#heart and mind are unaware of the loops

[ask-cccc]

HEART! HUSBAND!

THE LOOP IS GOING TO RESET!!!

(The what? Don't be ridiculous! I don't even know what that is...)

[makaylaloves-words]

Jason Todd thought his need for touch had died with him.

Part two!!

here’s part one

Pairing: Jason Todd x afab reader

TW: Loss of virginity (male), nsfw, pinv, religious imagery, body issues mentioned.

1.7k words

The sun comes dreadfully early. Bright butter yellow beams forcing Jason away from the oasis that is your embrace. You kiss his forehead then head to get ready for work. You start your usual routine, unaware of his recurring thoughts. Usually, he will wake up a little slower then go to make breakfast while you get ready. Today he lingers like the last bits of snow as winter fades into spring.

He watches you come out of the bathroom after your shower, music still playing from your phone. Music he will never admit to liking but listens to when he misses you. Your perfect skin slightly damp as you put on that lotion that makes him want to take a bite out of you.

Clad in only your underwear and bra, hair up in a towel, you pick your outfit for work and start on your makeup. Humming and dancing to your music. He stands.

He’s silent as he approaches, a huge sleepy figure looming behind you.

“Hi” you chirp, rubbing lotion into your skin.

“I want to have sex with you.”

You slowly turn, eyes wide. “Well good morning to you, too.” he swallows but doesn’t back down.

“I kinda have work” you blink.

“I- I didn’t mean right now. Just soon.” he says and your heart picks up. “Okay, honey, soon.”

You step closer and lift on your toes to peck his cheek. You let your hand linger on his bare chest, his hips against you in a way you can feel as hard he is. It gets you drunk on power to know how little it takes for you to do that to him.

Four nights later, it’s the usual routine but something’s off. He goes out on patrol for a few hours and you get finish up some work and make dinner. You eat together then he showers while you wind down. You’ve been dating over a year so naturally you’ve seen eachother naked but he’s always been a little secretive about his body. That’s why you’re very surprised when he walks into your bedroom in just his towel around his waist. Raven hair still damp and water droplets clinging to the scared tissue of his muscled chest. As anyone would eyes would, you give him a good stare down. He looks.. nervous.

“Something wrong?” you finally say.

“Now.” he says

“Now.. what?” your head tilts

He looks away, swallowing in embarrassment.

“I want to have sex.”

Oh.

Oh.

“I- uh right now?” you nearly laugh. You have been on a dry spell ever since you started dating Jason so honestly just him shirtless has got you hot and bothered but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’ve made you wait this long” he nods and steps towards the bed. you stand, arms looping around his neck like a perfect ribbon. “You’ll help me know what to do?” he whispers and you smile “of course.”

Turns out you really have to tell him what to do. You don’t know if you pity the guy or are proud because he’s clearly never watched porn or anything of the sort.

“Just kiss me firs-” you instruct and before you can finish the words his lips are on yours. He’s grown a lot in his kissing ability. From small pecks on your forehead to now as he tangles his tongue with yours. Jason hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you with practiced ease. Your legs wrap around his hips and his hands hesitantly inch towards the back of your thighs. You nod against as your mouth works on his and his hands slide to grip your ass, holding you to him. He groans.

The towel is slipping off his hips and you can feel an anticipation that you haven’t felt in so long coursing through you, straight to your gut.

“Are you sure about this? You can change your mind.” you say, pulling back. your chest is heaving and you know his answer as he licks a stripe up your neck.

He slowly steps forward, setting you on the bed and looking at you like you’re a goddess who just offered him immortality. “Do i sit down or-“ he bites his lip and you giggle. “We can just do missionary.” he blinks in confusion. “i’ll lay down” you add, stripping your shorts and scooting back on the bed.

You strip your shirt and look up. He’s staring at you in a way you’ve seen very few times. He’s flushed, pupils dilated and hands gripping the towel on his hips so hard his knuckles are white. “Um you come over here now” you swallow as he drops the towel and crawl towards you.

For a long time, Jason thought he was disgusting. A foul ugly creature who rose from the dead and doesn’t deserve a single thing he has. You, however, have never understood this. He is beautiful. Greek god level. You can feel the arousal on your thighs as you bite your lip.

He leans down and kisses you again, hard length pressed against your bare stomach as you start taking off the rest of your clothes.

It’s a charming process in the way that it’s kinda clumsy. You haven’t done this in a while and well Jason’s literally a virgin so it takes you a couple tries to get your bra and underwear off.

He breaks the kiss to look down at you. Eyes trialing over your breast as he rests his hands on your ribcage. “You are beautiful” he whispers and you smile shyly. “You too” he blushes.

Both naked as the day you were born, he gulps “So do i just-“

“pretty much”

He gives himself a few strokes, dark lashes fluttering before he leans to you and presses against you. An inch in and he bites his lips. “God” he whines and you smile. he’s larger than most and you revel in the stretch as he pushes more.

“Oh i understand now” he mutters, hands fisting the sheets by your head.

“Understand what?” you say with a small whimper.

“Why people enjoy this so much” he cuts his words off with a moan as he pushes in a bit more.

With a final gasp from him, he’s all the way in and he swears he’s in heaven. He’s never been a very religious person but if there is a god then it is you and this fucking pussy. He groans, hands gripping the sheets beside your head as your hands delicately grasp his wrists.

“You can move” you say quietly, eyes loving as you look up at him.

“I-“ he should move. he knows he should but he is already close to coming and he doesn’t wanna come that fast. You’re just so warm and wet and tight and- oh no.

no no no.

you shift your hips, forcing his dick to rock in and out of you. It barely even moves. “Fuck, no—sto—"

Jason grunts. Chokes on it. 

you do it again, just the softest roll of your hips. “Baby, you don’t understand” he groans, arms shaking beside your head. “It’s okay” you coo, “it’s normal just- please” he swallows. yes he didn’t want to be the guy who blew it like a two pump chump but it’s true he wanted you to feel good to. god, he wants that more than his own pleasure. So, he moves.

A small thrust, just the last 2 inches coming out and in but he whines and turns his head away. You smile, “Hey. look at me, pretty boy”. he groans and looks down at you. god you look like a fucking angel.

He’s nearly drooling as he shudders and thrusts a few more times. Then he stops, “What are you doing?” he gulps.

You blink up at him. It’s true your hand had snaked down and drew a few circles around your clit but that was not a crime.

“I-“

“Show me how.”

“What?”

“That thing you’re doing. Feels good? Show. me. how.” Jason’s words would sound like a demand if he wasn’t bright red and pussy drunk. And instead of getting all butt hurt, he’s asking you to teach him and-

—and oh, isn’t your heart melting into a puddle.

You gently take one of his hands off the sheets next to him and guide his thick calloused fingers to your clit. “Just- circles or press a little.” you say, words cutting out with a moan when he rubs your clit. good to know he was a fucking natural. His eyes are glued to where his cock is pressed into you and he gulps before continuing his ministrations on your clit. Then he thrusts at the same time. You both moan in sync and he smiles, “‘m doing good? I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

You nod, simply letting him now it’s okay. A few more thrusts and he is shaking. Eyes closing as he gulps.

“Can i-.. in you?” he mutters.

“Yes.” you say calmly, chest heaving.

He buries his face in the warm crook of your neck, a bright flush over his scared skin. Then he’s coming and- “I love you” he groans and you pause.

“what?”

he’s only half conscious as he spurts into you. eyes rolling back as he gasps. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. I’m in love with you, have been for a while.”

you blink “i love you too, Jay.”

He keeps his head buried in your neck but he slowly trails some kisses along your jaw in response. His hand speeds up on your clit as he keeps pumping his slowly softening cock. After a few moments he sits back up, eyes hazy, “you haven’t- should i try again?” you laugh.

“Just give me a minute, love.” your hand snakes down and you lay your fingers on his, helping his finger your clit in that way that had you sparking. You tighten around him and he swears he’s seeing stars. “Fuck” he pulls out of you, grunts turning into a self satisfied smile when you come. You aren’t super loud or anything but he swears it’s the most beautiful melodic thing he has ever seen.

When you come down from your high, he’s laying half on top of you. You can feel his heartbeat thunder against yours, as if merging together—erratic and unsteady. “You did so good” you kiss the top of his head. “You too” he teases.

you have officially deflowered the great jason todd.

thank you for all the support! this is my first time really writing and i’m having a very fun time. i’m kinda new to tumbler so let me know if i’m doing this tag list wrong, lol.

@theendofthematerialgworl @nwjsns @anamiranda7383 @vicky342 @jayskookies @cyberangel-graphics

[dollerinna]

❪ 小薇 ❫ I’M NOT A BAD MAN : I’M JUST OVERWHELMED

— 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝚑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 .

𝓘ames wilson ੭୧ f! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ somno ⋆ non-con

JAMES WILSON’S larger frame drapes over you, pulling you close in your unconscious state. His warmth envelops you like a blanket of fire, the heat of his body melding into yours in a way that makes your pulse spike before your mind can even catch up. The room is hushed, every sound muted by the gravity of his presence—except for his breaths. Hot and uneven, they tease the shell of your ear, stirring the hair along your temple with a hunger that feels barely leashed. His hand tightens on your hip, fingernails leaving a trail of crescent-shaped imprints into your flesh, as if his very skin demands yours.

His cock stirs, painfully hard beneath the confines of his pants, the dull throb of arousal building into something that demands attention. Each rapid thump of his heart feeds the tension coiling tighter in his core, a steady pulse of white-hot need spreading from the pit of his stomach down to the ache between his legs. He bites down on a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but the sound still claws free anyway—a feeble, borderline pathetic noise that makes him feel as though he's coming undone, thread by thread.

The image of him plunging his cock into your tight little cunt plays on an endless loop in his head, delirious and unrelenting, like the world’s worst porno he can’t turn off. It’s agonizing, this carnal itch he was powerless to soothe, a hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. And it’s your fault—cruel, unknowing, perfect you. Why did you always have to look so devastatingly, effortlessly fuckable? Even now. Even like this. He's supposed to be better than this. He swears he is better than this. Or at least, he was. But you're ruining him, turning him into something base, something unrecognizable—a mutt in heat, panting after scraps of you like his life depended on it.

With trembling hands, he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, a stinging hitch of breath catching in his throat as the cool air hits his angry, leaking cock. It stands thick and flushed in a mess of brown, slapping against his belly with a humiliating, wet sound that reminds him of how far gone he is—and yet it only spurs him on, the tingling buzz in his ears swelling akin to static, drowning out the last whispers of reason.

His jaw locks as he carefully eases himself between your legs, gliding the slippery head of his shaft over your folds with a slow, surgical precision only a doctor could have. A weak moan betrays him when your entrance flutters helplessly, involuntarily clenching around the aching emptiness he’s yet to fill. It's a maddening kind of torture, one that leaves his knees jittery and his resolve fractured.

He hesitates, guilt rising like a bitter, choking weight in his throat. This is wrong—he knows it's wrong. You're asleep for god's sake. Sweet, innocent, and unaware, probably lost in some dream about kittens and puppies with that peaceful smile gracing your lips. But as the shame churns deep in his gut, it's quickly eclipsed by something much worse: the ugly truth—he doesn't care.

However, even at his worst, there is this tenderness in the way he moves that refuses to vanish. He wants to make you feel good—needs to, as if somehow, this could be something you’d never hate him for, no matter how far he falls. It’s a twisted kind of redemption, one that only someone like Wilson can dream about.

Slowly, he grinds into you, inch by torturous inch, flesh to flesh, your slick depths stretching to welcome him in. A shuddering sigh flees his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, reveling in how the gummy walls of your cunt clutches onto his member with an almost suffocating grip, squeezing so tightly it was as if your sleeping body wanted him here in the first place.

"Mmm... holy..." he breathes, the words faltering as they leave his lips, fragile and barely formed. "…'m sorry... I didn't want this... didn't m-mean to..." his confession splinters in the air, equal parts of guilt and lust tumbling out in hoarse murmurs, dissolving into the void with every stuttering thrust of his pelvis. Each stroke feels a perfect contradiction—a prayer answered and a sin committed, tightening his chest and clouding his mind all at once.

And then there’s you—silken, wet, and impossibly tight—wrapping around him like a second skin. Your fleshy insides mold to every pulsating ridge and vein of his cock, sucking him deeper in with the unknowing shifts of your hips. His nerves flare with a sizzling anticipation, the lewd squelch of him violating your cunt eating away at the edges of his crumbling resolve. Still, as futile as it is, he desperately clings onto what’s left of his control behind squeezed eyelids, and it takes everything in him not to spill right there—but the way his dick twitches within the deliciously, spongy muscles of your sex suggests that everything might not be enough.

After all, he's deathly afraid of crossing that final line. But in the hollow, aching pit of his chest, he knows...

He already has.

[strawchocoberry]

‘CAUSE I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ featuring. michael kaiser x fem reader

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ content warnings. heavily self-insert/mindy lore, kaiser’s birthday present, fluff interlaced with angst, slow, intimate sex at the end 

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ synopsis. how much he means to you — word count. 2.4k

December 25th. 

And while the rest of the world is exhilarated, celebrating Christmas, for Kaiser today is just another day. Maybe one with more happiness and whatever is supposed to be this so-called ‘Christmas spirit,’ but still it’s just another day. 

You don’t even realise when Kaiser has left your bed. You wake up disoriented and alone in your bed, faint traces of him sleeping next to you lingering in the room. You take a deep breath and steel yourself. 

It was pure coincidence you found out that today is his birthday. Knowing him, he will just want to spend the day with you, give you your Christmas gift and maybe go out for a little stroll. Not even mentioning that today is his birthday, not even a small hint or anything. Even so, you want to make this day a little bit special for him. But you know you have to be careful and subtle about it, otherwise Kaiser might either explode or isolate himself from you. 

The day officially starts when he returns from the private gym of your apartment building. For all his grumbling about being too much of an unnecessary hassle to decorate the apartment, Kaiser has to take a moment to admire how beautiful this morning is, watching you, unaware of his presence, setting up breakfast on the coffee table next to the tree you had decorated together. So many new things you “forced” him to do, things he somehow found enjoyable. But only because he did them with you. 

The day passes by before you realise it. Despite your protests, Kaiser has bought you one gift, insisting that it’s from Santa, though he himself never believed in the guy. He doesn’t want a gift from you, your beautiful smile as he insists on you opening your gift is all he needs. He had wanted to buy you more gifts. In fact, he was planning on making you a tower the size of your Christmas tree made of gifts. But you had insisted on not wanting any gifts, so he searched high and low to find the perfect gift, something small and personal, something you wouldn’t be able to refuse. 

Unwrapping his gift, your eyes widen at the beautiful ring with a sapphire blue gem curved in the shape of a rose. You’re truly left speechless, admiring the craftsmanship of the ring. Kaiser, sitting on the floor next to you, props his elbow on his knee, leaning against his hand, and observes you with a small smile on his lips. That’s exactly how he had imagined your reaction. 

“You always tell me how much you like your reflection in my eyes, so I thought you could look at this ring and maybe think of me when I’m away,” he says simply, though his heart is beating so fast, Kaiser thinks it might burst. He realises he’s feeling anxious. Anxious that you might reject his gift. The thought alone is enough to make him want to kill himself. 

You surprise him before he spirals down in a loop of self-destructive thoughts by softly saying, “It’s perfect, thank you, my love.” He doesn’t have the time to say anything as you press your lips to his in a slow, intimate kiss that clears the fog from his mind. Kaiser lets himself fall under your spell, pulling you closer to him and getting lost in the overwhelming feelings you pour in your kiss. 

Kaiser doesn’t realise when you carefully pull a necklace out of your pocket and wrap your arms around his neck, clasping the necklace around his neck. When he pulls back, he looks down, taking in the blue rose pendant hanging from his neck. His eyes shoot up to meet yours and before he opens his mouth, you shut him up with another kiss. 

“You don’t need to force yourself to look happy or grateful right now,” you whisper against his lips when you pull slightly back, your eyes locking with his. “You can throw this pendant away right now if you want. But I thought you deserved a gift too today.” You pause, your eyes searching his, trying to gauge his reaction. But his expression is unreadable, even to you. “I just didn’t want to be the only one receiving a gift today,” you say with a small laugh, hinting how you knew he would definitely get you something. 

Kaiser is silent for a long moment. Usually, the pendant would feel like a noose choking him, but it doesn’t. Because it came from you. And he can tell you put great thought into this gift and you needed even greater courage to give it to him, knowing he would probably reject it. He’s in a loss for words, a foreign feeling blooming deep inside him. He only nods as a sign of acknowledging your words and gift, but neither thanks you nor takes the necklace off. Instead, he leans in for another kiss. 

The rest of the day passes by in a flash. The two of you spend your time together, going on strolls on the park nearby with hot chocolates in hand and later retrieving to your home for more private moments, watching Christmas movies while cuddling in bed together. You haven’t mentioned anything about Kaiser’s birthday yet, not having yet understood how he feels about your earlier gift. 

Kaiser hasn’t even thought of taking the necklace off. Whenever you’re focused on something else, he absent-mindedly touches it. He doesn’t exactly hate it, but it’s definitely strange for him. He hates receiving gifts, hates to be forced to be grateful for things he didn’t ask. But something about the way you presented your gift and how you didn’t expect him to thank you, it struck a chord in him. 

When the movie ends, the sun has already set outside. You carefully untangle yourself from his embrace, muttering to him to stay put. Kaiser quirks an eyebrow as he watches you leave the room, only to return a while later holding a white thick notebook with blue and red roses scattered all over its cover and back in your hands. You get back on the bed and sit next to him, hesitating before giving him the notebook. 

“What’s this?” Kaiser asks curiously. 

Your heart is pounding hard against your chest. “Read it,” you say softly, though your voice wavers just a bit, just enough to betray how nervous you’re feeling. 

Kaiser notices your nervousness, but doesn’t push you to reveal the reason behind it. Instead, he turns his attention to the notebook. Flipping it open on the first page, his eyes instantly widen, reading the date; the date the two of you met. He reads through the first few lines, before turning to look at you with one of his cocky smirks. 

“‘Today, I met the most arrogant bastard on earth,’” he reads what you’ve written. “‘God, I hope I never see him again. He was truly insufferable. Sure, he may be handsome and a star football player, but his personality sucks.’” Kaiser leans closer to your face, his smirk still intact. “So, I’m an insufferable, arrogant, handsome bastard, huh?”

“You are,” you respond, a spark of defiance igniting through your anxiety. “But now I’m better at handling your cocky imperial ass.” 

“Is that so?” he questions. He goes back to reading the entries in the notebook. Not five minutes later, he closes it, frowning as he turns to look at you. “Are you seriously having me read how much you hated me when we first met?” 

You can’t suppress a small laugh. You pull him against you, the back of his head resting against your chest, your fingers threading through his soft hair, as your chin sits gently on top of his head. “Just shut up and continue reading,” you whisper affectionately. 

Kaiser, ever observant, doesn’t miss the slight tension in your body. Instead of addressing that though, he goes back to reading the notebook you gave him. As expected, the first few pages are filled with you complaining about him being a complete dick back when you first met. But slowly, he notices the change in your attitude, in the way you wrote about him, about the two of you. He watches through your words how you slowly fell in love with him, way earlier than you admitted it to him. 

The pages transform in front of him the more he reads. As your relationship progresses, it’s not just your thoughts that fill the blank pages. The handwritten notes he had written for you, bookmarks of flowers from bouquets he had given you, receipts from places you had visited together and other little memoirs all glued to the pages next to small entries about how you felt for each and every one and how even his smallest gestures made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. 

None of you realise how much time has passed. At the beginning, Kaiser occasionally commented on things you had written, but the more he read, the more he immersed himself in this small world on paper you had created, the more silent he grew. And when he reaches the last entry, the one you wrote at midnight last night, you’re holding back your breath, your hands stopping their soothing motion in his hair. But he’s too lost in the words inked on the white page to notice that or the way you’re biting your lip hard, trying to stifle a sob or how fast your heart is beating against your chest. 

December 25th 

It’s currently midnight and you’re grumbling about how I’m writing something and not paying attention to you. My blue rose emperor is always demanding my attention. I just hope that now, a couple hours later, that you’re reading this notebook you’ve stopped grumbling. 

I know you think nothing of this day, but I wanted to make it a little bit special for you. I love you, Michael. I loved you yesterday. I love you today. And I’ll love you tomorrow too. You’re my greatest gift and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always know that. 

Happy Birthday, Michael ♡ 

Kaiser slowly closes the notebook, leaving it on the nightstand. He doesn’t move away from you, but he remains silent for a long time. You can practically see the gears shifting inside his head as he’s processing everything. 

‘Happy Birthday,’ you wrote. Right, today is Kaiser’s birthday. After all these years, he had completely forgotten about it. He never told you, because it doesn’t matter to him. And yet somehow you found out nonetheless. And you even wanted to give him a gift, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him, knowing he hates surprises and gifts. Your thoughtfulness touches him greatly. 

He slowly turns in your embrace, burying his face in your chest and wrapping his arms around your body tightly. “Michael?” you call out his name softly. But Kaiser doesn’t respond.

And then you feel it; tears soaking your blouse and his body shaking with his sobs. For a fraction of a second you’re stunned, before your arms hold him closer, drawing soothing circles on his back. A tear slips down your cheek and a soft smile curls up your lips. You lean down and kiss the crown of his head, softly murmuring, “I love you, Michael.” 

Kaiser looks up at you, his eyes glossy from all the unshed tears. He adjusts his position, leaning closer to you and cupping your cheeks in his large palms, his thumbs caressing your soft skin. “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers as if afraid to break this vulnerable moment between you. “I could have never asked for a better gift than you.” 

His lips capture yours in a slow kiss, one filled with all the emotions and feelings he cannot convey with words. He’s overwhelming you in a whole different way than he usually does, making you get drunk on him. Kaiser slowly removes both your clothes until your bare bodies dance together in the sheets. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your lips. He kisses you, leaving you confused about his apology, but you realise what he meant when you feel him thrust slowly inside you, a slight discomfort spreading through your body at the lack of foreplay, but you don’t mind. You need to feel him as much as he does. 

Even so, you can’t help but tease, “Impatient bastard.” The smile on your lips betrays how you couldn’t wait either. 

Kaiser smirks, burying his face in the crook of your neck and peppering your neck with kisses and love marks. He doesn’t move, not yet, giving you time to adjust. Though the way your pussy tightens around his cock makes him groan slightly, barely holding himself back. He leans back to look at you, supporting himself on his elbows, his fingers gently caressing your cheeks. 

“But you love me,” Kaiser whispers, a hint of vulnerability in his voice and his eyes. It’s not a statement, rather him trying to convince himself that it’s true. That what you have is as real for you as it is for him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck gently, pulling him closer to you with a rare smile on your lips, one you reserve only for him. “I love you,” you whisper back and seal your words with a kiss, making every lingering doubt in his mind dissipate into nothing. 

You feel Kaiser slowly start thrusting inside you, wanting both of you to feel every second of this moment. Between kisses and moans, he keeps murmuring how much he loves you and how much you mean to him, his love pouring inside you with each deliberate thrust. He’s consuming you, but simultaneously you’re consuming him. 

“I feel like I’m stuck in a loop,” he confesses in a low voice, his words barely reaching your ears. He interlaces your fingers, holding your hand against the mattress, as he makes love to you. 

You’re so full of him, you’re at a loss for words. For a moment, you don’t know what he’s thinking, but as his body moulds against yours, you know there’s no other place you’d rather be than right here, right now, with him.  

“I don’t know what to do,” Kaiser whispers affectionately against your lips. “‘Cause I fell in love with you.”

© strawchocoberry — do not copy, repost, plagiarise, translate or reuse my work

[bu3ck3r]

tied together – part 2

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 7k

a/n: okay part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the kind words about part 1 i love yall fr. after you read spam my inbox and tell me how was it and what you want to see next in this series because that would help me finish writing it faster🩵

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

there were three different air vents in the ceiling above paige’s bed, and she’d been staring at them long enough to map out their pattern in her head. she could hear the soft hum of the central air unit kicking on and off, a quiet rhythm that should’ve been comforting. should’ve put her to sleep. but it didn’t.

nika was snoring lightly in the other bed. arm slung over her stomach. unaware that her friend was drowning in a mess of memories, nerves, and someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

paige rolled over again. the clock on the nightstand glared at her in burning red: 3:05 am.

she wanted to scream.

instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated groan. her legs tangled in the hotel sheets, which had somehow gotten too hot despite the air conditioning. she threw them off and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. her chest was tight again.

not the post-game adrenaline. not soreness.

azzi.

always azzi.

her name had been playing on a loop in paige’s mind since the final buzzer. since that short conversation they shared just off the court—tense and quiet and loaded with everything paige had been trying to suppress since their last goodbye. since the last time she kissed her in the backseat of her car with trembling hands and didn’t say anything afterward. since she found out azzi committed to south carolina in a headline instead of a phone call.

what azzi had said to her after the game kept echoing in her head:

“i don’t know if it’s too late.”

it felt like it might be. felt like they’d crossed whatever line you don’t come back from. not because of the game. not even because of the school decisions. it was everything in between. the silence. the missed chances. the way they’d let pride fill the space where honesty should’ve lived.

she ran her hands down her face, frustrated. it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

they were supposed to rise together. be legendary together. win together. lose together.

instead? they had become a story people whispered about. “paige and azzi would’ve been inseparable if they played together.”

now they were rivals.

she should’ve said more. in the tunnel. when azzi stood there looking torn between biting her head off and reaching out. paige had seen it—the war behind her eyes. she could read azzi like a damn book. could always tell when she was bluffing. when she was hurt.

tonight, azzi had been both.

and paige had let her walk away.

again.

and now here she was—three in the morning, sitting in a hotel bed , not an ounce of sleep in her body, and one very real urge building like wildfire in her chest.

she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, squinting against the light as she unlocked it.

her thumb hovered over azzi’s name.

they hadn’t texted in months. not since before azzi announced she was going to sc. not since paige stopped replying altogether. there were so many almost-messages saved in the drafts: little check-ins, late-night thoughts, deleted love letters.

she hovered her fingers over the keyboard. started typing. deleted. tried again.

are you still awake?

she stared at it.

didn’t send it.

she started typing again, like she had a thousand times.

i miss you.

just those three words.

she stared at them. read them over. read them again. her heart thumped like it was trying to break out of her chest.

then, like always, she deleted it.

she couldn’t do this through a screen.

not anymore.

she was out of bed five minutes later.

slipping her phone into the hoodie pocket. moving slow to not wake nika. she slid on her uconn slides and crept into the hallway with her hoodie pulled tight around her, the strings bouncing against her chest.

the hallway was dim and silent, except for the low sound of vending machines and the soft, faraway sound of an elevator ding.

paige walked past room after room, carpet muffling her footsteps.

room 350.

she remembered the number because she’d seen it on a clipboard earlier that day when the teams checked in. she was signing some form in the hotel lobby and caught the room assignments. her eyes had skimmed the page, heart skipping when she saw bueckers – 250 right above fudd – 350.

she told herself it was coincidence she saw it. she told herself she wasn’t trying to remember.

but here she was.

standing in front of it.

she hesitated, staring at the door like they held the answer to smthing she didn’t know how to ask.

paige closed her eyes for a second. her hand trembled as she raised it. she knocked.

the door opened fast—like azzi had been standing right behind it.

maybe she had.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair messy. hoodie oversized. barefoot.

she froze when she saw paige.

neither of them said anything for a second.

then azzi leaned against the doorframe, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was real or just something her brain had conjured up from exhaustion.

azzi’s pov:

the room was too cold, but azzi refused to get under the covers. she’d been sitting alone upright in bed for nearly an hour, hoodie on, legs crossed, just… thinking.

not about the game.

about her.

about the way paige had looked when their eyes met across the court again. like she hadn’t aged a day and yet somehow carried years in her expression. about the way her voice cracked when she said, “i don’t know if it’s too late.”

that moment replayed in her mind over and over, like a skipped record.

azzi had pretended to be fine all day. laughed with her teammates, took pictures with fans, smiled for the cameras. but she hadn’t been fine in months.

not since that night paige stopped answering.

not since she chose herself and sc and left paige behind—and paige didn’t fight for her.

azzi had her phone in her lap, paige’s contact open on the screen, but her fingers refused to move. her pride refused to reach out first. again.

she was just about to shut it off when the knock came.

it wasn’t loud. but she knew. somehow, before she even looked through the peephole. she knew.

she pulled open the door fast, heart already thudding in her chest.

and there she was.

paige.

hair messy. eyes tired. mouth parted like she didn’t know what to say.

azzi stepped aside without a word.

paige stood just inside the doorway, her hand still curled around the strap of her hoodie like she wasn’t sure she was staying. her eyes swept the room—messy bed,few azzi’s tshirts hanging halfway off the chair—but she didn’t comment. she just looked… tired. unsteady. like showing up at 3am hadn’t been impulsive at all, but something she’d been fighting herself over all night.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was a whisper. “paige it’s 3 a.m.”

“i know.”

another pause.

azzi tilted her head slightly. “you came all the way up here just to stare at me?”

“i wasn’t done,” paige said, her voice low. “back there. in the tunnel.”

azzi looked away. “you were right not to be.”

there was a beat. a breath.

then paige stepped forward.

“look, i don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. but i’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t still mess me up.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. just a little.

paige kept going.

“i messed up. i didn’t call when i should’ve. i didn’t fight for us when i should’ve. and maybe that’s on me. but i need you to know…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “it wasn’t because i stopped caring.”

azzi blinked slowly, her arms folding tighter across her chest. “it felt like it.”

“i know.”

more silence.

the hallway was still. the only sound was paige’s heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

then azzi stepped aside, just enough for paige to walk past her.

just enough to let her in.

and paige did.

she doesn’t say anything when paige steps inside. the door closes with a soft click, like the quiet has finally wrapped around them and won’t let go.

azzi leans back against it, watching as paige walks a few steps into the room—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to belong here.

the space between them is maybe five feet, but it feels like ten miles.

“nice room,” paige says, her voice low, teasing by instinct but without bite.

azzi doesn’t laugh. just gives her a slow once-over. hair tousled. hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. eyes tired but too alive for this hour.

“you’re bold,” azzi finally says. “for showing up here.”

paige shrugs. “you didn’t slam the door.”

“didn’t mean i was ready to talk.”

“you didn’t look ready to not talk either.”

silence again.

the adrenaline from the game, the tunnel, paige’s sudden appearance—it’s all still buzzing under azzi’s skin.

“you want to sit?” azzi asked quietly, voice low so it didn’t carry down the hallway. “or…?”

“yeah.” paige exhaled. “yeah, i just—couldn’t sleep.”

azzi moved toward the bed and sat cross-legged near the top, motioning for her to sit. paige took the far edge, careful like she was afraid to sink too far into the mattress. the air between them stretched, tight and quiet.

she doesn’t know what she wants more: to scream at her, or to lie next to her and pretend nothing ever changed.

“you really think showing up like this fixes it?” azzi asks quietly.

paige doesn’t answer right away.

“no,” she says. “but i think it’s a start.”

“i kept thinking about what you said,” paige said after a beat. “or what you didn’t say.”

azzi swallowed. “in the tunnel?”

paige nodded.

“it’s not that simple,” azzi said. “it never was.”

“i didn’t ask for simple.” paige’s voice was soft, but not weak. “i just want to know if it’s too late.”

azzi looked at her. really looked. the same loose blonde hair, the same tired eyes, the same little freckle under her lip she used to stare at when paige would lean in close and pretend they were “just friends.”

“it felt like you gave up,” azzi whispered.

paige flinched. “you left.”

“you ghosted me.”

“you didn’t call.”

azzi laughed, bitter. “you think committing to south carolina was about you?”

paige blinked. “wasn’t it?”

azzi’s breath caught. she turned away, stared at the lamp on the desk. “i couldn’t be in your shadow, paige. not forever. not when i was trying to figure out who i even was.”

“i never wanted you in my shadow.”

“you didn’t have to want it. it just happened.”

silence again.

paige shifted on the bed. “so we just… stop talking? after everything?”

azzi didn’t answer.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi hasn’t moved since she sat down. paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. her mouth. her entire body.

“you looked good out there,” she says, trying to break the silence again. “you always do, but… tonight especially.”

azzi looks up at her with a dry, unimpressed expression. “compliments now?”

“too soon?”

“try ‘not helpful.’”

paige nods, tries to laugh it off, but it dies quickly.

“i miss you,” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

azzi freezes.

the air shifts.

“you don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” azzi says slowly.

“i’m not trying to make it easy. i’m trying to be honest.”

“where was that honesty few months ago?” her voice is sharp, but not loud. controlled. the way azzi always was—even when she was breaking.

paige doesn’t flinch. “i was scared.”

“of what? me?”

“of choosing you and losing the rest.”

azzi stands up suddenly. “so you didn’t choose me, and you lost me anyway.”

the words hang in the air like smoke from a slow fire. dangerous. choking.

paige walks closer. not enough to touch. just enough to be in range.

“i didn’t know what i was doing. i thought we’d have more time.”

azzi shakes her head. “we had the time. you just… didn’t show up.”

paige leaned back on her hands, voice lighter, more teasing now: “we were definitely more than friends. i still remember the backseat of my car in december.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “we were cold.”

“oh, right. that’s why your hands were under my shirt.”

“you weren’t complaining.”

paige smirked. “i’m not now.”

and just like that, the air changed again. warmer. more dangerous.

azzi looked at her, studying the soft curve of her mouth, the way her eyes held hers like a dare. like she was testing how far she could push before something cracked.

“you always did this,” azzi said. “made it a joke before it got too real.”

paige’s expression faltered. “it was real.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

azzi didn’t mean to say it like that. but it was too late to take it back.

“i wanted you to fight,” she added, quieter now. “to come after me. even just once.”

paige stared at her. “you think i didn’t want to?”

“you didn’t.”

“i was hurt.”

“so was i.”

paige looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. “we were scared.”

azzi nodded. “we still are.”

neither of them moved for a long time.

then paige looked up, slow, like the weight of every memory was pulling her gaze. “i missed you,” she whispered.

azzi swallowed hard. “i missed you too.”

there was a pull. invisible, magnetic. paige inched closer, her knees brushing azzi’s now. her eyes were soft, unreadable. but azzi knew that look. that was the look that used to undo her in long car rides and quiet corners at tournaments where no one was looking.

she should’ve looked away.

but she didn’t.

and paige leaned in.

just close enough that azzi could feel her breath.

“i shouldn’t,” azzi said.

“you don’t want to?”

paige’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question. not really.

azzi’s heart beat too loud in her chest. “that’s not the same thing.”

usa basketball u16 women’s national team

it was after curfew one night during fiba women’s americas championship in argentina. they were buzzing on adrenaline and the quiet hush of a hotel where everyone else was asleep.

paige had crept into azzi’s room, just like this. hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. she had laid down beside her on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

they talked for hours. about fear, pressure and carrying the weight of a country on their shoulders. paige had this soft way of looking at her—like she saw the good parts azzi tried to hide under perfection.

then paige reached out and touched her hand, so gentle. their fingers curled together. and azzi had leaned in first that night.

their first kiss was quiet. unpracticed. but it burned in azzi’s memory like scripture.

the next morning, they never talked about it. but everything changed.

paige nodded slowly. “it was real, though. right? we weren’t just friends.”

azzi huffed a soft laugh. “friends don’t make out in hotel elevators.”

“or in the back of your mom’s car.”

“or sneak into each other’s rooms during usa basketball.”

they looked at each other.

and smiled. the kind of smile that held too much weight behind it.

october 2021

they were on the rooftop of some building, sneakers kicked off, music low. the stars were hiding behind a thick gray haze, but they didn’t care.

azzi was leaning against her shoulder, paige’s hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent.

“you ever think we’ll get sick of each other?” azzi asked.

paige laughed. “you’d miss me in, like, two days.”

“two hours,” azzi corrected with a smile.

there had been no doubt back then. just this quiet, loud certainty. the way you just knew when you were with the right person—even if the world didn’t make space for it.

azzi traced circles on paige’s hand. “don’t leave.”

“i won’t.”

both of them did.

paige leaned back against the headboard. “you remember the night when we went out on the roof?” she asked, voice low.

“oh my god,” azzi laughed. “you had me wrapped in your hoodie like that was gonna make us invisible.”

“you were cold,” paige said with a shrug. “and also… you looked cute in it.”

azzi turned to her, eyes playful. “so you admit it. you were down bad.”

“yeah whatever, but you know what else i remember,” paige said, voice soft. “usa basketball u16. you kissed me and then you wouldn’t look at me the next day.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “i was freaking out.”

“you still do that, kiss me and then disappear.”

azzi bit her lip. “and you still let me.”

paige turned her body slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

they were quiet again. but not the heavy kind. this was lighter. fragile.

“i kissed you first that night,” azzi said. “and i kept waiting for you to say something after. like, ‘tell me what it meant’. but you didn’t.”

paige looked away, shame crawling up her spine. “i didn’t know how. i was scared.”

“of what?”

“that if i said i loved you, you wouldn’t say it back.”

azzi was quiet.

and then she said, “i would’ve.”

the words hung in the room like a heartbeat.

azzi’s hands are clenched at her sides, and she can feel the war happening in her chest—part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry, and part of her just wants to fall into paige’s hoodie and pretend nothing changed.

“you broke my heart,” azzi says. quiet. not accusing. not soft. just true.

“i know.”

“and you waited until you lost to come here and say it?”

“i didn’t come because we lost.” paige looks right at her. “i came because i couldn’t leave town knowing i hadn’t looked you in the eye and told you everything i never said.”

azzi’s eyes start to sting. she blinks hard.

“i was angry,” she says. “for a long time.”

“you should’ve been.”

“and i hated you for a little while.”

paige doesn’t flinch.

“but mostly,” azzi says, her voice almost breaking, “i just missed you.”

they’re lying on the bed now, not touching, but close enough that their pinkies brush every time one of them breathes too deep.

it’s quiet.

their voices are tired. their eyes are heavier.

“i used to rehearse it,” paige says softly. “what i’d say to you if i got the chance.”

“yeah?”

“it never went like this.”

azzi smiles, faintly. “same.”

azzi looked over at paige, really looked at her. blonde hair messy, eyes bloodshot but glowing in the low light, hoodie drowning her frame.

she looked tired, but beautiful.

azzi shifted. “what do we do now?”

paige looked up. “what do you want to do?”

azzi hesitated.

paige’s eyes softened, and then she said it—just barely louder than a whisper.

“come here.”

the kiss came slow.

no rush. no adrenaline.

azzi leaned forward first, hands trembling just a little, and paige met her halfway. their mouths pressed together in something warm, something real. it was a kiss built on months of silence, years of closeness, and all the things they never said.

when they pulled apart, neither of them moved. they stayed forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same breath.

“i can’t do this if we’re gonna pretend it’s nothing again,” paige whispered.

azzi nodded. “me neither.”

“then let’s figure out how to be something. just… not tonight.”

“tonight,” azzi murmured, “i just want you to stay right here.”

another long silence. but this one isn’t heavy. not quite. it’s almost… suspended. like the night hasn’t decided whether it’s heartbreak or healing.

paige finally turns toward her. “do you think we could start over?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she reaches up and gently tucks a loose curl behind paige’s ear. her fingers linger, and for a second—just one—paige leans into the touch.

“i don’t want to start over,” azzi says. “i want us to keep going.”

“but we’re not the same.”

“no,” azzi agrees. “but maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

they’d moved under the covers at some point. not touching. not kissing. just talking.

about everything.

about how paige felt like the injury had turned her into a ghost and how she didn’t want azzi to see her fading.

about how azzi cried on the plane to south carolina, because she realized she didn’t know how to build a life without paige in it.

4:45 a.m.

they’re still awake when the first light slips through the blinds.

azzi’s head is on paige’s shoulder now. paige’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her wrist.

they haven’t said the word love all night.

but it’s everywhere.

in the silences. in the unfinished sentences. in the way neither of them asked the other to leave.

they don’t know what tomorrow looks like. whether anything really got solved. whether this is just nostalgia wearing a disguise.

but for now—for this hour—it’s enough.

just them.

just paige and azzi.

and the space between them finally closing.

6.00 a.m.

paige doesn’t remember falling asleep. she only remembers the feeling of azzi’s breath warm against her neck, her name spoken softly in the dark, like an invitation and a promise all at once.

now, it’s morning.

the harsh kind. not soft and easy like in movies, where the light’s always golden and perfect. it’s gray, a little cold, and the sheets are tangled at their feet. her mouth is dry, her heart full of things she can’t quite articulate. she’s lying there in azzi’s bed, still wearing her hoodie from the night. everything about the situation feels like a careful balance, and paige isn’t sure how to breathe without making the whole thing fall apart.

azzi’s still asleep next to her, tucked against her side like a piece of her is trying to anchor itself in the moment. her hand is draped over paige’s ribcage, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of the hoodie, but the touch feels intimate, grounding.

it’s too early. too much. too real. paige doesn’t know how to walk this line between regret and longing.

she turns her head slightly, watching azzi’s face. the peacefulness there is so different from what’s been between them for years. paige doesn’t know what to do with the softness.

“i could stay here forever”, she thinks, but the world won’t let her.

azzi stirs beside her, shifts in the bed. the blanket moves slightly, and for a second, paige thinks she might slip into sleep again. but then azzi opens her eyes, blinking slowly as if she doesn’t quite understand where she is.

when their gazes meet, there’s something fragile there, something unspoken. but neither of them says a word.

the tension between them isn’t angry or distant—it’s something else. something too fragile to touch, but impossible to ignore.

azzi finally clears her throat. “you steal the covers even in your sleep.”

paige chuckles softly, though it’s awkward. “you drool on your pillow.”

azzi’s lips twitch, but it’s a strained smile. “good to know you’re paying attention.”

paige’s heart beats a little faster, but she can’t tell if it’s from the teasing or the something heavy still hanging in the air. she shifts slightly, her arm brushing against azzi’s. neither of them pulls away.

they’re caught in this moment—too close to run, too far to hide. but neither of them wants to break it just yet.

the silence between them stretches on, and this time, it doesn’t feel as comfortable. the clock is ticking. the day is waiting, and paige doesn’t know how to start the conversation. how to untangle everything they’ve left unsaid.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi pokes at her fruit, trying to ignore the strange sense of familiarity she’s feeling in this moment. she doesn’t want to feel comfortable. not yet. she doesn’t want to admit that the night before—whatever it was—mattered.

paige is sitting across from her, picking at a muffin like she’s doing her best to pretend this isn’t an awkward situation. but the air between them feels too soft for the usual easy banter they’re used to.

azzi stirs her coffee with more force than necessary, watching paige out of the corner of her eye. it’s too early for this, too raw. she doesn’t want to say anything that could make this harder than it already is.

but paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “i think that dude’s trying to figure out if i’m kidnapping you or something.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the table where one of the south carolina coaching staff is watching them. “you’re not that charming.”

“you let me walk you down here,” paige says, her voice quieter now.

azzi takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “that was pity.”

“that was longing, and you know it.”

azzi doesn’t laugh. just stares at paige, feeling that familiar tension—pulling her closer and pushing her away at the same time.

“can we just… not?” azzi says, her voice quieter, more serious than she intended. “we both know what’s happened. we can’t pretend it’ll be easy.”

“i’m not pretending,” paige says softly, her eyes not meeting azzi’s. “but it’s still real.”

azzi’s heart skips a beat. real. what does that even mean now?

she looks away, trying to steady herself. “we both have things we have to deal with,” azzi mutters.

there’s no more laughter between them, just the sound of soft clinking as they finish their meals, neither one willing to speak more than they already have.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi has no reason to be back at the hotel.

she has practice soon. she’s supposed to be with her team. but something about the morning makes her feel restless—an itch she can’t scratch, a question she can’t answer.

she ends up in front of paige’s hotel room door, her hand poised to knock.

but before she can do anything, the door opens, and there’s paige—hair still damp from her shower.

azzi’s heart skips a beat. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t even have a good reason for it. it’s just that this feels like the place she’s supposed to be.

“oh,” paige says, her voice startled. “i didn’t think i’d see you.”

azzi shrugs, playing it off. “just thought i’d stop by. no big deal.”

“right.” paige looks at her for a long moment, her gaze soft but unreadable. “are you sure you’re not just trying to make me lose my focus?”

azzi shrugs again, like it’s nothing. but something shifts between them, something unspoken and heavy. neither of them knows how to move past this, but neither of them wants to walk away either.

“i don’t know what you want from me, azzi,” paige finally says, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid to speak louder and break whatever fragile hold they still have. “i never meant for any of this to get… so complicated.”

azzi’s eyes flicker, caught off guard by the raw honesty in paige’s voice. she’s not sure how to respond. what do you say when everything you’ve been holding in for so long suddenly threatens to pour out?

“i just thought…” azzi starts, her voice trailing off as she looks at paige, trying to find the right words. “i just thought we could pretend it didn’t happen.”

paige laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “i wish. i really do. but you can’t unfeel something like this.”

azzi steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. the air between them feels thick now, charged in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know why she came, but she knows she doesn’t want to leave yet. not without saying something, anything, to ease the ache that’s settled in her chest.

“i didn’t come here to mess things up,” azzi says, a little too quickly. “i just… i just wanted to talk to you. to make sure you’re okay.”

paige stares at her for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure out if azzi’s telling the truth or just hiding behind words. finally, paige sighs, her shoulders sagging with a weariness azzi can feel in her own bones.

“i’m not okay,” paige admits quietly. “but i will be. i’ll figure it out.”

azzi watches her, heart aching. she takes a step forward, not sure what to say next, but she’s so close now that she can hear the unsteady rhythm of paige’s breath. she could kiss her again. she could lean in and make it all feel better, if only for a few seconds. but something tells her that would just make it worse.

“you can’t do this alone, you know,” azzi says, her voice soft but firm.

paige meets her gaze, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe?—but it’s gone before azzi can name it.

“i know,” paige whispers. “but i have to figure it out on my own. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

azzi steps back, letting the silence fall between them again. she didn’t expect things to be easy, didn’t expect her to just open up and make it all okay. but she hadn’t expected this, either—the feeling of knowing the space between them is widening, and that there’s no easy way to bridge it.

for a moment, neither of them says anything.

“i should go,” azzi says finally, though her voice cracks a little.

paige doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say anything. she just watches her walk toward the door, her face unreadable.

when azzi reaches the door, she pauses, hand on the knob. “paige, whatever happens, don’t forget… i’m still here. even if you don’t want me to be.”

paige doesn’t respond. she just looks at her, and azzi can feel her heart breaking in the silence that stretches between them.

pov: paige

paige steps onto the uconn bus with a heavy heart, taking a seat by the window and staring out at the world as it blurs by. the morning still feels like a haze—azzi’s voice lingering in her mind, her smile, her words.

they’re gone now. she’s gone.

but the ache is still there.

as the bus rolls down the road, the last few hours replay in paige’s head: the kiss, the awkward breakfast, azzi standing in front of her hotel room, her soft admission that she wasn’t okay.

paige closes her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, that isn’t the hole inside her chest where azzi used to be.

“i can’t keep doing this”, she thinks, but even as she tells herself that, she knows it’s not true. she’s already too far gone. and no matter how many times she tells herself to move on, to let it go, the feelings won’t fade. they never do.

she lets her phone buzz in her hand—another notification, another distraction. but when she looks at it, it’s just a text from ice:

you good?

paige doesn’t respond right away. she lets the silence fill her for a moment before tapping out a reply:

yeah, just thinking.

and she is. thinking about the kiss, about the unspoken words, about what it means to have something real slip through her fingers when she wasn’t ready to let it go.

paige stares out the window and lets the silence settle around her like armor.

there’s a text draft open on her phone.

i think i’ve always known it was you.

she doesn’t hit send.

but she doesn’t delete it either.

the bus ride back to the airport had been long, quiet, and almost suffocating. paige couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened the night before, azzi’s words, the soft pressure of her lips—everything was too vivid, too sharp. it’s as if the whole world paused for a moment when they were together.

but then, in the quiet of the morning they said their goodbyes and azzi had left.

paige knows she has to focus. the team needs her. the game is over, but there’s still practice, still the road ahead, still the tournament. but right now, she doesn’t want to focus on any of it.

her phone buzzes, again,text from ice:

yo, did something happened? you seem a lil off.

paige sighs, her fingers hesitating over the keys before she replies:

just tired. we’ll talk later.

she’s not sure what to say. she can’t explain this thing with azzi, this thing that keeps eating at her, and she definitely can’t tell ice that she’s been up thinking about azzi. not without sounding like a mess.

she shoves the phone back into her bag and leans back against the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up her spine.

pov: azzi

azzi is late. she knows it. the rest of her team is already stretching, warming up, the air filled with the low hum of sneakers on hardwood and the sharp calls of coaches.

but azzi’s mind is elsewhere. she’s still tangled up in the early morning hours, the faint echo of paige’s voice ringing in her ears. she told herself she was fine, that she was going to move on, that this wasn’t going to disrupt her focus. but every step she takes toward the court, every drill she starts, the pull of her thoughts drags her back to that hotel room.

she hasn’t been able to shake the look in paige’s eyes when they said goodbye. she can’t pretend it wasn’t something more, something that meant more than it should.

that goodbye wasn’t enough for her, and azzi’s pretty sure it wasn’t enough for paige either.

the whistle blows, and azzi quickly snaps her focus back to the court. the next drill begins, but her body feels like it’s moving without her.

she catches a glimpse of bree, watching her from the corner of the court, and azzi wonders if she has noticed the shift in her energy. she’s been distant lately, quieter than usual. it’s hard to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

aliyah boston calls out to her during a break. “hey, you good?”

azzi forces a smile, trying to brush it off. “yeah, just focused. lots on my mind.”

aliyah’s gaze is sharp, like she sees through the mask azzi is trying to wear. “whatever it is, we’ll get through it. you’re not in this alone.”

azzi nods, though the words don’t feel as reassuring as they should. she appreciates aliyah’s support, but there’s only so much that can be said. what she really wants to do is leave the gym, hop on a plane, and head to connecticut. to paige. her paige.

but she doesn’t. she stays, practices hard, and forces herself to focus.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige is finally in her dorm and flops down on her bed, the midday light creeping through the curtains in soft beams. her mind is still spinning, filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something a little more dangerous. she hasn’t stopped thinking about azzi, and it’s not just because of what happened the night before. it’s everything. the way they’re connected without meaning to be, the way azzi makes her feel things she’s not supposed to feel.

the door to her room creaks open, and her teammate, nika, steps inside, wearing an expression of concern that paige knows too well.

“you okay?” nika asks, her voice low, almost like she’s already figured out what’s going on.

paige doesn’t know how to explain herself, doesn’t know how to tell her friend that she can’t stop thinking about someone she should never even care about. she just shrugs. “yeah, just a little tired. a lot of stuff on my mind.”

nika looks at her for a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly. “i saw the way you were acting at breakfast this morning. you’ve been off for a while now. what’s going on with you and fudd?”

paige tenses. she didn’t think anyone had noticed—but of course nika would.

“it’s nothing. seriously. just… stuff with the game,” paige lies, her words not coming out as smoothly as she hoped.

nika doesn’t buy it. “uh-huh. i don’t know what happened, but you two have been different. don’t let this mess with your focus. we need you, paige. you know that, right?”

paige nods, but even as she says, “i know,” the words feel hollow.

what if this thing with azzi does mess with her focus? what if it messes with everything? she’s supposed to be a leader, supposed to lead her team to victory, but how can she do that when she’s losing herself in thoughts of azzi?

“thanks, nika,” paige says quietly, before turning away from her teammate. nika doesn’t say anything else. she just nods and walks out, leaving paige alone with the thoughts she doesn’t know how to sort through.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi can’t concentrate.

she’s in her dorm, getting ready for the team meeting before they head out for the next game. but all she can think about is the way they left things. how this—all of it—is too much.

“you’re letting this get in your head”, she tells herself, pacing back and forth. focus.

but focus doesn’t come. it never does when she’s thinking about paige.

the room feels too small, the walls too close. she feels like she can’t breathe, like the weight of this whole situation is bearing down on her chest.

there’s a knock at the door, and azzi pauses. “come in,” she calls.

the door opens, and aliyah steps inside, a knowing look on her face. “you’re still thinking about her, huh?”

azzi sighs, sitting down on the bed. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you don’t have to stop. but you need to stop letting it take over your game,” aliyah says, her voice firm but not unkind.

“i know,” azzi mutters, running a hand through her hair. “but what happens when the feelings don’t go away?”

aliyah sits beside her, crossing her arms. “i can’t answer that for you. but i know this: you’re stronger than this. don’t let paige bueckers, or whatever’s going on between you two, take away your power.”

azzi glances at her friend. aliyah’s right, of course. but it doesn’t make it easier.

pov: paige

paige finally admits it to herself. the feelings are too strong to ignore. no matter how much she tries to bury them, no matter how much she wants to tell herself this was a one-time thing, something’s shifted.

she opens her phone, staring at azzi’s name on the screen. should i text her?

the words come too easily.

hey, i’ve been thinking a lot. maybe we could talk?

she hesitates before pressing send. it’s reckless. but the moment it leaves her hands, paige knows she can’t take it back. she’s already in too deep.

what do you want to see in part 3?

[siilent-wanderer]

Between Us, Unspoken

Summary: During preparations for a special stage, buried connections resurface when shared histories collide, blurring the lines between past and present.

Genre: fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 2.3k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader x An Yujin

A/N: I loved “Killer” so much and had a delulu moment while traveling, so here it is ◡̈

Heels clicked on the polished floor of SM Entertainment's expansive dance practice room as Karina and Yujin rehearsed their intricate choreography for the upcoming Gayo Daejeon collaboration. The room was filled with the sound of their synchronized steps and the faint echo of their pre-recorded track looping on the speakers. Both idols were drenched in sweat, their determination shining through as they perfected their moves.  

"One more time?" Karina asked, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her damp forehead.  

"Definitely," Yujin replied with a polite smile, though her breathlessness betrayed her exhaustion.  

Just as the two repositioned themselves, the door creaked open, revealing a familiar face.  

“Y/N!” Karina beamed, breaking out of her stance.  

Y/N, clad in casual wear and holding a brown paper bag that emitted the tempting aroma of takeout, stepped into the room with a bright smile. “Figured you two could use some fuel,” she said, her voice light and cheerful.  

Yujin froze for a split second, the familiarity of Y/N's voice striking a chord she wasn’t prepared for. As Y/N approached, placing the food on a nearby bench, her eyes briefly met Yujin’s. A flicker of recognition — and something unspoken — passed between them.  

"You're a lifesaver, babe," Karina said, throwing an arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She pressed a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple, completely oblivious to the subtle tension that had settled in the room.  

Yujin quickly averted her gaze, focusing on her water bottle as if it were the most fascinating object in the world. Her throat felt dry despite having just taken a sip, and a flood of memories threatened to resurface — days spent with Y/N during their Produce 48 journey, quiet moments shared behind the scenes of IZ*ONE activities, and the bittersweet goodbye that had ended it all.  

“So, how’s it going?” Y/N asked, glancing between the two idols.  

“It’s been great!” Karina answered enthusiastically, not noticing Yujin’s stiff nod. “Yujin’s a total pro. She’s basically carrying me through this choreo.”  

“I wouldn’t say that,” Yujin said quickly, her voice quieter than usual.  

Y/N chuckled, though her eyes lingered on Yujin for a moment longer. “Well, I’m sure you’ll both kill it on stage. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to eat and get back to practice.”  

As she turned to leave, Karina called after her, “Wait! Stay for a bit. You haven’t seen our routine yet.”  

“I—” Y/N started, but Yujin interrupted.  

“I’ll just... head to the restroom real quick,” Yujin mumbled, her voice tight. Without waiting for a response, she turned and briskly left the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.  

Karina frowned. “She’s been acting kind of weird today.”  

Y/N hesitated, her heart pounding. “Maybe she’s just tired?” she offered, forcing a smile.  

Karina shrugged, brushing it off. “Probably. Anyway, stay and watch, yeah? I want your opinion.”  

“Of course,” Y/N said, but her mind was elsewhere — on the girl who had just left the room and the emotional minefield they all seemed to be tiptoeing around.

Y/N settled herself on the bench, trying to steady her thoughts. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to sense how fragile this situation was. Seeing Yujin again had brought back memories she thought she had tucked away for good — some fond, some painful.  

But Karina, blissfully unaware, was already queuing up the music again. “You’ll love this part, Y/N. The dance break? It’s something,” she smirked, radiating excitement as she gestured for Y/N to watch.  

“Can’t wait to see it,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.  

As Karina moved into position, the door to the practice room swung open again, and Yujin reappeared, her expression carefully neutral. “Sorry about that,” she murmured, rejoining Karina on the floor.  

“All good!” Karina chirped. “We’re running it for Y/N now. Ready?”  

“Ready,” Yujin said, though her eyes flicked briefly to Y/N, who gave her a small, reassuring smile.  

The two idols launched into the routine, their movements fluid and precise. Karina’s energy was sharp and commanding, while Yujin’s softer grace balanced it perfectly. They were a stunning pair on stage — every sway, turn, and transition seamlessly executed.  

When the music cut off, Y/N had her mouth open and clapped enthusiastically. “That was incredible. You two have amazing chemistry.”  

Karina grinned, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Told you the dance break was something.”  

“It was,” Y/N agreed, though her gaze lingered on Yujin for a beat longer than intended.  

Yujin quickly looked away, grabbing her water bottle. “Thanks,” she said quietly, her voice clipped.  

Karina, oblivious, flopped down onto the bench beside Y/N, her head resting on Y/N’s shoulder. “We still need to clean up a few parts, but it’s getting there,” she said.  

“You’ll be great,” Y/N replied, her hand brushing against Karina’s arm instinctively.  

Yujin cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “I should probably get going, unnie. I have a schedule later,” she said, avoiding eye contact with both of them.  

“Oh, already?” Karina asked, disappointed.  

“Yeah. Thanks for the practice, though,” Yujin said. She bowed slightly and grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. As she moved toward the door, her footsteps faltered, and she glanced back at Y/N. For a moment, it seemed like she might say something, but instead, she gave a small, polite nod and left without another word.  

As the door clicked shut behind her, Karina sighed. “She’s so hardworking. No wonder she’s so good.”  

“She is,” Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on the door Yujin had just exited.  

Karina straightened up, looking at Y/N curiously. “You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet since Yujin got here.”  

Y/N hesitated, weighing her words carefully. “I guess it’s just… surreal, seeing her after all this time,” she admitted.  

Karina frowned, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”  

Y/N exhaled slowly. This wasn’t how she wanted Karina to find out, but the truth had been hanging in the air all afternoon. “Yujin and I… we were close during Produce 48. Really close.”  

Karina blinked, her expression caught between curiosity and surprise. “Close as in…?”  

Y/N nodded, her voice quiet. “We dated for a while, back then. And during the IZ*ONE days, too.”  

The silence that followed felt deafening. Karina’s eyes widened, processing the revelation. “Wait, what?”  

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Y/N added quickly. “I just… I didn’t think it would matter anymore. I didn’t know we’d end up in a room together like this.”  

Karina’s lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. She looked at Y/N, then at the door where Yujin had left moments ago. Finally, she let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.  

“This… is a lot,” she said, running a hand through her hair.  

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice tinged with regret. “But it’s in the past, I promise. You’re the one I’m with now, Kari.”  

Karina studied Y/N’s face for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, leaning back against the bench. “Okay. I believe you. But… this is still really weird.”  

Y/N smiled faintly. “Trust me, I feel the same way.”  

Karina gave a small laugh, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Well, at least now I know why Yujin was acting so awkward.”  

“Yeah,” Y/N said, glancing at the door again. “Me too.”

As the air between them settled into a slightly more comfortable quiet, Karina stretched her legs out and leaned against Y/N. “So… what was she like? Yujin, I mean, when you two were together?”

Y/N hesitated. “You really want to know?”

Karina tilted her head with a small pout. “Of course. I mean, it’s not like I’m jealous or anything. Just curious.”

Y/N gave her a knowing look but decided to humor her. “She was… sweet. A little shy, but really thoughtful. She always tried to take care of everyone, even when she was struggling herself. And, well, she worked harder than anyone I knew back then. She still does.”

Karina nodded slowly, her lips quirking into a thoughtful smile. “That sounds like her. She’s such a perfectionist during practice. It’s kind of intimidating, honestly.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Y/N said, leaning back on her palms. “She’s always been like that. But it’s also why… we didn’t work out.”

Karina turned to her, her brows furrowing. “Why not?”

Y/N sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “She was so focused on her career, on making sure everything was perfect, that there wasn’t much room for anything else. And I understood that—I really did. But it got to a point where we were just... growing in different directions. I wanted something more, and she needed to put herself first, which was the right thing for her at the time.”  

Karina considered this, her expression softening. “That must’ve been hard. For both of you.”  

“It was,” Y/N admitted. “But looking back, I think it was for the best. She’s doing amazing now, and so am I. And…” She glanced at Karina, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I ended up where I’m meant to be.”  

Karina’s cheeks flushed faintly as she leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder. “That’s such a cheesy line, but I’ll allow it.”  

Y/N laughed, the sound easing some of the lingering tension in the room. “What can I say? I’m a romantic.”  

Later that evening, after Karina and Y/N had left the practice room, the revelation still lingered in the air. Karina wasn’t angry — she trusted Y/N — but the idea of her girlfriend having such a complicated history with her duet partner was… still confusing and unsettling. She didn’t know what to make of it, and, for the first time, she felt unsure about how to approach Y/N.  

Meanwhile, Yujin couldn’t stop replaying the encounter in her head as she sat in her dorm. She had retreated to the bathroom earlier not just to calm herself but to keep from saying anything reckless. Seeing Y/N again, happy and carefree with someone else, had left her with a strange mix of emotions she couldn’t fully understand.  

But fate, as it often does in the idol world, wasn’t done complicating their lives.  

Two days later, during another practice session for the Gayo Daejeon collab, Karina and Yujin were deep in conversation about a move when the door opened, and Y/N walked in again — this time unannounced.  

“Hey,” she greeted casually, holding a smoothie cup. “Figured you might need something cold after practice.”  

Karina smiled automatically, but Yujin stiffened. “You didn’t have to,” Karina said as she took the smoothie. “But thanks.”  

Y/N glanced at Yujin, who was staring intently at her sneakers, and sighed inwardly. She had been debating whether or not to address the lingering tension between her and Yujin, and now, with Karina in the room, the moment felt unavoidable.  

“You’re welcome,” Y/N said, her voice light but firm. “Actually, can I talk to Yujin for a second? Alone?”  

Karina blinked in surprise. “Uh, sure?” she said, looking between the two of them.  

Yujin’s head snapped up, her expression somewhere between startled and reluctant. “It’s okay, we don’t—”  

“Please,” Y/N interrupted gently.  

Karina hesitated, sensing the weight in Y/N’s tone, before nodding. “I’ll just go refill my water bottle,” she said, leaving the room with a wary glance at Yujin.  

As the door closed, the silence between Y/N and Yujin stretched.  

“I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable the other day,” Y/N began, taking a step closer. “But I think we need to clear the air.”  

Yujin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s nothing to clear,” she said. “You’re with Karina now. That’s all that matters.”  

“It is,” Y/N agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I can ignore how weird this must be for you. For both of us.”  

Yujin looked away, her jaw tightening. “It’s not weird. It’s just… unexpected.”  

Y/N sighed. “I know. I didn’t think we’d ever be in the same room again, let alone like this.” She hesitated before continuing. “Yujin, I didn’t mean to hurt you back then. I want you to know that.”  

Yujin’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, Y/N thought she wouldn’t respond. But then Yujin exhaled, her voice soft and laced with vulnerability. “You didn’t hurt me. Things just… ended. That’s life, right?”  

Y/N nodded, though her chest ached at the words. “Still, I’m sorry. For everything.”  

Yujin finally looked at her, the guarded expression in her eyes softening. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to hurt you too,” she said quietly. “But… I’m happy for you. Really.”  

The sincerity in her voice caught Y/N off guard. “You mean that?”  

“I do,” Yujin said. “Unnie’s great. You two seem happy together.”  

Y/N smiled, a small, bittersweet feeling settling over her. “We are. But if you ever feel like this is too much — working with Karina, seeing me — please tell me. I’ll make sure to step back.”  

Yujin shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Besides, this collab is important, and Karina unnie’s putting her heart into it. I won’t let anything mess that up.”  

Y/N felt a surge of admiration for Yujin’s professionalism. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.  

Yujin gave her a small nod, and the tension between them eased, replaced by a tentative understanding.  

Just then, the door opened, and Karina walked back in, looking curious but relieved to see the two of them talking calmly. “Everything okay?” she asked, glancing between them.  

“Yeah,” Yujin said, her tone lighter than before. “We’re good.”  

Y/N nodded, her smile genuine. “We’re good.”  

Karina’s eyes flickered with curiosity, but she didn’t press further. “Great. Now let’s finish this routine so we can blow everyone away on stage.”  

The three of them shared a small laugh, and as the music started again, the air in the room felt lighter — no longer burdened by the weight of unspoken history but filled with the promise of moving forward. 

A/N: Thoughts? I do have a backstory for Yujin if that’s anyone’s cup of tea. ◡̈

[ilovemarvel97]

She’s My Everything

Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Reader

Summary: Just a sweet morning after a fun night between Lizzie and Y/N

Word Count: 1,360

Warnings: fluff

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

—-

Y/N blinked groggily at the morning light slipping through the half-closed curtains. The sheets were a mess—tangled, sweaty, and deliciously scented with the memory of the night before. She let out a soft groan as her body protested every movement, her limbs still pleasantly sore.

She reached over instinctively, hand patting the empty side of the bed.

No Lizzie.

Y/N frowned slightly, propping herself up on one elbow.

How the hell is she even walking? she thought, smirking to herself.

Dragging her tired body from the bed, she reached for the nearest bra and boxers, slipping them on before grabbing the soft gray shorts from last night. Her hair was an unruly mess, sticking up at odd angles, but she didn’t care. Not when she had one goal in mind.

She wanted to see her wife.

Padding softly across the hardwood floor, she descended the stairs barefoot, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The moment she hit the bottom step, the unmistakable smell hit her—bacon. Of course.

A lazy smile pulled at her lips.

As she neared the kitchen, another familiar sound reached her ears: music. Not just any music.

Her music.

Y/N froze just outside the doorway, heart flipping in her chest.

It was the song—the one she’d written for Lizzie back when they first started dating. The one she sang half-nervously on that rickety piano in her first apartment, when love was still a maybe and Lizzie was already her forever.

And there, in front of the stove, swaying her hips in that loose tee that barely covered her thighs, was Lizzie—singing along to every word.

Y/N bit her lip, the sight nearly knocking the breath out of her. Lizzie looked like magic in the morning light, blond hair tousled, legs bare, and face glowing with soft joy as she cooked and danced, completely unaware of her audience.

Y/N mentally cursed herself for leaving her phone upstairs. Of course, the one time she could’ve caught her wife dancing in the kitchen like something straight out of a dream…

But she didn’t want to interrupt.

Not yet.

She leaned against the doorframe for a long moment, just watching—heart full, body still aching, but soul entirely still.

Lizzie twirled with the spatula, singing the chorus with that soft voice she always swore wasn’t good enough, even though to Y/N it was everything.

“I didn’t know forever had a color…Greeeeeen”

Y/N couldn’t stay away anymore.

She stepped forward silently and slipped her arms around Lizzie’s waist from behind, pulling her back into her chest.

Lizzie gasped, laughing immediately as she relaxed into the embrace. “You scared me!”

Y/N buried her face in the crook of Lizzie’s neck, voice still husky from sleep. “Morning, baby.”

“You’re awake,” Lizzie said, breathless but smiling.

“I woke up alone,” Y/N murmured, then started to softly sing along to the verse playing through the speakers. Her voice, raspy and low, made Lizzie’s breath catch.

“You lit my sky with cherry wine, red lips and borrowed time…”

Lizzie melted back into her, letting the spatula dangle from her fingers as she closed her eyes and leaned into the sound of her wife’s voice.

Y/N gently swayed with her, their bodies pressed close. “You’re still walking,” she teased quietly between lyrics.

Lizzie laughed. “Barely.”

“I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed,” Y/N murmured, “but you beat me to it. Again.”

Lizzie turned in her arms, looping her arms around Y/N’s neck, her smile sleepy and sweet. “You didn’t leave me much energy for cooking. But bacon felt…necessary.”

Y/N grinned, brushing their noses together. “Everything about you feels necessary.”

Lizzie’s eyes softened, fingers playing at the edge of Y/N’s curls. “You say that like you didn’t just wreck me last night.”

“I’ll say it again,” Y/N whispered, tilting her head and kissing her slowly, deeply. “You’re necessary.”

Lizzie giggled against her lips. “God, you’re a sap.”

“I’m your sap,” Y/N whispered. “Forever.”

Lizzie kissed her again, bacon forgotten, music still playing softly in the background.

Lizzie’s fingers brushed down Y/N’s sides, landing at her hips. “Mmm, you’re warm.”

“I just rolled out of a bed that still smells like us,” Y/N murmured against her cheek. “Of course I’m warm.”

Lizzie smiled into the kiss that followed—short, slow, lingering.

Behind them, the bacon sizzled, but neither of them moved.

Y/N’s hands slid beneath the hem of Lizzie’s shirt, caressing the bare skin of her back. “You know, I could get used to waking up to this—music, dancing, bacon… my wife wearing one of my shirts and no pants.”

Lizzie smirked. “I am wearing something.”

Y/N’s eyes gleamed. “Barely.”

They both laughed, pressed forehead to forehead for a moment like the world outside the kitchen didn’t exist. Y/N gave her waist a little squeeze. “Seriously though… seeing you dance to my song? Best damn way to start the day.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” Lizzie admitted, resting her chin on Y/N’s shoulder now. “You deserved to sleep in after last night.”

“You are the one who deserves to sleep in,” Y/N chuckled.

Lizzie kissed the side of her neck. “I love you.”

“God, I love you too,” Y/N whispered, almost reverently. “You’re my whole everything.”

A loud pop came from the pan.

Lizzie startled. “Crap! The bacon!”

They both scrambled to the stove, Y/N grabbing a fork while Lizzie flipped the pieces with quick little movements, mumbling, “Don’t burn, don’t burn—”

Y/N snuck a slice off the plate.

“Hey!” Lizzie slapped her hip lightly with the spatula.

“I earned that!” Y/N said around a mouthful, leaning against the counter. “You said I deserved bacon.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes with a grin. “You deserve a lot, baby. But not burnt fingers.”

They moved around each other like a dance—effortless, practiced, domestic bliss.

Once the bacon was done, Lizzie pushed Y/N gently toward a stool at the island. “Sit. I’ll make eggs.”

“Bossy,” Y/N teased, turning to walk over to the stool with that lazy, post-morning-glow kind of swagger. As she sat down, Lizzie’s eyes dropped to her back—and she froze.

A gasp slipped from her lips. “Oh my god.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder. “What?”

Lizzie stepped closer, one hand lightly grazing Y/N’s spine, her fingertips brushing the angry red claw marks trailing down her back. “This,” she whispered. “Babe, I—did I really do that?”

Y/N smirked, glancing at her with heat in her eyes and mischief in her tone. “It means I did a good job, right?”

Lizzie’s face went scarlet. “I didn’t realize I—”

“You were a little out of control,” Y/N grinned, clearly proud of the evidence. “But I’m not complaining. Honestly, I might wear a backless shirt today. Let the world know my wife’s got claws.”

Lizzie groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. “You’re insufferable.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning back just enough to shoot her a wink. “And yet you married me.”

Lizzie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to one of the scratches, then another just below it. “I’m sorry if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t,” Y/N murmured, her voice softer now. “Actually… I kind of like that it’s there. Proof of how much you wanted me.”

That made Lizzie pause. Her arms wrapped around Y/N from behind, her lips brushing over her shoulder. “I always want you.”

Y/N reached back to touch Lizzie’s arm, grounding herself in that moment. “Same, baby. Always.”

She let herself relax into the stool, watching as Lizzie turned back to the stove. Her shirt swayed with each movement almost showing more than it should, the morning light catching the curve of her waist and the warm auburn tones in her hair. It was almost unfair—how she could look like that after the night they had.

Y/N’s gaze softened.

“God,” she said aloud, not even meaning to. “I’m so gone for you.”

Lizzie glanced over her shoulder, face flushed but glowing. “You better be. You married me.”

Y/N rested her chin in her palm, smiling lazily. “Best decision I ever made.”

And as the morning sun poured into the kitchen, catching in Lizzie’s hair and casting soft shadows over their little world, Y/N couldn’t help but think—

She’s my everything.

---

Just a short fluff to make everyone happy ☺️

[koyagifs]

𝟗𝟏𝟏

━━━ pairing: caleb x reader x zayne ft. xavier ━━━ genre: non mc ━━━ word count:2 k ━━━ synopsis: need someone to save me, i'd appreciate if you'd intervene ━━━ warning(s): doc. zayne to the rescue, cursing,

enjoyed the post? check out my masterlist!

You stared at the scene in front of you, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched your boyfriend hand a lollipop to a little girl. His white coat hanging on other arm folded up as he sees you, waving before saying his byes to the little girl.

It had been months since you’d last seen him—your schedules pulling you in opposite directions. You were stationed up at Sky Haven, while he worked down in Linkon.

Distance had become a quiet third party in your relationship, but moments like this made it all feel worth it.

Your mind drifted, just for a moment, to the night you first met him. At the ball, nearly a year ago now. The same ball where Caleb had shattered your heart without a second thought.

Funny how life works. What once felt like the end of your world had led you straight to him.

"There you are," your boyfriend said, a soft smile playing on his lips as his eyes found yours.

"Well, hello there, doctor," you replied, your voice light with affection as you laced your fingers with his, accepting the hand he had reached out to you.

"We're meeting a friend of mine at a nearby restaurant," he said, glancing at you as if to make sure it was alright. "If you don't mind them joining us?"

You shook your head, a gentle smile of your own spreading across your face. "Not at all."

He gave a subtle nod, and the two of you started walking together, a smile lingering on your lips the whole way as you chatted about how your week had gone.

Once the two of you were seated at the restaurant, your heart dropped.

There she was—the girl who had ruined your night nearly a year ago. The memory hit you like a punch to the gut, and panic crept in as you watched her walk toward your table, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you. What you didn’t notice at first was the person trailing just behind her.

“Zayne! I’m so glad you guys could make it!” she beamed, her voice too familiar.

Your ears rang. You managed to give her a polite, numb smile as she slid into the seat across from you, chatting like nothing was wrong. Zayne’s hand moved to your thigh under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he glanced at you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Xavier, this is Zayne and his girlfriend, Yn,” she introduced with a bright smile. “Zayne, Yn, this is my boyfriend, Xavier.”

You stole a glance at the blonde man, Xavier, catching him as he seemed to size up Zayne with a lingering stare. Meanwhile, Zayne remained cool, casually flipping through the menu as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Oh?” Xavier finally spoke, his gaze not wavering. “How long have you two been together?”

The question hung in the air, sharper than it should’ve been. You felt your throat tighten slightly, but before you could answer, Zayne looked up with a calm, easy smile.

“Almost seven months now,” he replied smoothly, reaching out to lightly brush his fingers against yours on the table, grounding you in the moment.

Your lips curled into a small, steady smile, though your mind was still reeling beneath the surface. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you managed to give her a polite, almost shy smile.

“And what about you and Xavier?” you asked, keeping your tone light, though your heart pounded against your ribs.

Her eyes softened instantly as she turned to look at Xavier, like he had hung the very stars in the sky just for her. A rosy blush crept over her cheeks.

“Nearly two years now,” she replied, her voice laced with affection. “I promise you, he’s really nice.”

Confusion flickered across your face for a brief moment, but you were quick to mask it behind a composed expression just as Zayne seamlessly took over the conversation.

Nearly two years? The thought looped in your mind, refusing to settle. You could have sworn you saw her at the ball with Caleb — that night that still haunted you like a shadow clinging to your heels. The timeline didn’t add up. It gnawed at the edges of your composure, but you tucked the unease away, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand.

“So, how did you and Mr. Stone Face meet? He barely gets his nose out of his work,” she teased, her eyes flicking between the two of you with a pointed curiosity.

“Oh, we met at the ball — you know, the one where I’m pretty sure Caleb had invited you to,” Zayne replied smoothly, his tone casual but carrying a sharp undercurrent.

Her expression faltered for the briefest second before she forced a puzzled look onto her face. “You were there too? How come I didn’t see you guys?”

Just as you parted your lips to answer, a shadow loomed over your table.

Caleb.

The air around you shifted in an instant, thick and heavy with unspoken animosity. Caleb's gaze swept across the group, lingering far too long on you before settling on Zayne.

Your boyfriend’s posture stiffened, his jaw ticking as he met Caleb’s stare head-on. Without a word, Xavier mirrored the same cold expression beside him, his eyes narrowing just slightly — enough to make their shared disdain unmistakable.

It was clear as day: whatever differences they might have had, Zayne and Xavier silently agreed on one thing.

They did not like Caleb.

" ah, hey pipsqueak. I guess my invite was lost in the mail hm?" He said, a fake smile plastered on his face.

She looked at Caleb not realizing how the stiff everyone had gotten as he walked around and sat next to her. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, but it did little to ease the sudden dryness in your mouth. Caleb’s presence felt like a storm cloud had rolled in, darkening the table with every second he lingered.

"Caleb," you greeted cautiously, your voice steady despite the thundering in your chest.

"Pipsqueak," he repeated mockingly to the girl beside him, reaching to drape his arm across the back of her chair with casual arrogance. "You really should’ve told me we’d be having such... charming company tonight." His eyes flicked pointedly to you and Zayne, lingering like he was daring you to speak.

Zayne’s hand remained firm on your thigh, a quiet anchor in the rising tide of discomfort. "Funny," Zayne drawled, his voice smooth but edged with steel, "I thought this was a private dinner. Didn’t realize we needed to clear guest lists."

Xavier, still silent, merely narrowed his eyes at Caleb, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his glass as though holding himself back from saying something sharper.

The girl, seemingly oblivious to the dark undercurrent, let out a nervous laugh. "Caleb, stop. You're making it awkward," she chided softly, brushing his arm in a way that made your stomach twist.

But Caleb just smiled wider, as if feeding off the tension like it was his favorite dessert. "Awkward? I wouldn’t dream of it," he said smoothly, gaze never leaving yours.

"Well, we just ordered. Surely you can stay and join us?" she offered, her voice light, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes as she glanced between Caleb and the rest of the table.

Before Caleb could respond, Zayne and Xavier spoke in unison, their voices laced with quiet authority. "He’s busy."

Their gazes locked on Caleb, matching glares that simmered beneath the surface, as if daring him to challenge their words. Caleb just chuckled, an easy, mocking sound that did little to mask the tension.

The girl turned to Xavier, her brow furrowing in confusion as if questioning their cold reception. "You two are being a little harsh, don’t you think?"

Xavier didn’t break his stare with Caleb. "Not harsh. Just... protective," he said simply, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Caleb eye twitched, before his gaze shifted to zayne a smirk on his lip taken over.

" so, how does it feel to have my sloppy seconds? You know, considering she used to follow me around like a lost puppy,"

A gasp can be heard from her, your jaw dropped and Zayne saw red. Xavier looked shocked, not believing that this is his girlfriend sweet childhood friend.

Zayne’s chair scraped back with a screech against the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides as his eyes darkened with fury. His usual calm, collected demeanor shattered like glass under the weight of Caleb’s venomous words.

"Say that again," Zayne growled, his voice low and dangerous, as if daring Caleb to push him further.

Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively reached out, fingers lightly brushing Zayne’s arm, trying to anchor him — though even you could feel how tense his muscles were, like a storm about to break.

Caleb’s smirk only grew wider, clearly pleased with the reaction he’d provoked. "What? I’m just telling the truth," he said with a mocking lilt. "She used to hang off my every word. Hard to believe she’s settled for you now."

The gasp from her earlier had turned into horrified silence, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears as she shook her head. "Caleb, stop. That’s not true—!"

" you're a complete asshole Caleb," you gasped, standing firmly in front of Zayne.

" not only did you ask me to the ball, but you instead let me look like an idiot in front of our college's."

" you fucking made me a fool because when i arrived at the ball, alone, you were there all cozy with her."

Caleb’s smug expression faltered for just a second, a flicker of something dark flashing behind his eyes. But he quickly masked it with an arrogant scoff, leaning back in his chair as if your words were nothing but air to him.

"Please," Caleb drawled, but there was a tightness to his jaw now, like your words had struck deeper than he wanted to show. "You always were a little too attached, weren’t you? Thought you were special just because I gave you attention?"

Your chest heaved, fury and humiliation colliding in your throat. "No," you snapped, voice rising with conviction now.

" you- is that why you pulled me to your side so quick? While i was waiting for Xavier to get us drinks?" She asked in shocked.

Caleb’s silence was louder than any insult he could have thrown.

His jaw flexed, grinding tight as he pushed up from his seat, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. His eyes flickered — not with guilt, no, Caleb didn’t know guilt — but with frustration at being cornered so publicly.

You took a shaky breath, your heart thundering in your chest, but your gaze never wavered. "Is that why, Caleb?" you demanded again, your voice thick with the crackling edge of betrayal and bitter realization. "You knew I was waiting. You saw me there, and you still—"

"You were never going to be enough," Caleb finally bit out, his words sharp and venom-laced. "Not for me."

A stunned hush fell over the table.

Your lips parted, breath catching — not from hurt anymore, but from sheer disbelief at his audacity.

Zayne was already half out of his seat, fury darkening his expression.

But you — you didn’t flinch.

Instead, you straightened your shoulders, your eyes locking onto Caleb’s with a fire that burned hotter than any of his pathetic taunts.

"You’re right," you said, your voice steady, clear, and cold as ice. "I was never going to be enough for someone so empty."

Caleb's expression hardened, but you saw it — the slight flicker in his gaze. The sting.

"You can leave now," you added, lifting your chin. "Because no one at this table has anything left to say to you."

Caleb scoffed, masking his retreat with arrogance as he stepped back from the table, but you saw it — the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

And as he turned to leave, the weight in the air lifted, leaving behind only the embers of your triumph and the quiet, fierce support of the people who actually mattered.

taglist: @justpassingdontworry @dstrctaya @rena-library @boredgirls-things @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes @jellypear @debrahhhhhhh @taytayy178 @cheezeandkrackers @bubbleteakittyy @lighting-and-shadow @aysmesays @chocochip-gaia @sylustoru @sleepykittyenergy @ruyaya @lifumi @angelichiaro @viqlume @mizifrog @loreleis-world @animegamerfox

[iheartmira]

Good day/night! If the request are still open, may I request something about your last fic of Shadow milk "Sweet words" ?

Basically Y/n with the same accent but this time they're singing like a whisper so not him or nobody could hear them

But Shadow milk was listening without Y/n noticing

Thank you so much! ★

"sweet melodies" - shadow milk cookie x reader

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧︎

shadow milk cookie wasn’t looking for you. not this time.

for once, he had no grand scheme, no elaborate trick to set into motion. he had simply been drifting through the spire of deceit, trailing his hands along the twisting walls, letting the shadows shift and coil in his wake. it was boredom, he told himself, just boredom that led him to your door.

and then he heard it.

soft. fragile. a breath of melody so delicate into the air that it almost slipped past him.

he stilled.

you were singing.

oh. ohhh.

his grip on his staff tightened, his fingers curling against its surface. a slow, wicked grin stretched across his lips as he pressed himself against the cold frame of the door, tilting his head just enough to drink in every note.

it was mesmerizing. you were mesmerizing.

that accent of yours, already so intoxicating, became something otherworldly in song. every syllable was dipped in honey, laced with a weight that sent shivers crawling down his spine. it was a sound that shouldn’t exist, something too lovely, too pure, too-

he swallowed hard, ignoring the way his heart clenched. no, no, he was the trickster here. the one who watched and laughed and spread chaos across the world. and yet…

here he was. entranced.

you had no idea he was listening. you must have thought yourself alone, unaware that every whispered note sank into his very soul, branding itself into him like an unforgiving flame.

he was utterly, hopelessly enthralled.

and then... your voice cut off. a moment of silence. then...

"…shadow milk cookie?"

ah. you had noticed.

for once in his long, long life, he was at a loss for words.

your eyes met his, wide with dawning horror, while his lips quirked into something smug, but... oh, his face were burning, wasn't it? his pupils had dilated, and he felt warm, too warm...

but he refused to let you see how much he had unraveled. so he did what he did best.

laughter spilled from his lips, his usual mockery, as he pushed off the wall with a slow clap. "well, well! what do we have here?" his grin was sharp, but his voice was breathless, still clinging to the remnants of your song.

"a performance so divine, and i wasn't even invited? truly, i am wounded!"

your face burned. you sputtered something that only made his grin stretch wider because, oh, there it was again, that accent. he leaned in, impossibly close, eyes glinting with something far too indulgent.

"you really should sing louder, my dear. why keep such a delightful little secret all to yourself?"

his voice dipped, teasing, knowing. "unless, of course… you were hoping i’d hear?~"

you shoved him away, flustered beyond reason, and fled before he could say another word.

but oh, it was too late. the melody was seared into his mind, looping, echoing, haunting him in the most delicious way.

and he would never let you live it down.

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[studioeisa]

all seok wants for christmas 🎄 seokmin x reader.

your fellow glee club member, seokmin, has been trying to confess to you for the better half of the past three years. key word: trying. maybe a christmas duet is in order to get the message across.

🎄 includes: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: glee club. seokmin has a crush, confessions, fluff. word count: 1.4k 🎄 @tusswrites, surprise! it's me! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ hope you enjoy this little drabble, which i wrote while looping the glee version of all i want for christmas is you. love you lots and merry, merry christmas, my light! 🎄 this was written as part of cam&em studios' a very seventeen christmas secret santa event.

Seokmin has tried to confess to you seventeen and a half times.

He's done nearly everything in his power to get the message across. A letter in your locker? Check. An orchestrated, one-on-one walk in the rain? Check. Hell, he even begged Joshua to lock you two in the club room that one time.

It seems Seokmin's efforts are all futile— because you remain blissfully unaware of the fact he's kind of in love with you.

"No plans of giving up yet, Seok?"

The hushed question drags Seokmin out of his reverie. Mingyu at least had the decency to whisper the query, but Seokmin still instinctively looks towards you to check if you might have overheard. You look none the wiser as you engage in a conversation with Wonwoo.

Seokmin's grumbled response of "shut up" only makes Mingyu snicker.

"Year three of being down baaad," the taller man teases, sing-songing the words to vex Seokmin just a little more. It works; Seokmin elbows his friend in the side.

"I'll figure it out," Seokmin huffs, even though that's something he's said at least once a month since he first realized how he feels for you.

The glee club meeting of the day kicks off with Seungkwan offering reminders and pointers for the upcoming national show choir competition. Try as he might, Seokmin can't really bring himself to listen.

His focus is entirely on you.

From where he's seated, he can onlysee the side of your face, and he truly tries not to make his staring obvious. His friends have all teased him relentlessly for wearing his heart on his sleeve yet failing to offer that very heart to you when it matters.

Honestly? Seokmin feels like he's running out of ways to confess.

He's so caught up in his moping that he doesn't immediately register Seungkwan addressing him. Seokmin only snaps to attention when Mingyu knocks his knee.

"Hm?" Seokmin looks to Seungkwan. "Sorry, what was that?"

There's a ripple of laughter throughout the room. In the corner of his eye, Seokmin can see you biting back a smile. It makes the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment.

"I said," Seungkwan repeats exasperatedly. "I was hoping you could perform a Christmas song for the next club meeting."

Seokmin blinks once, then twice. Right. He was slotted to perform next week. "A Christmas song," he echoes, his mind still trying to sort through its thoughts of you. "Gotcha."

He's convinced that that's all there will be to it until Seungkwan goes on, "It could even be a duet, if that makes things easier for you."

Seokmin is just a second too late to the punch line, because you're already raising your hand. You look just the appropriate amount of excited as you call out, "I'd love to do a duet with Seok, if he'll have me."

He nearly chokes on air then and there.

If he'll have you? How can you say something like that and expect him to not want to pass out?

Mingyu is visibly fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Seungkwan has that annoying, knowing look on his face. None of it matters to Seokmin, though, because in that very moment, he realizes that maybe he has one more confession up his sleeve.

It's a mammoth task, keeping his expression under control as he meets your gaze. You're sporting that smile he loves so much— the one that steals the air from his lungs.

That's why Seokmin's tone is just a little bit breathless as he says, "Of course."

He's saying yes to the duet, sure.

But he's also saying yes to the treacherous prospect of having you and wanting you.

"Baby, It's Cold Outside is off the table."

Seokmin isn't at all surprise with your opening statement. It draws an affectionate laugh from him, even, because having known you for so long gives him some sense of what you like and what you don't.

The two of you decided to meet up outside of school hours to discuss and practice your impending performance. It was far from the first time that you were out together, though it was the first time the two of you were slotted to sing together.

"I can't believe we haven't done a duet yet," you say amusedly as you scroll through your Spotify playlist for prospects.

"It's criminal, isn't it?" Seokmin muses with a coolness that he could almost applaud himself for. He's acting like his usual self on the outside, but his mind is running a mile an hour as he imagines how to execute this.

One chance. He has one chance to get this right.

"We can be Christina Aguilera and Brian McKnight," he suggests delicately. "A little Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas moment."

You let out a thoughtful hum. "I don't think I can hit Aguilera's notes," you admit with a giggle.

Seokmin chuckles along. He's not miffed by your contradiction. This is all part of his master plan.

"Is Happy Christmas, War Is Over too serious?" you ask.

"A little too solemn for my taste."

"Fair."

The two of you exchange suggestions back and forth for the next half hour until Seokmin decides it's finally time to pull out the big guns. "How about we stick to a classic?" he prompts, his tone innocent as ever.

You roll your shoulders as you glance at him inquisitively.

Seokmin clears his throat, at least a dozen platitudes running through his mind. Now or never. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take. Just do it.

"Mariah Carey," he says. "All I Want For Christmas Is You?"

There's a terribly long moment where Seokmin thinks you're going to deny him. He doesn't really have a backup for this, doesn't have a Plan B. His breath stills in his chest as he waits for your response of—

"Hey, I think we can pull that one off."

Seokmin just barely holds himself back from pumping his fist in the air.

It's a miracle that Seokmin makes it to the day of your performance. His leg is bouncing up and down. His palms are sweating like crazy. He's been through Sectionals and Regionals, but he hadn't been this nervous in any of those contests.

Does it help that the two of you decided to color coordinate clothes? Seokmin isn't sure. The pair of you look like a couple now, which only seems to do more harm than good on his poor, poor heart.

At this point, all he can do is straighten out his checkered button down and hope he doesn't keel over mid-song.

"Ready?" you ask, your voice betraying no hint of your own nerves.

Seokmin shoots you a tight-lipped smile. "As I'll ever be," he lies.

Seungkwan works on queueing up the minus one. Mingyu not-so discreetly sets up his phone to film the whole thing. And Seokmin?

He takes one look at your face and decides that he may as well go out swinging.

The uptempo beats of the festive track ring through the room. Reactions to the choice are mixed. Some groan. Some cheer. Seokmin, once again, could care less what any of them feel or think. He has a plan, and he will see it through.

Your honeyed, dulcet tone effectively shuts up anyone who might've doubted the two of you.

I don't want a lot for Christmas, you croon. There is just one thing I need.

Seokmin is surprised that he manages to not melt on the spot. His fingers tighten a bit around his Bluetooth microphone, but he holds it together enough to join you.

I don't need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace, he sings. Santa Claus won't make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day.

As the track goes on, some of Seokmin's nerves ease. Being around you has always been easy; his little plan doesn't change that. The two of you execute the duet with effortless chemistry, trading saccharine verses and middling dance steps like the two of you have been singing together for ages.

It exhilarates Seokmin, gives him just enough courage for what he's about to do.

The song is winding to a close. You're in a club room full of some of your closest friends, all of whom are watching you two like hawks. But with the way you're looking up at Seokmin, the way you're singing with him, to him, you might as well be the only two people in the whole world.

Make my wish come true, you belt out.

Oh, baby. Seokmin's heart is in his throat. He pushes on.

All I want for Christmas is—

He stutters. You blink up at him. Confused, concerned.

He says the word instead of singing it— the single, intentional choice carrying the weight of everything he has tried and failed to tell you so far.

"You."

[purinminmin]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ WHITE LIES -> michael kaiser !!!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ILYSB - STRIPPED by lany.

synopsis; in which you wonder when and what made kaiser want to propose to you, his darling partner cw: fluff, mentions of marriage/engagement, unproofread + lowercase, slight spoilers for his backstory, implied f!reader but can be interpreted as gn!, self-indulgent, perhaps ooc kaiser (lmk if i forget something!!!)

"ain't never felt this way . can't get enough so stay with me"

silence had fallen beneath your shared bedroom as you found yourself staring at the glinting sapphire on your ring finger, a sign of his devotion. had he been staring at you instead of the book he was reading, he'd see the gears turning in your head as you spoke:

"micha, why did you propose?"

"what?" kaiser turned to face you, the book forgotten as he placed it on the bedside table. when he processed your question, he scoffed.

"that's a stupid question. because you love me and i love you, obviously."

"No, duh! I meant like…what made you want to propose now?"

"oh, you should've worded it properly then, schatzi."

"don't be a prick, micha. well? the answer?"

a cocky grin graced his lips when he heard your snappy retort. he was silent for a while as he reminisced, his fingers sneakily trailing downwards to wrap around yours.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

the reason he proposed wasn't something exceptional, he thought.

it was on a random night, where the both of you were sitting in a comfortable darkness in the living room. his eyes trailed to your adorably scrunched up face as you tried to figure out how to share the screen of your phone to the tv so you could watch the show you had picked for movie night.

"this is stupid," you muttered under your breath "why does this site ask for so much…."

then you reached out for him, tapping on his shoulder and begrudgingly asking for his help. he recalled how badly he had wanted to release such a snarky remark, but held it back in the form of a nasty smirk. he didn't want to ruin movie night before it even started.

you had looped your arm around his without so much as a warning, as he messed with the buttons on your phone so he could get it connected. finally, he succeeded, bristling proudly as he set your phone down the table and turned his attention to the sappy romance movie you picked.

safe to say, he quickly got bored of it. so instead, he trailed his eyes downwards to you.

you, who was oh so engrossed in the movie, didn't even notice the intense gaze he inflicted on you. his gaze flickered to the lack of space between them, noticing the way your arms had interlocked with one another.

"wait...when did she..?"

he wasn't one to be unaware of what was touching his skin. he was an alert man, any single piece of physical contact never flew past his head. 'to hurt or be hurt,' he's learned at least that much from his scumbag of a father.

then it dawned on him.

he didn't notice because he didn't have the sinking feeling of nausea that always made itself known whenever someone touched him. your innocent caresses no longer triggered his fight-or-flight.

Instead, he felt...normal? Normal as in the way a whipped lover would feel when his partner flustered him. he felt his heart racing, but not from anxiety. it was from embarassment that a simple touch from the person he loved had him this riled up. He felt.....

...comfortable.

At that moment, kaiser made up his mind. he was going to put a pretty little ring on your finger, something that highlighted how precious you were to him (perhaps a blue stone...yes, he'd love to see his favorite color on you every single day), and marry you for good.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

he would never tell you that.

he didn't realize how badly he spaced out when you snapped your fingers in front of him.

"yo, kaiser. cat got your tongue?"

he clicked said tongue with irritation at your casual tone, wrapping his arms around your waist as he buried his nose between the crook of your neck.

"don't call me that. you know that's going to be your last name too, right?"

"please quit trying to change the subject, love. "

"fine, but only because you asked so nicely, schatzi." he murmured softly against your skin as he began recounting about some random date you had at the beach; blabbing about how the sun hit your hair perfectly, he got jealous of all the other couples proposing, its about time anyway, the view was pretty and so were you, all that cheesy stuff. he felt slightly guilty for not telling the truth, but he'd like to keep his sweet little revelation all to himself.

Besides, a little white lie never hurt sometimes.

"oh, my heart hurts so good . I love you, babe, so bad"

a/n: aaaaaaa first fic ?! thank uu so so much for reading! honestly, don't think so much of this lol, i wrote it at 3am while i was 'studying for finals.' i hope someone noticed in the middle of the fic but this was heavily based on brooklyn99 when peraltiago got engaged AHHH also i feel the title white lie was so fitting because....white = marriage usually...heh...get it...

[captain-hawks]

18+

“just sit here.”

shoyo smiles, and he’s quick to loosely wrap a hand around your wrist before tugging you down to the only place left to sit in the packed living room—his lap.

he laughs at the surprised noise that you let out, the rich sound reverberating in your chest as he leans the side of his head against your upper arm and resumes his conversation with bokuto and atsumu on the other end of the couch. 

brazil has been good to hinata shoyo in the years that he’s been gone—long years where the tangled, woven strings of your friendship have been left stretched thin under the weight of miles and time zones and the inevitable passage of time. 

he’s still the boy you grew up with, the best friend who hugged you so tight you could barely breathe at the airport the last time you saw him. he’s still every little thing that makes your traitorous heart stutter. 

but he’s changed, too. there’s an easy confidence in him now, in the set of his shoulders and the pattern of his steps. in the curve of his smile and the direction of his gaze. he’s tan and filled out in places that leave your mouth dry, handsome in a way that reminds you of all the pretty girls in his instagram stories.

it doesn’t need to be weird—the heat of shoyo’s thighs through your denim shorts, the weight of his arm against your waist, his chest against your back.

but basking in his familiar warmth is different now. it burns brighter, hotter, sinks into places that leave your toes curling in your sneakers and your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth. it throws you off kilter. it leaves you unsteady.

it makes you wonder what laughter tastes like on his lips. 

bokuto jumps up in excitement over something that atsumu tells him, and shoyo shifts as the couch cushions relent. while you remain perched in his lap, the movement jostles you enough that you find yourself unintentionally straddling one of his thighs.

shoyo doesn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in the conversation as atsumu asks him a question. rather, he begins to unconsciously bounce his leg instead.

you bite the inside of your cheek as the tight, rigid seam of your jean shorts presses firmly against your mound, resting just between your folds and against your clit. sharp bursts of pleasure ricochet in your abdomen with each little shake as you incidentally rock against shoyo’s muscled thigh.

eying the path to the kitchen, you’re on the verge of fleeing the scene to collect yourself when you realize that shoyo’s fingers are hooked in your belt loops on either side of your waist. he idly tugs down on the loops, and you cough, masking the gasp that clatters its way up your throat as your pussy outright throbs. 

shoyo’s clueless beneath you, entirely unaware that you’re growing wetter by the second in his lap as your mind skids out. your better judgment scrambles haplessly for purchase against the slick heat that unfurls in your gut, and you swallow hard at the thorny, greedy desperation that sinks its claws into you. 

“you okay?” shoyo asks, breath curling against the shell of your ear, finally taking notice of the rigid set of your muscles and the sweat gathering at your brow.

you don’t tell him how many times you’ve imagined yourself in this position, desperate and pliant and wanting in his lap. you don’t mention how long you’ve wondered how the firm, strong muscle of his thighs would feel off the court, between your legs. 

(you try not to think about the first night you touched yourself after watching one of his games for brazil, after watching the egregious strain of his shorts against his thick thighs as he widened his stance to receive a serve.)

you don’t say that you’re wound up so tightly right now—you could come like this. right here in his lap in a room full of people.

“i’m fine,” you lie. 

(you don’t tell him that it’s his name that you moan over and over later that night when you drag your bare cunt against a pillow until you’re shaking.)

[lanafofana]

Scent Mark

Day 1 of #HalsinTavWeek let's GOOOOOOO!!! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: It's been a really long week. So when Halsin can no longer smell himself on Tav's skin he is...eager to rectify that fact. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tags: Smut. Scent kink and possessive behavior. P in V, fingering. No beta we die like Yonas. RIP Yonas. And look, I even put this one on AO3.

Halsin has a preternatural sense for knowing when Tav is around. It’s uncanny. It became something like a game for her, trying to catch him unawares but she never got very close before his eyes were searching for her, always landing on her with such precision she wondered if he could read her mind. 

Outside the newly finished construction of their communities' town hall she passes off the tiefling baby in her arms to a slip of a boy at her heels and sends them both off home with a forehead kiss each. She has a little extra time on her hands for once and, as she opens the door in search of her lover, she has her heart set on using every single bit of it. 

He was often late coming home these days, his hours full to bursting with the responsibilities of pulling their community together but Tav was determined to roust him from whatever task or pile of paperwork he’d buried himself under. Skirts swishing quietly around her ankles she tugged her hair loose from its unruly braid, carding her fingers through her tresses absently while she poked her nose in each room. 

It was a fine building. Large enough for meetings, with several rooms branching off the main hall for both offices and temporary accommodations for fresh transplants. Her bare feet padded quietly across the fresh wooden floors while she conducted her search and rescue. 

With the town hall construction finished the druid should in theory be free for the rest of the day and, if Tav had her way, a bit of a break in store for the weekend. Whether he would be amenable to a little vacation was another matter but Tav had a mind to use every single one of her womanly wiles to get her way. It’d been too long since she had had him to herself and she yearned for him, his touch, in a way that was becoming increasingly distracting the longer it continued. 

“My heart,” a low voice calls to her from behind a closed door. Confused, Tav swings the door open and finds her love at last, sitting at what could be considered a desk– a few mismatched planks of wood balancing on two barrels– at the back of the room, paperwork strewn about before him. He’s writing something, but pauses, quill poised, to  glance up and smile at her warmly. 

Rounding the edge of the makeshift desk as he finishes his correspondence Tav smiles when his arms encircle her waist, pulling her close until she’s perched on his lap. He kisses her tenderly while she loops her own arms around his neck, heart fluttering like it always does when he adores her with his casual affection. 

When the kiss breaks Tav pinches his chin and complains, “How do you always do that?” 

“Do what, my love?” Halsin murmurs distractedly, peppering kisses along her exposed neck down to her collar bone. He lingers there for a moment, hovering, breath hot, and inhales the scent of her skin as if she were some fine city lady wearing expensive perfume. 

“How do you always know it’s me? The door wasn’t even open.”  Halsin’s kisses are getting less chaste by the second and the feeling of his warm wet tongue licking a stripe up to her ear has her leaning into it, eyes going half lidded with desire. 

He pulls his mouth away long enough to answer, nuzzling her neck and pressing his nose against where her pulse has begun to beat erratically. “An unfair advantage I’m afraid. Remember when I told you bears have one of the best senses of smell?” 

Tav blushes furiously at the implication. “You… smell me? Gods.” Her skin breaks out in goose pimples when he grazes the delicate skin at her throat with his teeth. “I s-should, um, I should have bathed before I came. I was trying to sneak up on you.” 

“Impossible.” One of the hands at her waist travels to her thigh and squeezes the muscle through her skirt. “It’s more than just the scent of your skin. It’s,” he suddenly grabs the fabric of her dress and shoves it up around her waist only minorly surprised when he doesn’t find any smallclothes underneath. “Perfect,” he groans in appreciation with the rumbling purr of a predator, hungry for more.

“Halsin!” Tav’s eyes fly to the open door but does nothing to stop him when his hand returns to her bare leg, stroking the thick, plump flesh of her inner thigh. 

“Everyone’s gone home,” he mutters. “I could smell you the second you opened the main door. I could smell this –” Halsin’s hand slides up her thigh until his thick finger strokes her damp cunt and Tav’s breath catches. She’d been warm before but now she blazes with heat. “You have no idea how wild you make me like this,” he says into her throat. 

“You?” Scoffs Tav with a grin. “I may not have your sense of smell but I’ve got eyes. It’s been a long week watching you help build this place from the ground up. A very long week.” 

“I’ve let myself become consumed with my responsibilities as alderman,” he chases the confession with a nip to her earlobe. Halsin shifts in his seat, tugging her back against his chest. Her legs fall open and before she has time to adjust her balance he uses his knees to open them wider, exposing her completely. “Allow me to atone for it. Let me show you just how much you’ve been on my mind.”    

He spares a moment to brush her hair aside and then begins to lick and suck the nape of her neck while she shivers, nipples hardening. With one hand the druid holds her in place and with the other he dives between her legs until he finds the soft wet heat he’s been craving. 

She’s already soaking and ready for him and he’s relentless with the way he chases her orgasm under the pad of his finger. Trapped against his chest Tav is helpless to do anything but watch the lewd swirl of his finger as it circles her clit. The bulge of his erection digs into the base of her spine and she tries to use her arms to get the leverage she needs to roll her hips into his lap but his grip on her is ironclad. 

“Patience,” he growls and the warning rumbles like thunder from his chest directly into her pussy with a throb. 

“Gods, Halsin, you’re driving me crazy.” Tav feels the walls of her vagina begin to clench and exhales in frustration and want. “I was,” she gasps when he switches tactics and buries a finger into her aching hole. “I came here to seduce you , you big– ah !” Her head falls back onto his shoulder when he adds a second finger, increasing his pace. “Not the other way around,” she grounds out through clenched teeth.

Halsin’s answering chuckle is dark. “Seduction accomplished,” he tells her before sucking her earlobe into his mouth. 

Tav moans in response, another shiver richoting down her spine and he grunts when he feels her shudder against his achingly hard member. Panting, his lover begins frantically tugging at the ties of her loose blouse to free her chest and grasps at her own breasts, rolling her nipples between shaking fingers desperately.

“Good lass,” he murmurs appreciatively into her hot, sweat slick shoulder before nibbling a trail of feral kisses across her freckled skin. He spears his fingers into her tight heat roughly, thumbing her clit until she keens. 

The druid works her over thoroughly, always knowing when she’s close before switching his approach until her speech is reduced to a babble of pleas and an impressive string of curse words. 

“Don’t you dare stop!” Her breathing is ragged, her sweat damp hair sticking to her neck and Halsin’s face but he doesn’t care. He can’t get enough. The smell of her sex is heavy in the air, clouding his mind, the taste of her sweat on his tongue and the desperate whimpers he wrings from her all call out to the beast within but his focus on the task at hand remains razor sharp. 

Tav squirms, her thighs shaking when he deigns to grant her her release. She cries out, clutching for purchase on the hand he still has braced on her belly while her spine bows and her orgasm tears through her like lightning, hot and sizzling.

She sags, boneless against him and he tenderly kisses the side of her head, her jaw, the sweaty juncture of her shoulder and neck. He buries his nose in her damp hair and breathes deeply before bringing his fingers to his mouth for a taste. 

“Gods,” she breathes out hoarsely. “I’m definitely going to need a bath now.” 

The unsatiated bear within balks and Halsin can’t stop the possessive snarl he lets out. It’s been too long since their last coupling. The unintended result of which was that not only was just the mere whiff of her sex enough to completely unhinge him. But the primal instinctive urge to cover her scent with his beat like a second heartbeat his dick.   

Tav rolls her head to the side to look at him from the corner of her eye and gives him a positively wicked smile. “Keep that up, my bear, and we’ll be late for dinner.” 

Halsin’s eyes flash gold at the epithet before he wrests control of himself, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “I don’t know,” he drawls, eyes trailing down her body hungrily. “I see plenty here to sate even my appetite.” 

Tav laughs and tugs out of his grip long enough to switch positions to straddle him. He watches her with half lidded eyes as she arranges herself, hands coming to rest on the generous swell of her ass to steady her while she tugs off her blouse and tosses it to the floor.

“You say that now but I shan’t be the one to clean up after the children have wrought their reign of terror on the kitchen.” 

The part of Halsin’s brain not currently enraptured by the sway of her breasts in front of his face grudgingly concedes she might have a point. Slender fingers comb through his tawny hair, gently tugging till he looks into her eyes. She looks radiant, flushed from her orgasm and wide dark eyes looking at him so full of love he aches in an entirely different way from the neediness in his breeches. 

“You’ve never looked so beautiful,” he whispers, voice rough with sudden piercing sentiment. He loves her so entirely it nearly shakes him to the core with how it wells up to the surface in moments like this, coloring all his words and expressions with passion. He could drown in it. He has drowned it. And he will go into those depths willingly again. For as long as she will take him.  

Tav smiles slow and shy, but holds his gaze, nothing but adoration in each line and plane of her expression. “You sweet talker.” She cups his face and drags the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip causing his breath to hitch. 

When she kisses him the gentle sweetness of it makes his head spin and he tightens his grip on her reflexively. She opens her mouth to him and he loses himself in the tangle of their tongues, gorging himself on her taste. 

Tav slips a hand between their bodies to tug the laces of his breeches loose and frees his dick, giving him a few experimental strokes before lining him up to her slick entrance. 

The druid pulls back from their kiss to look at her in concern. “My heart, are you ready to take me so soon?” Foreplay is his speciality not just for the fun of it after all and he worries taking his girth without proper preparation will cause her pain. 

Tav smiles impishly. “So soon? Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” Still holding him steady she begins to sink herself onto him inch by exquisite inch. “As I said,” she continues breathlessly. “It’s been a really long week,” she gasps, eyes sliding shut at the sensation of her wet cunt sliding over him tightly. ”I’m more than prepared for this ,” and with a shift of her hips she fully envelops him with a sigh like relief. “Gods,” she moans, pausing for a moment as her body adjusts to the thick intrusion. 

Halsin’s grip on her hips is tight enough to leave bruises, his jaw so tense she takes pity on him and leans forward to tangle her hands in his hair.  Bringing his face back to hers for a demonstration on just how ready she was for this he groans into her her opened mouth kiss when she rolls her hips into his. 

“Are you alright, my love?” She asks, setting a pace that is at once too much and not enough. 

The drag of her tight wet heat has stolen all thought from his brain but he drags his gaze from the point where they are joined to her knowing smile. “More than alright,” he rumbles, mouth dry. “Perfect. You’re perfect.” 

Tav doesn’t let his praise distract her though. She places both hands on his chest and shifts until she gains the leverage she needs to increase the pace, bouncing on his cock till she sees stars. 

Halsin’s breathing is harsh, ragged, and utterly desperate and the power of her position skitters up her spine tangling with her desire. Despite already having been at the mercy of one torrential orgasm she feels another budding between her legs at the sight of her lover’s expression of naked want. 

The druid slides one hand from her ass, over the curve of her hip, the plumpness of her belly. He continues his exploration till he reaches her chest where he palms one breast before switching to the other until both nipples are dark and stiff. When his hand continues its ascent to rest lightly at her collar bone, his long thick fingers reverent around her throat, Tav's eyes roll and her head drops back, lips parting to release a needy whine that goes directly to his balls.  

“Your, oh ! H-Halsin,” she struggles to put her words in the right order. The wet slap suction of their bodies crashing together is loud in the otherwise silent building and it turns Tav on even more. “Touch me! I–” Her words cut off as she moans, voice rising. “I’m gonna–!” 

Halsin needs no further direction. He can already feel the telltale flutter of her walls clenching on his dick and with practiced ease he thumbs her clit, feeling drunk on the tide of desire that rises in him when she lets out the most unrestrained wail.  

If her last orgasm was a lighting bolt this one tears through her like a blazing star, the force of it feels like it might be incinerating her from the inside out. Halsin plants his feet and holds her hips steady while, pistoning into her, chasing his own release with abandon. 

Tav gathers what’s left of her shattered mind and babbles a stream of nearly incomprehensible praise. “You feel so good, you fuck me so well, gods you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. My love, my Halsin, my bear, let go, my love, my heart, cum in me, gods Halsin! Yes, yes! ” 

Halsin finishes with an animalistic roar, eyes blazing gold, clutching her body to his and shooting his load into her ruined pussy. When the haze of his orgasm fades she’s peppering his face with kisses, murmuring praise against his sweaty face and nuzzling the skin of his throat tenderly. 

He combs his fingers through her sweat damp tresses till he cups her head and brings her lips to his. The afterglow of their coupling is warm and hazy with soft smiles and softer kisses. If he could he’d carve out this pocket of time and sequester the both of them in it for as long as he possibly could. Let the world tumble on without them for a time while he buried himself in the soothing warmth of her love and affection. 

Responsibilities and duty do not care to bend to his will tonight though and when Tav’s stomach gives a particularly loud growl they both smile and laugh. Cleaning and tucking himself back into his trousers takes little time so while Tav fixes her blouse and skirts he takes her hips and settles her back on his knee. She turns and gives him a raised brow, expression half mischievous and half chastising but he minds his manners. Combing his fingers through her hair and braiding it in the style she prefers now he finishes with a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck. He hums, enjoying how the scent of sweat, pheromones and sex remains deliciously thick there. 

When they leave the town hall hand in hand Tav leans into his arm, chatting about her day and pulling smiles and laughter from him with tales of what troublemaking their charges have been up to. He breathes in deeply, the bear in him well satisfied by how her scent is now thoroughly mixed with his again.

That's All Folks!

[nameless-ken]

bucky barnes x reader imagine

You don’t know how it started. You don’t know why you’re stuck in an endless nightmare loop. All you know is that every night in your mind, Bucky dies in your arms. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop it. You’ve fought harder, planned better. It never changes. He always dies. You're afraid to find out what's causing all your pain and suffering but of course, Bucky is there to help you through the darkness.

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: soooo much angst, death, mentions of blood, guns, etc.

Masterlist

You don’t know how this nightmare started. All you know is that each time, you’re stuck here in a loop and every time, Bucky dies in your arms and then the world resets. 

It begins the same each time. A mission of a ruined city, smoke curling from demolished buildings. Your comms crackle and voices from the team fade in and out as they all move through the wreckage. All you hear is your pulse hammering in your ears, panic setting in. 

You already know how this will end. You’ve tried to stop it. You’ve tried everything. But no matter what, it keeps happening. 

Bucky is at your side, tense, scanning the shadows with quiet precision. There’s an urgency in his movements, as he shields you without thinking. 

You know what’s coming, but you don’t know how to tell him. If you warn him too soon, he brushes it off. If you wait too long—

The shot rings out.

A sharp gasp, then silence.

You spin, heart lurching, catching him as his knees buckle. His weight collapses into you, his body slumping against yours. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the sharp metallic scent of blood. His blood.

“No, no, no—” Your hands press against his chest, but it’s already too late. You’ve seen this before. His eyes flutter, struggling to focus on you, lips parting like he has something to say. But he doesn’t get the chance.

The world goes dark.

And then, you’re awake.

Back at the beginning. Back before the mission. Back when he’s still alive, unaware that you’ve already lost him so many times.

The first few times, you thought it was just one nightmare. A cruel trick of the mind, the kind that lingers long after waking. But then it happened again. And again.

You know the pattern now. The way his brows furrow when he studies the mission briefing. The way he stands beside you just before deployment, close but not touching, a silent promise that he has your back. You could recite the exact moment the shot will fire, pinpoint the second his breath will shudder, the precise way his body will fold into yours as the life drains from his eyes.

But no matter what you do—no matter how fast you react, how much you plead with him to listen—it never changes.

But no matter the outcome, you always try again.

You spin before the shot rings out, shoving him back, your body colliding with his. He stumbles, surprised, and the bullet meant for his chest buries itself in the concrete beside you. For one agonizing second, you think it worked.

Then another shot fires.

Bucky’s expression flickers, something between shock and recognition, before his legs give out. His hand clutches at his side, crimson spilling between his fingers.

You barely catch him, falling to your knees with him as a strangled sound rips from your throat. The loop has never lasted this long before. His lips move, but the words are too faint, too lost in the chaos of battle around you.

You grip his face, shaking your head, tears burning hot trails down your cheeks. “Stay with me. Please, Bucky, stay with me—”

But he doesn’t. He never does.

And when the darkness crashes over you once more, the first thing you hear when you wake is his voice, alive and untouched, whispering beside you.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He sits up next to you in bed, eyes surveying your face. 

You swallow the scream building in your throat and meet his gaze.

You have.

And no matter how hard you try, you’ll watch him die again.

For the thousandth time.

You wake up gasping, fists clutching the sheets like they’ll keep you grounded. But there’s no escape, no waking from this. The memory of his body collapsing into yours, the light fading from his eyes, lingers behind your eyelids. Even now, when he’s just a few feet away, breathing, whole.

It doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. You’ll lose him again tomorrow.

So, you’ve stopped trying.

Each night, you retreat further into yourself, curling away when he sits next to you after a long real-life mission, barely acknowledging when he nudges your shoulder or murmurs a quiet, “Get some rest, alright?” You pretend you don’t hear the concern laced in his voice or the way his gaze lingers on you a little too long.

You barely speak to the team anymore. You move through missions in a daze, hitting your marks, following orders, but you’re on autopilot, existing but barely present.

Bucky notices. Of course he does.

“You barely eat anymore,” he mutters, leaning against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed. “You don’t sleep. You don’t talk.” His voice dips, quieter. “You don’t look at me.”

You don’t answer.

He steps closer, testing the distance. You feel him, his warmth and presence you once found comfort in. But comfort is a rare luxury now for you every night. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, softer this time, crouching down to your level as you sit on the edge of your bed. 

You swallow hard, staring at the floor, at your hands, at anything but him. If you tell him, if you let yourself lean into the comfort of his voice, the quiet steadiness of him, you’ll break down.

So you force yourself to do the only thing that keeps you sane. You push him away.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s bullshit.”

You grit your teeth. “Let it go, Bucky.”

The silence stretches between you. You don’t have to look up to know his jaw is clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. You wish he’d stop caring so much. You wish he’d be angry instead. Maybe then, losing him every night wouldn’t hurt so much.

But instead, his pleas grow more desperate. 

“Whatever this is—whatever’s happening to you, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

A bitter laugh catches in your throat.

“Yes, I do.”

And before he can say anything else, before you can break down in front of him, you turn away, curling in on yourself. You hear him huff softly before the soft close of the door signals his exit. The silent tears fall as another night passes. 

You refuse to go on the mission. You beg him not to go, fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket, voice breaking as you plead, Please, just listen to me.

He stares at you, confusion creasing his brow. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

When you don’t let go, his hands come up, cupping your face gently. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s just another mission.”

It’s not. It never is.

But no matter how much you fight him, no matter how much you sob into his chest, he still leaves.

And then, the shot rings out.

You try to force a change every now and then. 

You push past every protocol, hijacking the mission briefing to argue for a different approach. You take a different route. You change the plan. You stay as close to him as possible, watching his every movement, memorizing every shift of his body, every turn of his head.

It doesn’t matter.

It still happens.

You try stepping in front of him. The bullet finds another way. You throw yourself at the enemy before they can fire. Another takes their place. You try running, dragging Bucky in the opposite direction, abandoning the mission entirely. But something always intervenes. A stray grenade, a collapsing building, a knife between his ribs. It’s like the universe itself is determined to rip him from you.

And every time, the weight of his body in your arms feels heavier. Every time, his blood soaks into your skin a little deeper.

Every time, you wake up screaming.

The team has started to notice. The way your hands shake, the way your voice cracks when you speak. The exhaustion has started to drag you down and no amount of sleep can take away the grief that lingers in your bones. Because you’ve lived this disgusting nightmare over and over and over.

And worst of all. How do you explain this to Bucky?

After every loop, he awakes next to you and looks at you with the same confused, concerned expression, trying to figure out what’s wrong. 

Each morning, you wake up next to him and it gets harder to look him in the eye. Harder to pretend you aren’t drowning. 

You keep your distance. You stop meeting his gaze, stop laughing at his dry humor, stop lingering when he walks beside you. The effort of pretending weighs on you, pressing down until every step feels like dragging chains behind you.

Bucky notices. Of course he does.

“Y/N.” His voice is quieter these days, more careful. “You okay?” You nod. A lie.

“You’re barely sleeping.” Another nod. Another lie.

“You barely talk to me anymore.” You don’t react to his statement. 

He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. You know it’s bothering him, the way you’re slipping through his fingers, closing off before his eyes. But what are you supposed to do? Tell him that you’ve watched him die a thousand times? That every night, you wake up choking on sobs you can’t explain?

So you keep your mouth shut. And he keeps worrying.

Then, reality blurs.

The nightmare doesn’t just haunt your sleep anymore. It bleeds into the waking world, creeping into your thoughts until you can’t tell if you’re still trapped in the loop. Your exhaustion coils around your mind like barbed wire, and when the next real mission comes, you can barely stand upright.

Bucky notices that, too.

“Y/N, you sure you’re good for this?” His fingers graze your wrist, lingering. “If you’re sick, we can—”

“I’m fine.” Your voice is hoarse, frayed.

He frowns. “You don’t look fine.”

You pull your arm away. “Just focus on the mission.”

He doesn’t push, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time. Tracking your every breath. And maybe you should’ve listened to him. Maybe you should’ve stayed behind.

Because the world tilts.

It happens fast. One second, you’re pushing through the wreckage, gun raised, tracking movement in the shadows. Next, the ground is beneath you and your vision is black.

You wake up in the med bay.

The lights are dim, a soft beeping echoing throughout the room. Your limbs feel impossibly heavy, your head filled with static. It takes you a moment to recognize the warmth against your skin, rough calloused fingers wrapped around your hand.

Bucky.

His head is bowed, his grip firm but gentle. His thumb brushes absently over your knuckles, but as he notices you stirring, he straightens, his eyes scanning your face. Relief flickers through them quickly smothered by frustration.

“What the hell happened to you?” 

You swallow, throat raw and dry. “I—”

“You collapsed,” he says flatly. “In the middle of a mission.”

Your stomach twists.

Bucky shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I knew something was off. I knew it. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, and you didn’t tell me a damn thing.”

“I didn’t want—”

“To worry me?” His jaw clenches. “That’s bullshit, Y/N. You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I don’t see how you barely eat, barely sleep—how you flinch every time I walk into the room?”

Your breath hitches.

His voice drops, quieter now. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. But I’m not gonna sit back and watch you destroy yourself.”

Silence.

Your heart pounds in your chest. He’s waiting for you to speak, to give him something, but you don’t know how. You don’t know how to tell him that every time you look at him, you see him dying in your arms.

So you close your eyes and turn your head away.

Bucky’s fingers tighten around yours, just for a second. Then, he lets go.

And the distance between you stretches wider.

The days continue to slip through your fingers like sand. You don’t know where one ends and the next begins anymore.

You wake up, and he’s alive. You close your eyes, and he dies. 

You start noticing details you wish you could erase from your memory that are now engrained there forever. The precise dark shade of red as his blood spills over your hands, the sickening warmth of it. The weight of his body as it gives out, the way his breath stutters and slows. The look in his eyes when he realizes it’s the end

It should get easier. By now you’ve witnessed it so many times but it doesn’t. How do you see the person you love the most in the world die in your arms every night and it not rip you apart in ways you never thought possible? 

This time, you don’t scream.

You don’t cry.

You don’t try to fight it.

You just kneel there in the dirt, fingers numb where they press against the wound you already know won’t close. You watch the light fade from his eyes, watch his lips part as if to say your name, though they never get the chance.

When the world resets, you don’t wake up gasping. You don’t wake up clawing at the sheets, trying to stop something already set in stone.

You just wake up.

Empty.

Numb.

Lost.

And beside you, Bucky stirs, voice thick with sleep as he asks even though he knows you won’t answer, “You okay?”

It’s different this time. Before, you still fought, still tried to hold on. But now? Now, the exhaustion is absolute. It’s settled deep in your bones, in your soul.

Bucky shifts beside you, and you feel the hesitation in his movements before his hand finds your arm. A gentle touch, barely there, but it makes something inside you twist painfully. He’s always so warm. Always so solid even after the incident on your recent mission that left you on leave until Bucky approves for himself that you’re better. 

"Y/N," he murmurs.

When you don’t respond, he exhales softly and lets his hand fall away. The mattress shifts as he pulls himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. In the dim light, you see the silhouette of his shoulders rising and falling, tense even in rest.

"You’re so different now," he says finally. "I don't know why, but I know something is wrong."

You turn your face into the pillow, biting down the words that want to spill out. Because if you say it, if you even try to explain, the weight of it might finally break you.

You feel his gaze like it’s a physical thing, tracing the outlines of someone he no longer recognizes.

Then, barely above a whisper: "I miss you."

Your throat tightens at his admission. He’s right here, right beside you, and yet he feels so impossibly far away. You reach for him, but only in your mind, only in a place where time isn't your enemy. In reality, your fingers remain curled in the sheets, unmoving.

Then, it happens all at once.

One moment, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall like it might offer some kind of answer. The next, the weight of it all—the exhaustion, the grief, the unbearable loneliness—collapses in on itself.

Your breath hitches. Your chest caves. And before you can stop it, the words are spilling out, raw and shaking.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Bucky stills beside you. You don’t dare look at him, don’t dare meet the confusion etched into his face.

“I’ve watched you die,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “Over and over. Every night. A bullet. A grenade. A knife. It doesn’t matter what I do. It always happens.” Your hands curl into the fabric of your sleep shirt, gripping tight. “I try to stop it. I try to change things, but it never works. I hold you in my arms, and I feel your blood on my hands, and you—” Your voice cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut, as if that might stop the tears burning behind them. “You always look at me like you don’t want to go.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then, a quiet, broken whisper.

“Y/N…”

You shake your head. “Every time I close my eyes, I lose you. And I can’t—I can’t do it anymore, Bucky. I can’t keep waking up knowing I’ll have to watch you die all over again.”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to hold yourself together, but then Bucky is moving, shifting closer, hands reaching and the second he touches you, you break.

A sob tears from your throat, your body collapsing forward, and Bucky catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you, holding you together as you shatter. His hand slides up your back, fingers threading through your hair, pressing you close.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

You clutch at him, hands fisting his shirt, gripping desperately as you bury yourself in his warmth, in his solidity. He’s alive. Here. Real.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, clinging to him, shaking, gasping for air between choked sobs but Bucky never lets go.

When your body is drained and your tears have soaked into his skin, he tilts his head, pressing his lips to your temple, the gentlest of touches as his voice tries to ease your pain. 

“Then let me save you.”

Bucky walks beside you, his presence grounding despite the unease curling in your stomach.

You haven’t told anyone else. But now, the secret festers between you both, a wound left open too long.

The rest of the team is gathered in the common area when you arrive—Steve, Natasha, Sam, Bruce, and Tony. They’re in the middle of some lighthearted debate, Sam gesturing animatedly about something that makes Natasha roll her eyes, but the second you and Bucky step in, the energy shifts.

Steve looks up first. His brow furrows. “Everything okay?”

You swallow hard, glancing at Bucky. He nods and you exhale.

“I need help.” The words come out quieter than you mean them to, but they feel enormous, pressing against the walls of your throat. “Something’s wrong.”

The air stills. The team has seen you face impossible odds without flinching, but now, you look at them like you’re unraveling. And they’ve all been noticing.

Bucky steps in. “It’s the nightmares,” he says, voice steady. “They aren’t normal.”

You begin explaining everything. The dreams. The deaths. The endless loop of losing Bucky, over and over, no matter what you do. Your hands curl into fists in your lap, only loosening when Bucky’s fingers brush against yours.

“That’s messed up,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Like, seriously messed up.”

“Agreed,” Natasha murmurs. Her sharp gaze flicks to Bruce and Tony. “What do you think?”

Bruce is already in thought, fingers pressed together. “It could be neurological, but…” He exhales, troubled. “The fact that it’s recurring exactly the same way, every night, suggests something deeper.”

“Magical interference?” Steve suggests.

“Could be,” Tony muses. “Or maybe something buried in the subconscious. Trauma has a funny way of manifesting, but this sounds… different.”

“Can you do anything?” Bucky pleas, needing to find a way to help you. 

Tony’s expression turns serious. “We can run tests. Brain scans, neurological assessments. See if anything’s off.” He glances at Bruce. “Maybe even look at your energy signatures while you’re sleeping. If there’s something external messing with your dreams, we might be able to pick up a pattern.”

Bruce nods. “It’s worth a shot.”

The knot in your stomach loosens, just a little.

“Okay,” you breathe and agree. “Okay.”

Bucky’s hand finally finds yours, his grip firm, reassuring. “We’ll figure this out,” his voice gives you hope. 

For the first time in a long time, you almost believe it.

The lab’s mechanical sounds are all you can focus on right now. It’s late and the team has gone about their night, but you and Bucky remain under the clinical lights as Bruce and Tony prepare to help.

You sit on the edge of an examination table, hands gripping the metal rim beneath you. Bucky stands beside you, silent, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t like this, being observed and tested, reminds him of his winter soldier days, and he’d rather you not have to experience anything close to that. 

Bruce offers a small, reassuring smile as he adjusts a set of electrodes. “This won’t hurt,” he says. “Just monitoring brain activity, any anomalies.”

Tony leans against the nearest console, tapping at a screen. “And in case we’re dealing with something outside the usual brainwave interference, I’m setting up some fancy tech to scan for, well, magic, cosmic weirdness, or anything else that might be screwing with your head.”

You nod, forcing a deep breath. “And if you find something?”

Bruce exchanges a glance with Tony before answering. “Then we figure out how to stop it.”

Bucky’s presence beside you keeps you grounded. His fingers graze your knee, a fleeting touch of reassurance.

“Alright,” Bruce murmurs. “Try to relax. We need you to fall asleep.”

You almost laugh at that. As if sleep has ever been easy.

Bucky stays close, his chair pulled up beside the table. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, voice low.

You nod, exhaling slowly as the machines start their quiet work. Electrodes against your temples, the cold press of monitoring devices. Your heartbeat slows, thoughts slipping and darkness overtakes you.

The dream comes like it always does. The moment you recognize it, your stomach turns. You know what’s coming. The battlefield. The wreckage. The sight of Bucky just a few steps away, unaware of what’s about to happen.

You try to move, try to scream—but the dream has you in its grip, forcing you to watch as it plays out again. The explosion. The impact. The way his body crumples. The way you run to him, knowing it’s already too late.

Except, something shifts.

A ripple, subtle but unmistakable. Like something foreign has entered the dream. The edges blur, distort like a broken signal.

And then, for the first time, Bucky moves. Not the Bucky in the waking world. The Bucky in your nightmare.

He turns his head, barely, his gaze locking onto yours. His lips part, and though his voice is distant, it reaches you.

“Wake up.”

Your eyes snap open.

Back in the lab with the too-bright lights, the machines beep erratically.

Bucky’s grip is tight on your wrist, his face inches from yours. “You were—” His voice is hoarse. “You weren’t breathing.”

Bruce and Tony are already scrambling over the data, eyes wide.

“We found something,” Tony mutters, staring at the screen. “And you’re not gonna like it.”

Bruce and Tony scan the data, their expressions grim. The glow of the screens reflects off Tony’s face as he scrolls through, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Bucky's voice is low but urgent. “What is it?”

Bruce exhales, rubbing his forehead. “It’s… not just a nightmare.” He taps on the monitor, bringing up what looks like brainwave patterns, yours and Bucky’s. Side by side. But there’s something else. A third, unfamiliar signature. “Your brain activity is showing signs of outside interference. Like someone or something is forcing these dreams onto you.”

You stiffen. “Forcing them?”

Tony nods, arms crossed. “Yeah. And here’s the kicker, it’s not just replaying past trauma. It’s manipulating it. Someone is making you relive his death over and over again.”

Your stomach twists. Bucky’s hand tightens around yours, his jaw clenched. You don’t even have to look at him to know what he’s thinking.

Bruce clears his throat. “It’s why your body is reacting so violently. Your brain isn’t treating these like normal dreams, it’s registering them as real.” He hesitates, his next words careful. “And if this keeps happening… the stress on your nervous system and your heart, it could have long-term effects.”

You swallow hard, gripping the edge of the table. “So what do we do?”

Tony exhales sharply. “Well, first we find out who’s screwing with your head.” He points at the data. “This signature? It’s unique. Not normal psychic interference. Could be tech, could be magic, could be something we haven’t seen before.”

Bucky’s voice is firm. “Can you stop it?”

Bruce and Tony exchange a look. Bruce speaks first. “We don’t know yet. But we’re not giving up.”

Silence settles over the lab, thick and heavy.

Bucky turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “We’re gonna figure this out,” he says, low and certain. “I won’t let this continue to happen to you.”

Tony claps his hands together, breaking the silence. “Alright, kids, here’s the plan. Banner and I will run a deep dive on this brainwave signature, see if we can trace the source. If this is tech-based, we’ll know soon enough. If it’s magic…” He makes a face. “Then we’re calling in the wizard.”

“Strange?” Bucky questions.

“Who else?” Tony shrugs. “Unless you’ve got another sorcerer on speed dial.”

You try to focus, but your thoughts are hazy, tangled in the exhaustion pressing down on you. 

Bruce clears his throat. “Until we have answers, I’d recommend you try to get some rest.” He hesitates. “Take these, maybe they will help sedate you away from the nightmares.” Bruce passes you a cup with two, small round pills. You immediately take them. 

Tony points to you, “If you have another trauma-induced episode, I want to know immediately.” His expression softens just slightly as he glances at you. “We’re gonna fix this, alright? Just hang in there.”

You nod, silently thanking the two geniuses. 

Bucky gently tugs you toward the door. “C’mon. You need sleep.”

You let him lead you out of the lab, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. You know rest won’t come easy, but as long as Bucky is here, you know you won’t have to face the nightmares alone.

As you make it to your room and into bed, you exhale shakily. “I’m scared, Bucky.”

“I know.” He says as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. “I’ve spent years haunted by things I can’t control. But I had you. Let me be that for you.”

You swallow hard, emotion tightening your throat.

“I don’t know how,” you admit.

His hands slide up your arms, warm, grounding. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

But before you drift off, you whisper, “Don’t let go.”

He tightens his arms around you gently. “Never.”

Bruce adjusts his glasses, scrolling through the data flashing across the monitor. "Nothing physically wrong," he murmurs. "Brain activity spikes during REM sleep, but that’s not unusual. The problem is the intensity. It’s like her mind is stuck in overdrive."

Tony is perched on the edge of the nearest console, arms crossed and exhales sharply. "I’m telling you, this isn’t normal bad-dream territory. I’ve had nightmares—hell, I live with them. But this? This is like something is feeding them, amplifying them."

Bruce sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That’s what I’m afraid of. If it’s external, we’re not dealing with just trauma response. We could be looking at telepathic interference or—"

"—magic," Tony finishes, grimacing. "Great. Just what we need."

A holographic projection of the brain scan rotates in the air between them, glowing faintly. The spike in neural activity pulses on the screen like a heartbeat. Bruce taps a few keys, overlaying a second scan. "This is a normal sleep cycle. And this" he gestures to the erratic waves pulsing across the second image, "this is what’s happening to Y/N. Something is triggering an extreme fear response. Repeatedly."

Tony points at the fluctuating data. "Okay, but the question is, why? And more importantly, how do we shut it down?"

Bruce hesitates, then turns toward you. "Do you remember anything specific about the dreams? Any recurring images, sensations, anything unusual?"

Your throat feels tight, having to remember. "Fire," you state. "Always fire. And shadows. Like someone’s watching me. Waiting."

Tony and Bruce exchange a look. That’s never a good sign.

Bruce’s voice is gentle but serious. "We need to figure out if this is just a buried memory resurfacing or if something or someone is making sure you don’t forget."

Bruce frowns as he examines the neural scans displayed on the screen. “This isn’t just typical REM disturbance,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses. “The brain activity is off the charts during these episodes like it’s reacting to an external stimulus.”

Tony swivels in his chair, arms crossed. “So what you’re saying is… something is triggering this, but it’s not just her own brain replaying bad memories?”

Bruce nods. “Exactly. It’s almost like an outside force is influencing Y/N while she sleeps.”

Tony exhales, rubbing his chin. “That’s a whole new level of creepy. Any chance this is some kind of psychic interference? Loki? Hell, I’d even take some weird alien tech at this point.”

Bruce hesitates before pulling up a secondary screen. “See this? There’s an energy signature showing up in the readings every time a nightmare starts.”

Tony leans in. “That’s—okay, I’ve seen a lot of things, but brainwaves shouldn’t be syncing with an unidentified energy pattern.” He turns to look at Bruce. “Tell me you can trace it.”

Bruce hesitates. “I can try. But if this thing is messing with Y/N’s subconscious, we have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

Tony claps his hands together. “Then let’s figure it out before it turns her brain into scrambled eggs.”

You wake up with a sharp inhale, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to you. Your pulse is racing, hands gripping the sheets as you try to shake the lingering images from your mind. It’s always the same.

A warm weight shifts beside you. Bucky’s voice is rough with sleep. “Again?”

You nod, rubbing your face, the exhaustion settling deep in your bones. “Yeah.”

Bucky sits up, running a hand down his face before looking at you, concern etched into the lines of his expression. Without a word, he reaches out and takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. The coolness of his metal hand settles against your arm, grounding you.

“You’re not alone,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens. “I know.”

He hesitates, then exhales. “You wanna get some air?”

You nod, grateful. He tosses the blankets off, pulling on a hoodie as he motions for you to follow. The hallways are dimly lit as the two of you step out into the quiet of the Compound. The air feels lighter out here, as the weight of the nightmare still lingers.

Neither of you speak as you walk, but Bucky holds your hand tightly, making sure you know you’re safe and he’s not going anywhere. 

Bruce’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he isolates the energy signature. The screen flickers, data streaming in rapid succession.

“There—” He points to the waveform. “It’s coming from an external source. It’s not originating from her brain, but something is syncing with Y/N’s neural activity every time she has a nightmare.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “And where exactly is this ‘something’ coming from?”

Bruce enhances the reading, cross-referencing with Stark’s database of known energy signatures. The results load within seconds, and both men go silent as the screen highlights the source.

“Tony…” Bruce exhales, his face tightening. “This energy—it's being transmitted from inside the Compound.”

Tony’s jaw tightens. “You’re telling me there’s something here that’s screwing with her head?”

Bruce nods. “It’s subtle, but it’s constant. And it’s not just any energy, it has a unique frequency. It’s almost… pulsating, like it’s trying to communicate.”

Bruce inputs the command, and a 3D model of the Avengers Compound highlights a blinking red dot.

The source is deep underground.

Tony groans. “Of course. Because why wouldn’t the creepy brain-meddling energy come from the most inconvenient place possible?”

Bruce glances at him. “Are we going down there?”

Tony sighs, already reaching for a Stark-tech wrist device. “Oh, absolutely. Because if this thing is messing with Y/N’s head, I’m shutting it down myself.”

The walk through the quiet halls does little to settle the unease thrumming under your skin. Bucky stays beside you, glancing at you every so often.

You’re about to speak when footsteps echo from the other end of the hallway. Tony and Bruce round the corner, both looking grim and focused.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Tony quips, but his usual sarcasm is dulled. His gaze flicks between you and Bucky before settling on you. “I’m guessing another nightmare?”

You nod, arms crossing over your chest. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, see, I’d love to believe that, but turns out your head might be haunted by some energy source sitting right under our feet,” Tony says, tapping at the tablet in his hand. “And I, for one, am not a fan of ghosts.”

Bucky tenses beside you. “What do you mean, under us?”

Bruce adjusts his glasses, face pinched in concern. “There’s an energy reading coming from beneath the Compound. It’s been increasing over time, spiking, actually. And given the pattern, we think it’s interfering with your mind.”

Your stomach twists. “So it’s causing the nightmares?”

Bucky stiffens, his metal fist clenching. “Then we destroy it.”

“We think it’s more than that,” Bruce admits. “It’s feeding off of them.”

Tony sighs. “See, that’s what I like about you, Barnes. No overthinking, just straight to the ‘blow it up’ part of the plan. So, let’s go check it out.”

You all fall into step. The air gets colder the deeper you go. The four of you move carefully through the lower levels of the Compound, past rooms that haven’t been touched in years, the metal walls humming faintly as though alive.

Then you step into the chamber.

The energy source is a swirling mass of dark light—an eerie, pulsing sphere hovering just above the ground, tendrils of shadow-like energy curling outward. The second you lay eyes on it, something slams into your mind like a freight train.

Pain. Terror.

Your body locks up and you fall to the ground. The world around you warps.

Suddenly, you’re not in the underground chamber anymore. You’re standing in the middle of the Compound, only it’s burning. Smoke fills the air, the scent of ash clogging your lungs.

Bucky. Tony. Bruce. The rest of the team.

And then you see them.

Their bodies are scattered around you, unmoving. Gone.

You try to run to them, to stop this, but your feet won’t move. A voice, low and echoing, whispers in your mind, You can’t save them. You were never meant to.

A scream tears from your throat.

Bucky catches you before you hit the floor.

“Hey!” His voice is sharp, frantic. He shakes you, but you don’t react. Your eyes are open, but you’re not here.

“Something’s got her,” Bruce says, scanning the readings on the device in his hands. “It’s locking her inside her own mind.”

“Then we break the damn thing,” Bucky growls.

“Now that’s something I can get behind.” Tony raises his gauntlet, repulsors charging. “Let’s fry this thing.”

The energy pulses violently, as if it senses the threat. The room shakes, the metal walls groaning. Bucky tightens his grip on you, jaw clenched.

“Do it,” he snaps.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He unleashes everything he has at the source, arc reactor blasts slamming into the pulsing mass. It shrieks, a sound that reverberates in the air like a dying scream. 

“Come on, come on,” Bucky mutters.

The energy lashes out in retaliation, dark tendrils snapping through the air, reaching for anything, anyone. The walls tremble, groaning under the force of the blast, and the temperature plummets to something unnatural, something wrong.

Bucky barely flinches when one of the tendrils grazes his arm, but the touch sears into his skin like frostbite and fire all at once. He grits his teeth, wrapping his arms tighter around you, his grip unyielding.

"Bruce, tell me we’re actually hurting this thing," Tony grits out, pouring another repulsor blast into the mass. The light from his gauntlet is blinding, cutting through the inky black swirling in front of them.

Bruce stares down at the fluctuating readings on his device, face grim. "It's destabilizing but it's still fighting back. It's like it’s feeding off of her fear."

Bucky's jaw clenches as he glances down at you, still limp in his arms, trapped in whatever hell this thing has pulled you into. Your face is twisted in pain, silent tears streaking your cheeks.

"We have to cut it off from her now," he demands.

Tony curses under his breath but readjusts his stance. "Fine. Let’s go for overkill." He dials up the charge in his gauntlet, the reactor at his chest flaring brighter.

But before he can fire, the shadows lurch.

The mass explodes outward in a violent pulse of energy, throwing Bruce and Tony backward. Bucky digs his heels in, shielding you as the impact rattles the entire chamber. The lights above flicker, then shatter, plunging the room into darkness, besides for the eerie glow of the pulsing sphere.

And then, it speaks.

A voice slithers through the chamber, almost robotic. 

"You think you can stop me?"

Bucky's breath hitches. The voice isn't just around him. It's inside him.

"She is mine."

The words send a jolt of pure fury through him.

"Like hell she is," he snarls.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t hesitate.

He shifts you in his arms, steadying your weight, before reaching for the gun at his side. He doesn’t know if bullets will do anything to this thing but he has to try.

Bruce coughs as he pushes himself up from where he was thrown. "Bucky, wait—"

But he doesn’t.

His first shot pierces through the mass, and for a split second, it staggers.

It felt that.

Bucky fires again. And again. The chamber fills with the sharp crack of gunfire, each bullet ripping through the shifting shadows. Tony, seeing an opening, thrusts out his gauntlet and fires another concentrated blast.

The mass shrieks. The sound is unbearable almost like nails on glass, a wail of something dying.

And then, you're gasping for air.

Bucky barely has time to register it before your body jerks in his arms, a raw, choked sound tearing from your throat as your eyes fly open.

You’re back.

But the moment you resurface from the nightmare, your entire body is wracked with pain. It feels like you’ve been shredded from the inside out. Your hands clutch at Bucky’s shirt, fingers digging in, desperate for something solid and real.

Bucky doesn’t let go.

"You’re okay," he breathes, cradling the back of your head, his heart slamming against his ribs. "You’re here."

You barely manage a shaky nod before your eyes dart past him toward the pulsing energy still twisting in the air. It’s weakened now, the tendrils of darkness flickering, unstable but not fully gone.

Your pulse pounds. "It’s not finished."

Tony grits his teeth. "Then let’s finish it."

Bruce, now back on his feet, recalibrates his scanner. "Hit it again," he tells them. "Everything we’ve got."

No one hesitates.

Tony’s repulsors flare. Bucky keeps you close, whispering, "I got you," before he lifts his gun once more.

The moment the next attack hits, the chamber is flooded with light.

The energy source screams before it implodes.

The force of it sends another shockwave through the room, but this time, the darkness is dissolving. The tendrils snap, unraveling like frayed threads. And then, in a single breath, it’s gone.

Silence.

Then, Tony lets out a sharp exhale. "Holy hell."

Bruce shakes his head, staring at the empty space where the entity once hovered. "It’s over."

Bucky doesn’t hear them. He’s focused only on you.

You’re trembling against him, breath ragged, but the haze is clearing from your eyes..

"Bucky?"

His grip tightens as he whispers over and over. "I got you."

The aftermath of the battle with the strange entity lingers in the air, but the worst of it is over. The energy that has tormented you is gone. You were so exhausted and drained but for the first time in months, your mind isn’t a battlefield.

Over the next few days, the team has offered help in any way you need them. Bruce ran every test possible, reassuring you again and again that the entity’s influence is gone. Tony upgraded the Compound’s defenses, ensuring nothing like that could ever happen again. Steve checked in constantly, offering quiet comfort in his own way, while Natasha and Wanda refused to let you spend a single moment feeling isolated.

But Bucky?

Bucky is the first face you see when you wake up and the last when you drift off to sleep. He brings you coffee in the mornings, sits beside you during meals even when you barely pick at your food, and lingers in doorways when he thinks you didn’t notice, watching over you silently. 

It took time, longer than you wanted, for your hands to stop shaking, for the weight in your chest to ease. 

Bucky’s patience and resilience has done more for you than you could ever thank him for. 

One evening, when most of the team has retired for the night, you find yourself on the rooftop of the Compound, wrapped in Bucky’s thick hoodie, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. You aren’t sure why you came up here. Maybe for fresh air, maybe to just breathe but you aren’t surprised when Bucky shows up minutes later.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just drapes a blanket over your shoulders and leans against the railing beside you.

"You shouldn’t be out here alone," he murmurs after a short pause of silence. 

You exhale, tilting your head to look at him. "I wasn’t alone for long."

His lips twitch into his usual charming smile.

After a long moment, you turn to face him. "Thank you."

Bucky turns to you, brow furrowing. "For what?"

"For being here." Your voice is quieter now. More vulnerable. "For… not giving up on me."

His expression softens as he hesitates for only a second before reaching out, his metal fingers brushing against your hand, tentative, giving you the choice to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his. Bucky let out a slow breath, like he’s been waiting for this, for you. His grip tightens, solid and steady.

"I’ll always be here. No matter what." he promises.

Your chest tightens at his words. The weight of everything—the battles, the nightmares, the fear—feel lighter because of him.

Bucky watches you carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. His fingers shift slightly, a gentle reassurance. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “Not until you’re ready.”

But you are ready.

You’ve been so lost in your own mind, you’ve been too afraid to admit to him directly how much he truly means to you. 

Your heart pounds as you take a step closer. The space between you disappears, and when you tilt your head up to look at him, you see it, the raw, unguarded emotion in his stormy blue eyes.

“Bucky,” you whisper, holding onto him as if he’s your anchor in this world. 

He exhales shakily, like he’s barely holding himself together. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

It spills from your lips effortlessly, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel afraid. Because it’s the truth. It’s always been the truth.

Bucky’s breath hitches. His eyes search yours, as if he’s trying to make sure he’s hearing you right, that this isn’t some dream he’s about to wake up from.

But then he’s kissing you.

It’s desperate and so full of passion that it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His hands cradle your face as you collide into each other. 

The world fades and the nightmares are gone. Even though the stains on your memory of seeing his demise every night remain, you know that you’ll be okay. Because being here with Bucky, your protector and guide through the unknown, is everything.  

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the cool night air. Bucky’s eyes are heavy-lidded, “I love you too.”

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever said.

Thank you so much for reading! I had this random idea pop in my head and had to write it out. Hope you liked it!

Feel free to request anything for Bucky <3

[ryescapades-archived]

꒰ sfw, fluff ꒱ guitarist!endo who used to only do covers or produce songs for other people until you came along, and now all the lyrics he'd ever written and sung were done so with you in his mind.

guitarist!endo who would always go to you whenever he thinks of a new melody. he'd play it in front of you and take note of your reaction, wanting your approval and whatever opinion you might have on it.

guitarist!endo who would be on cloud nine if you ever gift him any type of trinket. he'd put it on his guitar case so that he could bring along a piece of you wherever he goes, claiming that you're his good luck charm during performances (the lovesick fool thinks he could even take on the world if you wish him luck verbally/through text.)

guitarist!endo who would always, always find you among the crowd as he's performing. he'd keep the eye contact steady, lips tugging into a smirk and drops of sweat beading down the infinity loop on the strong column of his neck while he has his fun on the stage.

guitarist!endo who would have literal heart eyes if you so much as ask him to teach you a chord or two (might kneel at your feet if you say you already knew how to play instead. pls he really wants a duet with you)

guitarist!endo who would get distracted whenever he's teaching you to play. you're sitting in his lap, back against his chest and both hands completely engulfed by his larger ones as you try to strum the chords he'd explained and demonstrated a second ago.

(he could've just sat beside or facing you like a normal person but why bother doing that when he could have you sitting so close and oh so prettily in front of him as your sweet, addicting scent overpowers all his senses.)

sending a "hand pics?" text to guitarist!endo as a joke only for him to take it seriously. barely two minutes later, your chat is filled with a bunch of photos he'd taken of his tattooed hands. some are on its own, while some are taken while he's holding his guitar.

(the pictures are sent along with a reply of "these okay? or do you need some more? ^_^ " , the man himself unaware at first of what those godforsaken hands could do to you and your sanity.)

guitarist!endo who's immensely over the moon when you say you wanted to buy him a brand new pick as a little present for all those lessons he'd given you. cerulean eyes glistening, heart beating a thousand miles per hour, cheeks flushing and mouth agape yet no words were uttered out.

after all, to endo, a guitar pick is an essential part to the instrument. an extension of a guitarist's hand, so to say. you might as well be proposing to him with a ring instead with how significant the gesture is to him.

the guitar case thingy is a canon event btw (had a situationship with a guitarist a while back lol)

taglist open !

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[headsincloud9]

His. Always.

This is a sneak peak only. (As my life got hectic and I need some more time editing)

The full fic is here

Paring: Caleb x Reader

Stalking, surveillance, yearning, jealousy, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, evol use, pounding, overstimulating, manipulation.

MINORS DNI

Summary: "she's busy bro" who answered your phone pip-squeak?

Caleb, your precious pilot, was many things, had many things but one thing was always certain—you were his and he was yours. It didn’t matter how much you tried to resist or refuse, how fiercely you glared or how sharply you snapped at him. It was cute, really. Like a little kitten baring its fangs at a wolf, unaware that no amount of scratching or hissing would ever change its fate. He would always make sure you knew who you belonged to.

But there was something in Caleb’s heart that burned with a deeper need—something raw and aching. It wasn’t just the physical claim he felt, the dominant drive to possess you. It was the desperate yearning to have all of you, to make you look at him the way you did everyone else. His eyes never left you, always tracing your movements, always holding onto that sliver of hope that one day you might give him what he truly craved: your heart.

And he never doubted, not for a second, that deep down, you knew it too.

You’d fight, sure. Act as if his presence didn’t set your pulse racing, didn’t make your breath hitch when he got too close, didn’t make your thighs clench beneath the weight of his gaze. But it was always the same—you’d push, and push, and push… and then, at the last second, you’d break. You’d falter. Your bravado would crumble, and then he’d devour you, soothing that stubborn fire in the only way you understood—with possession.

It was a cycle. An endless loop that he couldn’t escape. And yet, he clung to it like a lifeline, desperate for the moment when you would truly surrender to him. When you would finally stop pretending that you didn’t need him just as much as he needed you.

And this time would be no different.

He had given you what you wanted—freedom. Or at least, a carefully curated illusion of it. A cruel indulgence after three agonizing weeks of your silent treatment, your arms crossed, your lips drawn in defiance, your back turned to him in bed like some insolent little thing that could actually deny him. Three weeks of listening to you sigh in irritation when he tried to touch you, of enduring your venom-laced words when he so much as breathed too close.

It had been maddening. And he had tolerated it. For you.

But when you demanded space—distance—away from him, something inside him snapped.

Oh, he agreed, of course. Smiled even. Watched the way your shoulders sagged with relief, how you actually believed you had won. Won. As if he was ever going to let you slip through his fingers. As if he hadn’t been watching you every moment since, unseen, unnoticed—waiting.

Now, as he sat before the screens, the glow of the monitors casting sharp shadows across his angular features, his violet eyes glinted with something dark. Something deranged. His mind was fixed on you. Always you. You were everywhere. He could never escape you. And he didn’t want to.

And there you were.

He zoomed in, his fingers toying absently with the cool metal of his dog tag—the same one you so adorably tried to pull away from your neck when he clasped it around you last time, marking you as his.

You were eating, laughing—surrounded. Smothered by meaningless people. Two girls. Three boys. But it was him—the one sitting too close, the one leaning in just a little too much—that made Caleb’s jaw tick, made his blood sing in that familiar, violent rhythm.

How dare he?

How dare he sit in Caleb’s place? How dare he steal those easy smiles, those soft little giggles, those drunken, rose-colored cheeks that were meant for Caleb alone?

That wretched, boiling thing inside him stirred, seething, curling around his ribs like a serpent. Jealousy. But not the weak, human kind. No, his jealousy was something more—something monstrous, something consuming, something deadly.

He could kill him. It would be easy.

A little miscalculation, an unfortunate accident, a body found in a gutter with no discernible traces of foul play. No one would question it. No one would suspect. And you—you would be so sad. So hurt. So vulnerable. And he would be right there to hold you.

Would you cry for him? Would you mourn? Would you whisper his name in grief?

Would you?

Or would you finally understand?

His grip on the dog tag tightened, his knuckles going white as he forced a breath into his lungs. Slowly. Deeply. Keeping himself anchored to this moment, to you.

His mind drifted. Again.

To that night. That perfect night burned into his very bones.

You had been so bratty. So difficult, so resistant, so eager to push him to his breaking point. Half-sober, flushed from too much liquor and just enough recklessness to tempt the devil himself. And he had let you play. Had let you claw and bite, let you slap his hands away, let you grind his patience down to nothing—before he finally took.

He could still hear you.

Those sounds.

Your desperate, breathless whimpers, your stuttered moans, your hoarse, broken cries as he pounded that brattiness—that defiance—right out of you. Ruined you, over and over, until all you could do was sob his name and tremble against him. Until your body had no choice but to surrender.

He exhaled, slow and controlled, fingers flexing, cock twitching in his pants at the memory. His favorite memory. The way your body clenched around him, the way you shuddered, shattered, as if every fiber of your being existed solely to be conquered by him.

Because you did.

You existed for him. You lived for him. And if you ever forgot that?

Well.

He would just have to remind you.

A cruel smirk curled at his lips as he released the dog tag, breathing steady once more.

He would let you have your fun tonight. Let you giggle, drink, tease, test the limits of his patience.

But soon—very soon—you would remember exactly who you belonged to.

And when you did, oh, how you would need him. He could already feel the pull of your absence, the empty ache in his chest as he longed for you—longed to hear you beg, longed to feel you surrender once again. You would never, ever forget again.