this series, leave a comment letting me know! i’ll tag you in upcoming posts :)

۵warnings: dark side of ballet (this includes: ed/not eating as much, self criticism, teacher, etc) please be aware of this while reading. i love you. also cussing.

۵summary: a month after the dinner, y/n is still working to perfect her performance for her role as the black/white swan. luckily, she had her “friend(?)” lando to help her and keep her company.

۵this is part 4! please read part 1, part 2, and part 3 before this one for it to make sense. (part 1 is mine, i just made it on my main blog)

masterlist here -> masterlist link

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: lilymhe, landonorris, and 854,282 others

tagged: lilymhe, landonorris, and alex_albon

y/n.albon: reminiscing bc i start training for ballet tomorrow, missing friends and shit👾💜

view comments…

lilymhe: noooo i miss you, cant wait to crash ur apartment every few days 💘

↳ y/n.albon: my door is always open for u

↳ landonorris: and me???😪

↳ y/n.albon: 🔑

↳ landonorris: 🙂↕️

↳ alex_albon: wait. LANDO HAS A KEY!?????

↳ alex_albon: why do i even comment. you NEVER ANSWER ME😭🤧

user2: alex is just so offended atp😭

f1wags: new wag manifestinggggg🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

fp4albons: my favssss

ln4updates: lando has a key to her apartment?🥲we know they’re dating like js announce it😁

user7: alr, my favorite people ever (real)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You loved ballet more than anything, but the hours were ungodly. Waking up on a Monday morning at 5am to be at the studio by 7:30am was unforgivable.

But then, when you’re there till 11pm…it’s exhausting.

After those fifteen hours of practice, you needed about a week of sleep and four advil. Not to mention you were starving.

Your instructor said “lay off those bagels.” To which you nodded and then rolled your eyes once you were out of sight.

Your instructor was the best of the best, and you knew she meant well. She wanted the best for you, for you to be the best.

Sometimes, this was draining. In her eyes, the best was as thin as paper. Ballet was like this, and it was hard. But you had dealt with it for so long, that you started tuning them out years ago.

Fuck them. Its a sport. So, on your walk home, you grabbed a slice of pizza and a diet coke. You deserved it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux, and 879,238 others

y/n.albon: 🌚⭐️🌝

view comments…

landonorris: never letting you drive my car again

↳ y/n.albon: okay (i hate driving so this is perfect)

↳ landonorris: (thank god because i hate being the passenger)

user3: name a more iconic couple? *crickets* yeah i thought so

f1editpg4: lando on the first slide is a mooddddd

workinglateee3: uhhhhh the second pic🤧🤧🙃

francisca.cgomes: if you’re not rooting for portugal…

↳ y/n.albon: uhhhhh, they’re my second fav team😁

↳ francisca.cgomes: fairrr🫶

user6: me waiting for them to date 🙂

user9: mom and dad fr

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your texts with alex:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After deciding that leaving Alex on read would be best for now, you walked into your favorite little italian restaurant that you ordered some pasta from after practice got over.

Should you be eating breadsticks, gnocchi, and a tiramisu for dinner? Eh, probably not, but you were tired and in need of some comfort food.

The whole situation with Lando felt like nothing and everything all at once. You knew he was single, and he knew you were as well. He also knew how upset you were about Ben quitting, but he didn’t pity you which was nice.

Family that had found out had been texting and calling you for weeks. Telling you how sorry they are, but you didn’t care that much. Truth be told, it was just inconvenient and inconsiderate.

If Lando knew one thing, it would how he knew how you functioned. At this point in knowing each other, Lando knew your schedule more than anyone else. He paid more attention. He never missed a planned hangout, a rehearsal, or dinner.

Stopping yourself, you walked up to the counter and grabbed your food, saying bye to the workers and started walking back home. What you didn't know was that Lando had happened to drive by and saw you walking.

Lando debated picking you up. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was stalking you. It really was pure coincidence that he saw you. After having a mental fight with himself, he turned his car around and slowed down by the sidewalk.

You, wearing leggings, a sweater, long socks and tennis shoes and your hair down. Eyes focused on your phone as you struggled to find a good song to play through your headphones. Your ballet bag hanging off your shoulder and takeout in the opposite hand.

Smiling, Lando rolled his window down. "Y/n!"

You furrowed your brows, looking up and seeing a familiar face.

"Lando? What are you- are you following me now?!" You asked, stopping to talk as he stopped his car.

"What? Wha- no! I was driving by and you were just there!" He defended himself, nervous about your reaction.

"Uh huh..."

"Do you want a ride home?" Lando asked, tilting his head a little.

"Are you going to kidnap me if I get in?"

"Y/n! No! Stop that, just-...do you want a ride, or no?" He asked, hoping for you to say yes.

"Um...." You looked at the ground, then the buildings, and finally met his eyes, "Okay, yeah, thanks."

You opened the back door and threw your bags in, placing the food on the ground. Then, you got in the front, taking your headphones off and buckling up.

"How was practice?" Lando asked, pulling onto the road again and heading to your apartment building.

"It was okay. Lots of criticizing." You sighed, toying with your sweater string.

"About?" Lando loved your love for ballet. But sometimes, he wished he could beat your instructor. Always bringing you down, for no reason. In his eyes, you were perfect. He was well aware that he liked you...more than friends.

“Form, diet, you know..all that shit.” You laughed, watching as Lando skillfully pulled into the parking garage of your apartment. “Thanks for driving me, Lando.” You smiled, getting out and grabbing your bags as Lando exited the car as well.

“Care if I come up?” He asked, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket as you nodded and started walking, Lando quick on your trail.

‘Maybe he does like me…’ you thought as you both walked into your apartment and you started to split up the food you had ordered.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: y/n.albon, carlossainz55, and 982,194 others

landonorris: nights like this❤️

view comments…

y/n.albon: ♾️

*liked by creator*

oscarpiastri: have something to tell us, mate?

↳ landonorris: nah

f1wags: we have been summoned, WHAT

user3: it’s y/n bro i’m telling you

alex_albon: um…ok…..

ln4editpagee: we all know y/n took that first pic

user8: that’s literally y/n, i know those headphones anywhereeee

williams4life: alex has to be freaking out omg

↳ formula1wags: lily has to deal with the freak out too😭💀

y/ns1fp4: MOTHERRRR MOTHER MOTHER

user1: obsessed with this post, it’s my roman empire fr

user3: do we stay calm or freak out guys??????

↳ vrooms19: BOTH

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

tag: @rhythmstars

if you would like a tag for future parts of this series, leave a comment here and i’ll add you :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[purple-babygirl]

don't call me daddy III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 3,840

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: Bucky is less mean, age regression, period blood, intrusive thoughts, crying, Bucky's PTSD & nightmares.

A/N: Here you go, beauties💜 Thank you for your patience, please enjoy xx💜tell me your ideas about how we should proceed with these two if you have any💜

~

She shifted again on the couch, the discomfort in her abdomen turning more and more into a sharp pain by the minute.

Sitting up to rub sleep out of her eyes so she could go to the bathroom, she felt the dampness in her underwear and quickly realized what was happening.

She didn’t need to go to the bathroom; it was something else.

Oh, no.

It was her period, and it has made a huge mess on her clothes and possibly the leather couch. Bucky’s leather couch.

He was going to be so mad at her.

Unless she got up before he came home and cleaned everything up, right?

She took a deep breath, leaving the couch to look for pads in her bag, only to find nothing.

She forgot to pack her pads? Oh, no! What was she going to do now?

She was in so much pain and she was literally bleeding. She didn’t know if she should change first, clean up first or try to find painkillers first.

It was too much.

But, of course, as if all of this wasn’t enough, her little mind closed up and she was standing in the middle of the room, crying, when she heard his key turn.

“Bucky,” she called out, panicked and nervous.

She could see the shock on Bucky’s face, but given his previous behavior, her small mind translated it as anger; anger directed at her, “I had an accident.”

“What happened?!” Bucky dropped his jacket on the floor and ran to her, holding her by the shoulders, checking for wounds on her face.

“I—” she hiccupped, clearly scared of him again, she didn’t realize he wasn’t angry at her, but rather scared himself.

“What is it?” He asked again, shaking her shoulders before frantically searching her arms and hands.

“Period,” she sobbed, her voice quavering.

She felt so bashful, but also annoyed because she didn’t want to want or need Bucky’s help. She wanted to give him the space he’s wanted ever since he’s gotten her.

She didn’t want to tell him. She wanted to help herself.

“What?” Bucky genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

“It’s that time of the month. Period.” She bit her lip, “I need pads.”

“So you’re not hurt?”

She looked at him with confusion for a second before shaking her head.

She heard Bucky mumble something that sounded like thank god as he hung his head down.

“Well…Okay, do you wanna get dressed?” He suggested with a sigh, letting her arms go.

“I can’t go anywhere like this,” she cried more, embarrassed at her state. She couldn’t believe she forgot her pads back in her room at the institution.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go!” Bucky said quickly, surprising her and himself by bringing a hand to her cheek.

She closed her eyes in fear, but whatever harshness she was anticipating never came.

Bucky’s thumb stuttered as it wiped away her tears, “I’ll get them.”

“Really?” She sniffled, slowly opening her eyes.

“Yes, go change into something clean and come back to tell me what pads… look like?”

Bucky has never done this before and he frankly had no idea how he was going to do shopping for period pads.

She nodded, hurrying to the bathroom with her bag.

She thought she’d use toilet paper as a temporary substitute until Bucky’s gotten her the pads in order not to ruin anymore clothes.

She lined her underwear with the tissues as best as she could before collecting her bloodied clothes in hand and opening the door.

“I— ehm— could you please start the washing machine for me?” she timidly asked, holding her stained clothes behind her back.

“Why?!”

“I wanna clean my clothes.” She swallowed, shifting on her feet uncomfortably.

She remembered well enough that ice cubes on bloodied clothes made it easier for the stains to come out. Maybe she should tell him about that.

“Leave that for now. I’ll do it.” Bucky waived his hand, wanting to go and get her what she needed.

He couldn’t imagine what periods were like for women, and in her state? He felt like she shouldn’t be going through this at all.

“But the blood—”

“It’s okay. Leave them on top of the hamper.”

She wordlessly did as told before coming back out, rubbing her tummy as discreetly as possible.

“Are you in pain?” Bucky asked, moving to sit down.

She nodded quietly before shouting, “no! Don’t sit there!”

“Why not?!” Bucky frowned and she grimaced before grabbing a couple of tissues.

She wiped the stained couch a couple of times before running with the tissues to the trash.

“Oh.” Bucky swallowed as she ran to wash her hands.

He didn’t think he’s ever been in a similar situation in his life and if he has, he certainly didn’t remember. But Bucky knew he wasn’t disgusted; only worried for her.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was worried about someone and it made him uneasy.

As she dried her hands, she was dreading leaving the bathroom because she didn’t want to hear Bucky’s scolding about how she’s gotten his couch dirty.

Tiptoeing back into the living room, she had her hands back on her sides, desperately rubbing where her ovaries were to ease the piercing pain.

“I’ll get you some painkillers as well.” Bucky nodded, his frown never leaving his face.

He probably didn’t know, but his normal face as well as his intense stare were screaming I will kill you and it didn’t help her.

“Thank you.” She bit her lip again, eyes casted down.

“Here.” Bucky grabbed his jacket from the floor, hand fiddling with the pocket, “eat this.” Bucky brought a chocolate bar out of his jacket’s pocket, “I got it for you last night but you were asleep.”

“How did you know I was getting my period this morning?” she tilted her head innocently.

“I didn’t. I— I was gonna give it to you to—” Bucky stuttered.

To say I’m sorry

“To say good job during the visit yesterday,” Bucky sighed, the lies heavy on his unaccustomed tongue.

She took the chocolate without a word.

He was manipulating her again, wasn’t he? Probably just trying to build credit for the next visit.

“Mrs. Morrison isn’t coming the rest of the visits this month. She’s coming next month,” she informed him, disappointment evident in her tone, before leaving the chocolate bar on the coffee table.

I know, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want her to know he listened in on their conversation.

Bucky merely nodded, trying not to show dejection.

“Let me grab a pen so you could tell me what you need.” He got his new notebook out of his back pocket and sat down next to her.

“Can’t we just ask for it to be delivered?” She suggested, wanting to get away from receiving Bucky’s help, especially with something so private.

“Well, I’m offering to get them, aren’t I?” Bucky snapped, slightly losing his patience again.

He was internally mad he had to lie. Why couldn’t he just say he was sorry? And why was he feeling like he needed to protect her against the pain of this monstrous monthly visitor?

Her eyes teared up again as she stood up and started giving him the details about the brand and type of pad she used without an extra word.

Wow, she didn’t even want to sit next to him now.

Bucky understood, but he wished things weren’t the way they were. He wished he wasn’t the way he was.

Only now did he realize, she’s been a literal saint to him all along and he was all but the most ungrateful person she could’ve ever crossed paths with.

~

At the store, Bucky stood in the middle of the long aisle with his notebook in hand on the verge of crying because what was all these brands? Why did you need so many colours? And how did any of those have wings?

He needed to get back to her with those pads as soon as possible but he couldn’t because he didn’t know which was which.

She’d told him the ones she used had a pink package, but there were at least 4 groups of those coloured pink, different shades too.

Two women noticed Bucky’s dilemma and pushed forward to where he stood.

Oh shit, he looked creepy, didn’t he?

“Can we help you?” One woman asked with a smile as she stopped her cart by Bucky’s.

“No— yes. I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head sheepishly as his cheeks grew red.

He's never done this before. He never thought he would either.

He didn’t want people to think he was a pervert, but he couldn’t leave without bringing her home those pads.

“For your girl?”

“Yes!”

Well, that was a fast yes.

The blonde woman looked at Bucky weird before laughing to the brunette next to her.

“First time, huh?”

Bucky nodded, blushing deeper.

“What did she tell you?” The brunette asked knowingly, not wanting to embarrass him more.

“Here, I wrote it down.” Bucky showed them the page where he had the description for the pads scribbled down haphazardly.

“Aww that’s so sweet!” The blonde woman put a hand on her heart, making Bucky smile awkwardly.

“We’ve been married two years and she’s never took down notes of my words!” She gently elbowed her wife.

“I don’t need to because I know what you want by heart!” The brunette defended before going to look at the pad described in Bucky’s notes.

“True,” the blonde standing with Bucky giggled, “your girl is gonna appreciate this very much.” She nodded with a smile.

Bucky faked another polite smile in reply.

Ah, if you only knew…

“Here, that’s the one you’re looking for.” The brunette handed Bucky two baby pink packages, “just in case.”

“Thank you so much!” Bucky was eternally grateful for the couple for saving him from going in an endless journey down that aisle.

“You’re welcome,” the brunette sang, pushing her cart away with her wife.

“Don’t forget to get her some ice cream!” The blonde shouted to Bucky.

 Bucky saluted with a chuckle, walking with purpose to find the ice cream fridges.

Enough stalling. Today was the day he made everything right. He was going to apologize even if the words killed him.

~

“Thank you.” She hastily grabbed the pads and a clean underwear and ran shyly to the bathroom to put them to use.

Bucky just changed his clothes and waited outside so he could ask her what she wanted to eat and maybe properly apologize this time.

He waited and he waited and there was nothing but silence.

She wasn’t coming out.

Now, he didn’t know how much time it took for girls to use those things, but he felt like she’s taken enough time.

Could she be in trouble? Was she too mad at him to leave the bathroom?

“Hey, everything okay in there?” Bucky knocked on the door, unknowingly making her drop the pad as she jumped.

“Y—yes!”

She was trying hard to remember the steps to put on the pad, but she kept messing it up, her mind just too little to function properly.

“Are you sure?” Bucky called for her again.

“No.” She opened the door with tears in her eyes because she was about to ask for Bucky’s help for the millionth time when she wasn’t supposed to; didn’t want to.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, his voice unconsciously caring and worried.

“I don’t remember how big me puts it on and the pain won’t go away and my underwear is all messy again,” she sobbed without breathing, covering her face with her hands when she was finished.

“Okay, okay, let me help,” Bucky suggested, feeling dumber than ever because he had no idea how to do this either, but he felt so bad for her.

“Mr. Barnes is a man. Men don’t get periods,” she whimpered.

So she was back to calling him Mr. Barnes… good job, Buck.

“We’ll look it up online. Sam showed me how before.” Bucky found himself reassuring her as he guided her out of the bathroom and back to the couch.

“It’s here.” She pointed to the drawings on the side of the package describing how to stick the pad on one’s underwear, “but I still can’t do it.” She shrugged helplessly, crying more.

“Oh, okay!” Bucky took a look at the package, trying to understand what to do, “I can do it. Let’s get you something to eat so you can take the painkillers first.”

Wait what? He wasn’t going to let her ‘figure it out’ and feed herself?

She nodded dumbly as Bucky led her to the couch.

He heated up some pizza from the box he brought last night and got himself a piece too when his stomach started making sounds at the smell.

“Here.” Bucky set her plate in her lap and his on the coffee table.

She raised her underwear to him and he discreetly took it from her, trying to avoid being inappropriate.

Was this the first time he was consciously holding a female undergarment in seventy years? Yes. Yes, it was.

He attempted to follow the steps on the packaging as he removed the thin paper on the pad, revealing the sticky side of it.

He pressed the pad on the inside of the underwear and stared at it hesitantly, “now what does that paper cover?” He removed the shorter paper, revealing two more sticky parts.

“Wait, is this side supposed to stick to your body?!” Bucky asked, horrified at the idea.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, trying to find a use for the upper sticky part of the pad.

She nodded without a doubt because she knew that nothing was supposed to stick on her skin.

“I think…” she started, gaining his attention.

“Hmm?” Bucky looked at her for clues before bringing his gaze back to the underwear, determined to do it right.

“I think it’s upside down…” Her small voice stated cautiously, fearing Bucky’s anger.

“Huh.” Bucky examined the underwear with an open mouth.

After another half hour, the pad had lost its stickiness and was no longer useable.

She’d finished eating both her slices of stale pizza and took her painkillers, but Bucky was still going at it.

As she sat down looking at how determined Bucky was to help, she didn’t understand.

He was probably just feeling bad because she was bleeding, right? That must’ve been it because like he had told her, it was impossible that he’d suddenly want to be around her.

She looked at his plate and saw his food untouched. He didn’t eat a bite, too focused on the pad project.

She was mad at him and didn’t want to talk to him, but she felt really bad. Maybe she could help him without talking to him?

Without thinking too much about it, her hand was grabbing Bucky’s slice, raising the tip to his mouth so he could eat.

Bucky temporarily looked up from the underwear in his hands, speechless at her gesture.

She looked away, not wanting to meet his beautiful eyes because she was ‘mad’ at him.

Bucky bit back a smile, quietly taking a bite, “thank you.”

She nodded indifferently, head still turned away, hiding her own smile.

It was the first time Bucky has ever thanked her since they’ve been together.

But that didn’t really matter because Bucky still didn’t want her help, right? She was just doing this because he was helping her with her pad. Or at least that was what she was telling herself.

When Bucky was finished with his pizza, she took the empty plates and walked to put them down in the sink.

All of a sudden and before she could hold it in, a fart has escaped her and exploded aloud in the quiet room.

Bucky stopped trying with the pads and just stared at her silently for a second.

And then she was choking up again.

“Why are you crying now?” Bucky shook his head, not wanting her to cry, but she took it for frustration.

“Because it’s embarrassing and yucky,” she sobbed, covering her hot face with her hands as she plopped down on the couch.

“It’s not embarrassing or yucky. It’s human,” Bucky told her, leaving the underwear for a second to touch her hands.

“Mr. Barnes is not mad at me?” She sniffled, allowing Bucky to hold her hand.

“No.” He rubbed the tears off of her palms before handing her a tissue for her face.

“Do you think I’m disgusting?”

“No,” Bucky chuckled, amused that that would be her concern as she sat there literally oozing blood.

“Really?”

“Did you think I was disgusting when I was sweaty fresh out of a nightmare and you hugged me?”

“No,” she answered without hesitation.

Bucky remained still for a second, just cherishing her for everything he’s never noticed before, “it’s like that, too. I’m not disgusted.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She smiled gratefully.

It was a really short smile that Bucky could’ve easily missed it.

But he understood. He’d take what he could get. He had plenty to make up for.

“I’ll just look it up.” Bucky shook his head finally giving up on the pad project, resorting to his phone for help from YouTube.

Women’s lives were hard.

~

Ten more minutes and Bucky was enthusiastically yelling, “Yes! I did it!” while raising a feminine piece of underwear in the air.

Too soon, however, his excitement was deflated when he saw that her reaction and expression didn’t match his.

All she did was mutter a polite thank you, Mr. Barnes as she took her fixed underwear and went to the bathroom to change.

He knew why and he knew he shouldn’t expect anything less.

She’s let him off the hook many times and he couldn’t expect her to do it forever.

No matter how kind or innocent, she was only human.

Inside the bathroom, she was thankful for Bucky and proud he’s managed to do something that she was sure he’s never done before, but her feelings were still hurt.

Bucky made her feel unwanted again after she had almost forgotten what that was like. He made her feel like she could never be loved for all that she was, or exactly as she was.

She didn’t understand him. She didn’t know when he hated her and when he didn’t. She didn’t know if he was nice or mean.

And she hated these games. They confused her too much and that was the last thing she needed, especially while little.

And even if she made everything okay again and let this, too, go. It wasn’t what Bucky wanted. She couldn’t keep ignoring his wishes forever.

And so their night continued in silent TV watching and more cold pizza consumption; and instead of being familiar, the quietness was scary to Bucky.

The way she looked so blue gnawed at his insides because he knew he was the cause of it.

She didn’t try to poke at him, made sure she didn’t accidently touch him and only spoke when necessary and she called him Mr. Barnes all over again.

Is this what it would’ve been like had she conformed to his rules from day one?

So what? Why was he upset about that now? Wasn’t that how he’s been ever since he came back to himself? Why wasn’t it comfortable anymore? Silence and solitude were what he wanted, right?

Bucky wanted to talk to her before bed, to hopefully end this agony, but she quickly gave him her back after swallowing her painkiller.

“Listen—” Bucky started, gaining her attention.

She looked like she knew what he was going to say and so she did something that goes against everything polite she’s ever learnt; she cut Bucky off.

“I’m sorry about ruining Mr. Barnes’ couch. It won’t happen again,” she apologized first.

Couch? He wasn’t worried about some leather couch!

“That’s not—”

“I’m also sorry about making Mr. Barnes go shopping for me when I promised I won’t annoy him no more. I promise not to do that again.”

“It’s—”

“And I’m sorry for interrupting just now.” She bit her lip, unable to not apologize for something that she knew was wrong.

Bucky stayed silent, however, so she assumed she’d covered what he wanted to reprimand her about.

“Good night, Mr. Barnes.” She gave him her back again, pretending to have instantly fallen asleep.

With a sigh, Bucky went to his makeshift bed as well, swearing that tomorrow morning was apology time. It was final.

~

She wanted to be strong, but she just couldn’t bear Bucky’s thrashing and his suffering any longer.

She wished she could only give Bucky what he wanted and not care, but instead, she was going to give him what he needed, what she was here for and knew how to do.

She got on her knees by his shaking body and patted his flesh shoulder gently, still resisting calling his name.

Bucky woke up with a loud gasp to find her concerned eyes pouring love onto him.

Without a word, she began wiping away his tears with her sleeve, her other hand patting his shoulder to calm him down.

“It was just a bad dream,” she whispered, wishing she could hold her daddy close and make all his fears go away.

Yes, he was her daddy even if he didn’t agree.

“Sorry, that’s embarrassing,” Bucky chuckled, trying to make little of the fact that his nightmare was so horrifying that he was crying in his sleep as he wiped at his own cheeks.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s human.” She echoed Bucky’s words and that was when he felt it; her warmth flooding his heart and body, surrounding him in gentle waves.

He looked up to meet her gaze and saw only care and compassion reflected back. He wanted to drown in those eyes; hide from everything that was hurting him.

And for the first time in decades, Bucky decided to let himself receive kindness because maybe, just maybe, he deserved some.

Before she could register, Bucky leaned in carefully, his forehead was on her shoulder and his arms at her sides as he let himself cry.

Her eyes were wide, not believing herself as her heart pounded. Bucky was seeking comfort. From her.

Without much thinking, she wrapped her arms tightly around Bucky’s larger body with an unspoken vow not to let go any time soon.

“I’m here, Mr. Barnes,” her small voice whispered, hands going up and down his back in slow, loving strokes.

Bucky shook his head on her shoulder, “no.”

“Bucky?” She quickly switched to his first name, but he shook his head again, raising it this time to lock eyes with her.

“Call me daddy.”

part IV

~

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[bxeckersz]

your child is kicking my ass | Paige Bueckers x pregnant reader

summary: y/n is feeling bad while paige is at practice

warnings: language, pain

a/n: ive been obsessed w paige x pregnant reader so here is this 😭😭.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I feel like shit. I’ve been having contractions all day, it’s hot, and on top of that, Paige has been gone all day. I groan as I pull my phone out to text Paige.

wife 🤞💞💍

baby where r u

paigey 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

im at practice still y? do u need anything?

wife🤞💞💍

im having contractions again

and i miss u

and im hungry

and its hot

and i feel like shit

and ive been throwing up all day

your daughter is kicking my ass

paigey 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

chipotle or wing stop

wife🤞💞💍

huh?

paigey 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

im omw home, chipotle, wing stop, or do you want something else?

wife 🤞💞💍

chipotle

wait Geno let you leave?

paigey 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yeah i told him you were feeling bad

wife🤞💞💍

baby you should’ve stayed at practice

read 5:37 pm

I roll my eyes, throwing my phone back down. Paige has the tendency to leave practice if i text her. I turn on the TV to watch something to distract myself in the meantime. I drift off to sleep while watching.

“Hey, baby” I hear gently, waking me up. “hm” I hum, sitting up. I look up to see Paige standing there in her practice clothes with a chipotle bag and her gym bag in one hand and multiple bags in the other.

“Paige” I whine, immediately feeling the pain as i get up. “What’s wrong, baby?” Paige says, dropping her bags and running up to me. “It just- it just hurts” I groan, going back to sit down.

“Sit down, baby. I got it, don’t get up” Paige soothes, sitting me back down. “I got snacks and Chipotle. I also found this heating pack thing- the girl helped me find it because i was lost” Paige rambles with a smile on her face.

“Thank you, baby” I say, quietly. “you’re welcome” Paige says, setting the things out in front of me. “You wanna go in the room?” Paige asks me. “mhm” I nod.

“okay, are you sure you can walk?” Paige asks. “Yes, Paige.” I sigh, walking into the room as Paige follows behind with everything in hand.

“Okay, ima go take a shower and you can find a movie” Paige says, setting everything down. “Mhm” I nod as Paige walks into the bathroom.

A couple minutes later Paige walks back in the room, putting on some boxers and a sports bra. “Did you find a movie?” Paige asks, kissing my cheek and laying next to me.

“Yeah, but I didn’t wanna start it without you” I whisper, showing her the movie. “Here’s your food” Paige says, handing me a burrito bowl. “And I got you ice cream, chips, cookies, candy, and drinks” She finishes, pulling the things out the bag.

“Thank you, baby. I love you” I say, pressing a small kiss on her lips. “mhm, I love you too” Paige says, starting the movie.

“It’s called 5 Feet Away” I say, eating my food. “mm” paige nods, watching the movie as she cuddles against me.

☆

“ow” I groan. It’s 11 pm, Paige is sleeping and her daughter won’t leave me alone. “hm?” Paige stirs.

“shit. Ow” I say, tearing up. “What’s wrong, baby?” Paige says, sitting up. “It- it hurts baby. really bad” I cry, gripping the sheet in pain. “here, take this” Paige says, handing me a pain pill.

“shit” I groan. “It’s oaky, baby” Paige soothes, rubbing my back. I don’t know what hits me but i feel emotional all of a sudden. “Paige, what if i’m a bad mom” I cry.

“Baby, you’re gonna be a great mom. I promise” Paige says, wiping my tears. “but-“ I start before Paige cuts me off.

“Y/n you’re gonna be such a good mom, okay?” Paige says, more directly now. I nod while sniffing. “Cmon, let’s go back to bed” Paige whispers, pulling me into her carefully.

“I love you” I whisper into her neck. “I love you too” Paige whispers back as we fall back asleep.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thanks for reading! the ending was totally rushed but thats wtv 😭😭. also i literally dont know what this title is..

[dinogoofymutated]

Hey! I wanted to make a request but I wanna state right away that if you're simply not comfy with it or don't vibe with it - I completely understand!

I'm on my period rn and wanna request some SFW or NSFW head-canons with Kurt comforting F!Reader while on their period. (Totally understand if NSFW wouldn't be your thing for this. Just any comfort HCs at all would thrill me. <3)

I just can't stop thinking about him applying gentle pressure with his hand to my lower abdomen like a heating pad. I feel like he'd be so sweet. Furball cuddles for the win.

Extra note: Your writing is lovely and thank you so much for your posts. They bring me joy and I even reread some of them a few times. I hope you're having a good day/night and I'm sorry for the long ramble. Remember to take care of yourself and drink plenty of water 💜🫂

SFW! Nightcrawler/ AFAB! reader - Period HCs It's finally here!! I'm sorry it too me so long to get to this ask lol. Hope you enjoy! TWS!: depictions/descriptions of Menstrual Cycle, Blood, staining the sheets on accident. Cramps. Please do not read if you're not comfortable.

Kurt 1000000% is one of the best marvel characters when it comes to making sure his S/O is taken care of.

He's thoughtful and cuddly, and he definitely runs hot, so he's quite literally a heating pad/blanket. He hates the fact that you are in pain, even though it's a regular biological thing that happens to so many. He provides for you in any way that he can when you're on your period, making you food, running to the store, making sure you're hydrated and taking your meds.

You tell him to jump, he'll always ask how high.

And he's comfortable buying pads/tampons for you too! He memorised the brand and size you get after the first time you had your period while dating him, and he does his best to remember when you change that too!

He will also buy you the snacks you crave while on your period and will never let you pay him back.

Don't be embarrassed about your period around him. He's seen blood before, and just because it's coming from a vagina instead of a wound doesn't make it disgusting. He respects your boundaries during your period, and has a lot of patience with you if you're the type to get mood swings. He just loves you a lot, and if that includes uncomfortable menstrual cycles from time to time, he's more than willing to accommodate you however you need.

    You felt extra groggy waking up this morning. You can’t go back to sleep, but opening your eyes felt like an absolute chore. You didn’t feel well- and you can’t place why at first. You groggily sigh, uncomfortable even in bed, and are immediately comforted by a three-fingered hand soothingly petting your hair.

    “Good morning, Schatz.” His voice is soft and sweet. Even in your pain, you smile at him, trying to keep your eyes open just so that you can see him.

    “Mornin’ “ You sigh, leaning into his touch. 

    “Are you feeling well?” Kurt asks, ever the attentive sweetheart. You shake your head at him, moving closer to him so that you can snuggle into his chest. He’s warm and comforting. His tail wraps around you snugly, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. After cuddling for a while, your stomach growls, and Kurt chuckles. He mentions something about breakfast you’re a little too sleepy to remember and gives you a chaste peck before he pulls back the covers and gets out of bed.

    You only feel his weight on the bed shift a little before he seems to freeze abruptly. 

    “Is everything okay?” You ask, slowly blinking your eyes open to see what was the matter. Kurt has this soft, concerned look on his face as he looks at the bed, and then at you, turning to sit sideways where he can face you.

    “Love, you're bleeding.” He tells you. You look at him in confusion for a second, before you suddenly recognise that awful sticky wetness between your legs, and bolt straight up. You rip the blankets off, horrified at the sight of blood staining the sheets.

     “I'm so, so sorry, Kurt!” You say, frantically trying to sit up and get moving.   “- I promise I'll clean up and-”

    “Why would I make you do that?” Kurt immediately cuts you off, setting his hands on your shoulders to settle you. “You didn't do it on purpose.” He states. You don’t actually know how to respond, both embarrassed at the circumstances and thankful he’s not mad at you. 

    “I’ll start the shower for you. Just wash up and let me take care of everything else, okay?” Kurt says, taking your hands in his own before he stands. He kisses you again before he’s gone in a cloud of smoke.

    The water is the perfect temperature when you step inside, warm and cozy. You debate on turning the water scalding hot, still trying to shake off the embarrassment, but you don’t. Your cramps become more and more noticeable while you’re in the shower, causing you to ache once you finally shut off the stream. There's a fresh, fluffy towel and a new set of pajamas waiting for you when you step out- ones that Kurt must have teleported in without you noticing. The thought makes you smile.

   Kurt had replaced the bedsheets and re-made the bed while you were in the shower, also laying your weighted blanket across the bed. He’s not in the room right now, but that doesn't stop you from curling up under the fluffy cover immediately. You’re so thankful you swear to yourself that you were gonna repay Kurt ten times over with whatever he could possibly want, already knowing that he’d tell you to not worry about it.

   You’re lightly dozing, curled up in the fetal position under the covers to fight your cramps when Kurt teleports to your bedside. He’s got a tray of food in one hand with a glass of water in the other. You sit up when he sets it down on the bedside table, and he sits next to you had he hands you the glass, holding out pain meds in his other hand.

    “You know how much medicine I take?” You ask, smiling sweetly at him. He’s grinning, his tail swaying back and forth on the bed.

    “Why wouldn't I? It's the same amount every time.” Kurt says, tilting his head at you. You quickly take the medicine before you get too sidetracked, and the moment the glass of water is set to the side you pull him in for a kiss that he eagerly returns.

    “You’re the best, You know that?” You tell him, and all Kurt does is chuckle. He crawls under the covers with you, sitting by your side as the two of you eat breakfast together. When you’re done, He lays back down with you, setting his warm hand on your lower stomach as he spoons you from behind, pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck. You’re already feeling better when you drift back to sleep again in his secure, comforting embrace.