#and i don’t like to sound like i’m making promises

[destinedfordiapers]

No One Mourns The Wicked

This story is set in the Your Change of Plans universe. So read that first. Or don’t. Either way.

I’ll be honest. When Claire’s parents first told me they were sending her to the Little’s Program™️, I tried my best to stop them.

In my defense, Claire was beautiful and who wants to date a girl in diapers?

I mean, sure, she was stuck-up, shallow, and superficial. And yeah, she thought she was the Queen Bee wearing designer clothes and ruthlessly controlling our friend group.

She was a mean girl. Think Regina George. That kind of girl.

But now that I see her, stripped from her fancy, expensive clothes and attitude wearing that adorable diaper—I can’t help but agree it’s for the best.

“Awww, Clairebear! Don’t be shy!!! It’s just me!”

As you can see, Claire hid her face in her stuffies, too embarrassed to respond.

“Claire, honey,” her mom says, “Ryan came all this way to see you. We don’t ignore our guests, do we?”

A few weeks ago, Claire would’ve bit her mom’s head off for talking to her like that.

But now look at her.

Her mom turns to me, smiling. “She might need a few minutes to warm up to you. She’s still adjusting to her new life.”

Claire digs her face further into her stuffies, whimpering.

“It’s okay, I’m sure it’s a big transition for her. I mean, she did go from Prada to Pampers! Gucci to Gerber! Cartier to cribs! But she’s just so cute in that diaper!”

“Well she does have the best diapers on the market! Only the best for Claire,” her mom says, “Plus she’s been much better behaved since she got back. Sure, she still throws tantrums—all Littles do!—but now they’re about not wanting her poopy diaper changed instead of throwing a fit because we got her the wrong Hermes bag!”

“Now that is something I gotta see! Clairebear throwing a tantrum in a poopy diaper?! How cute is that?”

More whimpers from Claire.

“Well, you’re in luck! She’s past due for her afternoon boom boom. She usually goes during her nap but not today. Should be any minute!”

She pats Claire’s diaper playfully.

“It’s just so crazy,” I say astonished, “Claire poops her diapers now.”

“Yep, the Littles Center recommended the full package to fix her attitude after meeting Claire. Complete unpotty-training, inability to orgasm, and strict reliance on the Littles Center’s special baby formula. She can’t eat any adult food without getting an icky tummy!”

“Well, judging by the fact I haven’t heard Claire talk back at all, I’d say it’s working!”

“Like a charm! She did have a meltdown after we gave her fancy clothes to her cousins, but Littles don’t need fancy clothes, do they Claire?”

“M-maawmmmyyyyy,” Claire lisp’s adorably.

“Sorry, honey, but you need onesies and diapers! And I almost forgot, Claire also got the Babble Package™️, so she sounds just like a toddler! How cute is that?”

“I na a tawdwa!!” Claire shrieks.

It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Of course you’re not,” I coo, “You’re our Clairebear!”

Claire’s mom smiles, “Well, why don’t I leave you two alone so you can catch up. Let me know if she makes a poopy!”

Claire moans again.

For the first time since her regression, I’m alone with Claire.

It’s strange, seeing her there in her diaper, completely docile. Nothing like the bossy, sexy woman she used to be.

I sit on the bed next to her, rubbing her shoulder. “Hey, Clairebear.”

She lifts her head from her stuffies. “H-hi Wyan.” Hearing herself she hides her head again.

Doing my best not to laugh, I push forward. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetie. Not with me. You know I love you. Even if things are different.”

Hearing the “I love you,” Claire immediately turns around. “P-pwomith?”

“Yes, Claire, I promise.”

For the first time since I got there, Claire smiled and sat up against her pillows.

“Is this your stuffy?”

“Mhm! It’s Wy-Wy Dog!” she says excitedly, showing me her stuffed dog.

“Awww, did you name him after me?”

“Yeah!” she says, blushing a bit.

“Well I think he’s the cutest little stuffy in the whole world!”

Her smile fades slightly. “Don wan stuffies, wan you!”

I sigh. I knew it would come to this eventually. I wasn’t lying, I did love her. But I can’t date a Little. I need a woman, not a pamper packer.

“Clairebear, I love you, I really do. But you’re…you’re a Little now. It’s not appropriate for you to be in an adult relationship anymore.”

“Buh, buh!” she starts, stomping her hands and feet, “Na fawr!!! I you guwlfwien!!!”

As I look into her eyes, I no longer see the sophisticated, sexy woman she used to be. Whatever she used to be, whatever fun we used to have, a distant memory.

“Sorry, little one. I need a woman—an adult—and you’re not that anymore. You’re not even potty trained, it’s just not meant to be. Maybe you’ll find a nice guy at daycare!”

I knew I went too far right away. The tantrum started right away.

“NOOOOO!” she shouted, kicking her feet more than ever! Na a baby! Na na na!”

The kicking of her feet caused an immediate reaction. Her screaming suddenly stopped as her eyes grew wide.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I ask before a grunt answers my question.

A loud, bubbly toot trumpets out of her diaper, leaving no ambiguity of what’s happening. Her eyes furrow in concentration at the task at hand.

Her diaper expands rapidly as she grunts. Her eyes still unfocused as she works to fill her diaper.

All I can do is watch as the woman I once revered poops her diaper in front of me, no different from an actual toddler.

Well, I guess she basically is a toddler now.

After a few bubbly toots, her grunting stops. Though the smell immediately attacks my nose, barely mitigated by the baby powder in her diaper.

“Did someone just make a poopoo?” I ask in a babyish voice. I couldn’t help myself. It was instinctual.

It’s just how you talk to pamper packers.

“No poopies!” she shrieks, legs kicking again. Her diaper swaying dangerously.

“Are you sure about that, little one?”

“I didn’! You did!” she squeals, trying to kick me.

“Excuse me, Claire? This is not how a Little should behave! You do not fib about your diaper and you definitely do not try to kick adults!”

“Don care! Na baby!!”

“If you keep acting like this you’re gonna learn what happens to misbehaving Littles. I’ll give you one more chance before you end up on my lap.”

I almost felt bad. The last thing I did was want to cause Claire to throw a tantrum. But here we are.

“You na my mawmy! You dum baby too!” she retorted, still trying to kick me.

“No, but I am,” her mom says walking in, “I could hear your tantrum all the way down the hall! Were you trying to kick Ryan?”

Claire’s eyes grew wide. “I-I-I b-but!!”

“We do not kick our babysitters, do you understand me?” her mom said in that deeply maternal voice you hear when you’re in trouble.

In a flash, Claire’s mom is sitting on the bed, pulling her kicking and screaming Little on her lap.

Claire’s diaper is already browning, bulging under the weight of its contents.

She turns to me and says over Claire’s whining, “I’m sorry, Ryan. I did warn you about her poopy diaper tantrums! I’ll take care of this one, are you still on to babysit her Friday night?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Great, you go on, I’ll see you then. I have to teach this little one some manners.”

As I walk out, I hear SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I may have lost my girlfriend, but I can’t argue this isn’t for the best.

[cinnamqnx]

virtually yours ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

pairing. seishiro nagi x f!reader

summary. you’re not a usually a gamer girl, occasionally playing the sims or roblox, so imagine your surprise when a clip of you & your best friend goes viral for talking shit to who you imagined was a 12 year old kid, but actually a popular streamer with a territorial fan base and of all place, on dress to impress.

warnings. basically just crack & fluff, nagi is a lil toxic at the start, swearing

09 | facetime

“hello?”, nagi asks from your phone.

“sorry, i was just messaging ryusei.”, you reply, going off your messages app and back onto the facetime, seeing the top half of his face peeking on your phone.

“oh, okay.”

“alright.. back to what i was saying”, you say, watching nagi’s eyes flicker back up to the facetime, ready to listen.

“i won’t lie, you had me really confused in your messages.”, you continue.

“why?”, he asks.

“i just felt like you was suggesting something.”, you explain, “but i can’t really tell all the time with you.”

he hums, “i don’t know, maybe i was?”, he replies, his tone unsure.

“you sound unsure.”

he defiantly whines while his brows furrow through your screen, causing you to giggle, “you don’t feel like answering?”

“no, but you know what i meant though..”, his voice drifts off, “didn’t you?”

you think for a moment, “well, i don’t think i’d mind if people thought we were together.”

he’s silent for a moment, “really?”

“mhm.”, you pause, “but i would mind the hate from your crazy fan girls, though.”

“yeah. i know.”, he sighs, flopping backwards on his bed.

“but you don’t have to be so secretive about how you feel.”, you pause, “i mean, i have everyone telling me how you feel, but i’ve not heard it from you.”

he feels the anxiety pool at his stomach, a rare feeling for him, “well.. what have they said?”

“that you like me.”

he’s silent for a moment, “oh..”, he mumbles.

“oh?”, you ask softly, trying to pry more out of him other than a quiet ‘oh’.

“i dunno, i guess i do.”, he says quietly.

you giggle at his sudden shyness, “you don’t have to be so shy about it.”

he groans, “it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s not!”, you continue, “i promise it’s not.”

“it’s a hassle.”

“it’s a hassle liking me?”

“no, i mean.. i dunno.”, he sighs, “it feels childish.”

“and.. i’ve never even met you, so do you not find it weird?”, he asks, a tone of insecurity in his voice that you’ve never once heard.

“i don’t think it’s stupid, sei.”

he sighs out in slight relief, glad you’re not making fun of him, “it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“why not?”, you pry.

“cause you don’t like me back.”, he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about it.

you hum before replying, “and who said i didn’t like you back?”

he’s silent for a few seconds, “what?”, his voice is quiet.

“well, i just assumed.”, he thinks for a moment, “are you maybe saying.. that you do like me?”

you hum in confirmation, nagi now having a small, genuine smile on his face from the other side of the phone, while his stomach fills with excitement.

this is a new feeling.

navigation. virtually yours

next chapter. 10

author’s note. sorry this took me longer to get out!! i’m pretty busy atm with life and college. this is also a pretty short chapter but i’ll be posting chapter 10 soon as well!!

taglist: @nensi @yuiearyi @mi2ukiss @pookalicious-hq @shumeow-h @solaqes @jellychannie @kermitbbg69 @pctterheadd @mizuwki @simpingmyassoff @karasu4life @crispynutella @stwberri @lilwx @suksatoru @rwura @ibyobi @renchai @nuhahani @digitaltrippers @natsukicookies @meekydeeks @ursafehaven @tamimemo @yukari1k @chaoslibra @mochiii-sama @cookielovesbook-akie @ningninjas @wallflowerdowned @hannimissesherbackbone @dinnersyummy @appalost @mbyy00 @asteraslvrr @kaz-0e @kascar-chronicle @arwawawa2 @rwbie @haruhi269 @lovessen @kaiserlvr @azharyy @hwaassaa @mikaru0 @sobbangchan @thenightsflower @chuurinnie @appl3-0rchard (closed)

[777bae]

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

[bunji-enthusiast]

thought of another request !! (Obviously platonic, love being used in a more parental manner bc yk,, found family)

so, doey is one of the few toys you managed to save and bring back home. He unfortunately has a anxiety meltdown from being outside for the first time in years and reader having to comfort him, talking to him softly and holding him in their lap while he just sobs bc it's so much at once,,

They're like "shh, it's okay, i know, love, i know.."

Idk if that would make sense for a one shot 🙏

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫

Sypnosis [Being outside for the first time in years can take a special toll on a person, especially if that someone is Doey in particular.]

Character [Doey]

Note || I believe I understand what you mean, correct me if I don’t lol.

The day had been quiet, almost too quiet. The toys, having found their way to your home after months of struggling for survival, were finally beginning to settle in. The factory was far behind them now, the haunting memories of the place slowly fading into the recesses of their minds. The Safe Haven was a place where they could breathe again, feel safe. You, having escaped the nightmarish grip of the factory, had taken it upon yourself to provide for them, to help them heal. You had promised yourself that no matter the cost, you would make sure they were never subjected to the horrors of the factory again.

But even in the safety of this new home, some wounds never healed. You watched as Doey, the plump dough creature, sat at the corner of the living room, his normally playful demeanor replaced by something more distant, more uncertain. His eyes—holes in his head, just faint shadows in the dim light—seemed lost, unfocused. He was far from the carefree toy who had led the Safe Haven group with bravery and kindness. No, this was a side of Doey you had never seen before, and it was clear that something was wrong.

You walked over to him, kneeling down so that you could meet his gaze. He flinched slightly at your approach, and you noticed the subtle trembling in his yellow and orange arms. You had seen toys face the horrors of the factory, but nothing quite like this. Doey had always been strong, calm, a beacon of hope for the others.

But today, that strength had crumbled.

"Doey," you said gently, your voice low and calm, "hey, what’s going on? Talk to me."

Doey's mouth, that simple line of dough, quivered slightly as he took a deep, shuddering breath. He could barely hold it together, his usual bubbly nature drowned under the weight of something far more sinister.

“I... I’m not sure I can do it anymore,” Doey muttered, his voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t like him to sound so fragile, but you recognized the desperation in his tone. “I’ve tried. I’ve always tried... But it feels like no matter how hard I try, I’m just going to fall apart.”

You frowned, reaching out to place a hand gently on his arm. The warmth of your touch seemed to help, though Doey flinched at first. He wasn’t used to being touched like this, not in such a vulnerable state. You could see his struggle, the fear of being broken, of losing himself to the horrors of his past.

"Hey," you said, your voice steady despite the situation, "it's okay. You're safe now. We're all safe."

"But I don’t feel safe," Doey whispered, his eyes downcast, avoiding yours. "Every time I close my eyes, I see... I see them. The factory. The screams. The things I did... the things I couldn’t stop. And now I can’t stop feeling like I’m just one bad thing away from falling apart. What if I’m just a... a toy? A toy made to be broken? What if I’m not strong enough to lead them, to keep everyone safe?"

You could feel the weight of his words, the burden he was carrying. Doey wasn’t just a toy to you. He was a friend, a confidant. His strength was a shield, not just for himself, but for all the toys in the once Safe Haven. And now that shield was cracking.

You knew that the other toys were counting on him, but even they didn’t know the full depth of the struggle he was going through. Doey was made up of the memories and personalities of three children—Kevin, Jack, and Matthew. Each piece of him brought its own light, its own shadow. And while Matthew's kindness and gentle spirit were a dominant force within him, there was also the fiery temper of Kevin, and the deep yearning for something lost within Jack. It made Doey... complicated.

"Doey, listen to me," you said softly, but firmly. "You're not alone in this. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep going. And we’re all here to help you. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Doey's right arm—yellow and thick—shuddered as he reached up, his hand going to his face, his body folding in on itself as though he could hide from the world. A soft sob escaped him, and your heart ached. You had seen him lead, seen him face danger with a brave face, but this... this was something entirely different. The weight of the factory’s horrors, the responsibility of being a leader, had taken its toll.

"Doey, it's okay to feel broken," you said, your voice trembling just slightly now. "We all have our broken pieces. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be whole. You’re not just a toy. You’re not just the past. You’re Doey. You’re the one who stood up for all of us. You showed us what it means to keep fighting. And we’re not going to let you fall now.”

Doey looked up at you, his doughy face streaked with tears—tears made of the very clay he was formed from. You could see the conflict in his eyes. The fear of what might happen next. The anger bubbling up from deep within, the fiery Kevin side of him, just waiting to lash out.

But you didn’t let him retreat. Instead, you gently cupped his face in your hands, the warmth of your palms pressing against his cool, doughy skin. “Doey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. We’re all here.”

A long moment passed, where Doey simply breathed, shuddering in your hold, trying to steady himself. Slowly, his trembling ceased, his body slowly relaxing into your touch. There was still an undercurrent of fear within him, but you could feel him starting to regain control.

“I... I don’t know if I can lead anymore,” Doey said quietly, his voice still uncertain. “But I... I don’t want to let anyone down.”

You smiled softly, your hand brushing his long orange arm. "You don’t have to lead alone, Doey. We’re all here for each other. Here—it’s not just you. It’s all of us, together."

His yellow and orange arms hung limply at his sides for a moment before he slowly, carefully, wrapped them around you, his stubby red legs shaking beneath him. His embrace wasn’t strong, but it was filled with a sense of quiet gratitude. He was fragile, yes, but he wasn’t alone.

And that was enough. For now, it was enough. You’d be there to help him, just like he had helped so many others before.

"Thank you," Doey whispered, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I’ll try. I’ll try to be strong. For them. For you."

And as the two of you sat there in the quiet of the room, surrounded by the other toys, you knew that, despite everything, Doey would find his way. Because sometimes, strength wasn’t about never breaking—it was about finding the courage to put the pieces back together when everything felt like it was falling apart. And you’d be there to help him do just that.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Sugar, Baby

Chapter Three: Unraveling

Bruce Wayne x Sugar Baby! Reader

| Part 1 | | Part 2 |

I pinky promise there will be smut in the next part🤞 I just felt like making this one a bit of a slow burn

Taglist: @shadowqueen1322 @secretsideofbree @lillyrob

It started with nights at the manor.

At first, it was just a casual thing—Bruce would send a car, and you’d spend an evening talking over expensive whiskey, letting the world outside the Wayne estate fade into irrelevance. You still worked at the bar, still went to class, but somehow, Bruce had become a fixture in your life.

And it wasn’t just the money.

Yes, he still tipped you ridiculous amounts when he showed up at the bar. Yes, the black card he’d given you sat in your wallet, burning a hole you had yet to fill. But more than that, he was there.

The texts started coming more frequently.

B: You still alive?

You: Barely. My professor is trying to kill me with this assignment.

B: Send me the prompt. I’ll have my team handle it.

You: Absolutely not.

B: I don’t like seeing you stressed.

You: And I don’t like billionaire academic fraud.

B: Fair point.

He called, too—not often, but enough that you found yourself waiting for the sound of his voice on the other end of the line.

The nights at the manor got longer.

At first, it was just drinks and conversation, but then there were the quiet dinners Alfred started preparing for two instead of one. The slow walks through the grand halls of the estate, the firelit nights spent sprawled on the couch in the library, his arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you.

And then, of course, there were the kisses.

God, the kisses.

They started slow, teasing, an extension of whatever sharp-witted conversation you’d been having before he inevitably leaned in. Bruce kissed with purpose, with intent, with the kind of control that made you dizzy.

But that’s all it was.

Kissing.

He never pushed, never let things go further than you could handle, and part of you wondered if he knew.

If he had already pieced together that you had never done this before.

Not this—not just the kisses, but the way he made you feel.

Because it wasn’t just physical.

Bruce knew you.

He listened when you ranted about your classes, when you muttered about your deadlines, when you offhandedly mentioned your favorite books or movies. He remembered, too—casually dropping facts about your life into conversation, surprising you with small gestures that proved he had been paying attention.

“Tell me something real,” you murmured one night, curled up next to him on the oversized couch in his study.

Bruce glanced down at you, brow raising slightly. “Something real?”

You nodded. “Something not in the tabloids.”

He was silent for a moment, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your knee.

“I never sleep for more than three hours at a time,” he admitted finally. “It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

You frowned, shifting to get a better look at him. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his expression. “You know why.”

You did.

Gotham knew the story of Thomas and Martha Wayne—the billionaire philanthropists gunned down in an alley, the grieving son left behind.

“I dream about them,” Bruce continued, voice quieter now. “Not always in the way you’d think. Sometimes it’s just… glimpses. My mother’s perfume. My father’s laugh. I wake up before I can hold onto any of it.”

Your chest tightened.

You reached for his hand without thinking, threading your fingers through his. Bruce blinked, as if surprised, before his grip tightened around yours.

He didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, rubbing a slow, deliberate pattern over your knuckles. “I just—”

“I’m glad you told me,” you interrupted softly.

He exhaled, eyes flickering toward your lips.

That night, the kisses were softer.

Not urgent. Not desperate. Just there.

Something real.

—

It was a few weeks later when you finally asked.

You were sitting in Bruce’s bedroom—an indulgently large space that still somehow felt distinctly him. There was a fireplace crackling in the corner, the low golden light casting shadows across the room.

Bruce was on the bed beside you, leaning against the headboard, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through something on his phone. You had a book open in your lap, though you weren’t really reading it.

Instead, you were watching him.

“Bruce.”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Mm?”

You hesitated. “Are you… waiting for something?”

He set his phone down, eyes scanning your face. “What do you mean?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the book. “I mean, we’ve been… this for a while now.”

Bruce’s lips twitched. “This?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted.

You exhaled. “So, are you waiting? For me?”

His expression shifted, something fond passing through his features.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Your stomach flipped. “Why?”

Bruce sat up, moving closer. One of his hands found your knee, fingers brushing against the fabric of your leggings.

“Because I know you,” he said, voice low. “I know you wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t real for you.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His thumb traced slow circles against your leg.

“And I want to take my time with you.”

You felt yourself flush, warmth spreading through your body at the implication.

Bruce smirked slightly, tilting your chin up with the crook of his finger.

“You deserve more than rushed decisions,” he murmured. “I don’t need more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You inhaled sharply. “I—”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and coaxing.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispered against your mouth.

And for once, you didn’t.

—

It didn’t happen that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

But somehow, the waiting didn’t feel like waiting.

Masterlist

[goldenroutledge]

if tomorrow never comes

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, i just have a lot on my plate. ❜. based on this request.

summary: in which you and carlos drift apart and the tension boils over on your anniversary.

a/n: i’m having so much fun writing these requests! thank you to everyone requesting :)

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“When do you think you can be here, Carlos?”

His voice is tight on the other end of the line, knowing that you won’t like the answer. “An hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

You want to scream out and repeat his answer back to him so loudly that he can hear from the balcony of your shared apartment. It’ll let all of Monaco know how ridiculous he sounds. The flight attendant’s presence at the other end of the cabin helps you keep your composure. “And you’re sure that’s it? One hour?”

“Yes cariño, I promise.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m annoyed with you.”

“Can’t help it.” Carlos smiles cheekily, you can hear it in his voice. You can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling that he’s not taking you seriously. Postponing time spent together, sometimes venturing into canceling dates altogether, was becoming too frequent for your liking. But patience had to be your strong suit dating Carlos. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You end the call abruptly, leaving him to a last minute business meeting while you’re sitting here, awaiting your boyfriend on the private jet he has abandoned. Then again it would only be considered abandoned had he shown up on time to begin with.

He’d returned home from training yesterday exhausted as ever, yet reassured you with the promise that you two would spend a few days on a quiet getaway for your anniversary. Just the two of you, alone together. A trip you’d been planning for weeks now, with the need to make it an anniversary you’d always remember. If getting away was what it took to get Carlos to relax again, to be with you free of any distractions from work, you’d do that.

Carlos regards his career with a dedicated spirit, diligently organizing his schedule to make sure nothing falls between the cracks. His training, his sponsorships, his future at Williams… As badly as he feels to leave you waiting, duty calls. A last minute Zoom meeting with a new sponsor held him back at the apartment for longer than he anticipated. While most people have already resigned themselves to the fact that they can’t have it all, Carlos Sainz is not most people. He’ll either have everything, or die trying. It’s one of the many traits you love about him. Your heart aches at the thought of it being what tears you apart.

“Champagne?” The flight attendant offers you the drink, one of two that was meant for your celebratory toast with Carlos to kick off your anniversary trip.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day.” The flight attendant gives you a sympathetic smile, watching you down the drink with no effort. If this keeps up, it’ll be a long weekend too.

–

Once Carlos finally joins you on the plane, his ask for forgiveness is difficult to deny. He brought you a bouquet of flowers so large they took up their own seat on the plane, and he hadn’t stopped showering you with love since he arrived. Something about making up for lost time, he’d mumbled into your ear when you questioned his overwhelming affection. The colors of the flowers tied in beautifully with your outfit; Carlos was sure to capture it with a few photographs.

His attention to detail was another thing that you loved about him, it drew you in everytime. When you’re together like this, free of the outside noise, you wish it could last forever. Always on the other end of the phone or outside the airplane window is something ready to whisk him away. Ideally, an anniversary spent with him would consist of a lazy morning making breakfast together, simply basking in each other’s company.

His company was hard to enjoy when you were barely experiencing it, now sitting alone at your anniversary dinner hours later. Your mood turned sour when Carlos excused himself to take a call, walking away from the table before you had a chance to express your distaste. The tension that had been simmering between you two was bound to bubble over once again as Carlos returned to your table with a guilty look, phone to his ear as he ended his call with his cousin/manager.

You didn’t bother to look up, taking your anger out on your meal instead, poking and prodding the food with your silverware. It was a delicious meal that did nothing to deserve a brutal assault by fork and knife, ruining its picturesque presentation.

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that the more you say those words, the more they lose their significance each time?”

He sighs, running a stressed hand through his dark hair. “You know the kind of pressure that I’m under right now, cariño. How much this year has worn on me in general. Please, I just need you to be a little more-”

“Understanding? Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” You cut him off harshly, and the look you give him across the table is worth flinching from.

“You have. And I feel terrible, but it won’t last forever.” He attempts to soothe your worries, reaching for your hand. You don’t accept or deny his touch, you’re just still. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’re right, Carlos. It won’t last forever. You’ll make sure of it.”

“What do you mean by that? You think we’re going to break up?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t make time to nurture our relationship, there won’t be a relationship left! I’ve been here, Carlos. For you, for us, while juggling my own life and career, so don’t tell me it’s impossible. There was a time when you balanced it all before, when you weren’t working yourself to the bone because you decided you have something more to prove to the world.”

“I’m trying to balance everything, but it’s not always going to be smooth sailing. You know it’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not. I don’t need it to be, but I miss the days when you felt like our relationship was worth making time for. When I wasn’t the last of your priorities.”

“Maybe I miss the days when you understood that I’m not always going to be available for you 24/7.” Carlos rants, feeling defensive at how this time, the gloves are off, you’re finally letting Carlos feel the weight of the burden you’ve been carrying– loving enough for the two of you. Your pounding heart reminds you that it’s impossible to carry on like this. Something has to give. “Do you realize how much time I’m spending away from training to be with you? Is that not making time for our relationship?”

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, the air suddenly feeling warmer than before. Your nervous system begs you to get out of there, to leave the conversation before either of you say something you’ll regret. If it hasn’t been said already. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t even need any of this! I just want you! I remember the days when that wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Your hand has long dropped his, and Carlos’ eyes widen in panic as he watches you move out of your chair. “Amor, stay. Please, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Confliction moves through you like a strike of lightning, torn between staying to talk it through or taking a moment of space, after pouring out the feelings you’d spent so much time locking away. The last straw is when your waiter approaches your table, holding a small cake in his hands. On the top of it is a picture of you and Carlos together on your first anniversary, more content and in love than ever. A candle burns on the cake and wax melts down the sides, resembling the tears that wish to fall. Carlos’ eyes plead with guilt, begging you to stay and forget. Smile and pretend that right now, you’re still that happy couple printed on the cake.

Instead, you throw your napkin to your plate. “I need some air.”

–

Carlos watches you go, he doesn’t stop you. A timeout will do you both some good right now. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that bad. Couples fight. But he sits there, sullen, knowing that he’s fucked up this time. His heart burns as he stares at the picture of you two on the cake. It’s unbearable, and that little surprise he orchestrated now feels like a pointed joke at his expense. He blows out the candle and the light goes out. But closing his eyes won’t help his fear of the dark. Even he can’t run from this.

He finds you outside of the restaurant, sitting on a bench, staring down into the renewing waters of the fountain. It’s mesmerizing, the way you can drown in the sight and get lost in the calming sound. He slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just have a lot on my plate. But that’s no excuse to put our relationship on the backburner. I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos presses a chaste kiss to your temple, and feels comforted by how you subtly lean into his space. It’s a step. “I love you, and I’m going to listen to you. I want to make this better because there’s not a life for me without you in it. I need you, cariño. I want to be with you, always.”

“I’ve felt so disconnected from you lately and being here on our anniversary, reminded of all the happier times we’ve shared, I just… that scares me. I’m scared we won’t get back there if there’s any more distance between us.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. The truth is, I am able to do what I do because you’re always there. You support me when things are up, when they’re down. When I lost my seat, when I got sick with appendicitis, when I won races… you’re there for it all. I took you for granted thinking that I could give everything I have to my career, when it’s you who deserves it.”

“You do give it everything, but I think you’ve lost sight of things a little bit. Usually you give me everything you have too, I mean the little cake with us on it… I love that you did that for me, Carlos. I’m only so upset because I love you too.”

Those words haven’t stopped echoing in his mind. He swears he’ll engrave them into his brain forever, as long as you’re happy. “Maybe I have been overcompensating a little bit, feeling pressure to make things perfect in my career. The year has been difficult, but I couldn’t have gotten through without you.”

You kiss his cheek, warming up to his affectionate words. He’s sincere, he truly means them. “You’re more than enough, Carlos. Just the way you are. Weathering the storm isn’t always easy but there’s nobody else I’d rather be with either.”

“Can we start over?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

“I have an idea. Should I throw my phone into the fountain, cariño? You’ll have my undivided attention for days.”

“Tempting, but no. Keep your phone dry, my love. Would you be opposed to going back to the villa? Enjoying the rest of the night in?”

Carlos wiggles his brows, as he recognizes that familiar glint in your eyes. One that shimmers with hope and longing. “We do have a pretty sweet cake being boxed up as we speak.”

“Maybe we can light the candle again? I promise I won’t leave the room this time.” Your hearts soar at the thought of blowing out your candle together, hands held as you make a new promise to each other. The past years together have been bliss and the rainbows have always shined through the cloudy skies. The next years together, you will wish for the same and even more.

“Anything for you, cariño. Happy Anniversary.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you with no choice but to cup his jaw and bring your lips to his. The cool breeze outside is no match for either of you– you’ve got your love to keep you warm.

“Happy Anniversary, Carlos.”

💌: thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are very much appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[softlypaintedseafoam]

as soft as a misty rain

synopsis. it's all typical sanji; there's no deeper meaning to his actions. until it isn't all typical sanji and there are many meanings to everything he does.

pairing. vinsmoke sanji x f!reader

word count. 1.3k | masterlist

content warning. recently established relationship, allusions that sanji's past is more complicated than he lets on, reader has a defined devil fruit ability

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

one of two reposts i'm doing today with my valentine's day event nearly completed. this fic was a gift for my friend @hash-slinging-slasher-trash and i wanted it over here too

Sanji has always handled you with care.

There is nothing to realize. It’s an objective fact that has been apparent from almost the very moment you met on Charmed Enclave. Aside from children, there are very specific individuals Sanji will always be gentle with. An enthusiastic softness, eager and ready to serve at the drop of a hat.

I’m not special, you had told yourself, clutching Zoro’s previous warnings tightly. He does this for every woman, with or without a pulse.

It didn’t matter how many treats he brought you, reserved solely for you.

There was no deeper meaning to when he held out his hand to help you down a few steps.

Nor did it matter if he’d push Zoro onto a puddle for you to walk across like a coat taking in all the liquid, amusing as it had been.

It’s all typical Sanji.

The question is raised when it isn’t typical Sanji; that is what makes your skin buzz as Sanj’s fingers thrum across your own. What makes your chest warm as you watch as he wraps a cloth around your palms and your fingers, how he touches you as if protecting a thousand treasures.

“I won’t lie and say the Nervy Nervy Fruit isn’t useful,” Sanji murmurs with a sigh. “But if you can’t feel pain, how are you supposed to recognize your limits? Like the other day.”

You chuckle sheepishly and Sanji’s expression is uncharacteristically sharp, unamused at the display. You are sure he will be sour about your turning off your pain receptors to test the heat of the stovetop a while longer. The blond has been fretting over you like a mother hen even since. “I’ll try to be more mindful,” you promise when your chuckles subside, letting your gaze rest on your connected hands. As of now, you’ve only dulled your senses to a light discomfort. Enough to feel everything without wanting to croak from your injuries. “But this time I was distracted, I normally don’t singe myself when I check how hot the stove is.”

That does little to sway Sanji in your favor.

“I’ll be more careful,” you dramatically let your head hang as if you’re being reprimanded by your boss.

“You’ll make Chopper sad otherwise,” despite his words, Sanji sounds satisfied with the conclusion. “Think about Chopper. That’s what you told me, remember?”

Your shoulders shake with hearty laughter, “don’t use my words against me,” you beam brightly with a hint of challenge. “And you should be thanking me. Quitting smoking is going to help you in the long run. What if they started calling you Black Lung Sanji? What would you do then?” Not to mention with how impressionable the young reindeer is, the last thing you want is to see him attempting to take a smoke break between patients.

With how hectic things tend to get for the Straw Hats, it is too easy to envision.

Sanji’s cigarettes and lighter had to go for the greater good.

As your laughter subsides, a comfortable silence settles over you both.

“So,” you feel possessed to break it. Comfortable as it may be, you fear you’ll drown in it. Sink deeper and deeper in it until you do something foolish, whatever foolish thing that may be. It’s easy to drown as a power holder, it is why you are always careful around the water’s edge. What happens when you find a piece of the ocean you aren’t afraid to fall into, however. You’ve never been prepared for that. “Have you always wanted to become a cook? I know that’s what you were doing before you joined the crew.”

At your query, Sanji’s eyes shine like a child’s, “it is.” As if he’s water flowing over a dam, Sanji tells you about his home in the East Blue. The floating restaurant, the Baratie ー a concept you’ve never certainly thought possible ー and the fighting cooks that reside in it.

He tells you about Zeff and the many cooks that joined his ranks over the years. Laughter falls from your lips as easily as the stories leave Sanji’s. 

The Baratie sounds more like the Waffle House restaurant chain throughout your home island than anything else. At the tail end of Sanji’s story about how a line cook named Peter got into a fist fight with three drunks and a cranky chicken, you finally ask, “what made you love cooking so much?”

“I’ve always enjoyed it, but I’d say my mom is the one who really encouraged it,” he tells you thoughtfully, his hands moving slower against your own as he recalls the woman. He should have long since finished, you know, but you don’t mind that he’s stalled in his ‘wound tending efforts’. It’s nice feeling as if it is only you on the ship when in reality you are just the only ones awake. “I liked making her lunches, not that I was always good at it. But even if it tasted like garbage, she always ate it,” the blond’s dark eyes are miles away from where you sit on the Sunny. “Then she’d ask me to make her something else again.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” you try to imagine what such a gentle person looks like. I think you probably look a lot like her. A good portion of the woman’s character certainly had been imbued in her son. He’s always been gentle and kind, you’ve seen it in how he treats Chopper.

It’s easy to baby the crew’s smallest member, but there is something unique in how everyone does it. Sanji was meant to be a father. It’s a thought that flusters you, but you know it is true regardless. It’s a bit too soon to think about that though.

“It,” Sanji’s gaze doesn’t meet yours as his thumb brushes over the back of your cloth-covered hand. You aren’t able to dwell long on what exactly your newly minted boyfriend means, however, as he continues on. “will probably be easier meeting Zeff than my mother. He’s a stubborn old fart but he means well. You’ll like him. Just don’t believe anything those jackasses at the Baratie tell you about me. I just know they put up that god awful wanted poster of me where everyone can see it.”

A giggle slips from your lips at Sanji’s distressed expression and you recall how he begged for you to pretend the portrait didn’t exist. 

It’s easy to imagine all the cantankerous characters he mentioned growing up with. Zeff, Patty, Carne and you can easily picture the boisterous men hanging Sanji’s wanted poster for all to see like proud parents and uncles. Ones very good at teasing their group’s baby. The men who made Black Leg Sanji ‘Black Leg Sanji’.

“I can’t wait to meet them.”

Sanji pauses at your words before he lips stretch into a dreamy smile and you let yourself arrogantly assume he’s picturing the same things you are. “I can’t wait to introduce you to them.” With that, his tending to your hand is finished, cloth gently knotted so it can’t move. “I’m no Chopper, so he’ll probably have to redo it once he wakes up.”

You smile at his handiwork, “thanks again.” You think that will be the end of your little moment, but rather than let your hand go Sanji holds your fingers a touch tighter.

“Can I kiss your hand,” the cook asks earnestly, dark eyes reserved yet hopeful.

“You don’t have to ask permission for that,” your chest burns a gold the color of Sanji’s hair. It’s unfair how easily he gets your heart pounding like a drum. In spite of your words, he doesn’t lean forward an inch. “Of course you can,” you grumble, eyes darting to a particularly interesting piece of wood in your embarrassment.

The hair of his chin dances across your skin like raindrops.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 33. An Unlikely Hero

Summary: Celebrations for Reunification Day are well under way. But it's not a day for all to celebrate. Something a certain family member makes sure she doesn't forget.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

The party was now in full swing, the crowd a mix of pale blue, cream, navy blue and black. The one time of year all the Quadrants interact in celebration of our win over the rebellion. I wave at Austin, Liz and Kai who are with the rest of our squad. I want more than anything to go join them, but I’m stuck with Dain for the evening. Garrick was right, for someone who normally didn’t care about people I sure gave a damn tonight.

”Well I hear you two are excelling in the Quadrant.” A familiar voice says from behind, turning to see General Sorrengail looking at Dain and I. “Sounds like I have some promising prospects for our front line when you two graduate.”

”Thank you General. Hopefully we can serve our nation proudly.” Dain says with a smile I swear he reserves for when he’s sucking up to his superiors.

”I’m sure you will. With signets like yours on our side, nothing can stand in our way.” She says with a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She almost looks… worried. Why would she be worried? “Anyway, I have a lot of people to see. Enjoy the night.”

I watch her leave, unable to shake the look in her eyes from my memory.

”I see your usual entourage are missing.” Dain notes as he scans the crowd.

I scoff, “Can you blame them? Were celebrating the death of their parents. If you were in their shoes would you want to be here?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “They aren’t the only ones who lost someone on this date.”

Ouch, low blow. And he knows it. I swear I see regret in his eyes before I turn, his hand grazing mine as I walk away, heading for the staircase I know will take me back up to the corridor leading back to the quadrant. I hear him call out to me but I ignore him. He knows I am well aware what today means for us. It had been years since I’d been reminded due to this celebration taking priority. But I still fucking knew.

”Disappointing. Just like always.” His cold voice drawls from behind me as I reach the corridor.

I turn and see my father leaning against the wall, his gaze down on the crowd below. He’d been watching me. Probably waiting for me to sneak off.

”Like I said in that tower, I’m use to being this disappointment. Just another day for me.” I tell him sternly, noting the tick in his jaw at my words.

”And always will be it seems.” He states as he turns his attention to me. “First your mother. And now you fall in with that lot.”

”You know that day wasn’t my fault.” I hiss at him as I bawl my hands into fists at my side.

”It was entirely your fault. If you hadn’t gone running off with those infantry boys, nothing would have happened. If you had been in training like you were meant to, nothing would have happened. And today wouldn’t be tainted by what you did.” He snaps at me as he stalks over to me.

”I didn’t throw the rock!” I nearly yell at him, instantly regretting it as fury washes over his features.

”You might not have thrown it but you were the reason it was thrown. And you chose to throw yourself in with those marked ones. You made those choices, and you will deal with those consequences.”

I shake my head, chuckling nervously at his words. “Trust me, I deal with them every day thanks to you and your lies. But don’t worry, those marked ones you’re so worried about aren’t an issue any more.”

I hated to speak the words, but they were true. I’d already noted how Xaden had been more reserved around me. How much quieter Bodhi had gotten with me. Even Imogen had been around less at training. Either due to me reverting back to the usual cold demeanour I’d had prior to coming here, or due to what had happened with Garrick. Either way, I’d already noted the shift since that night.

”Ah, they finally figured out the disgrace you are. They were going to find out eventually.” He sounds almost pleased by the idea.

”She’s not a disgrace.” Someone calls from behind me, my body going rigid at their voice.

No. Why the hell was he here? He shouldn’t be here. Not today. He should be far away from here. He didn’t celebrate today, and he’d made it clear what he thought of me attending. And yet he was here. Right behind me and…. defending me?

”Please, that’s rich coming from someone like you.” My father shoots back as he narrows his eyes while looking over my shoulder.

”Well aware. But she’s not a disgrace.” Garrick states, his footsteps getting closer and closer.

”And what would you know about her?” My father says cockily, as if he has the upper hand.

”A lot more than you it seems. She’s strong, determined and a hell of a strategist. Hell she’s been running circles around me all year with out blinking an eye.” Garrick rattles off with ease. “And it’s not just me she’s doing it to. She could probably run circles around most of the Wingleaders without a second thought.”

”She’s only like that because of me.” My father lying through his teeth.

”No.” I say loudly, my father shifting his attention to me. “None of that was because of you. All of the was because I was trying to get your approval. When I was young and naïve enough to think if I could do better than Dain that you would love me again.”

”There is nothing you could do to get my approval after killing your mother.”

The words leave his mouth so easily I barely register what he’s said at first. But he said it. He said the words he’s only ever spoken to Dain and I. I look over my shoulder at Garrick who is right behind me, as if standing guard. He doesn’t even seem phased over my fathers words.

”Is that what you tell yourself at night to make you feel better?” Garrick says without missing a beat.

My fathers eyes meet his again. “How dare you speak to me like that cadet. How dare you stand there act like you know better than me.”

”And I will continue to do so, because it’s abundantly clear you know nothing about your own daughter.”

As I look at Garrick, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Not even at me. The way he looked at me earlier feels like nothing to how he’s glaring at my father. He was the epitome of if looks could kill. And for the first time since I was a kid, I was actually worried for my father. But I can’t help but feel something else. A feeling I can’t describe because I’ve never felt it before. Not even an hour ago Garrick was pushing me away, being completely shut off to me. And now here he was defending me like I mean something to him.

”And you think you do?” He snaps back at Garrick.

Garrick fucking smirks at my father while crossing his arms across his chest and leaning towards him as he looks down at him. “Definitely. Because if you did you’d realise how amazing she is without any of the so called help you denied her of.”

My father scoffs, taking a step back from Garrick and I. And with a shake of his head he turns and marches down the stairs I’d just come down from. I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch him disappear into the crowd below. Garrick might have won this one for me, but I knew this was far from over. Especially with Garrick stepping in.

I turn and look at Garrick, unsure what I should say. There’s a part of me that wants to yell at him for defending me like that and stepping in. But there’s another part of me that isn’t quite sure how to feel about it. No one had ever defended me like that. Especially not to my father.

”Why?” I ask him finally as I turn to look at him.

Garrick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. Hesitation, maybe. Or guilt. “Because it was the right thing to do,” he says simply. “No one should talk to you like that, not even your father.”

His words hit me harder than I expect them to. I cross my arms, partly to shield myself from the sudden vulnerability I feel and partly to keep my hands from trembling. “You don’t understand. It’s… complicated. My father and I—”

“It doesn’t matter how complicated it is,” he interrupts, his voice firm now. “Respect isn’t something that should come with conditions. You deserve better than that.”

I blink at him, stunned. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. The air feels heavy between us, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.

“I didn’t ask you to fight my battles,” I murmur, though the words feel weak as they leave my mouth.

Garrick lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “You didn’t have to ask. Sometimes, people need someone in their corner, even if they don’t realise it.”

I look away, the knot in my chest tightening. I hate that his words make me feel seen in a way I’m not ready for. “You’re awfully quick to play the hero,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but it comes out sharper than I intend.

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to be… someone you can count on.”

The sincerity in his voice disarms me, and I feel my defences crumbling, piece by piece. I shake my head, letting out a shaky breath. “You don’t even know me, Garrick. Not fully.”

“Maybe not yet,” he admits. “But I’d like to. If you’ll let me.”

I nod, dropping my gaze to the ground as I try to figure out the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside my head. Which wasn’t uncommon in the last few weeks and months since that night in the gym. I look back up, Garrick’s hazel eyes already on me, watching and waiting. There’s a softness and warmth to them I’m not use to seeing and it sends my heart into a chaotic rhythm. The last time he looked at me like this was in that tower after I’d used his signet.

”Garrick….” I start, but I’m unsure what I want to say to him.

”It’s ok,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything.”

But I do. I want to so badly. But I have no idea how to put into words the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling. Instead I take a step closer, feeling the space us shrink, my heart now pounding loudly, so loud I’m sure he can hear it. Because it’s all I can hear right now.

He doesn’t move an inch, watching as I step towards him. But his eyes flicker down to my lips for the briefest second, enough to make my breath catch. I swallow hard, trying to stop the slight shake that has started in my hands. Before I can stop my self I raise my shields, closing this distance between us as I grasp his flight jacket in my hands and pull him down to me, pressing my lips to his. Fuck it.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601 

[anonity]

wrote something quick and sweet for you guys because i have a whopping 40 pages of angst sitting in my drafts rn.. do we want the pazzi fic first or the paige x reader fic? 

anyways enjoy

summary: azzi drags paige out of bed at 6 in the morning, just to go to the gym. (also, they’re dating and paige is in love) WC: 1000ish

beep, beep, bee–

paige buries her head into her pillow as silence befalls the room – for three seconds. then, it gets ripped out from underneath her. 

“morning, paige!” azzi’s voice rings, annoyingly chipper for – paige cracks an eye open, finally looking at her alarm – 6 in the morning.

hesitantly, hoping if she moved slowly enough azzi would not notice she was awake, she looked towards where the voice had come from. instead, she comes face to face with neon pink. azzi steps back, and paige finally gets to take in everything in front of her – gray sweats, a bright hoodie, and a black gym bag slung over her shoulder.

the sight makes paige want to die. 

“az,” she groans, yanking their blanket up over her head, “it’s six in the morning.”

azzi promptly pulls the entire comforter away. “six-thirty,” she corrects helpfully, balling up the blanket and leaving it on the opposite end of the bed. paige groans again, reaching blindly for it. it’s decidedly too far, so she settles instead on falling limply against the mattress.

azzi’s nose scrunches in response. “you promised you’d come to the gym with me.”

paige mumbles something that sounds like another complaint, but her voice is muffled in the mattress. azzi shoves her shoulder, forcing her face up. “c’mon, don’t make me pull you out.”

paige just barely cracks a smile. “you never have to pull out, ma.”

“paige!” azzi yelps in response, slapping her chest half-heartedly. “that doesn’t even make sense! get up!”

feeling particularly unamused again, paige's voice comes out groggy. “you know not to make plans with me before nine in the morning.”

azzi’s eyes narrow. “then you shouldn’t have said you’d go with me.”

paige doesn’t answer, throwing an arm over her eyes instead. azzi lets out an overly-emphasized sigh, leaning down so her face is level with paige’s.”you’re lucky i think you’re cute.”

paige peeks out from under her arm. she’s met with that soft, sickeningly fond look azzi reserves only for her, and can’t help the smile it warrants. “you think i’m cute?”

“i think you’re lazy,” azzi shoots back, standing straight again. “but, because i know you soo well, i brought you coffee.”

paige perks up immediately, reaching for the cup expectantly. “you’re the best, az.”

azzi immediately pulls back, holding it just out of reach. “nuh-uh,” she chides, a glint in her eye that can only mean trouble for paige. “not until you’re ready to go.”

paige scowls. “you’re joking.”

“it’s strategic.”

the second the word leaves azzi’s mouth, it’s a mistake – she knows it because paige immediately shoots up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her. 

“paige!” she tries to sound annoyed, but the giggle that follows is indisputable. “get off of me!”

paige immediately fumbles for the coffee cup, a disposable one from downstairs, and briefly wonders when azzi had time to even go get it. “taunting opponents is not a strategy, it’s a flagrant foul,” she corrects, still fighting for the drink. azzi pokes her side in that spot that always has paige jerking away and frees herself, holding the still-intact coffee up triumphantly. 

“all is fair in love and basketball,” she grins. 

paige scowls. “don’t use my favorite movie against me.”

“it’s my favorite movie.”

“i had it first.”

“you did not!”

“did too, i’m older than you.”

baffled, azzi jerks back. “what does that have to do with anything?”

paige straightens, looking particularly smug. “it means i had time to watch it before you did.”

“paige!” azzi groans, shoving her towards the dresser. “get dressed!”

paige grumbles but acquiesces, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. there’s cold biting through the windows of their apartment, and azzi briefly comments on paiges lack of a jacket, but paige shrugs her off lazily. “ion’ need no jacket, i’m a big dawg.”

azzi doesn’t try to correct her again, (even though the phrase big dawg has her rolling her eyes) and instead leans against the doorframe of their room. paige all but throws herself back onto the bed, tying her shoes with drama only rivaled by toddlers.

azzi tracks each tug of laces with barely concealed amusement, taking a purposefully loud sip of paige’s coffee.

giving one last tug, paige stands from the bed and saunters over to where azzi is leaned. raising her eyebrows and staring expectantly at the coffee again, azzi finally hands it over. “now, all that drama was for nothing,” she says pointedly. paige hums as if she disagrees, but doesn’t add to her argument as she follows azzi out the door.

they don’t speak again until their feet land on the sidewalk outside. the air in storrs is sharp, frost clinging to the ground like broken cobwebs, and paige can’t help the shiver that wracks her body.

really and truly, she should have grabbed a hoodie like azzi had suggested. she can already hear the i told you so forming in azzi’s mouth, though, so paige stays quiet. instead, she scrunches her nose against the breeze and turns finally to look over azzi’s features.

the sun is just barely rising – the barren trees lining the sidewalk are casting long, soft shadows across her face. azzi walks a step ahead, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets and posture straight. the light flickers over her features – the way her lashes fan against her eyebrows, the pink dusting the easy slope of her nose, the way her lips are tugged into that ever-present smile.

paige can’t help the way her gaze lingers. azzi’s exhale rises in a delicate plume, curling lazily into the quiet air. 

paige thinks she’s pretty – and, actually, that she’s quite lucky to have someone like azzi dragging her out at 6 in the morning.

ever the instigator, though, paige chooses not to voice the softness of her thoughts. instead, she tears her gaze away and rolls her eyes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

azzi glances over, dimples falling over her face as she grins again. her voice is soft, tinged with a quiet warmth meant only for paige to hear. “i know.”

[warping-realities]

What The Team Needs

This short story is an adaptation of the first video I made when I first started playing around with AI, so the images aren’t exactly natural like in the more recent stories, but it’s still something I promised you all. I still have a video to transcribe, but that's gonna be trickier since it wasn’t thought out the same way as the other two with back-and-forth dialogue. Plus, I don't have the final images saved anymore (the ones that were combined to make the video), which doesn’t mean I won’t do that transcription at some point, just that it probably won’t be anytime soon. Other than that, I’m still on a hiatus from new stories, although I’ve already received two pretty interesting suggestions. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy this revamped version of

What The Team Needs

"Babe, let’s chill, we’re in the middle of the hallway, what if someone spots us?" Nathaniel asked, glancing around with a mix of anxiety and nerves.

"Let 'em see, it ain't a crime," Broderick shot back, pulling Nathaniel closer, his gaze determined.

"Don’t be ridiculous, you know how they roll. Stop, someone’s coming!" Nathaniel said, his heart racing as someone approached.

"Eww, it’s Josh," Nathaniel muttered, his tone dripping with disdain looking to the massive muscular young man wearing a red tank top and gym shorts getting closer.

"Babe, he's cool and he's feeling alone after what happened with his friends," Broderick defended, watching Josh come closer.

"Okay, but why does he have to think you're his new bestie?" Nathaniel questioned, a bit annoyed.

"Because our parents are pals and we’ve known each other since we were kids, now smile and be nice to him," Broderick insisted, his smile widening.

"Hey broski, I need to talk to you," Josh said, with a mischievous grin as he approached.

"Hi Josh, this is Nathaniel, my boyfriend," Broderick introduced, trying to keep the vibe light.

"What's up? It’s gotta be private, Brody," Josh replied, shooting a meaningful glance at Nathaniel.

"O.K. I’ll be right back babe..." Broderick said, reluctantly letting go of Nathaniel’s hand.

As Broderick walked off with Josh, Nathaniel crossed his arms, watching from a distance. He didn’t like the idea of Broderick being pulled into another dude’s orbit, especially someone like Josh.

"So, did you think about what I told you?" Josh asked, his expression serious.

"Man, I really don’t see myself on the football team. there’s no way someone like me can help," Broderick replied, hesitant.

"You'd be surprised," Josh insisted, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"If you say so..." Broderick murmured, starting to feel a bit more convinced.

"Perfect, you’re a lifesaver bro, first training session this afternoon and I’m sure you’ll be exactly what the team needs," Josh said, clapping Broderick on the back with enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel was getting more restless. When Broderick finally returned, he couldn’t help but ask: "What did that troglodyte want?"

"Just asked me a favor, nothing to stress about," Broderick replied, trying to reassure him.

"I hate it when he calls you Brody, Broderick. It makes you sound like one of them," Nathaniel complained, his tone heavy with disdain.

"One of them?" Broderick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t play dumb. One of them, a jock!"

"Are you gonna tell me you never dreamed of being with a jock?" Broderick teased, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Ew, Broderick, don’t even joke about it!" Nathaniel replied, rolling his eyes but unable to hide a faint smile.

"Okay, okay, let’s bounce?" Broderick suggested, pulling Nathaniel closer as they walked together.

....

Broderick hurried down the hall, his heart racing with the anxiety that was starting to settle in his stomach. He tried to ignore the slight nausea he felt, but the pressure in his abdomen that made him ditch history class seemed to be getting worse with every step.

"Dude, I’m not feeling well, was it something I ate? And now it’s itching. Lucky for me the teacher let me hit the bathroom," he thought, almost sprinting toward the restroom. The hallway was packed with students chatting and laughing, but he could only focus on the urgency of finding relief.

As he entered the bathroom, Broderick rushed into one of the stalls, the itch and abdominal cramps reaching an unbearable level, turning what should've been a moment of relief into a new source of worry. "This damn itch won't go away, what the hell is going on? Dammit, now on my legs... it's burning, it's burning!!!!!" his thoughts echoed in his mind as he writhed in pain trying to find the source of the discomfort, ripping his clothes off and standing there in just his underwear. Then, just as abruptly as it started, it ended.

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Somehow he had ended up in front of the bathroom mirror. What happened? What a weird thing, man if someone caught me in just my underwear in the bathroom I’m screwed..." He looked closer into the mirror, noticing something unusual. "Weird, my abs look more toned, it must be a light trick..."

The momentary distraction made him forget the strangeness of it all. "I really need to put on my clothes and go back to class!” he thought, deciding it was time to head back to class and deal with whatever happened later. But as soon as he turned to grab his clothes, something even stranger happened. A peculiar energy enveloped his body, almost like an invisible magnet. "Wow..." he murmured, feeling the force pull him. He hesitated, surprised and intrigued by the sensation. It was as if an unknown force was drawing him back to where he had just come from, only that’s not where he ended up. Broderick felt the pulsating energy around him as he tried to understand what was going on. "What was that? Where am I?" he murmured, realizing he was in a locker room. The environment was familiar, yet everything felt different. He looked around, trying to locate the exit, but something made him stop. "Wtf... what the hell is that in the mirror?" He quickly turned to the mirror and stood agape at his own reflection. An extremely muscular version of himself, with a shaved head and a physique he had never known he had.

"It's you Brody, bro! I told you you'd be perfect for the team! And now you're a perfect tight end!” Josh entered the locker room, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. Josh's confidence was palpable, but Broderick was in shock.

“I... no... I, what???” he stammered, trying to process what was happening. His mind was in a whirlwind, confused between reality and what seemed like a dream.

"Just relax and enjoy, see you on the field in 5 minutes, bro. Go crushers!" Josh said, leaving the locker room with an air of confidence, leaving Broderick alone to deal with what had just occurred.

“What...? What the hell was... Hmm... feels so good...” Broderick looked at himself in the mirror again, admiration growing inside him. He couldn’t believe the image he saw — his muscles were huge, defined, and toned.

"Dammit, I’m hot! Look at those muscles!" he exclaimed to himself, excitement building as the reality of the moment began to set in.

"All those hours on the football field and in the weight room were worth it," he thought, remembering every grueling practice, every drop of sweat shed alongside Josh, his best friend and teammate. His dedication to football had always been his passion, and now, somehow, he was reaping the rewards of that hard work.

"I am a beast!" Broderick smiled arrogantly, admiring his body and feeling more alive than ever before he turned and got ready for practice knowing he loved this more than anything else.

.....

Nathaniel walked down the college hall, trying to focus on the conversation with Gregory, a classmate still smaller and skinnier than he was. He was having a strange day, with a persistent feeling that something was very wrong.

"I already said I don't know Gregory... It's just a weird feeling that I'm forgetting something important... I... Who is that??? Brode... Brody?” He exclaimed, his eyes widening as they landed on a muscular young man walking toward them. The guy had a shaved head, a visible tattoo on his arm, and was wearing a black tank top that showcased his impressive physique. The sight was so striking it made him stop for a moment.

"What's up, little bro! I need to talk to you in private. No hard feelings shorty, but it's between me and my bro!" The muscular young man said with a confident smile.

"So, did you think about what I told you?" Broderick continued, ignoring Gregory’s presence.

"Man, I really don't see myself on the football team. There's no way someone like me can help," Nathaniel's response sounded distant to as if he were listening to a conversation from another world.

"You'd be surprised," Brody said, his voice full of optimism.

"If you say so..." Nathaniel felt a knot in his stomach, a strange sense that he was about to lose something important. What was happening?

"Perfect, you’re a lifesaver brother, first training session this afternoon and I’m sure you’ll be exactly what the team needs," Broderick concluded, before walking away with a confidence that felt alien to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel stood there, watching Broderick blend into the crowd. He felt an inexplicable pain in his chest, as if a part of him was fading away. "What’s happening to me?" he murmured, his mind confused and lost.

Gregory, noticing Nathaniel’s distress, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"I don’t know, man. But I feel like that’s exactly what happened."

......

Brody and Josh were standing in a hallway, both wearing the usual tanks and gym shorts that showcased their muscular bodies. The atmosphere around them was charged with anticipation, and Josh looked at Brody with a teasing smile.

"May I know why we are standing in this hallway bro?" He asked, crossing his arms and flexing his toned muscles.

"You'll know soon, QB! I would say you'll find out right now," Brody replied, keeping the mystery alive as he scanned the hallway, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. Josh rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a grin. Brody's confidence was infectious.

At that moment, a muscular young man with a shaved head and wearing a black tank top just like Brody approached. He had the same rebellious vibe, accentuated by the tattoo on his arm, although he was slightly smaller and skinnier than Brody; the resemblance was such that they could easily be mistaken for brothers.

"Josh, that's my bro Nate. I think he's going to be an excellent fullback," Brody said, pointing to the young man approaching with a confident grin on his arrogant face.

"And best of all, he knows exactly where to get someone else for the team!" Josh concluded, a gleam in his eyes.

“I believe that with some help Greg will be perfect for the team QB.”

Nate said while revealing his perfectly white and aligned teeth, which broke into a predatory smile reflected on his teammates' faces.

[urbeachboy]

O1 — World’s Best Detective ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆˙⟡ — synopsis : you take up a co-worker’s shift, nearly get stabbed, and Red Robin’s losing his flair.

⋆˙⟡ — content : gn reader, violence, mugging, threatening, attempts at sexual assault, alcohol, knives, someone’s wrist is broken and depicted a bit vividly, i attempt (miserably so) to write accents, gotham. . .

Gotham is a hell-hole.

It isn’t like you weren’t aware of it, for you were, and anyone else (especially your family members) was also aware of it. And they’d tried to warn you, they always tried to warn you. Warn you of the supervillains that invoke a sense of incredulity (seriously- what’s a ‘condiment king’?), and superheroes who surpass them in that very field.

But it was cheap, and it was - well.. sufficient. Though there’s cobwebs in the corners of your apartment, it’s.. sufficient. You’ll clean it up- you’ll manage- it’ll suffice. As a matter of fact, the mess and the grime and the several health code violations isn’t quite the biggest issue, which says a ton.

It’s the crime rates. You’ve gotten past getting mugged five times, kidnapped two and assaulted six. It’s almost impressive, considering it has been no more than a fortnight and you almost always stick to a crowd, and refrain from going out past 12. Goodness, it’s like you’re a teenager all over again.

Thankfully, you’ve avoided danger almost completely so far. There’s no reason you would’ve gotten caught in the spider’s web- you’re a fly that sticks to its business. You get up at seven in the morning, eat the fastest breakfast you can, go to your classes (you're in Gotham Uni; the only reason you’re here), work your part-time at the local coffee shop, go home as quick as you can after clocking out, collapse in your bed, repeat. Bathing is fitted in there somewhere, too.

See, yesterday, one of your co-workers, Elise, had asked for you to take over her shift.

She’d approached you yesterday afternoon when you were wiping a bead of sweat away from your forehead (Gotham was especially humid in summer- figures, with it being New Jersey and all). She had sauntered up to you with all the suaveness of a siamese cat, with her dark hair done into a high ponytail.

Elise called out to you when she was barely a few feet away, a smile gracing her lips. “Could you do a favour for me, please?”

You quirked an eyebrow, but just before you could have parted your lips to ask, she was quick to speak over you. “You know, I’m asking you this because you’re like, the nicest person here. Honestly, you’re the only one I can talk to, haha! I know you’ll understand.”

You weren't gonna understand. Not when it's Elise--she's somewhat infamous round the workplace for her... behaviour.

Then, you were tempted to respond with a sharp ‘what do you want, Elise?’ and that’s just what you went to do until, despite yourself, you change it up last-second. “What is it?” you end up saying, and it sounds much more polite than you’d have liked it to sound. Your reputation precedes you, you think.

“Well,” she leaned back against the counter. There weren’t many customers then, most people were at work or school, so you had a little moment of respite. “It’s my sister’s wedding tomorrow,” you don’t recall her ever mentioning a sister before, “and I was thinking maybe you could take my shift for me?” Tough luck. “Just for tomorrow, I promise. I won’t bother you about anything after that.”

It’s a horribly difficult decision to make (note the sarcasm), but with great effort, you open your mouth to deny her request when she cuts you off. Again. “I knew you would, sweetie! Thanks!” And she’s gone.

So you had taken her shift- it’d be a one-time thing. It’d be fine.

Though, unexpectedly, it'd been especially busy today and you seemed to have completely zoned out while making coffee after coffee that, when all the customers are satisfied and have left, you drag your weary eyes up to the window and see darkness. You do a double-take-- still darkness.

You’re late.

It’s 12:30, you see it when you glance at the quaint clock on the pastel-coloured wall. It’s 12:30, and, looking out the window once more, it’s sans any life. You can hear a few strays howling, but that’s about it.

You may have called yourself paranoid in any other situation, but right now? In Gotham? You’re not taking those chances. You weren’t taking those chances, you had been avoiding those chances like the Black Plague but now the chances are shoved into your open palms very so generously.

Yes, there are vigilantes, a plethora of them- but you’re not sure if you trust your well-being in the hands of these mysterious masked individuals who go by strange aliases. Red Hood? Seriously? Maybe he’ll have a dainty little basket, too, on his dainty little self. Maybe he’ll give you a loaf of bread and a pot of butter or whatever it is that Little Red Riding Hood was taking to her grandma if you ask nice enough.

So, your distrust towards vigilantes aside, now you’re in a dilemma- you’re certainly not staying the night at the café, it’ll get you fired for sure. And even if it doesn’t, what would you tell them? That you were far too chicken to walk home because it’s past 12:00? They’re locals, lived here for years. You’re clearly not.

In the end, after a few more minutes of contemplating, you picked up your bag, holding it close to yourself while your eyes flicker up to the clock once more- 12:40. Okay. You can do this, no big deal- you’re an adult.

Walking out the café’s door on wobbly legs, you’re shrouded by the darkness. The moon barely aids you, meagre light shining down on you from the great crescent in the sky. It’s thankfully just enough to see, and while you could take out your phone’s flashlight, you don’t want to risk grabbing any unwanted attention.

The streets are, for the most part, empty—save for the few pigeons or stray dogs that you see in the alleys—which is unusual for these parts of Gotham.

Then, you hear it- a loud ‘clang!’. Like metal.

Instinctively, your head whips around only to find that it’s.. a cat. A calico, barely anything save a kitten, messing around atop some trash can.

You’re not sure what compels you then, but like an idiot, you take a final glance around and, upon reconfirming that the streets are vacant of people, you inch towards the cat.

“Hey, kitty,” you coo, slowly reaching a hand out once you’re in the alley. It’s not that far from the road, you’re barely halfway in the alley, only just outside it for the cat. The calico reacts positively to your approach, letting out a small ‘meow’ and nuzzling its nose into your palm. You could’ve melted then and there. It’s evident, really, from how you continue to blabber sweet nothings underneath your breath, barely on the brink of squealing because the little thing just seems to revel in your affection.

It seems alone. You wonder where its mother is. It’s mewls sound pitched, and it’s definitely supposed to be feeding still. You can’t help but feel pity as you take in the orange splotches of colour on the otherwise black and white cat, and it’s blue eyes. Suddenly, in the midst of your discerning, it jumps off the trash can and hurriedly rushes away. “..What was that all about?” you mumble to yourself.

Footsteps catch your attention. Your eyes shoot up from the ground and dread fills you. You’d forgotten your rule. It should’ve been well past 12:00 now, and you’re in immediate danger.

Sparing a glance to the cat who was now trotting away, you almost wish you could’ve blamed it on the animal, but you’re very well aware whose fault it is that you’re about to get murdered.

“Hey,” a man calls out. He’s imposing, and he’s got grizzly brown hair and mutton chops. He’s wearing a worn T-shirt and some jeans, and his voice? God, his voice. It’s gruff and heavy and unsettling- it makes you feel unsteady, as though your knees are about to give out. You don’t dare respond. Instead, you decide to do the next best thing.

You pick flight over fight, and you flee. Or at least, you attempt to. It was almost embarrassing how fast his hands wrapped around your wrists, and even more so how you tried to wretch your hands away to absolutely no avail. It barely registers in your head, but he’s cussing at you, mumbling, something about calming down. Like hell you’re going to calm down. No, in fact, you may have the survival instincts of a fawn, but hell if you’re calming down. Instead, you scream- as loud as you can, at the top of your lungs, when he cuts it short by placing his palm over your mouth, positioned meticulously so you wouldn’t be able to bite down on him as much as you’d liked to.

You thrash and flail, and he lowers himself down to your ear. “Listen here, babe. Yer’ gunna give me yer’ cash, or ah’m gunna take somethin’ else.” He has an accent, and you’re not sure what kind (though you’re not very eager to find out), but it’s thick as a bush. More than his accent, though, you fixate on his words- you know sure as gravity what he's talking about. What he’s insinuating. You want to gag- you feel the bile travelling up your throat, but you swallow it back down, tears pricking at the ducts of your eyes. With how loud you screamed, you’re sure some vigilante must’ve heard you, but alas, nobody comes hither.

It’s stupid, you’re aware, but you can’t think of anything else. Spite and disgust and hatred and adrenaline, all at once, fill up your being and you shake your head, thrashing about some more. Writhing, squirming, wriggling, anything. You kick your legs back, aiming for his feet, but you stop when he holds his other hand up to your neck. He leaves his hands free, and noting this, you’re about to use them to fight back- but you stop cold in your tracks.

You stop. You stop when you realise he’s holding something in his hand. It glints under the moonlight, and you realise it’s exactly what you feared- a knife. Far from dull. The exact opposite, really. And it’s held up to your rushing pulse, threatening to draw blood.

You’re not sure what to do anymore. You need to pay your rent, you’re barely hanging on by a thread. You’re also not giving up your dignity- you’re also not going to die. The safest option is your money. Slowly, you raise your shaking arms into the air, as if to surrender. “Good,” he drawls. When he removes his hand from your mouth, you can smell it- the sickening stench of alcohol. Of-course he’s drunk. It’s likely why he’s so bold.

Just as you’re about to reach for your wallet, your aggressor jolts.

“What the fu—” His knife is knocked out of his hand, and his hand? Oh, his poor hand. You hear a very discernible ‘crack!’ paired with a scream from him as his hand is twisted into a position that isn’t remotely human. There’s a hand on his wrist, his assaulter- they’re clad in black leather (or some other sort of shiny, smooth material) gloves, and you follow it up to their arm (red sleeves), and their neck, and then their face. You glance down at their chest- and lo and behold; Red Robin.

He’s just like you’ve heard (or like how you’ve seen from the few blurry, low-quality videos that made it onto the news time again), his black hair parting at the centre, forming a sort of arch. Ah- wait, right. You’re not supposed to be dwelling on his appearance- not when your perpetrator is in immense pain. You almost want to cheer for the vigilante, but you hold back.

“Drop the knife,” he says to the man, his voice seeming far too familiar. Though you haven’t heard Red Robin before. His voice is near boyish, and though he’s younger than you assumed, he seems far from a teenager.

Backing up slowly, you’re unsure what exactly to do. So instead, you lean against a wall of the alley, trying to compose yourself, trying to get your breathing to slow down because you’re not sure when all the oxygen entering your lungs started to become too much, too fast. You trail a hand up to your chest, and you close your eyes and focus and, sure enough, your heart is beating at the speed of a Jackrabbit’s. It was understandable, to you, at least. Because, oh my god, he just broke that guy’s wrist. Holy shit.

You try to focus on anything else but your nerves, eyes landing on Red Robin and your assailant (you’re not certain how many words you’ve used for him by now). The latter is scrambling to apologise, the knife on the floor and one of his hands holding the other (which was limp by now. Your wrist feels like it’s faintly aching too, merely at the sight). He’s shaken, and you’re sure you would’ve been, too, if your wrist was snapped in half like nothing.

You can’t register what any of them are saying. It’s not that you’re far away, no, you’re close enough. But all the words are slurring together in your mind and you can’t bring yourself to focus. You see Red Robin nod his head towards the streets after a while, and your assailant hurriedly rushes off, leaving his knife there on the ground. The vigilante in red picks it up promptly, observing it for any stains and stashing it away in his utility belt. Then, his gaze is drawn to you from beneath the mask.

You always thought the masks were odd. Especially when you could see half their faces- save for Batman, of course. He says something, and you can hear his lips move, but it’s all Greek to you when it comes out. Then, his brows knit together the slightest bit in concern, and he takes a step forward. You can hear it now. “You okay?”

You nod. It’s almost embarrassing, the amount you’re shaking. But he doesn’t seem to judge you. Thank god for that, even if you’re not sure why you assumed he would. You almost had your neck sliced in half as if it were a watermelon in a game of Fruit Ninja.

Then you stare at Red Robin. You really stare at him. You squint your eyes, falling over his frame. His voice was familiar, you recalled telling yourself that not a few minutes ago. But why? Was it just one of those voices? It wasn’t. You realised it when you looked at his hair again. Black, silky locks that fell in waves, an arch formed at the centre. Holy shit. Holy shit. No, no it’s not. It’s not.

No, it so is. So you tell him, you tell him like it is. Or like you think it is, at least.

“You’re Tim drake.” It comes out breathy, like a gasp. Like you don’t believe yourself.

Then you stare at him some more. Because he’s doing the exact same thing, staring at you like you’d said something obscene, like you were from another planet or all your teeth had fallen out. His nose scrunched up only for a second, before a small snicker escaped him. Like he’d forgotten himself. His facade.

“I’m Red Robin.” It was confident, clear, crisp- every syllable. He knew who he was, he was self-assured. You almost doubted yourself, just for a second. But with you, instinct was always stronger than wit.

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s late. Do you need me to walk you home? Looked a bit dazed earlier,” he cut you off with the beginnings of a smile on his lips, acting like he didn’t even hear you. Which, yes, you started quite softly, but you’re sure he was close enough to hear.

You narrow your eyes. Ultimately, you decided it’d be best not to budge. There’s shivers that wrack your spine as images of that man’s twisted wrist invade your head. That could be your neck. No.

The bats and the birds don’t kill. The bats and the birds are, however, not above beating you to a pulp so much so that you wished that they kill. And then maybe they’ll leave you at some dingy hospital.

Slowly, you nod your head, moving up and off the wall you were slumped against previously. He smiled. It seemed so genuine, but you’re certain it’s not.

“Lead the way, then.”

⋆˙⟡ — a/n : i’m sososo sorry it took this longggg :( been a bit busy and also writer’s block hit HARD <//3 but i’ve prevailed !! 2nd chapter soon !!

. fin ˗ˏˋ ᯓᡣ𐭩

[love-byers]

So my understanding of mike and Will is during their rain fight in s3 Mike was basically saying “I grew up and I moved on from you so why can’t you do the same” (please I need you to move on) to which Will responded with “no I don’t want a girlfriend I’m not ready to grow up and and move on from you” and then later on when El said she loved Mike he realized he was lying to himself. He hasn’t moved on he’s just been going through the motions. Trying so desperately to be “normal” that he lost himself (and Will). In that moment he wants desperately to go back to how things were. From the end of s3 to the start of s4 Will and Mike don’t talk but El writes a letter telling Mike how Will is doing and he learns that Will is making a painting for a girl he likes—he’s finally moved on. He did what Mike wanted. So Mike gets to California still thinking he can walk that “normal” path he’s carved for himself. Be a boyfriend to your girlfriend how hard can that be. As if to say “Will’s moved on and I can too, why not I did it before.” But Mike’s acting weirder than normal and it’s more obvious this time. His plan isn’t working anymore and he’s hurting them. Again arriving at the same conclusion that he had at the end of s3—he doesn’t love El (not romantically at least) and he doesn’t want to move on from Will. He can’t move on.

yep that sounds about right

i once saw someone describe the rain fight as mike saying "what's your problem? it's not like you wanted me" and will saying "but i did want you" and it broke my brain. and then in the epilogue mike puts it out there that he actually does still want will, and will affirms that he still wants mike as well.

and it's even more interesting when you consider that the rain fight and rink o mania fight are parallels. it's like they re opened the wound from the rain fight with all their horrible miscommunication. they both think the other has gone back on their agreement that they want each other. that's why it's so messy. mike blames will for their problems that day because if will hadn't gone back on his promise then it wouldn't have triggered mike into going back on his as well (or attempting to). mike is essentially like "you don't have the right to act shitty and make me feel guilty when this is all your fault in the first place" and will is like "well why are you mad over how i'm acting at all when you clearly don't even want me anymore" and mike is like "WTF YES I DO- i mean actually no i don't bc thats gay will whats your problem we're friends..."

messy messy gays they are indeed...

[itsnesss]

Hey so my mother passed away two days ago. And my coping mechanism is reading comforting fics. Can you please write hwang junho comfort please ❤️

I'm so sorry for your loss, i hope this fic can bring you even a little comfort during this difficult time 🤍

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | grief feels overwhelming, suffocating, like an endless void. but junho is there—steady, unwavering, offering silent comfort when words fail

warnings | emotional distress, comfort

word count | 1.1 k

The room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. It’s one of those nights when silence is louder than any noise. When the world keeps spinning as if nothing has happened, while you feel like everything has come to a stop.

You're sitting on the couch, legs pulled up against your chest, eyes lost in the void. You don’t know how long you’ve been like this. Minutes, hours—maybe the whole night. Time feels irrelevant when the weight of grief presses down on your chest, making you feel trapped in an emptiness that seems impossible to fill.

Then, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Firm, steady, familiar. You don’t have to look to know who it is. Jun-ho.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t ask how you’re doing, because he already knows the answer. He doesn’t try to fill the air with empty words like “everything will be okay,” because he understands that right now, nothing is.

Instead, he simply sits beside you, his quiet presence becoming a refuge in itself. There’s something about the way he settles in, the way his shoulder barely brushes against yours, that makes you feel just a little less alone.

A minute passes. Maybe two. And then, with a gentleness that surprises you, you feel his hand covering yours. His touch is warm, steady—like he’s trying to anchor you to reality, to remind you that there’s still something here holding you up.

"I’m here," he says softly.

Two words. Simple, but carrying so much weight. Because when everything feels like it’s falling apart, when the world seems too cruel to keep moving forward, sometimes the only thing you need is to know that someone is by your side.

Your breath trembles slightly, but you don’t pull away. You don’t lift your gaze from the floor, but you don’t move from his touch either. You let yourself feel his presence, his warmth, the way his thumb moves just barely over your skin in an almost imperceptible gesture of comfort.

"You don’t have to say anything," Jun-ho continues, his deep, steady voice always managing to soothe you. "I just want you to know you’re not alone."

You press your lips together, feeling the lump in your throat. You don’t want to cry again. You’ve already shed so many tears in the past few days that it seems impossible there are any left inside you.

But when you feel his arm slowly slide around your shoulders, pulling you closer into a soft yet firm embrace, the barrier you’ve been trying to hold up finally breaks.

A quiet sob escapes your lips as you lean into his chest. His shirt dampens with your tears, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, his hand moves up to your back, gliding slowly in a protective motion. His other arm wraps securely around your waist, holding you with a silent promise that you don’t have to carry all of this alone.

"I’m here," he repeats, even softer this time, like a secret meant just for you.

You take a deep breath, trying to absorb his warmth, to hold onto the sense of safety he offers. And even though the pain is still there, even though the emptiness in your chest remains heavy, in this moment, in his arms, you feel something you thought was impossible—just a little bit of peace.

It’s not much. It’s not a miracle cure. But it’s something.

And for now, that’s enough.

[boybandbaby]

A Love Like This (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 2149

warnings/tags: scary Halloween decorations (monsters), motherly insecurities, sick child, as always if I missed anything please let me know

note: part of my single mom reader universes which can be found here

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

5 times your daughter prefers Buck, 1 time she prefers you

1️⃣

It was a nice summer day, good for a picnic at the park. Buck had the day off and promised to spend some time with you both this weekend as he’d been so busy all week.

You packed a large blanket and a cooler of sandwiches, snacks and drinks for a few hours at the park. Buck had even brought some slices of cake he had made.

Evie helped you set up the blanket on a fluffy patch of grass while Buck carried all the other items.

“Do you want to play for a little bit then come and eat?” You asked, sitting down and kicking your shoes off.

“Yes! I’m not hungry yet.” She claps her hands.

“Alright, put on some sunscreen and you can go.” You beckon her forward. She groans, hating the feeling of the sticky lotion on her skin.

“Come on kid, sunscreen isn’t so bad.” Buck laughs, handing you a water from the cooler. “Make sure you stay close by, we’ve got to see you at all times.” Buck reminds her as you slather lotion on her face and arms.

“Do you want to go on the swings?” You ask, rubbing her arms. “I can come push you for a bit.”

“I want Buck to do it.” She demands, not unkindly.

“Hey! Why not me?” You pout.

“Buck has bigger arms and he’s stronger so he can push me higher and faster.”

“That’s probably true.” He shrugs.

“So mean you two.”

“Awe, don’t get jealous.” Buck teases, leaning down to peck your forehead. “Can’t help that I’m the favorite.” He shoots before picking Evie up and running off.

They’re both laughing as they run to the swings.

2️⃣

Buck had been lucky enough to get Halloween off this year. Most of the 118 decided to spend the night together and take the kids trick or treating. For most of the night Evie stayed by Jee and Mara’s side but when a particular house with some scary decorations came up, she refused to go up.

A soundtrack of eerie sounds, a fog machine, and all types of mannequins replicating movie monsters littered the yard.

“Babe, they’re just decorations. It’s okay to be scared but I promise nothing bad will happen.” You rub her back.

“Why don’t you walk between me and Chris?” Denny offers.

She shakes her head quickly and clings to your leg. “Do you want to skip this house?”

“I want to go with Buck.” She grabs his hand, leaving no room for argument.

Buck grins and holds her little hand in his. She stays behind his leg as she shuffles up to the door. Buck can see the bowl of candy on the floor in front of the monster on the rocking chair.

“Okay, keep your eyes closed and I’ll guide your hand to the bowl.” Buck kneels down and guides her hand into the bowl. Her other hand holds her bucket. She grabs a mini candy bar and throws it in her bucket. She finds Buck’s hand again as she pulls him in a jog back to you.

Buck lets out a dramatic breath, “That was so scary, he almost got us.”

“Did he really?” You raise a brow, laughing at him.

“No, Buck scared him away!” Evie looks through her candy bowl.

“With that face, I bet he did.” Eddie jokes causing Chris to laugh loudly and Buck to nudge his shoulder.

3️⃣

“Can we read a book tonight?” Evie slips off the couch and slips her feet into her slippers.

“Okay, go brush your teeth and pick out a book, I’ll be there in a minute okay?” You begin to fold the blanket as you stand.

Buck takes two corners and brings them together. You bring your side to meet his, receiving a cold, chocolatey kiss from him as he grabs the blanket and finishes folding by himself. He tosses the blanket onto the back of the couch.

You collect the bowls and spoons from the coffee table and began heading to the kitchen. Just as you’re washing the residue from your sundaes, you hear Evie’s feet pattering back into the living room.

“I got my book!”

“Alright babe, I’m almost done!” You shout back.

“Can Buck read to me instead?” You peek your head from around the kitchen wall.

“But I always read to you.” You don’t conceal your hurt this time.

“I know mommy but I like when Buck makes his funny faces and voices.” She hugs the book to her chest.

“Oh, okay. Go ahead then. I’ll be there later to kiss you goodnight.” You duck back into the kitchen to dry the dishes. You hear Buck telling Evie to go get settled and he would be there soon.

You then hear and feel him creeping into the kitchen behind you. His arms wrap around your waist and he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Baby…”

“It’s fine, Buck.” You lean your head against his. “Go read, I’ll get our bed ready.”

“You know she loves you and only wants me because she doesn’t get to see me all the time.” He ignores your previous comment and kisses your neck.

“You’re stealing all my mom duties!” You pout. “It’s not funny! You wormed your way into her little heart and she’s forgotten all about me.”

Through giggles he says, “That’s not true. You’re literally her entire world she just likes having me around. And I mean I’m really funny when I read to her.”

“Funny looking, yes.” You agree.

“Hey! Don’t be a jerk. Would you rather her absolutely hate me?” He pokes your sides.

“I guess not.” You sigh, “you better get in there before she comes back out and asks why you’re taking so long.”

“I know, she gets bossy like her mom.” He sticks his tongue out, the tip pressing to your cheek.

“You’re disgusting and I’m not bossy. Now go.” You push his stomach and swat his butt with the hand towel.

4️⃣

You’re spreading the Nutella onto the piece of bread when Evie comes out of the bathroom. She is already changed into some comfy sweats as she climbs into the seat.

“What worksheets do you have today?” You slide over her toast and cut up strawberries and bananas. “I have to do a math sheet and some reading.”

“Okay, which one are we doing first?” You sit beside her, stealing a piece of her fruit.

“Can Buck help me with my math?”

“He’s at work babe.”

“Can we call him?”

“We can try but he’s usually really busy. Don’t be upset if he can’t talk okay?”

She nods.

You: hey, are you super busy right now? Evie would like your help with her math homework 🥹

Buck: give me 5 minutes and I’ll give you a call

Buck: also hi gorgeous, I miss you ❤️

You: miss you too, can’t wait to see your cute face even if it’s through a screen 🥰

Buck gives you a FaceTime call a few minutes later. You scoot closer to Evie and prop your phone up so they can see each other.

“Hey kid! How was school?”

“Buck!” She says through a mouthful. “I made a new friend today.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.” He grunts as he slumps into a chair.

“Mommy says you’re busy.”

He chuckles and nods, “okay, what’s the first question?”

She reads off the question and you can see him leaning forward to grab a pen on the table then a napkin.

Buck watches as she holds up her fingers and counts. She reminds him to hold his fingers up too.

“You’re super smart, Buck.” She mentions as she finishes the last few questions.

“Takes practice.” He shrugs.

“Or getting struck by lightening.” You raise a brow.

“What do you mean mommy?”

“Nothing, she’s just making a joke.” Buck gives you a look. Buck had mentioned getting stuck under the fire engine once while giving you two a tour and Evie refused to go near the engine. It took Bobby carrying her and letting her wear his captain helmet for her to finally sit inside the truck.

You hear the chimes and bells signaling Buck has to go for a call. “Be safe, we love you!”

“I will, I’ll call you before bed okay? I love you.” You can see him rushing downstairs and grabbing his gear with one hand.

“Thank you, Buck!” Evie shouts before the call hangs up.

5️⃣

“How’s my girl?” Buck says through the screen.

“She’s sleeping now but still has a fever and tummy ache.” You run your fingers through her hair as she rests her head on your thigh.

“Did you tell her that I’m coming over later?”

“Of course.” You roll your eyes, “she’s refusing to eat the canned noodle soup.”

“I can’t help that she likes my cooking.” He laughs.

“You got everything you know from Bobby.” You bite.

“Yeah whatever, she still likes my cooking better no matter where I learned it from.” You can see him pulling items from the shelves as he swerves through the grocery store.

“You don’t make me soup when I’m sick.”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair. You’ve been sick once since we’ve been together and you wouldn’t let me come see you.” He shakes his head.

“Is that Buck?” You hear from below you.

“Yeah baby, he’s at the store.” You feel her forehead.

“Evie!” Buck cheers through the phone. “I’m coming over to make my magic soup.”

“Can you hurry?” She whispers. “My tummy hurts.”

“I’ll be there soon, try to sleep some more okay?”

She nods and rests her head back down.

By the time she wakes up again, Buck is carrying her to the table.

“Buck? When did you get here?”

“A few hours ago, can you sit?” He kisses her forehead before setting her in the chair.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” She rubs her droopy eyes.

“Because you looked so cute sleeping.” You smile, setting her bowl in front of her. “It’s hot so don’t eat it just yet.”

“Do we have crackers?”

“Yup, made sure to get you the little ones you like.” Buck sits beside her, feeling her forehead.

“Can I have some water?” She shivers, scooting closer to Buck for warmth.

“Of course babe, how are you feeling?” You rush to the cabinet to pull out a cup.

“My tummy still hurts.” She curls in on herself. “And I’m hungry.”

Buck gives her a few crackers and spoons some soup onto the plastic Bluey spoon. He blows twice before bringing it to her lips.

“Good?” He searches her face.

“I feel better already.” She smiles, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Told you the magic soup always works.” He gives you a wink.

*️⃣1️⃣

“Where’s mommy?” Evie asks, skipping into the bedroom. Buck sits on the bed scrolling through the tv.

“She’s in the shower. What’s up?” Buck pats the bed. She walks over to the side he’s on and lifts her arms. He leans over to pick her up.

“Just want a hug.” He sits her in the middle of the bed, pulling the blanket over her lap.

“I’ll give you a hug.” He opens his arm.

“I want a hug from mommy. She has the best cuddles.”

“I can attest to that.” Buck smiles over at her. “I’m sure she’ll be out soon. Want to watch something with me?”

“Okay.” She nods and lays back against the pillows. Buck watches as she looks to the bathroom door several times.

“You okay?” He pats her knee.

“Yeah, mommy is taking a long time.”

“She’s just having some mommy time before bed.” He assures. “You sure you don’t want to snuggle with me? I can keep you warm until mom gets out.”

“No, that’s okay.” She sighs before resting her head back onto the pillow.

She lifts her head a few minutes later when the bathroom door opens and steam drifts out.

“Hey girly, what are you doing up?” You smile, adjusting your towel around your body.

“I want cuddles.” She pleads.

“Is that so?” You smirk at Buck as you trail over to the bed. “Guess, I’m good for something.”

Evie bolts up onto her knees and wraps her arms around your shoulders, climbing into your lap.

“I’m still a little wet on my shoulders, you might get cold.” You wrap your arms around her waist.

“Don’t care, just want a hug.” You smiles into your neck.

“Okay, whatever you say.” You kiss her cheek. “Feeling lonely over there Mr. Buckley?”

“Yes.” He immediately says.

“Come join our mommy cuddles!” Evie exclaims. Buck doesn’t hesitate to scooch up against your back and hug the both of you.

“Best cuddles ever.” He whispers into your ear.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[00valentina-writes00]

how would Ellie respond to seeing you after a self harm relapse?

♡♥︎ “I’m Here” ♥︎♡

Warnings: depression, self-harm, bruises, mental health struggles, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, angst, comfort, tear jerking

Ellie hadn’t seen you in days. She was worried, but she’d let you have your space. You always needed your moments to recharge, to gather yourself. She understood that, but still, the silence in the air between you both lately felt heavy—too heavy.

You were always such a rock for her. She never had to explain herself; you always understood when she needed space. You never pushed her when her moods swayed, even though she pushed herself to stay strong for you.

But this time? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

When she finally showed up at your apartment, her heart skipped a beat. The door was slightly ajar, and it felt like the air in the room was different, still. She stood at the threshold, hesitating before stepping inside. There were no sounds, no usual music blasting or the smell of dinner you promised to make last week.

Ellie called your name softly, stepping in.

The living room was quiet, but Ellie spotted your figure curled up on the couch, a blanket covering most of you. You didn’t even glance up at her, your eyes staring down at the coffee table, face pale.

“Hey, babe,” Ellie’s voice cracked a little, trying to sound casual, but the unease in her stomach tightened. She didn’t push it. She crossed the room slowly, cautious, her footsteps soft as she knelt beside you. She was close enough to catch a glimpse of the dark bruises along your arm, the faint marks of skin where they shouldn’t be. You were wearing long sleeves, but Ellie noticed.

Her throat tightened, a cold sense of dread curling around her chest.

“please—look at me,” Ellie whispered.

You flinched, your fingers curling around the edges of your sleeve, pulling it down like it could hide everything she already knew. But Ellie wasn’t fooled. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, traced the bruises and fresh cuts, the way your knuckles trembled.

“You…” Her voice wavered, the lump in her throat making it harder to form words. “You didn’t—”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off, your voice flat, lacking the usual warmth she was used to. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, unable to meet hers. “I’m just… I just needed to—”

Ellie’s heart shattered at the sight of you trying to hold it together. She reached for your arm, gently tugging it toward her to get a better look at the damage, her fingers brushing against the raw marks. She noticed the way your eyes squeezed shut as if her touch was too much, but it didn’t stop her.

“Don’t,” you muttered, pulling away from her.

Ellie’s face tightened, but she didn’t force you to look at her. She knew you well enough to understand when you needed to retreat. But damn it, it hurt. The silence that followed was thick, and the longer it stretched, the harder it became for her to keep it together.

“I hate this,” Ellie finally admitted, her voice breaking. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I don’t need you to pity me,” you snapped, though it lacked the usual sharpness. “I don’t need anything right now. I just… I just need to not talk about it.”

Ellie was quiet for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back the wave of emotions that threatened to drown her. She wanted to scream, wanted to demand why you hadn’t told her, why you felt like you had to suffer alone. But none of that would help. Not now.

Her hands shook, but she kept them steady as she reached for you again, this time gently brushing your hair from your face. Your eyes were glassy, unfocused, and it only made her feel worse.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Ellie said softly, her words laced with pain. “You never have to hide from me, you know that, right?”

“I’m not hiding,” you muttered, but even as you said it, the lie was obvious. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it. How to stop.”

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat. The pain was real in your voice, something deeper than physical scars. She swallowed hard, trying to push through the wave of frustration, sadness, and helplessness.

“I know,” she whispered, her hand cupping your cheek softly, urging you to meet her gaze. “I know it’s not easy. But I’m here, okay? Whatever you’re going through, whatever part of you thinks you need to do this… I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened, and your eyes fluttered shut as if she were too much to take in. Ellie saw the vulnerability in you—heard the quiet sob that escaped your throat before you could swallow it down.

“I don’t want to drag you down with me,” you admitted quietly, voice cracking. “I can’t… I don’t want you to see me like this. I can’t stand it.”

Ellie’s heart broke in that instant, her fingers brushing against your skin, trying to reassure you in the only way she knew how. She felt the weight of your words settle in her chest, the heavy feeling of helplessness rising within her.

“You’re not dragging me down, babe,” Ellie replied, her voice soft but steady. “I’m here because I love you. Because I want to be here. It’s not a burden. You’re not a burden.”

You pulled away from her touch, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything you’d been holding onto finally cracked through your walls.

“I don’t know how to stop,” you whispered, barely audible.

Ellie bit her lip, moving closer, her hand brushing your hair back, tucking the stray pieces behind your ear. “I can help. We can help each other.”

You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes as you let yourself crumble under the pressure. “I’m so tired of fighting this. It’s like no matter what I do, I keep falling back into it.”

Ellie’s hand rested against your back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles as she let you unravel in front of her. It was breaking her to watch, but it was also something she had to accept—this was part of you, a part she couldn’t fix for you, but a part she would never abandon.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Ellie said quietly, as if her words could somehow shield you from the storm of your own thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not going to let you face this alone.”

Your head dropped to her shoulder, your breath shaky as you let the weight of everything spill out. Ellie held you close, not pushing you to explain, not demanding anything from you but the space to be there, with her.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she murmured, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, okay? And I’ll be here when you need me. But I need you to know… you’re worth more than all of this. I see you. Not your scars, not the shit that’s going on in your head, but you. You’re worth fighting for.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But the quiet presence of Ellie, her steady breath against your skin, the way she held you like she was anchoring you to the world… it made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you could make it through this.

“I don’t know how to let you in,” you whispered, barely a breath against her.

“You don’t have to,” Ellie responded, her voice firm, steady. “You just need to trust that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe her.

The silence stretched between you both, but it wasn’t as suffocating as before. It was soft, comforting, like a gentle promise that you didn’t have to fight the battle on your own. Not anymore.

As you clung to Ellie, feeling her warmth surround you, something inside you shifted. It wouldn’t happen overnight. But maybe, just maybe, you had enough left in you to try. For her. For yourself.

And she’d be right beside you, every step of the way.

[lazysoulwriter]

sickcare - lewis hamilton. ♡

The quiet hum of the apartment was the only sound filling the air when Lewis stepped inside, rolling his suitcase in behind him. It felt odd—too still. Normally, he’d be greeted by her soft voice, the warmth of her presence filling the space like sunlight spilling through the windows.

“Baby?” he called, frowning as he shut the door behind him. No answer.

His heart stuttered in his chest, the kind of unease that settled deep in his bones. He had been gone for days, racing, meetings, obligations that pulled him away, but she was always there—until now.

Lewis dropped his bag and moved through the apartment, his steps quickening with each unanswered call of her name. He found her curled up in bed, tangled in blankets, her face pale against the fabric of her pillow. His stomach twisted.

“Bunny,” he murmured, rushing to her side, kneeling beside the bed. His hand found her forehead, and his frown deepened at the heat radiating from her skin.

She stirred slightly, cracking her eyes open, and when she saw him, she tried to offer a weak smile. “You’re home.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m home, and you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, exhaustion weighing her down. “Didn’t want to worry you,” she mumbled.

Lewis exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Love, you’re the most important thing in the world to me. You being sick is more important than any race, any meeting, any damn thing. If you don’t feel well, I need to know. You can’t do this alone.”

She sighed softly, letting her fingers brush against his. “I didn’t mean to hide it. Just… didn’t want to ruin your week.”

Lewis shook his head, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Nothing matters more than you, baby. I need you to promise me you’ll never do this again.”

She opened her eyes again, glassy with fever, and the guilt on her face made his chest ache. “I promise.”

His fingers threaded through her hair, his touch gentle, soothing. “Okay. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

She hummed a soft agreement, too tired to fight him.

Lewis sprang into action. He fetched medicine, filled a glass of water, adjusted the blankets to make sure she wasn’t too hot or too cold. He smoothed back her hair, whispering soft reassurances, his touch never leaving her for long.

“Drink a little, love,” he urged, holding the glass to her lips. She took a few small sips before sinking back against the pillows. “Good girl,” he praised, and she smiled faintly at the words.

He made her eat a few spoonfuls of soup, brushing her lips after each bite. She let him fuss over her, and for once, she didn’t protest. Being taken care of was a weight lifted off her chest.

As the night stretched on, she felt lighter, the fever still lingering but the burden of loneliness fading away. Lewis crawled into bed beside her, careful but close, his hand never leaving hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered sleepily, her body curling into him instinctively.

Lewis pressed a kiss to her temple. “Missed you more, bunny. And next time, I’m flying home the second you so much as sniffle.”

She huffed a small laugh, nuzzling against his chest. “Dramatic.”

“For you? Always.”

She let out a content sigh, feeling safer than she had in days. Maybe being taken care of wasn’t so bad when it was him.