#and it stood out to me back then because i was waiting for her to say his name and to see how she'd refer to him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 2 days ago

Note

Many thoughts

The team thought Bucky was just being extra welcoming since he always found an excuse to be around you. If you offered to cook for the team, he was beside you in the kitchen ready to help. If you wanted to spar, he dropped what he was doing to go to the training room. And if you suggested a movie night, he sat next to you with your favorite snacks ready to go and a blanket in case you got cold.

Just a nice gentleman if you ask me 🤭

Everyone noticed that Bucky smiled more when you were around. He laughed more, too. Turned to you for advice and didn't mind staying up late to chat or exchange books. Your room also happened to be beside his and he spent a lot of time in there, more than a regular teammate should.

Let the man be happy!

“You know me. Just being a good teammate,” he replied, holding you close the way a boyfriend would and not at all like a teammate. Yeah, they should’ve seen it coming.

Whoops 🤭👀

Bob stumbled upon you by accident. He had forgotten his hoodie in the common room after one of the movie nights and froze when he spotted you and Bucky making out on the couch. He stood there for a full minute torn because he wanted to get his hoodie back, but he didn't want to interrupt. He ultimately decided against it when Bucky pushed you back on the cushions. On top of his hoodie. “I’ll just… I’ll get it tomorrow. And I’ll wash it. Yeah, yeah. I'll do that. It’s fine. Everything’s fine,” he mumbled as he went back to his room.

Hahahah poor Bob 😅

Yelena caught the two of you in the training room. For a moment it looked like Bucky was trying a new move on you and she almost asked him to show her how it was done. Tilting her head after a few seconds, she realized what she was seeing wasn't a defense move at all. If there was any doubt, the grunt he let out and the moan you gave him in response when some clothes were moved aside told her very loud and clear what was happening. And it would've been rude to stay and watch.

Not her almost wanting to try that move too 😂

Ava didn't catch the two of you doing anything. She phased in the kitchen one day while Bucky was eating and making a mess. The exasperated look on your face when you tossed him a paper towel was adorable, as was the smile you two exchanged. Bucky never looked that soft around anyone else. “You eat pussy like that?” Ava asked to get a rise out of Bucky when another drop of sauce hit his shirt. “Yeah, he does,” you said without skipping a beat. Ava laughed, thinking it was a joke at first, before she caught Bucky staring you down and licking his lips. You bit your lip and Ava almost phased out of the room to give you two some privacy.

Ava probably was to stunned to speak but luckily not to phase away haha

“Thank you for not using the counter since we eat here!” Ava called out after the two of you.

Valid haha

Alexei found the two of you in his limo tangled up in each other. You couldn't explain why you and Bucky decided to fool around in there, but you wanted to have some fun and the limo was there. And it was clean. The Red Guardian wasn't at all upset. In fact, he felt honored that the Winter Soldier wanted to have sex in his limo and blasted “Pony” to set the mood. “That’s what I talk about!” he cheered before Yelena dragged him away.

Well, he is all about protecting fron a boring evening 🤷🏻‍♀️😅

“Are you guys…” John trailed off since the rest of the group didn't seem at all surprised by the display. “Wait, did everyone know? Was I the only one who didn't know?” “Yes, dime store Captain America.” Ava rolled her eyes. “Everyone knew.”

This is so fitting 😂

“Limo!” Alexei shouted, hitting his chest. “My limo.”

And he couldn't be more proud 😅

Bob shrugged. “I think they make a good couple.” “Of course, you do,” Yelena said, a small smile forming on her face as you and Bucky carried on. “I think so, too.”

Of course he does 🥹🥰

I loved all of this so much!👏🏻

Miss Navy! What if the reader joined the thunderbolts and fooled around with Bucky?

Bahaha. I have a thot, nonnie.

Not Exactly a Secret

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are really good teammates... and more.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Kissing, implied smut, humor, team bonding (kind of), Thunderbolts spoilers, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Using this beautiful @nixakimbo edit for reasons (you know why if you've seen Thunderbolts!). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

In hindsight, they all should've seen it coming.

You were the last to join the team and easy to get along with. You could roll with the punches and keep up with Alexei, put John in his place when he stepped out of line, sympathize with Bob, and have a blast with Yelena and Ava. Hell, you even congratulated Bucky on his six month stint as a Congressman and swore he made a difference. He admired your kindness. He admired you.

The recent movie night you snuggled against him and started to doze off. If anyone else had tried to snuggle with him there was a chance they'd lose a hand, but not you. “Mmm. You're so good to me, Bucky,” you said when he picked you up.

“You know me. Just being a good teammate,” he replied, holding you close the way a boyfriend would and not at all like a teammate.

Yeah, they should’ve seen it coming.

“I’ll just… I’ll get it tomorrow. And I’ll wash it. Yeah, yeah. I'll do that. It’s fine. Everything’s fine,” he mumbled as he went back to his room.

You were kind enough to wash it yourself the next day and offered to buy him a new one, but he declined. It was nice that you offered. And he was happy because he saw how happy you made Bucky.

“Oh, I'm not sparring on that mat again,” she muttered.

She did spar on it again after Bucky cleaned it twice.

“You eat pussy like that?” Ava asked to get a rise out of Bucky when another drop of sauce hit his shirt.

“Yeah, he does,” you said without skipping a beat.

Ava laughed, thinking it was a joke at first, before she caught Bucky staring you down and licking his lips. You bit your lip and Ava almost phased out of the room to give you two some privacy. You beat her to it by sauntering out of the room with a smirk, the super soldier hot on your tail and leaving his mess behind.

“Thank you for not using the counter since we eat here!” Ava called out after the two of you.

Bucky had you on the counter the next day so he could eat, too.

“That’s what I talk about!” he cheered before Yelena dragged him away.

She also decided then and there that she’d always ride in the front seat of the limo.

John was the last to know, which surprised no one. After a successful mission, he realized neither you nor Bucky had answered a question he asked. Whatever smartass comment he began died in his throat when Bucky unashamedly kissed you. There was nothing gentle or chaste about it. It was a deep, filthy kiss and he felt like a perv watching.

Bucky must've thought something similar since he gave John the finger all while he continued to kiss you and you gripped his hair.

“Are you guys…” John trailed off since the rest of the group didn't seem at all surprised by the display. “Wait, did everyone know? Was I the only one who didn't know?”

“Yes, dime store Captain America.” Ava rolled her eyes. “Everyone knew.”

Whether it was the insult of being the last to know, John looked offended. “Even Bobby? And since when did the two of them become a thing?”

Bucky broke the kiss to glare at the blonde. “Yeah, asshole, Bob knew,” he replied.

“And it wasn't really a secret. We just hadn't officially announced it,” you said, giggling when Bucky’s lips found yours again.

Apparently the display was the official announcement.

“I really did know,” Bob smiled before he cleared his throat. “I, uh, found them in the common room.”

“Training room,” Yelena said.

Ava nodded. “Kitchen.”

“Limo!” Alexei shouted, hitting his chest. “My limo.”

“Jesus Christ,” John muttered.

Bob shrugged. “I think they make a good couple.”

“Of course, you do,” Yelena said, a small smile forming on her face as you and Bucky carried on. “I think so, too.”

Yeah, lovelies. Loved the film. Not at all sorry. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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pukefactory · 2 days ago

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You know, I'm constantly curious about this. Because everybody makes it where the reader comes to and gets stuck in ENA's world...but what if it was the other way around? What if BBQ ENA was stuck in our world instead?? •-•

•☽────✧˖°˖ LEARNING THE ROPES ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA Stuck In The Human World With The Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ),

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @crepeurie

☆ ENA appeared in your world unannounced, as if dropped between seconds. The air crackled like radio static and then there she was: standing in your apartment hallway, glittering with casino dust, holding a charred mannequin head in one hand and a coupon for “half off your existential fate” in the other. Salesperson side blinked first, then grinned. “Say, is this your realm? I hope I’m not trespassing on your… emotional lease.” The Meanie side groaned. “WHAT THE HELL KIND OF DIMENSION HAS CARPETED WALLS?! WHERE’S THE BOSS??” You didn’t know whether to give her tea or a tetanus shot.

☆ She doesn’t understand your technology. Your phone? A cursed slab of mirror-glass that steals your soul when you tap it too fast. “Wait, why does the cat keep changing expressions?! Is it mocking me?” She attempts to argue with your Amazon Alexa. “WHO IS THIS DISEMBODIED WOMAN?! WHAT AUTHORITY DOES SHE HOLD?! Why doesn’t she tell us where the BATHROOM is?!” You mute the speaker. She puts a sticky note over it labeled: DO NOT TRUST THE ECHO LADY.

☆ You took her outside once. She stood on the curb and stared at the streetlight like it was a divine omen. “The lights here… blink in coded confessions. I think I saw one say ‘you’re being watched.’ Is that true?” “Don’t tell me your reality uses coloured bulbs as government signals! That’s genius. Absolutely evil. I admire it.” Then she ran into traffic to chase a squirrel. You had to drag her back by her suspenders. “I was bartering a soul exchange!”

☆ She tried coffee. You made the grave mistake of giving her espresso. Within minutes, Meanie was arguing with a ceiling fan while Salesperson rewrote your résumé, your will, and a five-year business plan to “dominate the underground liquorice economy.” You had to lock her in the bathroom for twenty minutes just so she wouldn’t take apart your microwave. “I NEED TO SEE THE INSIDES. DOES IT BLEED? DOES IT SING?” You’ve since switched her to chamomile tea.

☆ She found out about streaming services and hasn’t recovered. She watched 14 hours of reality TV and now believes that “marriage” is a televised punishment ritual. “These contestants keep kissing under duress! Why?! Is that how you humans survive the culling?” Later, she rewrote the concept of television into a tragic art form. She talks about “reruns” like they’re ghost stories. You caught her whispering to the Netflix home screen: “I KNOW HOW THIS ENDS… BUT I’LL WATCH YOU SUFFER AGAIN.”

☆ She doesn’t sleep. Not because she can’t, but because she doesn’t trust unconsciousness. “You’re telling me your consciousness vanishes nightly and that’s… normal? I can’t even trust my limbs!” Still, she gets bored in the hours you’re asleep. You once woke up at 3 a.m. to find her sitting on your chest, watching your eyelids like TV static. “You twitch when you’re dreaming. Does that mean you’re buffering?” She didn’t get off until you said “please.”

☆ She began attending your workplace with you like it was a mission briefing. At first, she was polite. Helpful, even. She made coffee for your coworkers and tried to network. “So tell me—are you also being exploited under the guise of capitalist productivity, or is it more of a consensual subjugation thing?” Then she shouted at your boss. “YOU’RE THE NEW BOSS?! You don’t even SMELL like authority!” You were asked to “take your cousin back to the psych ward.”

☆ She tries cooking. Sometimes it goes well. Most of the time it doesn’t. She once baked you a cake that bled orange juice and screamed in binary when sliced. “It’s avant-garde! A little post-mortem pastry!” She gets very quiet when you eat her food without flinching. Meanie narrows her eyes, suspicious. “You… actually like it?” The Salesperson side stares for a beat, then whispers, “My dividends… are emotional.”

☆ You took her to the park once. She watched the ducks like they were religious figures. “They know something. Something lost to time. Do you think they’ve seen the Genie?” She picked dandelions and declared them “low-tier magical implements.” You watched her tie them together and mutter prayers. When you asked who she was praying to, she shrugged. “To this world. To the idea that maybe I’m allowed to stay in it. That it won’t swallow me back into code and craters.” You sat beside her and held her sharp, clawed hand. It trembled once. Then didn’t let go.

☆ One night, after too much laughing and not enough sleep, she looked at you—really looked. “I think this place is terrifying,” she admitted. “It’s heavy and slow and filled with people who look at me like I’m… not real. But then you—you laugh at me when I’m ridiculous and smile like I’m worth staying here for.” Her voice broke into both tones. Both sides. “If I’m stuck in your world, I think it’s okay. I’m not looking for the BATHROOM anymore.” She paused. “I’m looking for your hand.”

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inkedinshadows · 2 days ago

Text

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again

Pairing: Rhysand x f!reader

Summary: Rhysand comes home to his mate after 50 years UTM, but he's worried she might not love him anymore after everything he's done.

Warnings: angst, sad boi Rhys, mentions of Amarantha

Word count: 2.2k

Main masterlist | Week Masterlist | Rhysand Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

Velaris was quiet, with only a few faelights shining in the night to rival the stars above. A gentle breeze blew your hair away from your face, carrying with it the scent of salt and spring.

You sat on one of the iron chairs on the rooftop, your head tilted back to look up at the twinkling stars. You'd lost count of how many times you'd wished upon them over the last forty-nine years, and though you'd long since stopped wishing they would return your mate, you had never lost hope that he would one day come back home to you.

But now your wishes were smaller, because maybe then they would be answered. Maybe asking for something too big was too ambitious to be granted.

So you stuck with the little things.

For your mate to be safe, and healthy too. That even if couldn't return, he would know you'd wait for him and love him from afar. That wherever he was, he could look up at the same stars and think of you, and maybe even feel you close to him.

You shivered slightly when the breeze picked up. Goosebumps rose on your arms as if the wind itself was telling you to stop thinking and go to sleep instead.

With a sigh, you finally stood. It was late, and the bed was calling to you with the promise of a sleep filled with dreams of Rhys.

After one last glance at the quiet stars, you headed down the stairs toward your bedroom. You frowned at the light filtering out from beneath the door. You were sure you hadn't left it on before climbing up to the rooftop. But when you pushed it open, your heart stopped.

You recognized his scent before you even saw him.

Citrus and sea salt filled your lungs, and then the door swung fully open.

And there he was.

Rhys was sitting on the edge of the bed, but he shot to his feet the moment you turned the doorknob. He just stood there, posture rigid, as you stared at each other.

His skin was pale—so much paler than the last time you'd seen him. His hair was slightly longer, and his eyes no longer sparkled with life and joy as they once had. He was thinner. And he looked tired—so tired that you wondered when the last time he had gotten some sleep was.

“Rhys?” you whispered. You were still standing in the doorway, too stunned to move. “Is that you? Are you… are you really here?”

Maybe you had fallen asleep on that chair and this was just another dream.

How many times had you imagined this moment, both while asleep and awake? Or was this real and the stars—or the Mother, the Cauldron, all the forgotten gods you'd silently begged—had finally answered your prayers?

Rhys didn't smile. Didn't nod. He just swallowed.

“I'm here, but…”

Your heart dropped.

“But I'm not…” He struggled to find the words. “I'm not the same person you knew.”

Finally stepping into the room, you frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve changed,” he answered. His voice was trembling. “I've… done things, Y/N. I'm not the man I was fifty years ago.”

You weren't surprised—not really. You had changed too. Fifty years was a long time, even for an immortal, and whatever Rhys had been through had visibly taken a toll on him. You had almost expected it.

But you had never once seen him so nervous, so… scared. As if he was afraid you were going to reject him, to tell him you didn't want him anymore. It made you wonder what kinds of things he was talking about.

“What did you do?” you asked quietly.

Rhys hesitated. For a moment, you thought he might not answer. But then he spoke.

“Everything she asked me,” he whispered. He didn't look at you. “I hurt people for her. Innocents. And I… I served her.”

He paused again, and you braced yourself for what he might say next.

“In the bedroom.”

The air left your lungs.

Rhys finally looked at you again. His eyes—usually so full of stars and love—were now anguished and scared.

“I promise you, Y/N, it never meant anything.” He took a step toward you, then stopped, as if unsure you would allow him to come closer. “Everything I've done, the people I've hurt… it was all to keep Velaris safe. So that I could come back home… to you.”

“Rhys—”

“And it's selfish, but I need to know if… if there's a chance you could still love me.” He swallowed. “If you only knew what I've done… I'm not the man you fell in love with. Not anymore. And I don't know if you could love me like you used to.”

“Rhys,” you said, and this time your voice was firmer.

He stopped just as he was about to say something else and looked at you, waiting.

You studied him for a long moment. His hands trembled slightly—something that had never happened before. His cheeks were a little hollow, his waist just a bit thinner. You took in every detail, every little change in his body, noticing all of them as if you'd last seen him only the day before.

You didn't doubt his words. He was different, and he was hurting, haunted by whatever Amarantha had made him do. In and out of the bedroom, apparently.

But you had waited half a century for your mate to come home. You wouldn't let anything come in between you and him anymore, even if it was his own fear and guilt.

“Do you remember when we first said ‘I love you’?”

He seemed confused, but you went on.

“We went to that concert at the Rainbow Theatre and then you walked me home, and we kissed in front of my door.”

Rhys frowned. “That was when the bond snapped, not the first time we said ‘I love you’.”

You tilted your head to the side as you thought about it. “Right,” you muttered. “So was it that time we just went to the coffeehouse across from where I used to work because I didn't have time?”

You had always loved your job at the bakery. Cakes and cookies, loaves of bread and rolls, pastries and tarts—they were your element. You thrived surrounded by flour and yeast and chocolate chips. But that first job became more like a prison and burden, where you had to work impossible shifts and run on little sleep.

You had met Rhys when he came in one day to order a cake for his cousin's birthday. Something immediately clicked between the two of you, and shortly after you were going on dates in between your shifts. You sacrificed so many hours of sleep so you could see him in your free time, until Rhys had convinced you to quit and find something better.

Hurt flashed in Rhys' eyes, but there was a hint of frustration in his voice. “That was our first date.”

Though it killed you, you just nodded thoughtfully. “Then when was it? Do you remember it?”

Rhys took a deep breath. You couldn't tell it if he was trying to stay calm or if he was truly that hurt by your apparent memory lapse.

“It was the day before you opened your own bakery,” he said. He spoke slowly, as if it would help you remember. “You were trying new recipes and making me taste all of them until I felt sick. And when you asked why I didn't tell you I'd eaten too much cake, I said it was because I loved you and wanted to see you happy.”

He hesitated before meeting your gaze. “Do you really not remember?”

You shook your head and stepped forward. Finally standing in front of him, the urge to throw yourself into his arms—or to hold him in yours—was stronger than ever. But you held back for now and just looked up at him instead.

“I remember,” you said. “Of course I remember. Our first date, the first kiss, the first ‘I love you’... I remember it all.”

He opened his mouth, but you already knew what he was going to say.

You lifted a hand to his face, fingers shaking almost imperceptibly, and then you were cupping his cheek.

After almost fifty years, you were touching your mate again.

Rhys tensed under your touch, his eyes searching your face, and you had to fight against the lump rising in your throat to speak again.

“I asked because I wanted you to remember,” you murmured. “To remind yourself that you remember all those moments and a thousand more. That you've changed, but you're still you.”

Your other hand came to rest on his chest, right where his heart was. You could feel it, beating wildly beneath your palm.

“In here, you're still Rhysand. You're still my mate. And you always will be.”

His violet eyes shone, silver lining them.

“I don't need another chance to love you, Rhys,” you said, your voice a soft caress, like your thumb now brushing his cheekbone. “Because I never stopped loving you. And I never will. You're my mate, my love, and I'd wait another fifty years for you.”

His throat bobbed, and then tears rolled down his cheeks. You cupped his face with both hands, wiping them away with a soft smile.

It broke your heart to see him like this. To know that whatever he had done, whatever he'd been forced to endure, had been horrible enough to make him think your love for him could ever die.

“Open the bond,” you encouraged gently. “Let the wall come down, my love.”

It had killed you not feeling him for all those decades. When he'd reached out with his magic to warn you, he told you it was for your safety. That if someone had suspected he had a mate, Amarantha would come for you.

And you had understood. You had accepted it—you hadn't had another choice. But it had still killed you.

Sometimes, you would pull on the bond, like you had done hundreds of times before, but you could never feel his presence on the other side. As if he had never been there. As if he were gone.

It had terrified you. You had no way of knowing if he was alright or hurt. Would you know it if he had died? With the mating bond shut, would you be able to feel it, to sense it? Would your heart stop beating without warning? The doubts and nightmares had haunted you for fifty years.

But now he was here. You were together again.

Rhys released a shuddering breath. He searched your eyes again, but all he found there was love and understanding.

A few seconds passed in silence.

And then you felt it—that feeling deep within your chest, like a string tied to your heart, pulling you gently toward him.

The warm, glowing mating bond.

A ghost presence in your chest for almost fifty years, but no more. And never again.

You both gasped at the intensity of it. You could sense that Rhys was still holding back, still trying to shield you from the full weight of his anguish and guilt. So you flooded the bond with your love, your relief, your joy at finally being with him again.

Slowly, Rhys leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. “I've missed you, my darling. Every minute of every day.”

A sob tore from you, and then you were crying too. Your arms looped around his neck to pull him closer, fingers tangling in his hair as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His hands slid to your back, holding you even tighter.

“I missed you too,” you choked out. “And I love you, Rhys. Please, never doubt that.”

His tears seeped through your shirt, dampening the fabric and your skin beneath it, but you couldn't have cared less.

You were holding him. And he was holding you. Everything was going to be fine.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You didn't know how long you stood there in the center of the room, just holding each other. Minutes or hours—it didn't matter. You had no intention of letting him go ever again, and you knew he felt the same. You could spend the rest of your life like this and it would be enough.

It didn't matter what he had done, what Amarantha had forced him to do. Maybe one day he would tell you. Maybe he wouldn't. But even then, nothing he said could ever make you stop loving him.

If you had to spend the next few years proving to him that he wasn't the villain he thought he'd become, then so be it. You would show him that, however changed he might be, he was still your mate.

He was still—and would always be—your Rhys.

And he was finally home.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

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pinkpurplesunrises · 1 day ago

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We were never meant to break, but we did anyway (and still found our way back)

5000 words – the long story – Alexia Putellas x Reader – This may be heartbreaking but I promise you it'll be okay - Angst, Smut and Fluff - Mentions of grief and stillbirth. Please read with care.

I'm a little nervous to upload this. Had it on my computer for a while. Took a lot of patience and hours. Just needed to write a good ending and my brain was finally able to do so. Didn't have more words in me. This is it. I hope it's alright.

Alexia looked different under the soft gold of Barcelona’s morning light.

Like time had touched her gently, letting her age but not harden. You hadn’t seen her in nine months. Not since the night everything broke like thin glass between you.

She was the first to speak in the newly opened coffee shop, her voice quieter than you remembered. ‘’You cut your hair.’’

You almost smiled. Almost. ‘’You didn’t.’’

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable, just loaded. Like both of you waiting for the offer to reach back in time and pull something familiar out of the silence.

You breathed to the ache in your chest. ‘’I didn’t think I wanted to see you again.’’

Alexia flinched. Just barely, but you saw it. You always saw it.

She nodded, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. ‘’That’s fair.’’

There wasn’t anger in her voice. Just acceptance. Like she’d already had this conversation a hundred times in her head and knew she didn’t get to rewrite the ending. Not this time.

You let out a soft laugh, dry and hollow. ‘’How convenient that we both moved to a new place and still ended up in the same damn coffee shop.’’

She looked up at you again, lips twitching like she wasn’t sure if she was able to smile at that. ‘’I guess Barcelona’s not as big as we thought.’’

You shrugged, crossing your arms. Not out of defiance, just to hold something in place. Just to ache the anxiety running through your veins. ‘’Or maybe the universe has a messed up sense of humor.’’

Alexia didn’t disagree. She never did when you were right, even when it stung.

You step up when the barista calls your name, the scrape of the cup against the counter louder than it should be in your ears.

Alexia doesn’t move. She just watches you. Like she’s scared any sudden motion will break whatever fragile thread’s holding this moment together.

You grab the cup. It’s warm. Steadying. You don’t look at her yet, not really. Just past her shoulder, toward the window and the way the light filters in like it doesn’t know how tired you are of mourning.

‘’I should go,’’ you say softly. Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.

Alexia swallows. ‘’Yeah. Of course.’’

But still, you don’t move.

Not right away.

You stand there, heart thudding, breath tight in your chest. You know she’s still looking at you, and that’s somehow worse than if she’d already turned away. It’s been nearly a year, and she still makes you feel like your ribs can’t quite contain everything that lives beneath them.

You force a breath and turn, eyes blurring just enough that you have to blink fast before you speak.

‘’It’s almost been a year,’’ you murmur. ‘’And I’m still sorry… that my body betrayed us like that.’’

You don’t wait for a response. You just walk out, because if you don’t, you’ll shatter. Again.

Behind you, Alexia doesn’t follow.

Not yet.

Alexia didn’t realize she was still holding her breath until the door shut behind you.

The clink of the bell above it barely registered. What stayed, what pressed like a stone beneath her sternum, was your voice. Quiet. Raw. That last line ringing through her like a wound that never properly healed.

‘’I’m still sorry that my body betrayed us like that.’’

She stood there, in the middle of the coffee shop, like some ghost of herself. And then she left. Left before she started crying in public again. Like last spring. Like the night she said something so cruel, so stupid, that she watched you close yourself off in real time.

By the time she reached her mother’s apartment, her fingers were shaking again. And she felt nauseous.

Not from the coffee. Not from the early morning chill or the sprint upstairs. From everything.

From the look on your face when you saw her. From the sound of your voice when you said you still were sorry. From the fact that after all these moments, you still thought it was your fault. And part of her had let you. It’s almost been a year. And I’m still sorry that my body betrayed us like that.

The sentence repeated in her head over and over again, each time bringing a fresh wave of sickness. She barely made it up the stairs before she had to brace herself against the wall outside her mother’s door, swallowing back bile and shame.

This had started happening more often since that night. Since the silence became the only thing between you.

She knocked with the back of her hand. Weakly.

The door opened almost instantly. Eli must’ve already known.

‘’Alexia,’’ her mother said softly, no questions, no scolding. Just recognition.

Alexia didn’t respond. Just shook her head once, lips pressed tight, and bolted toward the bathroom.

She didn’t make it all the way. She sank to her knees in the hallway, one arm braced against the wall, the other gripping her stomach like she could somehow hold it all in. But she couldn’t.

Eli was beside her in seconds, crouching down, pulling her hair back gently and resting a steading hand on her back.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t loud. But it was emptying. The kind of sickness that came from a place no medicine could fix.

After a while when her body had given up and she was just left there, hollow and trembling, Eli passed her a glass of water and a damp cloth for her face. She didn’t speak, didn’t rush. She just sat with her daughter in that quiet, aching space where love didn’t ask for explanations.

After a long pause, Alexia finally found her voice again. Raw and thick with guilt.

‘’She was at the new coffee shop,’’ she said quietly, eyes unfocused, staring at the ground. ‘’She was right there… and I couldn’t…’’ Her voice broke, and she pressed her palm against her eyes to stop the tears from coming. ‘’I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t make it right.’’

Eli didn’t respond immediately. She just helped Alexia sit up, one hand steadying her shoulder as she guided her to the couch. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like she knew how fragile Alexia was in this moment.

‘’Come on,’’ Eli whispered, her voice soothing. ‘’Let’s get you comfortable.’’

Eli adjusted the pillows behind Alexia, making sure she was settled just right, before moving across the room. The soft click of the lighter echoed in the quiet room as Eli lit the small candle. It’s warm glow casting shadows on the walls, and turned the flickering light toward the table. The light danced on the surface, drawing Alexia’s attention to the framed ultrasound photo resting beside it.

For a long moment, Alexia didn’t move. She just stared at the photo, eyes blurred with unshed tears. The silence in the room pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

She’d tried so hard to bury that part of herself. The part that carried the weight of what they’d lost. She’d thrown herself into her games, into the chaos of her professional life, hoping it would silence the emptiness. But it didn’t.

Eli came back to her side, her presence steady and solid. She didn’t push Alexia to speak. She simply sat down beside her, the silence between them comfortable in a way that only years of shared grief could create.

Finally, Alexia broke the silence. Her voice low, barely a whisper. ‘’I can’t stop thinking about what I said. About how I let her walk away.’’ She let out a shaky breath, rubbing her hand over her face. ‘’And now… now I think she blames herself for everything. I didn’t fix it, mamá. I made it worse.’’

Eli’s arm found its way around Alexia’s shoulders, a steady comforting weight. ‘’You were both lost, Alexia. You were both hurting. You never got a chance to heal together.’’

Alexia leaning into her mother’s warmth. ‘’I just wanted to fix it so badly. But I pushed her away instead. And now…’’ She paused, her breath catching in her throat. ‘’I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.’’

Eli kissed the top of her head gently. ‘’It’s not about forgiveness, querida. It’s about healing. And that can’t happen until you’re both ready.’’

Alexia picked up the ultrasound photo, her fingers tracing the edges softly as if it might slip away if she touched it too hard. She felt the ache of the past settling deep in her chest again. The photo was a reminder of what she lost. Not just a child, but everything that came with it: the plans, the future she’d imagined with you.

With a deep quiet breath, Alexia set the photo down again. The weight of the moment too much to hold for long. ‘’I just want her back,’’ she whispered, her voice cracking, her eyes welling with tears.

Eli didn’t try to stop the tears. She simply held her, quiet and steady, knowing that sometimes the only thing you could do was be there. The pain wouldn’t go away. It never really did, but being here with her mother in this safe space gave Alexia a fragile thread of hope.

Back across the city the quiet followed you home like a shadow.

Your apartment was small, modest, lived-in. The kind of place where the furniture didn’t match and the walls were soft with memories. You dropped your bag near the door and toed off your shoes. The silence pressing in as if it had something to say.

Baya greeted you at the threshold, slow and curious. Her tail curling against your ankle like she knew something in you had cracked open again. You bent down, pressing your face to her fur, eyes still hot from the tears you’d barely kept in back at the coffee shop.

‘’Hey, girl,’’ you whispered against her fur. ‘’I saw her.’’

“I actually saw her.”

Baya only blinked, but it felt like enough.

You stood again and drifted toward the kitchen counter, placing the now-cold coffee cup down like it weighed a thousand pounds. Your throat still burned from everything you hadn’t said. From the way her eyes followed you as you walked out.

You hadn’t planned to say that last thing. The truth that had clawed at your ribs for nearly a year. It’s almost been a year. And I’m still sorry that my body betrayed us like that. It came out too fast. Too sharp. But it was true.

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened a window, letting the cool air hit your face. It helped, a little. Just enough.

You moved to the bookshelf, not for a book, but for the small flat box tucked between them. You didn't open it. You just held it, pressing it to your chest. Inside was the same photo. The one they printed when you weren't sure if it was still real, before everything fell apart. You hadn't looked at it in months. Couldn't bring yourself to.

Baya brushed against your legs again, and you sank to the floor slowly. Curling into yourself on the rug. Your apartment smelled like lavender and old tea. It was small. Yours. But it still felt like something was missing.

You'd Baya for almost four years now.

She wasn't planned. You'd found her through a rescue center just outside the city, all winy limbs and wide eyes. Something in you had clicked the moment you saw her. You hadn't even asked Alexia before filling out the papers. Just texted her a photo and wrote, her name's Baya. She comes home tomorrow.

Alexia had replied with: You adopted a cat? Without asking? You hate sleeping with fur in the bed.

And then a minute later: She's kind of cute though. I call the name 'Tigre' if she claws me once.

She’d rolled her eyes for days. Claimed she didn’t want a cat. Didn’t like them. Said she was a dog person. But within a week, you’d walked in on her stretched out on the couch with Baya curled on her chest like she’d always belonged there.

“She was cold,” Alexia had muttered, stroking the tiny kitten’s ears like it wasn’t the fifth time that week.

And from that point on, Baya was as much hers as she was yours.

She’d scoop her up and carry her around the apartment like a baby. Let her sleep on clean training kits. Left her little dishes of chicken when she thought you weren’t looking. Once, after a hard away game, Alexia had laid face-down on the bed for two hours. Baya curled up in the small of her back like she knew how to anchor her.

That was just… who Alexia was. Even when she was tired. Even when she said she didn’t care.

She always did.

You pulled your knees in tighter, resting your cheek against them, the ache behind your eyes dull and steady. So many pieces of your life still had her fingerprints on them. Even now.

Baya padded over and curled up at your side, purring low and warm. You reached out and stroked her back, your fingers moving slow.

“I know,” you whispered. “I miss her too.”

She'd been confused, after it all happened.

Your belly had been full one day, and then it wasn’t. Alexia had been home, and then she wasn’t. The laughter, the warmth, the weight of two people living and dreaming under one roof. Gone.

And Baya, for all her quiet intelligence and feline pride, couldn’t understand why the energy in the apartment had changed so suddenly. Why the crib box stayed unopened. Why you barely moved from the bed. Why you sobbed into her fur some nights and wouldn’t let her go.

She waited by the door for days, her tail flicking every time keys jingled in the hallway that weren’t yours. She wandered into the bedroom at night, meowed at the emptiness on the left side of the bed. She sniffed at the small pile of folded baby clothes you couldn’t bear to throw out.

She mourned with you.

She just couldn’t say it.

And you… you hadn’t had the words either. Not when Alexia said what she said that night. Not when she looked at you like it was your fault her heart broke.

So you left the apartment you once called home and came here. Smaller. Quieter. Yours. But not whole.

You turned your face into your knees, closing your eyes against the sting building behind them again.

Nearly a year, and still, the silence hadn’t learned how to soothe you.

Neither had the coffee shops. Or the sun. Or the passing time.

It had been six days since she saw you.

Six days since you walked out of that coffee shop with shaking hands and eyes glassy with everything you didn't say. Six days, and Alexia still hadn't forgiven herself for going after you.

The apartment was quiet now. She was back home, her real home, the one you'd picked together. The walls still held the shape of your laughter in them, somehow. It was cruel, how sound could linger after everything else had gone.

She sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees. Her phone dangling from her fingers. No notifications. She hadn't expected any.

The nausea had eased some, but it still came in waves. Especially when she thought of you. Of what she's said that night.

She could still see it. Your face. That look right after the words left her mouth. The way you crumbled so quietly it took her days to realize it was the last time you'd let her see you fall apart.

Her mother had told her to stop torturing herself, but Alexia knew that was easier said than done.

It had been almost a year, and still, her mind replayed the same moment over and over: Her own voice, too sharp. Too cruel.

Your silence, like a blade.

She hadn’t meant it. God, she hadn’t meant it.

But grief made monsters out of people. And that night, Alexia had let hers win.

Now, with the house too quiet and your ghost in every corner, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She reached over, picked up the folded onesie from the drawer she never opened anymore, pressed it to her chest, and let herself fall back on the bed.

It was soft. Still smelled faintly of lavender and that detergent you insisted was the only one that didn't smell too clean. She had argued, said the baby wouldn't care. That they'd throw up on it anyway. You'd just smiled, hand already resting over your swollen stomach, and said... humor me.

You'd been five months along when you found it.

Tiny. Pale yellow. With a stiched little bee in the centre. You held it up in the shop like it was some kind of treasure, eyes wide with the kind of hope Alexia hadn’t let herself fully lean into yet. Not then. It terrified her, how ready you were to love something so small, so vulnerable, so not here yet.

Still, after that day, she started calling her mi abejita.

Her little bee.

She’d whisper it against your belly when she thought you were asleep, her hand spread wide across your skin, anchoring herself to a future that scared her just as much as it thrilled her.

Sometimes she'd hum, quiet and low in her throat, the way her mother used to do when she was small. And she's imagine a baby cradled in your arms with your same sleepy smile, the onesie soft and warm around their tiny limbs.

Abejita, she’d say with a grin whenever she came home from training. Crouching down to kiss your stomach before she kissed you. You'd always roll your eyes. Pretend to scoff at how she made everything a nickname, but your hand would always find hers. Always.

And then one day, your belly was still.

And the nursery door stayed closed.

She hadn’t said abejita since.

Couldn’t.

Now, holding that soft yellow fabric to her chest, Alexia felt the name bloom and break all over again inside her.

After a long pause, Alexia sat up slowly, pushing herself to her feet. The onesie lay crumpled in her hands as she stared at the empty space across the room, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest.

She needed to say something. Needed to tell you she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant the things she said. But the words wouldn’t come. They never did.

With a shaky breath, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and unlocked it. She started typing, her fingers hovering over the screen for what felt like hours. Finally, she began. Just simple words, just a simple I'm sorry. But she couldn’t do it. She deleted it. Again.

Instead, she stared at the screen. She thought of you. How you used to look at her when you smiled, the quiet way you held her. How you used to laugh at her silly nicknames for everything, how abejita used to make you roll your eyes, but never in a bad way.

Her thumb hovered over the message again.

"I miss you."

She couldn’t send it. Not yet. But it was the first time in months she allowed herself to write it.

Alexia stared at the screen for another minute before locking her phone and tossing it back onto the bed.

She sat there for a while longer, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. Still, the thought of reaching out felt like a lifetime away. Like something she didn’t deserve to do yet.

The next weekend, you didn’t expect to find yourself standing outside the stadium. You couldn’t even explain why you were here, the crowds buzzing around you like a memory you didn’t want to remember but couldn't shake.

It all started when you stumbled upon an old pair of tiny FC Barcelona socks. Blue and garnet, with the faded emblem just visible enough to make your chest tighten.

They must’ve slipped from one of the boxes you had yet to go through. You hadn’t thought about that in so long, the way you used to laugh when Alexia came home from training with tiny gifts for a future you were both so excited about.

And then, as if some invisible force was pushing you, you found yourself walking. Just walking. Until you were here.

Outside the stadium.

The sound of the fans, the buzz of excitement, the occasional shout as people hurried in. It was almost too much. Too alive for the space inside you that felt so empty.

You didn’t plan to go in. You hadn’t even bought a ticket.

You were just standing there, watching, like a ghost.

The world around you seemed to move in a blur, and for a moment, you considered turning back. Going home. Pretending you hadn’t been pulled here by the quiet pull of memory.

And that’s when you saw them.

Alexia’s mother, Eli, and her younger sister, Alba, weaving through the crowd, both with bright smiles and eyes that searched the sea of faces around them. You froze. Your heart skipped, then thudded painfully against your chest as they drew closer.

“Oh,” Eli said, her voice warm, familiar. Her gaze softened when she spotted you, but there was something unreadable in her expression. “What a surprise.”

Alba, the younger of the two, gave a shy, cautious smile. “You’re here?” She asked, glancing at the entrance, her voice uncertain. “Are you going in?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and your throat tightened. You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t even know why you were here.

“No,” you replied quietly, shaking your head, trying to hide the wave of emotion that had rushed over you. “I... I’m just here. Standing outside, I guess.”

Eli's eyes softened even more, and she stepped closer, her tone gentle. “I understand.” She said it like she didn’t need you to explain any more. Like she knew, and that somehow, in some way, she was here for you.

Alba looked between the two of you, almost unsure of what to say next, but Eli gave her a small, knowing nod.

“Sometimes it’s the first step,” Eli added, her voice quiet but firm, like she was offering something deeper than just a simple observation. “Just standing here. Even when you don’t know why you’re here.”

You nodded, the words slipping into your chest like a small, heavy stone. It was hard to breathe. But you didn't look away. You let the moment sit. You let it breathe. And just for a second, in the stillness of it, you could almost hear her. Alexia. Right there with you, her presence an echo in your bones.

You looked down at the tiny socks in your hand, the ones you hadn’t even realized you were still holding.

Without thinking, you pressed them into Eli’s hands. She blinked, surprised at first, but then looked down at the socks, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric.

“These...” you trailed off, unsure of what you were saying, why you were saying it. The words felt foreign. “For Alexia. Just... tell her... I don’t know. Tell her I’m sorry. Or that... I don’t know. Just give them to her, please.”

Eli’s gaze softened even more, and for the first time, you noticed the pain behind her eyes, the shared weight of everything unspoken. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.

“I will,” she said simply, her voice steady.

And that was it.

No grand gestures. No promises.

But somehow, it felt like a first step.

The match had ended hours ago, the sounds of the cheering crowd still echoing in her mind, but now the stadium was quiet. Alexia stood at the back of the locker room, her body sore, her thoughts clouded with a heaviness that hadn’t left her since the moment she’d stepped onto the field.

She tried to focus on the game, tried to lose herself in the adrenaline and the sharp concentration that came with being on the pitch. But every time the ball came near her, every pass, every goal, her mind flickered back to you. How you used to cheer for her, your eyes bright and full of pride. How you would bring her small tokens of love after every match. Sometimes a coffee, sometimes a handwritten note tucked inside her locker.

But it wasn't just the little thigns that made her heart ache. It was the bigger things, the things she has allowed herself to dream about. How, when you'd sit together on quiet nights, you would talk about the future. About bringing your future daughter to the stadium one dat, a tiny Barcelona jersey on her back. Holder her up to see her mami play.

You'd laugh at how she'd probably be more interested in the snacks than the game, and how you'd support Alexia from the stands, together as a family.

Little bee. Abejita.

Her chest tightened, and she could feel the familiar ache deep inside her. The ache she’d tried to ignore, but no matter how hard she pushed, it was always there.

“Alexia,” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts. Eli’s steady presence was a comfort, even when it felt like nothing could fix what had been broken.

She turned slowly, her hand still gripping the locker as if it could steady her. Eli stood there, Alba beside her, both of them looking at her in that quiet, knowing way they always did when something was wrong.

Eli didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at Alexia, letting the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t judgment, not really. It was more like she was giving Alexia the space to break if she needed to.

“You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” Eli said softly, her voice like the calm after a storm. “But I think you know what’s in your heart.”

Alexia swallowed hard, the weight of her emotions threatening to spill over. She had spent the entire match trying to bury everything. Bury the memories. Bury the guilt. But it all came crushing back now, unstoppable. She wanted to say something, to explain, to apologize. But nothing felt enough. The words wouldn't come.

It was Alba who spoke next, her voice quieter than usual, almost uncertain. “We saw her, Ale. Outside the stadium.”

Alexia’s heart stuttered. “What?”

Eli nodded, her eyes soft but tinged with a sadness Alexia had come to recognize all too well. “She was standing outside, near the entrance. Just... standing there.”

“She gave me this,” Eli continued, holding out the tiny pair of FC Barcelona socks.

Alexia’s breath hitched in her throat. “She gave you those?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she quickly blinked away the sting behind her eyes.

Eli looked at her, her expression a mixture of understanding and something else, something softer. “Yes. She asked me to give them to you.”

Alexia didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t breathe. The socks in her mother’s hands seemed to hold all the things she couldn’t put into words. All the things she had wanted to say but hadn’t been able to.

Her hands shook as she reached out, gently taking the socks from her mother, holding them in her palm like they were something precious.

“I don’t know what to do,” Alexia said, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t look up at her mother or sister, keeping her gaze focused on the soft fabric between her fingers. She didn’t want them to see how fragile she felt.

Eli stepped closer, her hands reaching to rest on Alexia’s shoulders, grounding her. “You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to have all the answers. But you know, I can see it in you. How much you love her, how much you want to fix this.”

Alexia felt something inside her crack, the weight of everything breaking open. Her mother was right. She did want to fix it. She wanted to reach out, to somehow make things right again. But every time she tried to take that step, the fear gripped her. Fear that it was too late, fear that she had already destroyed everything.

“You don’t have to go back right now,” Eli said softly, as if reading Alexia’s mind. “But I think it’s time to stop running from it. She gave you a way back.”

Alexia looked down at the socks again, the softness of them almost too much to bear. “She still wants me to... come back? Even after everything I said?” Her voice cracked, the guilt making her stomach twist.

Alba stepped forward now, her young eyes filled with a wisdom Alexia had always admired. “She gave you those socks. That’s a sign.” She smiled faintly, though it was tinged with sadness. “She still cares. I think she’s just waiting for you to take the first step.”

A silence hung in the air, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a possibility.

She told herself she would try to find you the next day.

After the game, after the conversation with her mother and sister, after holding those tiny socks to her chest for what felt like hours. She knew. She had to try. No more running. No more waiting for signs she was too scared to follow through on.

But that night, as she finally drifted into restless sleep, her body aching and her heart just as sore, her mind pulled her somewhere else.

You were there.

Not in the way you had been outside the stadium, hesitant and hurting, but in the way she remembered you. Glowing. Soft. Heavy with life and laughter and something so close to joy, it made her breath catch even in the dream.

You were on top of her, hips rocking slow, full of warmth and reverence. Her hands were splayed across your belly, round and full. Your skin hot beneath her palms. Her eyes couldn't look away.

"Do you still like it when I ride you like this?" you asked, your voice teasing and breathless. But it wasn’t just playful. It was searching too. Needy in the way heartbreak always was.

She tried to answer but her throat caught. She nodded, her hands tightening on your hips as you moved, the weight of you grounding her in a way nothing else had since.

You leaned in, brushing your lips along her jaw, your belly pressing against her chest. She swore she could feel the faintest movement under her hands. Like the dream version of your daughter was still there, still alive between you.

You kissed her again. “We could’ve had this forever,” you whispered.

And then you were gone.

Alexia woke with a sharp gasp, her skin damp with sweat, legs tangled in the sheets. The ache between her thighs was real, but it was nothing compared to the aching in her chest. She pressed a hand to her stomach, then to her heart.

Maybe it did.

It was the 14th of the month.

One more month.

One more month since everything fell apart. Since the bleeding. Since the stillbirth. Since the silence. Since the words that should never have been spoken. Since the goodbye that was never really said, but lingered in the air like smoke in a house that used to feel like home.

You didn’t mean to go to the valley that morning. You just drove.

No destination. No playlist. Just the ache in your chest and the silence of a car that had once carried soft humming, lazy conversations, Alexia’s laugh when you'd mispronounce a Spanish word. It was automatic, muscle memory, the road pulling you toward the one place that still felt like it belonged to both of you.

The valley hadn’t changed. The grass was wild again, yellow and green in patches. The air smelled of damp soil and eucalyptus. A few wildflowers had managed to push through the dirt like they always did. Resilient things.

You parked and stepped out, the wind curling around your coat. Your boots sank slightly in the soft earth as you walked toward the ridge. The same one where you used to sit with her, her hand always reaching for yours. Her head sometimes resting on your shoulder when she was tired, which was often.

Baya hadn’t wanted to be left alone that morning. She meowed at the door when you grabbed your keys, her eyes wide and alert. But you had to go. Just this once. Just for a little while.

You sat down slowly, hugging your knees to your chest.

The wind moved around you like it remembered. Like it knew.

You didn’t cry. You just... breathed. Let yourself feel the ache without fighting it. Let the memory of her hands settle in your lap like something you were finally brave enough to hold again.

It was the 14th.

Almost a year.

And you still weren’t sure if you had healed, or if you were just getting better at carrying the weight.

You hadn’t meant to bring the ultrasound photo.

It was still tucked inside that old journal you barely opened anymore, the one with the fraying spine and soft pages that had soaked up more grief than ink over the past year. But when you reached into your bag, it was there. Right between a folded tissue and an old receipt from the coffee shop neither of you had stepped into since.

You took it out with careful hands, like it might tear just from being touched again. The little curve of a shape in that black-and-white blur. The tiny heartbeat that had lit up the screen like a miracle. You traced your thumb across the corner without meaning to.

“You would've almost be walking by now,” you whispered.

You placed the photo gently in the grass beside you, weighted with a stone, the wind catching at its edges like it, too, didn’t want to let go.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

The wind had picked up, and your ears were full of it. Until they weren't. Until the quiet sound of shoes crunching on fresh grass made you stiffen just slightly, not turning around, but not breathing either.

You knew that step.

Alexia stood a few meters back, uncertain, her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. Her hair was tucked messily into a bun, her cheeks pink from the wind, and her eyes. God, her eyes, already glassy when she looked at you.

And when you finally turned to see her, you saw what she was holding.

The onesie.

The socks.

She didn’t say anything. She just knelt in the grass beside you slowly, like any sudden movement might break the air between you.

You watched her hands fumble, nervous, careful. She placed the tiny socks down beside the ultrasound photo. Then the onesie, folded like a prayer.

No words yet. Just things you both had once bought for a life that had never arrived. And still, somehow, here you were. Carrying it all, together again, in the only way you knew how.

Her voice was barely a breath. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You nodded. “I didn’t know you would either.”

A pause.

“I think… I think we needed to be.”

It was silent for a while.

The kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled, only witnessed. The wind rustled through the grass around you, tugging gently at the corners of the ultrasound photo, the folded edge of the onesie. Baya wasn’t there, but somehow, it still felt like the three of you. Four of you. Together again in some impossible aching way.

Alexia sat beside you with her knees drawn up, arms around herself like she was holding in something too fragile to name.

Then she broke.

She tried to hold it in. You saw it. The way her jaw tightened, the way she blinked too fast. But it cracked through anyway, as soft and sudden as a prayer:

“Our abejita…”

Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and it was over. Her shoulders caved in, her hands trembling as she reached out, not for you, but for the space between the socks and the photo.

“Oh God,” she gasped, covering her mouth. “I... she was real. She was ours.”

''Our abejita...''

You didn’t realize you were crying until the wetness blurred your vision. Your throat burned. You wanted to say something, anything, but you couldn’t. You could only cry. Because hearing Alexia call her that again, our little bee, it did something to you. Ripped you open and, somehow, stitched a piece of you back together all at once.

And even now, almost a year later, the words she’d screamed at you that night came flooding back like a fresh bruise to the chest.

“Your body was never ready for this. You ruined this.”

You had never heard her sound so angry. Never heard her say something so cruel. And she hadn’t meant it, you knew that now. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t split something deep in you. Because you believed her. For a long time, you did.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered, as if reading your mind. “I swear to you. I was scared, and broken, and angry at everything but you. But I didn’t know how to hold it. I let it turn into something sharp, and I threw it at you because you were the only person close enough to catch it.”

She looked at you then, fully. No walls, no defenses. Just tear-streaked eyes and open hands.

“I am so sorry.”

It was almost unbearable, the honesty in her voice.

“I killed everything when I said that,” she continued, voice shaking. “And you... you were already in pieces, and I made it worse. I didn’t know how to stay. I hated myself for what happened and instead of protecting you, I punished you for it.”

You pressed your hand against your chest, as if that could steady your breathing.

“She’s not gone,” you said softly, eyes on the little things you had both brought. The photo, the socks, the onesie still faintly smelling of clean cotton and what-ifs. “She’ll always be with us.”

Alexia made a soft sound, half a cry, half a breath. Her hand inched closer to yours on the ground.

You nodded, eyes wet. “No matter where we go, or who we become. She's part of both of us. We made her real.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she closed the gap between your hands, her pinky brushing yours.

“She was love,” she said. “Even if it was short.”

You leaned into her shoulder just slightly. Not a promise. Not a reset. Just a quiet return to something that had never really stopped mattering.

The wind moved gently through the valley again, and somewhere, in the quiet between your bodies, the ache felt a little less lonely.

You didn’t talk much after that.

Just sat there for a while longer, letting the silence hold both your grief and whatever it was that had started to bloom between the cracks again. And when you stood, brushing the grass from your coat and gathering the little things you both couldn’t bear to leave behind, Alexia didn’t ask what came next.

But when you looked at her, really looked, you knew you couldn’t let her walk away again.

“Come home with me,” you said, gently. “Just for a bit.”

Her eyes flicked up, unsure, guarded again for a moment like she didn’t trust herself to hope. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I don’t think I could take being alone tonight. And… I think maybe you can’t either.”

She hesitated, but only for a second. Then she nodded, and followed you to the car.

The drive back was quiet. Not awkward. Just... tender. Like you were both trying not to breathe too loud, afraid it might startle the fragile thread that had formed between you again.

When you opened the door to your apartment, the lavender hit first. Then the warmth. Baya was already padding over with soft little steps, tail high, eyes wide with curiosity.

And as soon as she saw Alexia, she stopped.

Her ears perked. She stared for a long beat, and then walked right over like it hadn’t been nearly a year.

Alexia dropped to her knees without a word, arms opening instinctively.

Baya pressed into her chest, letting out a low, whiny meow that sounded so close to a question, and a forgiveness, all at once.

Alexia’s head dropped forward, her forehead resting against Baya’s soft fur. You watched her shoulders shake.

“I missed you Baya,” she whispered to the cat, and maybe to you, and maybe to something else entirely.

You closed the door quietly behind you. Took a breath.

It wasn’t fixed. Nothing was. But watching the two of them, your past and your maybe, staring back at each other like they'd both been waiting for this.

It felt like something had come home.

The months that followed were soft, hesitant, like a dawn breaking after a long, difficult night. Neither of you rushed. Neither of you knew exactly how to begin again, but somehow, in the quiet moments, you found your way back.

It wasn’t perfect. You both knew that. There were days when the silence felt too thick to bear, when one look or one word would send you spiraling into a place you weren’t sure you’d come back from. But then, there were moments when Alexia would brush her fingers across your hand as you sat in the kitchen, a reminder that she was still there. Still with you.

And you? You slowly learned how to trust again. Not all at once, but piece by piece. There were mornings when Alexia would wake up early, as she always did, and bring you coffee without a word.

Placing it beside you on the couch as she sat next to you, pulling you close with that quiet strength you’d always loved. She wouldn’t rush. She wouldn’t demand anything. She just was there, and somehow, that was enough.

At night, you’d fall asleep with your head resting on her shoulder, her steady heartbeat under your ear. You remembered how it used to be, how safe you had felt in her arms before everything had come crashing down. And every night, you’d wake up to find her still there, steady as ever, like she hadn’t moved an inch.

There were conversations that had to be had. Real ones. Hard ones.

Alexia would sit across from you, hands in her lap, eyes soft but still heavy with guilt. “I’m not going to lie,” she’d say, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’m scared, too. I don’t know how to make things right, but I want to. I want us to be whole again.” You tried couples therapy. Which helped a lot with regaining trust.

You'd listen. You’d feel the weight of her words, of her vulnerability, but there was a flicker, tiny, almost imperceptible that reminded you of the woman you had loved so deeply before. It was there, and that was the start of it. That was where you began.

You both took things slowly, learning how to be in each other's lives without the expectation that everything would be fixed overnight. But what you found, what you built, was trust. It wasn’t the same as before, not entirely, but it was a new kind of trust. One that came with an understanding of each other’s broken pieces, the shared acknowledgment of your wounds, and the slow, steady work of mending them together.

One afternoon, Alexia took you to the beach, a place you hadn’t visited since the pregnancy. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it until you stood there, the waves crashing against the shore, the salty air filling your lungs. She held your hand, her touch grounding you as the world seemed to fall away.

“We never went for a walk on the beach with her.” she asked, her voice soft.

You shook your head, the memory still sharp, still tender. “No. We didn’t.”

“She’d have loved it here,” Alexia murmured, her voice thick with both regret and longing. “The sound of the waves... the feel of the sand. She’d have loved the ocean.”

You squeezed her hand, your heart heavy but somehow lighter all at once. “We’ll take her with us. Every step. She’s still with us.”

Alexia nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, everything felt like it was beginning to settle into place, even if the pieces would never fit perfectly. The pain of the loss was still there, sharp and ever-present, but it no longer defined you. And neither did the past.

You started building something new together. One step at a time.

Two years later, everything had changed. Slowly, quietly, but with a depth that no words could quite capture. The pain of loss had softened, like waves smoothing over rough rocks. But it had never left.

You and Alexia had taken the leap. Adoption. Your sweet, bright little girl, now three years old, had found her way into your arms. She was perfect. And though there were days when fear still lingered, fear that you might not be enough, or that you might fail her.

Those fears had, over time, slipped away. You had become a family. Not in the way you had first imagined, but in the way life had ultimately unfolded. And it had been more beautiful than either of you could have hoped.

Alexia stood beside you, her fingers lightly brushing against your own. The years had softened her edges, but the strength you had always admired was still there, deep in her eyes, in the way she moved, in how she cared for your little one.

And then there was her family, Eli and Alba, standing just a few steps away. Sharing quiet smiles as they watched you all. You were all here, together. And this moment, this place, felt like a soft landing.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold, and the air smelled of salt and fresh flowers. You walked slowly to the spot where you’d always imagined this moment. Where you’d been together before, and where you would be again.

Alexia had picked a few flowers along the way, yellow and white ones, the same ones you had always picked when you came here. The same ones you had brought to the valley to remember your lost child.

She would’ve liked these,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Alexia paused, kneeling down to gather more of the delicate blooms. She smiled faintly. “I think she would’ve. Yellow, for our little bee.”

You crouched beside her, feeling the weight of it all. The bittersweetness, the peace, and the love that still flowed, undying, between you both.

Your daughter toddled over, her small hands holding her own bouquet of flowers. Tiny, but perfectly picked. She had always been fascinated by nature, by the way things grew, and how something as small as a seed could bloom into something beautiful.

You watched as she knelt down by the sand, carefully arranging the flowers in a circle. She spoke to herself as she worked, and you smiled when you heard what she said.

“Perfect... just for abejita.”

Alexia’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of the word, but when she looked at you, you only smiled gently, reaching for her hand.

“She’s always here,” you said softly, watching your daughter. “In everything we do. In everything we create. She’s part of us.”

Alexia nodded, her hand squeezing yours, the simple act of holding it a promise. A soft, unspoken promise that everything, everything, would be okay.

Together, you all placed the flowers by the sand, a quiet memorial that spoke of love, loss, and life continuing on. Your little girl’s laughter echoed in the wind, the sound of a future that was still bright, still full of hope. And even though the past would always be there, woven into the fabric of your family, it didn’t hurt the same anymore.

Your love for your daughter, for Alexia, and even for the memory of the little one you lost, would never fade. It was there, in every petal you placed in the sand, in every flower you picked together, in every laugh, every soft touch, every quiet moment shared between the three of you. It was all real. All still there.

“She would’ve loved it here,” Alexia said softly, watching your daughter run toward the waves, her little feet leaving footprints in the sand.

“She would’ve loved it,” you agreed, your voice full of a tenderness that only grew with time.

"She’s still with us."

''Our abejita.''

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

Please let me know what you think of it. I would love to hear your thoughts.

#woso community #woso writers #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso imagine #fc barcelona femeni x reader #my long story #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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callsign-fox · 21 hours ago

Text

Hard to Measure - Bob/Sentry

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings! Sentry meets his match, some tension.

So many more to come...have any ideas? Let me know HEREx

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

Bob slammed into the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the pavement.

Not because he landed.

Because someone put him there.

The world tilted for a second, sound ringing in his ears like a struck bell. Smoke curled into the air. His ribs throbbed with a deep, unfamiliar ache. He blinked through the haze, dazed in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then came the laugh — light and amused.

“Seriously?” a voice rang out. “That’s Sentry? I was expecting more.”

Bob groaned before looking up to see her.

She descended slowly, feet touching the ground softly. She was surrounded by a shimmer of telekinetic energy that warped the air like heat off asphalt. Dressed in radiant white, her cape-skirt billowed, gold shoulder armor resembling wings. Power crackled at her fingertips like it had always belonged there.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, rising slowly.

She grinned, all teeth and trouble. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His brow creased. “Bucky didn’t mention you.”

“Funny, that,” she said with a lopsided smile. “He tends to underestimate me.”

She vanished — then reappeared behind him like a ripple in the atmosphere. Bob spun too late, caught midair by an invisible force that yanked him upward like a marionette.

“Okay,” he grunted, straining against the hold. “When I get out of this, you’re in for a lot of pain.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Is that a promise?”

A golden flare lit across his body — radiant and sharp. With a thundercrack of energy, he shattered the telekinetic grip, blasting free. Trees tore from the ground, the shockwave rippling outward. He hovered midair, golden eyes locked on her now, focused and alert.

“You’re strong,” he said.

She gave a casual shrug, unimpressed. “You’re slow.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

This time, he moved first — a blur of light and speed. His fist connected midair, a clean strike that sent her tumbling through the sky. She righted herself quickly, laughing under her breath as she rubbed her ribs.

“There it is,” she said. “Was wondering when you’d finally ask me to dance.”

“That was a punch.”

“Same thing.”

She vanished again — reappearing above him. Her boot slammed into his stomach, driving him into the pavement hard enough to split the asphalt. She pressed her heel to his chest, pinning him in place.

“How’s the view from down there, golden boy?”

He groaned, half-laughing. “You’re fast and flirty. Dangerous combination.”

She lifted her boot and stepped back, light crackling around her. “I’ve been told to back down. Lucky you.”

He stood, brushing dust from his suit, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve probably had more practice than me. I’m still getting used to this body.”

“Me too,” she said, flashing a grin and a wink.

Then she was gone — vanishing in a rush of displaced air, her voice trailing behind like an echo:

“Try to keep up.”

Bob stood there a moment, golden light still flickering faintly around him. A hundred thoughts swirled in his head, but only one made it to his lips — a slow, amused smile tugging at the corner.

Bucky definitely left her out on purpose.

The road cracked as Bob landed beside Bucky and Yelena, the impact sending a ripple through the dust and debris. Golden light still shimmered faintly around him, but his jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the spot where Sam Wilson stood — waiting for her to appear.

“You good?” Yelena asked, casually scanning him for blood. “You look like you got hit by a meteor.”

“She hits hard,” Bob muttered, rolling his shoulders with a wince.

“I told you to be careful,” Bucky said, flexing his metal arm. “Didn’t think she’d reveal herself this soon.”

“You could’ve at least warned me.”

Yelena smirked. “Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

“Look, Buck,” Sam called over, his tone half-apologetic. “We can talk more about this Avengers thing later. I didn’t mean for your new guy to get his ass handed to him. Hope he’s alright.”

Bucky shrugged, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice. “Define ‘alright.’”

Before anyone could answer, a shimmer sliced through the air — heat warping reality — and she appeared beside Sam with a grace that made gravity look like a formality.

“Speak of the devil,” Bucky muttered. “Nice to see you, Y/N.”

“Likewise,” she said smoothly. Her eyes locked onto Bob. She didn’t blink.

The atmosphere shifted — subtle, quiet — but undeniable. Everyone felt it.

Bob stepped forward. His posture was easy, but the power still hummed beneath his skin.

“I’m not used to being surprised,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“No one’s ever caught me off guard like that.”

“No one’s ever kept up with me,” she replied, the edge in her voice wrapped in velvet and steel.

Walker strode over, arms crossed, jaw clenched like always. “You’re supposed to be stronger than all the Avengers,” he said, nodding at Bob. “Avengers-level-plus, right? What the hell happened?”

Bob didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her. “She’s not exactly easy to measure.”

Y/N glanced down at her boots to hide the smirk, but he caught it — and his chest burned a little warmer.

Yelena raised a brow. “Also, she’s not technically an Avenger.”

Bob shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I never said I was,” Yelena replied sweetly.

Bob huffed a dry laugh, then stepped a little closer to Y/N, his voice dipping just for her.

“So what are we, then? Even?”

“Not even close.”

He tilted his head. “You planning to settle the score?”

“Do you think you can handle a rematch?”

His grin was slow, a little wicked. “Sweetheart, I’m hoping for one.”

“You ready to get knocked on your ass again?”

He leaned in, voice like a spark just before the fire. “Depends. Are we still talking about fighting?”

She held his gaze. “You tell me.”

His eyes moved over her — not crude, not shy — just present. Interested. Deeply, recklessly interested.

“You’re lethal when you flirt,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t flirting,” she said. “Yet.”

The silence crackled — taut and electric, like the moment just before a storm breaks.

Sam glanced between them, then leaned in to whisper something to Joaquin.

Bob tilted his head, gold flickering behind his eyes. “Then I should warn you — I won’t be holding anything back.”

Y/N’s lips curved. “Good,” she murmured, brushing past him. “I like it rough.”

He watched her go, a rare mix of awe and amusement tugging at his features.

Bucky, who had definitely been listening, muttered to Sam out of the corner of his mouth, “This is gonna be a nightmare.”

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biggianteggplant · 2 days ago

Note

OKI SO CAN I REQUEST LIKE A ONESHOT😱🥺 WHERE THEY FIND OUT READER USED TO HAVE A GF...👉👈😓😋🥰🚨🤗🦅🦅🦅🦅❄🤡🤡 THE GAY DOG IN ME IS HOWLING.

HAIKYUU MEN FINDING OUT YOU HAD AN EX- GIRLFRIEND

KYOTANI KENTARO

You were scrolling through your old photos, chuckling softly as you sat beside Kyotani on the couch. He was half-watching a volleyball match, half-glancing at you every time you laughed.

“God, I forgot about this,” you said, holding your phone up. “My ex dragged me to a baking class. She always wanted me to try baking, It was a disaster, but kind of fun.”

Kyotani gave you a side-eye, catching a glimpse of the photo. A cute girl stood next to you, flour on both your faces, your arms around each other.

He blinked. Pause. “…Wait. She?”

You looked at him, confused for a second before it clicked. “Yeah? My ex-girlfriend.”

“…You had a girlfriend?” he asked, voice tight, eyebrows furrowed in that Kyotani way™ that meant he was not handling this neutrally.

“Yeah. Back in high school,” you said casually, scrolling to the next photo. “Did I not tell you that?”

Kyotani sat up straighter, now fully paying attention, scowl deepening. “No.”

A long beat passed. You turned your phone off and gave him a look. “Why do you look like you’re about to fight someone?”

“I’m not,” he muttered. “Just didn’t know I had competition from both sides.”

You burst out laughing. “Kentaro. Babe. You’re literally growling.”

He crossed his arms, face turning aggressively red. “I’m not.”

“You so are,” you teased, leaning into him, poking his cheek. “You jealous?”

“…No.”

You raised an eyebrow. He muttered again, quieter this time. “Maybe. A little.”

You softened, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, like, you don’t need to be jealous. She was nice, but she wasn’t you.”

He stayed silent, ears still red. Then, under his breath: “…Tch. Still gonna beat her in baking just in case.”

You snorted. “You don’t even bake.”

“I will now.”

You kissed his cheek. “Then let’s go. Next weekend. You, me, flour war 2.0.”

“…Fine. I’m winning though.”

(He didn't. But he did sulk adorably the entire time and made you promise to kiss him for every burnt cookie.)

KUROO TETSURO

You were sitting cross-legged on Kuroo’s bed, flipping through your old sketchbook while he lounged beside you, head propped up on his hand, pretending not to be invested.

“What’s that?” he asked, already scooting closer.

“My old sketchbook,” you replied. “From senior high.”

He leaned in. “Let me see.”

You let him, watching as he smirked at your younger self’s doodles.

“This cat looks like it’s seen things,” he said, pointing.

You laughed. “My ex drew that one, actually. We used to pass this sketchbook back and forth.”

“Your ex?” he repeated. “Talented. He or she?”

“She.”

Kuroo blinked. His entire vibe shifted subtly — nothing too obvious. Just a tiny pause, a flicker behind his eyes. “Oh… she?”

You nodded casually. “Yeah. We dated for like a year. She was the one who got me into drawing, actually.”

Kuroo went quiet. Then:

“Interesting,” he said coolly. “Plot twist, babe.”

You tilted your head at him. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said with that trademark smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just mentally reorganizing the 'threats to my relationship' list. Didn’t know I had to start watching out for hot art girls too.”

You chuckled. “Please. She’s ancient history.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got taste,” he muttered. “Which clearly includes me and mysterious women with sketchbooks. That’s range.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Tetsurō, are you seriously jealous right now?”

“Pfft. What? No.” Beat. “...Okay maybe.”

You grinned and crawled into his lap, booping his nose. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am not.”

“You are. But you’re cute when you sulk.”

He groaned, burying his face into your neck. “This is illegal. I am a strong, confident man. I don’t get flustered.”

“Sure,” you whispered. “Tell that to the guy who’s pouting because my ex-girlfriend drew a sad-looking cat.”

“…That cat was kinda better than mine.”

You snorted. “It’s okay, you’re still my favorite loser.”

He looked up at you with a cocky smirk and a blush on his cheeks. “Damn right. Just don’t go leaving me for some artsy girl with eyeliner and tragic poetry.”

You smirked. “Why would I? I’ve got you — eyeliner-less, full of tragic volleyball metaphors, and a thousand times hotter.”

He leaned in, voice low and smug again. “I knew you had taste.”

TSUKISHIMA KEI

It was a rainy afternoon, and you were curled up in Tsukishima’s room, flipping through an old photo album you brought over for some unknown reason. (Honestly, it was mostly to embarrass yourself and make him react. Mission: always bug Kei.)

You held up a photo and laughed. “God, I remember this. My girlfriend back then surprised me on my birthday with these funny Shrek cupcakes.”

Tsukishima, who was mid-sip of his soda, paused.

“…Girlfriend?”

You blinked, then nodded. “Yeah? Back in like… tenth grade. Why?”

He stared at you. Not in a rude way, but in that very specific Tsukishima-processing-emotions-like-a-glitchy-iPhone way.

“I didn’t know you dated girls,” he said, trying very hard to sound bored and unaffected. Spoiler: he failed.

You smirked. “I didn’t know it was relevant.”

“It’s not,” he said instantly, looking away.

Which meant it was so relevant.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his glasses. He pushed them up unnecessarily. “Was she… like, serious?”

You bit your lip. “Mmm… yeah, I guess. We were together for almost a year.”

Tsukishima nodded slowly. Too slowly. Like his brain just hit the emergency overthinking button. “…Cool.”

You waited.

“Kei,” you said, poking his knee. “Are you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Why would I be jealous of someone who baked you ugly cupcakes?”

“Because she got to be my first girlfriend?” you teased.

“…Shut up.”

You grinned and leaned toward him. “Admit it. You’re imagining me with her right now, aren’t you?”

“I’m imagining tripping her with my long legs,” he deadpanned.

You laughed so hard you almost dropped the photo album.

He huffed. “It’s not like I care. Your past is your past.”

“Mmhm.”

“I’m just… surprised.”

“By what?”

He looked at you then, golden eyes honest for a second. “That you didn’t tell me sooner. I thought we told each other everything.”

Your teasing smile softened. “Hey. I didn’t hide it. I just didn’t think it mattered.”

“…It kind of does,” he mumbled.

You crawled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Well, now you know. And in case your brain’s still spinning: I’m here. With you. Not her.”

He went quiet.

Then, the tiniest smirk. “Good. Because my cupcakes would’ve looked way less ugly.”

You snorted. “Liar. You’d just buy me Pocky and call it a day.”

“…And you’d love it.”

(You would.)

SUNA RINTARO

You were lying on your stomach on Suna’s bed, scrolling through your camera roll while he rested next to you, phone in one hand, lazily watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “This pic is from when my ex and I tried to dye our hair the same color. We ended up looking like radioactive lemons.”

Suna raised an eyebrow, glancing over. “Ex?”

“Mhm. My ex-girlfriend,” you said casually, showing him the cursed yellow-haired selfie.

He blinked slowly. “...You had a girlfriend?”

“Yeah? Why do people always act surprised when I say that?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Just thought you were too cool to date someone that made you look like a lemon.”

You snorted. “Wow, thanks.”

He looked away, eyes flicking back to his screen — but you noticed he was no longer scrolling.

Then: “So… how serious was it?”

You raised a brow. “Are you actually asking?”

“I’m just wondering if I should be worried about a girl showing up with matching hair dye and feelings.”

You laughed. “No worries. She lives in Canada now or something. Super over it.”

“Mm.”

There was a pause.

Then he muttered, “Still kind of annoying though.”

You turned your head. “Are you jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he rolled over and flopped on top of you like a lazy blanket. Face in your back. Warm and heavy and sulky.

“Suna— you’re crushing me—”

“Mmm. Good. No one else gets to lie on you like this,” he mumbled.

You grinned, cheeks heating up. “You’re such a brat.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder, still not lifting his head. “If she messages you again, I’m replying with a ‘who dis’.”

“She won’t. But okay, guard dog.”

He sighed dramatically. “Gotta protect what’s mine, right?”

And despite his usual deadpan vibe… You could feel the smile in his voice.

MIYA ATSUMU

It started with a dumb TikTok you two were watching together, where the trend was “Things my ex taught me.”

You snorted, “My ex taught me that girls are really good at stealing your hoodies and never giving them back.”

Atsumu’s head snapped toward you like you just confessed to a crime.

“…Girls?”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

“Wait wait wait—hold up. You dated a girl??”

You laughed. “Yes, ‘Tsumu. I’ve dated a girl. Why are you acting like I told you I was a secret wizard?”

He pointed a dramatic finger at you. “’Cause ya never told me! That’s, like—relevant information!! That’s world-shaking stuff!”

You rolled your eyes. “Relax. It was in high school. We dated for almost a year, then broke up on decent terms. Nothing wild.”

He folded his arms, lips pursed. “Ya still talk to her?”

“No?”

“…She prettier than me?”

You burst out laughing. “Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about?”

Atsumu flopped backward onto the bed like a defeated anime protagonist. “What if she shows up one day like ‘I still love ya,’ and then suddenly I’m the side character in my own relationship?!”

“Oh my god—”

“She probably has eyeliner and reads poetry and smells like vanilla or somethin’—how am I supposed to compete with that?!”

You climbed on top of him, holding his dramatic little face. “Atsumu. I’m with you. Not her. You don’t need eyeliner. You smell like soap and ego.”

He gave you a wounded look. “So you admit she had eyeliner.”

“I’m gonna throw a pillow at your face.”

He grinned, all bright and smug again. “There’s my firecracker.”

Then he pulled you down into a tight hug, voice softer now, low against your ear.

“…’M not actually mad, ya know. Just didn’t like thinkin’ someone else made you happy before I did.”

You sighed, melting into him. “It’s okay. You’re doing a great job now.”

You felt his smile widen. “Damn right I am.”

AKAASHI KEIJI

The quiet hum of jazz music and the smell of freshly ground coffee filled the small bookstore café as you and Akaashi strolled through the aisles hand in hand. Sunday afternoons were his favorite with you—slow, soft, and undisturbed. He liked watching how your eyes lit up when you skimmed the titles of poetry books. He liked that you always stopped by the quote-of-the-day board near the entrance. He liked the way your hand fit perfectly in his without needing to think about it.

Today was no different. Peaceful. Familiar.

Until—

“Y/N?”

You turned at the sound, already blinking in confusion— And there she was. Your ex-girlfriend.

“Oh—hey,” you said, with a polite, startled smile.

She stood maybe two feet away. A beige turtleneck, black jeans, a leather sling bag, and a slight awkwardness in her stance. You hadn’t seen her in years—not since things ended quietly but distantly. Not on bad terms, not exactly close ones either.

You could feel Akaashi shift slightly beside you, the way he always did when something disrupted his mental order.

The girl glanced at him briefly, then back to you. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you replied. “It’s been… a while.”

There was a pause that stretched half a second too long.

Akaashi, ever the gentleman, gave her a nod. “Good afternoon.”

She nodded back. “You too. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your date. Nice seeing you.”

“You too,” you replied softly, giving her a small wave as she walked away and disappeared into another aisle.

You turned back to Akaashi, ready to laugh it off— Only to find him already watching you, brows gently furrowed.

“…Who was that?” he asked, voice as calm as ever. “An old friend of yours?”

You paused for a beat, trying to decide how to phrase it.

“My ex,” you said honestly. “From high school.”

His lips parted just slightly, a flicker of surprise flashing behind his glasses. “She’s your ex?”

“Mhm.”

Another pause.

He looked away briefly, processing. His fingers fidgeted with the corner of a book he wasn’t actually interested in. You watched him—how even in his quiet, reserved way, he still felt things deeply. Thoughtfully.

“You seem surprised,” you said gently.

“I am,” he admitted. “You never mentioned… that you dated a girl before.”

You chuckled softly. “Most people are surprised. I just never brought it up because… well, I didn’t think it mattered.”

He nodded slowly, trying to shake the sudden noise in his head.

“I guess I didn’t expect to suddenly meet someone who used to… hold your heart.”

Your eyes softened. “Keiji…”

He looked at you now—really looked. There wasn’t anger in his gaze. No harshness. Just something quietly wounded and unsure, like a poet stumbling on a sentence they didn’t expect to read.

“I’m not upset,” he added quickly. “You’re with me now. That’s what matters.”

You stepped closer, slipping your hand back into his. “Exactly. I love you. That part’s not complicated.”

He nodded again but still seemed a touch off.

So you teased, gently nudging his side: “Unless you’re jealous.”

His lips twitched upward. “I wouldn’t say jealous.”

“No?”

“…Maybe just... aware. Of the people who came before me.”

You leaned up, resting your chin on his shoulder with a smile. “She didn’t hold my heart the way you do now, Keiji.”

Akaashi finally smiled—small, quiet, but undeniably warm. He let out a breath and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on holding it carefully. For as long as you’ll let me.”

And just like that, the awkwardness melted away.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

You were sitting side-by-side at a quiet park bench after a light jog—well, he jogged, and you half-jogged half-wheezed next to him with dramatic flair, earning a couple of head shakes and a fond look or two.

The air was crisp, golden hour approaching. Ushijima handed you your water bottle as he stared off at the lake, towel draped around his neck.

You’d been talking about high school stories, giggling about club activities and awkward fashion choices.

Then, out of nowhere, you went: “Oh—and then there was my ex-girlfriend who cried over the school’s vending machine.”

Silence.

You didn’t even notice at first. You kept laughing. “She swore the machine hated her because it ate her coins every time she wanted milk tea. We even tried writing a formal complaint to the student council—”

“…Your ex-girlfriend?” Ushijima asked suddenly.

You blinked.

“…Yeah?”

He turned his head slowly to look at you. His expression wasn’t harsh, but it was unreadable—like his brain was filing away new information it didn’t quite know what to do with.

“I didn’t know you had… dated a girl.”

“I mean, I don’t bring it up often. It’s just part of the past.”

“Was she important to you?” he asked, voice firm, eyes still holding yours.

You paused, lips parting slightly at the seriousness of the question.

“She was… at the time,” you said softly. “But not like you are now. That was a different version of me.”

Ushijima nodded slowly.

But he was quiet again. Too quiet. You knew that look—it meant he was thinking too much and not saying a word.

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I am.”

“You sure?”

He hesitated.

“…I want to understand every part of your life. Even the parts I wasn’t there for,” he said plainly. “It feels important.”

You softened instantly. “You don’t have to worry, ‘Toshi.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, then added with complete sincerity, “But I want to be someone you can tell everything to. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it surprises me.”

You blinked. “That was… really sweet, actually.”

He looked at you, still serious. “Is that the correct response?”

You laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

After a moment, he wrapped his arm around you—gentle, protective, warm.

“…Do you still like milk tea?” he asked.

You giggled. “Only if you get it with me.”

And he did. That night. And every time after.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You and Kageyama were walking back from practice—his, not yours (you would’ve died in the first ten minutes)—and you were ranting about your high school days, as usual. He always listened. Even if he didn’t understand half of what you were saying, he liked hearing your voice. It was grounding.

You were mid-sip of your drink when you casually added, “Oh yeah, and my ex-girlfriend hated sports. It was a weird time.”

He physically stopped walking.

Like— Stopped.

You turned. “Uh… Tobio?”

“Your… ex… girlfriend?” he repeated like he just misheard the score in a national match.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

Pause.

Kageyama stared at you, trying to compute this new piece of lore like it was a hidden stat in a game.

“…You dated a girl?”

“Yeah, for a while. It was pretty normal. She wasn’t, like, evil or anything.”

He nodded very slowly. “Oh.”

You started walking again. He followed—but with that stiff, “my CPU is overheating” energy.

“Tobio.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re making the face you make when someone messes up a toss.”

“I’m fine.”

You turned, stepped in front of him, and looked up with a knowing grin. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not—!” He stopped. Looked down at you.

“…Am I allowed to be?”

That caught you off guard.

Your teasing grin softened. “Do you want to be?”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just… weird to imagine you being with someone else. Especially someone who isn’t… me.”

You laughed, stepping close to boop his nose. “You’re cute when you overthink.”

“I’m not—” He shut up immediately when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“You’re the one I want now. No one else. Not even vending machine-hating high school ex-girlfriends.”

Kageyama's ears turned so red you thought they might overheat.

“…Okay,” he muttered, but then gently grabbed your hand. “Okay.”

And he didn’t let go all the way home.

TANAKA RYUNOSUKE

It all started over fries. Because of course it did.

You and Tanaka were at your usual diner—your “treat yourself” date spot after he finished practice. He was halfway through talking about how he definitely could’ve landed that ridiculous back set when you casually went:

“Oh man, this reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. She used to drag me to diners like this too.”

Silence.

The fry he was holding… didn’t make it to his mouth.

He blinked at you.

“…Your ex… girlfriend??” His voice cracked.

You smirked, sipping your drink. “Yeah?”

He sat up straighter. “Like… like actual relationship girlfriend??”

“Yes, Tanaka. I’ve dated a girl. Before you.”

Tanaka.exe has stopped working.

“I—wait, WAIT. That’s kind of—hot?? No—wait, confusing?? Actually no—it’s—uh—WH-WHAT???”

You BURST out laughing. He was fully spiraling. “Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

He ran a hand over his shaved head, eyes WIDE. “I dunno, I just—why didn’t you tell me?!”

You shrugged. “It never came up.”

“So she was like, your type?” he asked, voice dropping an octave—half curious, half insecure.

“She was, at the time,” you said honestly. “But I like you now. So clearly, my type got an upgrade.”

Tanaka flushed so hard it looked like he’d run a marathon. “OH—OKAY—ALRIGHT THEN—COOL COOL COOL—”

You reached across the table, grabbing his hand with a smirk. “You jealous, babe?”

He paused.

Then nodded way too fast.

“Yes. A little. Okay maybe a lot.”

You giggled. “Why? She’s not even in the picture anymore.”

He squeezed your hand like his life depended on it. “Because you're my girl now, and I just—y’know—I wanna be the only one who makes you smile like that.”

Your chest went soft. So did your face.

“Tanaka…”

“…Also, not gonna lie, kinda hot. Like. Wow. Power move. You’re powerful. I respect you.”

You burst out laughing again.

And he swore, in that moment, he would never let you go. Not to a guy. Not to a girl. Not to anyone.

OIKAWA TOORU

You were watching a romcom with Oikawa, curled up on his couch. He was narrating it the whole time, obviously.

“Oh my god, she’s totally cheating on him. Look at her eyes. Cheater eyes. I know them,” he declared.

You snorted. “You sound like my ex-girlfriend. She said that about every female character in every movie.”

He froze mid-popcorn bite. Slowly turned his head toward you. “…Ex. Girlfriend?”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

His voice suddenly became way too casual. “Huh. Interesting. I mean, not like it matters. Totally doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tooru.”

He turned away dramatically, eyes still on the TV but his soul clearly somewhere else.

“So… how long did you two date?”

“A year-ish?”

He nodded slowly. “Long time. That’s a long time. Must’ve been serious.”

You tilted your head. “It was. But it ended, remember?”

He let out a weird little laugh. “Right. Ended. Of course. Totally irrelevant now. Just ancient gay history.”

You stared. “You good?”

“No,” he admitted immediately, turning toward you with puppy eyes. “You dated someone hot and mysterious and probably had, like, emotionally deep late-night talks and made Spotify playlists for each other. And I’m just... me.”

You laughed and grabbed his face, smooshing his cheeks. “Tooru. You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?? Am I ridiculous or am I right??”

You kissed his nose. “She didn’t listen to me. She made me feel like I had to shrink myself to be with her.”

He blinked. “But… you’re you. That’s like, the best part.”

You smiled. “Exactly. And you always let me be loud and weird and me. So yeah, she was part of my past. But I don’t miss her.”

Oikawa melted a little. “You sure?”

You leaned closer. “You’re my now. And I’m pretty sure you’re my always.”

“…Even if I talk over every movie?”

“Even then.”

He exhaled dramatically and threw himself into your lap. “Fine. I accept your love. But just so you know—if she ever tries to text you again, I’m blocking her and reporting her Spotify.”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked on popcorn.

ASAHI AZUMANE

You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom, carefully brushing out Asahi’s hair while he read a book, head tilted slightly toward you in relaxed silence.

“You always smell so nice,” you murmured. “Reminds me of my ex’s shampoo, actually.”

His fingers paused on the page. “…Your ex…?”

“Yeah, my girlfriend in high school. She was obsessed with those floral scents.”

Silence. Like the air shifted.

You glanced up and saw Asahi blinking slowly, lips parted just a bit.

“You had a girlfriend?” he asked, soft and unsure. No judgment—just genuine surprise.

“Yeah,” you said easily, still brushing his hair. “She was sweet. Not the best communicator, but we cared about each other. It just didn’t work out.”

Asahi was quiet. Too quiet.

You paused. “What’s that look?”

He gave you a sheepish smile, his voice almost too gentle. “I guess I just… didn’t know. I always assumed your past relationships were with guys.”

You set the brush down and wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind.

“I’ve dated both. But I love you.”

He gave a small laugh under his breath. “I know, it’s not a big deal. I just… it makes me wonder what she was like. If she made you laugh like I do. If you ever brushed her hair like this.”

You leaned forward, lips brushing his cheek. “She didn’t like anyone touching her hair. She also didn’t make me feel this safe.”

Asahi looked down at his hands, a small smile blooming. “Safe…?”

You kissed the side of his neck. “With you, it’s like I can exhale. No pressure to perform or shrink. Just… be.”

His shoulders sagged with quiet relief. “I’m glad.”

You slid around to sit in front of him, cupping his face. “You’re allowed to feel weird about it. But know this: I never loved anyone the way I love you.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him the moon.

“Okay,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Thank you. For choosing me.”

You grinned. “Every day.”

YAKU MORISUKE

You were lounging on the couch, scrolling through old photos on your phone when you burst out laughing. “Oh my god… I forgot I still had this pic of my ex.”

Yaku glanced up from where he was sitting at the dining table, sipping tea.

“Ex?” he asked, casual but clearly intrigued.

“Yeah, my ex-girlfriend. This was back in senior high.” You turned your phone toward him briefly, showing a blurry but clearly affectionate photo of you and a girl with matching bracelets.

Yaku choked on his tea.

“—Wait. Girlfriend???”

You snorted. “Yeah. I dated girls before you, you know.”

He blinked. Blinked again.

Then with the most exaggerated sigh of the century: “OH GREAT. Now I have to fight both men and women for your attention.”

You grinned. “You jealous, Morisuke?”

He huffed, arms crossed. “No. Maybe. I mean—seriously?! You never told me you were out here breaking hearts on all levels. What am I supposed to do with that information???”

“Love me harder?” you teased.

He narrowed his eyes like he was about to file a complaint. “Let me guess… she also thought your eyes were pretty. Typical.”

“She said they reminded her of the ocean.”

“Oh, wow. A poet. How original.”

You walked over, leaned down, and kissed his cheek. “Are you really mad?”

“No,” he muttered. “Just reevaluating how much game my girlfriend has.”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. You win.”

He squinted up at you. “...Do I though? ‘Cause I just found out I’m dating the bisexual main character and now I’m kinda panicking.”

You sat in his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Relax. I’m retired. I only collect boyfriends now. Just one, actually.”

Yaku tried so hard not to smile, but the way his ears turned red gave him away. “Yeah well… just don’t forget I’m still willing to square up with anyone who flirts with you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Even Jessica from the art club?”

“She better be ready to catch these hands.”

TENDO SATORI

You were already having a long day. You hadn’t slept well, your group project was due, and to top it off, there was a new transfer student.

Your teacher clapped their hands, smiling. “Everyone, please welcome our new student—”

And your soul left your body.

She walked in. Her.

She gave a small wave, clearly awkward, and her eyes flicked toward you for half a second before darting away.

Tendou, sitting beside you as always, leaned in and whispered, “You know her?”

You gave a tiny, tiny nod.

His eyes widened. “Wait. WAIT. You don’t mean—?”

You didn’t answer.

She got assigned the seat right in front of you.

The class continued like normal. Sort of. You could feel the tension buzzing around your head like a mosquito you couldn’t slap. Your ex never turned around, but she fidgeted a lot. You sighed.

At lunch, Tendou dragged you to the rooftop like a detective solving a murder.

“Okay. Spill,” he said, dramatic as ever. “Was that… your ex?”

You rubbed your face. “Yes.”

“Your girlfriend ex?”

You groaned. “Yes, Satori.”

He dropped his bento dramatically. “WHAT. You dated her?! That’s like a plot twist in a shoujo anime. You two were giving secret pining vibes the entire class.”

“We didn’t end badly,” you muttered. “Just… different goals.”

He blinked. “That’s so grown-up. Ew.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because my lovely chaos monster of a classmate forgot to mention she’s been starring in her own LGBT coming-of-age drama without me.” He flicked your forehead. “I deserve to be part of this lore.”

You side-eyed him. “You’re not jealous?”

“Of her?” he scoffed. “No way. I mean, you upgraded to me. I’m the whole freakin’ main course.”

You grinned. “And very humble, too.”

He smirked. “Always. But just saying—if she tries to get back with you, I will start reciting love poems in the middle of class.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I will. I’ll stand on a desk. I’ll go full Shakespeare. I’ll say, ‘Shall I compare thee to a volleyball match?’”

“TENDOU—”

He winked. “Just making sure you remember: I’m the plot twist now.”

MIYA OSAMU

You were sitting on the counter at Onigiri Miya, swinging your legs and chatting with Osamu as he prepped some new menu samples.

You mentioned it casually, not even thinking. “Yeah, my ex-girlfriend used to love tamagoyaki. I could never get it quite right, though.”

He paused.

You didn’t even notice at first—until you looked up and saw him just… staring.

“…You had a girlfriend?” he asked, voice calm but with one eyebrow suspiciously raised.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, chuckling nervously. “Senior year. It didn’t last long.”

Osamu blinked slowly. “Huh. Didn’t see that comin’.”

“…You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, suddenly very focused on slicing green onions. “Good taste tho.”

You watched him. “…You sure you’re not weirded out?”

He scoffed. “Nah. Just means I really do gotta step up my cookin’ game.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

He side-eyed you. “Was she good in the kitchen?”

You blinked. “She… knew how to make pancakes.”

He made a noise like that personally offended him.

“Right,” he muttered, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll make somethin’ better.”

You blinked. “Samu—are you baking out of jealousy right now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cue him violently whisking batter. “This is just… menu research. Totally unrelated.”

An hour later, he slid over a perfect fluffy tamagoyaki on rice, garnished with seaweed hearts and your initials.

You took a bite and your eyes widened. “This is insane. What the hell, Osamu.”

He smirked. “Hope your ex sees this and cries.”

I LOVE GAYNESS. I LOVE GAY PEOPLE. ALSO BB DIDN'T SPECIFY WHAT FANDOM TO WRITE FOR...Sooooooo if y'all want to see other versions of this pls comment or just put it in the request box thingy love ya guys!

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sturniololuvz · 2 days ago

Note

chris introducing his new girlfriend to his son, and hes like 4

“Chris…’s Girlfriend”

Chris had been stressing all day.

He wasn’t usually nervous. But this? This felt different.

Because dating when you’re a single dad is one thing — introducing your new girlfriend to your four-year-old son is another entirely.

So he’d cleaned the apartment twice, laid out snacks like it was a kindergarten birthday party, and practiced what he was going to say in the mirror more times than he’d ever admit.

And now she was here. Y/N. Standing in his kitchen, looking every bit as kind and beautiful as she always did.

“You okay?” she asked, noticing the way his knee was bouncing.

“Yeah. Totally. Just, y’know… introducing the two most important people in my life. No pressure.”

She smiled and reached for his hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

He nodded, exhaled, then called out:

“Buddy? Can you come here for a sec?”

Tiny footsteps padded down the hall.

A mop of curly hair peeked around the corner.

He looked at Y/N. Then at Chris. Then back at Y/N.

Chris crouched down. “Hey, this is my friend Y/N. She’s really special to me.”

His son blinked, very serious.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Chris coughed. “Yeah, she is.”

The boy took a step forward. “Do you like dinosaurs?”

Y/N smiled. “I love dinosaurs.”

Another pause.

“Even the meat-eating ones?”

“Especially the meat-eating ones.”

Chris watched, barely breathing.

Then — the boy gave a small nod. “Okay. You can stay.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Thank you. I appreciate the invitation.”

“Do you wanna see my T-Rex? He roars.”

“I would love to.”

Chris stood there stunned, watching his son take Y/N’s hand and lead her down the hall toward his room like it was nothing.

She glanced back, eyes sparkling.

Chris mouthed, Thank you.

And Y/N?

She just smiled. Like she already belonged.

⸻It had been a few months now.

Y/N had slowly become part of the rhythm of their days — bedtime stories, dino puzzles, making pancakes shaped like T-Rexes (or at least trying to). She never overstepped, never pushed. She just loved — gently, steadily, the way only someone who truly cared could.

Chris noticed every time. And every time, it made his heart feel a little fuller.

Tonight, she was helping with pajamas. The little boy was yawning like crazy, one sock on and the other mysteriously missing.

Chris was in the living room cleaning up spilled goldfish crackers when he heard it.

“Mommy, can you help me with this?”

Silence.

A pause.

Chris froze.

He turned around slowly.

Y/N was crouched in the doorway of the bedroom, the little boy standing in front of her, sleep-drunk and tugging at his pajama shirt.

She looked stunned — not in a bad way, just like someone trying to process something huge.

Chris stepped closer, heart thudding. “What did you say, bud?”

The boy blinked, completely unbothered. “I said Mommy. Can she help?”

Y/N looked at Chris like she was waiting to be told it was a mistake — that this wasn’t her role to fill.

But Chris just walked over, knelt beside them both, and gently cupped his son’s cheek.

“You can call her that if you want to,” he said softly. “If it feels right to you.”

The boy nodded simply, content. “She makes the best pancakes.”

Y/N’s eyes welled up immediately.

Chris looked at her, tears creeping in too, and whispered, “You don’t have to say anything. But… if you wanna stay forever, I’m pretty sure we’re both all in.”

She nodded, wiping at her face.

“I already was.”

⸻

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #matt stuniolo fanfic

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inlovewithfionaapple · 2 days ago

Text

things i should've said sooner

warnings: angsty for a little bit

wc: 685

part two

leah stared at the blank text thread like it would fill in the answer for her.

it had been two days since she'd sent i miss you. i'm sorry. no answer. no read receipt. just silence.

it was what she deserved.

she didn't hang out after practice. she didn't joke with the others in the locker room. she went home, laid in bed, and thought about y/n. about how she used to hum under her breath when she was bored. about how she always ordered two straws with her milkshakes. about how she used to look at leah like she was more—more than a footballer, more than a headline, more than what leah sometimes felt she deserved.

and leah had lost all of that because she was scared of being seen.

no more.

she opened up her notes app and started typing, rapidly, before she could change her mind:

i've spent the last 48 hours thinking about all the things i wish i'd said to you on that rooftop. things i was too scared to admit, even to myself. that i love you. that i want you. that keeping you a secret wasn't about shame—it was about fear. but not of you. of losing everything i've built. of people turning the most real thing i've ever felt into a headline.

but now i've lost you anyway. so what was the point of being scared?

if you never want to talk to me again, i'll understand. but if there's even the tiniest part of you that wants to hear me say it to your face… meet me. please. one last time. just us.

she copied the message, opened their thread, and hit send.

then she waited.

she waited through dinner she could not eat. through a match she could not focus on. through the slow, torturous hours of uncertainty.

until finally—delivered changed to read.

her heart missed a beat. and then—three dots. she straightened up.

then came the reply.

y/n: where?

her fingers shook as she typed:

leah: the field behind your old school. the bench beneath the willow tree. tomorrow. 7 p.m.

another long pause. then:

y/n: okay.

the next evening, leah got there early. the willow tree swayed gently in the late summer breeze, and the grass was still warm from the sun. she sat down on the bench, wringing her hands, rehearsing what she'd do—how she'd beg if she needed to, how she wouldn't blame y/n if she turned and left once more.

then she saw her.

y/n. hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, sloppy bun of hair, wary but shining eyes. leah stood up before she could react.

"i didn't think you'd come," leah said.

"i almost didn't," y/n said. "but i kept hearing your voice in my head. and i wanted to hear the real thing."

leah stepped closer, her heart racing. "i meant what i wrote. i've been using football, using fear, because it's safe. but safe never made me whole. you did."

y/n swallowed hard, looking at her. "so what now, leah? you say all the right things and we go back to pretending?"

"no," leah said, her voice quick, sure. "no pretending. i want to be with you. really. totally. publicly, if you'll permit it. i'll take the headlines. i'll take the fallout. i don't care anymore. i just want you."

y/n's eyes filled. "do you mean that?"

"i do." leah's voice cracked. "but i understand if it's too late."

y/n didn't say anything for a long time. then, finally, she stepped forward and opened her arms, taking leah into the kind of hug that said: i've missed you too much to be angry forever.

"i'm scared too," y/n whispered. "but maybe we can be scared together."

leah nodded into her shoulder. "i'd rather be scared with you than brave without you."

and as the sun dipped low behind the school, stretching out long shadows across the field, they held each other like they had the time they lost—and maybe even a future they could still build.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal

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i2rizz · 3 days ago

Note

hihi I love your "no way he pulled that" series so much it has me giggling and kicking my feet! i was wondering if I could request one for reo? with a reader who's really loud and energetic but super soft with him?

It's kinda wild how obsessed everyone is with this idea-and I totally get it-but I've got like 20 requests lined up, and honestly? I'm tapped out. It's starting to feel like I'm writing the same thing over and over.

No Way He Pulled That Pt.13

The Blue Lock boys were halfway through summer training when Reo casually suggested a "reset day" No drills. No egos. Just sun, sand, and snacks—on a beach, of course, because what’s the point of being rich if you can’t occasionally act like you’re in a teen movie montage?

Naturally, they agreed. A break sounded like heaven. But what they didn’t know was that Reo had ulterior motives. He’d been hyping up his "girlfriend" for weeks.

At first, no one believed him.

"You have a what?" Nagi had asked once, monotone as always.

"A girlfriend" Reo had said, smug. "She’s amazing"

Rin raised an eyebrow. Shidou had straight up laughed.

"No offense, rich boy," Shidou snorted, "but I thought you were married to your credit card"

Reo rolled his eyes. "You’ll eat your words. Just wait"

The rumors spread like wildfire. The mysterious girl Reo was supposedly dating. The one he talked about with this dopey grin like he wasn’t the bougie prince of Mikage Corp. "She’s loud" he’d said fondly. "Louder than me, even" "She makes fun of me constantly" "But she’s got this smile that could stop time" "And when she hugs me, I forget how to breathe"

Yeah. No one believed him.

So when the group rolled up to Reo’s private beach—because of course it was his—they didn’t expect much. Just a bougie hangout, maybe some suspiciously fancy drinks, and Nagi napping under a palm tree.

What they didn’t expect… was her.

She wasn’t even facing them when they saw her. Just this goddess on the sand, diving for a volleyball like it owed her money. Hair tousled from the salty breeze, her skin glowing like she’d been sculpted out of light and whatever filter Instagram wishes it had.

She was wearing a sporty swim top with criss-cross straps and little black shorts that rode up with every movement. Her laughter rang out clear across the beach—loud, the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel warmer just from hearing it.

Then she turned.

The moment her eyes landed on the group of boys, her grin stretched wider—teeth, dimples, the whole show. She waved, sprinting up the sand with the energy of a golden retriever on espresso.

The ball was forgotten, falling at Rin’s feet.

"Yo, Reooooo!" she shouted like she hadn’t seen him in years. "You didn’t tell me the cryptids were coming too!"

Shidou blinked. "Did she just call us cryptids?"

"That’s her?" Karasu whispered, stunned.

Reo, who had been lounging casually by the umbrellas with a smug look already forming, stood up as she barreled toward him. She practically launched herself into his arms, limbs wrapping around him like a koala.

And just like that—snap. Reo softened.

Gone was the smugness. His entire face melted into this soft, stupid, dopey grin as he caught her. He tucked her hair behind her ear, whispering something that made her giggle. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispered something back, and he lit up like a kid on Christmas.

Everyone else?

Absolutely losing their minds.

"THAT’S her?" Chigiri hissed.

"No fuckinging way" Rin muttered under his breath, looking deeply disturbed.

"Since WHEN do loud girls like that go for the pretty boys with daddy’s credit card?" Bachira gasped.

"Wait wait wait," Shidou pointed, scandalized. "She just called him love"

"She called him love?"

Nagi, squinting "please censor the word love"

Reo turned toward them, arm slung around her waist like it belonged there. "Oh," he said, way too casually, "guys—this is my girlfriend"

"Your real girlfriend?" Isagi croaked, clearly re-evaluating his entire worldview.

The girl looked up, blinked innocently. "Wait—you didn’t tell them?

"I did!" Reo whined. "They just thought I was hallucinating you!"

She gasped. "Rude" Then turned to the boys, beaming. "Hi! I’m Y/N. I’m loud, annoying, and I’m dating your rich friend. Any questions?"

There was silence. Pure, disbelieving silence.

Then Karasu whispered, "Bro pulled a main character"

Shidou was already fake crying. "Love isn’t real unless it’s that"

Meanwhile, Reo—still holding onto her like she might vanish—was grinning like a winner.

"Believe me now?"

Bachira flopped onto the sand dramatically. "I thought she was a myth…"

Nagi, deadpan: "I thought you were lying."

Even Rin looked vaguely impressed.

But Reo just leaned down, kissed your forehead, and said softly, "Knew they’d freak out"

And as you beamed up at him like he hung the stars—completely unaffected by the jaw-dropped chaos happening around you—every single one of those boys realized…

No way he pulled that.

But he did.

And she was crazy about him.

#anime #x reader #x y/n #blue lock #bllk x y/n #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #anime and manga #manga #mikage reo x reader #bllk reo #blue lock reo #reo mikage #reo x reader #reo x you #reo x y/n #mikage x reader

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starkeyslibrary · 21 hours ago

Text

CHASING MAYBE

pairing: bsf!reader x rafe

word count: 3.1k

authors note: i had two similair requests in my inbox and decided to combine them! hope you don’t mind!! 🙈thanks for the requests! <3

The party was already packed when you and your friend strolled in – loud music shaking the windows, neon lights spilling across sweaty bodies, and someone already yelling about running out of White Claws.

You roll your eyes. “Five bucks says that’s JJ.”

Bri laughed beside you, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Ten bucks says he drank them all himself.”

“Fair.” You said, grinning as you linked arms with both Bri and Lex. “Now, ladies – remember the mission. Free drinks, good lighting and no catching feelings.”

Lex wiggled her brows. “Too late for you, babe. Someone’s already staring.”

You didn’t have to ask who. You already knew. Rafe Cameron, over by the pool table, was watching you like you hung the damn moon – same cocky smirk, same slightly tilted head like he was trying to figure you out.

You arched a brow. “Let him look. Doesn’t mean he gets to touch.”

You made your way through the crowd, laughing at nothing, catching attention like a walking power trio. Inside the kitchen, you grabbed a red solo cup and poured yourself something strong.

“Cheers to bad ideas,” Bri said, lifting her cup.

“To being the problem, not the plan,” Lex added

“To not catching feelings,” You said, clinking their cup.

Half an hour later, you were leaned against the counter, cup still in hand, while your friends danced in the living room. You were mid-scroll through your phone when you caught the stare. Again. This time, shameless.

“You keep staring, Rafey, I’m gonna start charging you,” you called over your shoulder without turning.

Rafe smirked, sauntering towards you with that damn smug walk like he’d just scored the game-winning shot.

“You wearing that just for me, sweetheart?” he asked, eyes dragging down your fit.

“Please,” you scoffed. “This is for me. You’re just collateral damage.”

He grinned. “Yeah? Funny, because you’ve been looking at me like you wanna cause some.”

“Only to your ego,” you fired back with a sharp smile. “It’s gotten dangerously swollen lately.”

Topper whooped from the background, and Rafe just shook his head, sipping from his own cup as he leaned a little too close.

This was your thing — banter with teeth, glances that lingered, touches that almost crossed a line. But it was always safe, always wrapped up in a joke. Neither of you pushed it. Yet.

Your gaze flicked to the sliding doors leading outside. “I need air. Try not to miss me too much.”

You didn’t wait for his answer — just walked out, letting the warm night air wrap around you. The backyard was dimly lit, the glow of the bonfire at the beach barely visible beyond the dunes. You took a deep breath and leaned against the porch railing, letting the music fade into background noise.

Behind you, right on cue — came his voice.

“You know I can’t let you have a dramatic exit without me,” Rafe’s voice came from behind you, smooth like sin and summer.

You didn’t turn around. “Not dramatic. Just needed space. Some of us don’t have a god complex that requires being at the center of every room.”

He stepped up beside you, looking out over the yard with a smirk. “I like your space better.”

That earned him a tiny smirk from you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning fully. “Don’t get cute, Cameron.”

“Too late.”

You stood like that for a beat — close, the air between them humming with that something you never talked about. Rafe glanced over, studying your profile like he was memorizing it.

“You ever think about it?” he asked.

You finally turned to him. “About what?”

He was close now — closer than he should’ve been. “Us. You know… what’d happen if we stopped pretending.”

You blinked, heartbeat stuttering for half a second — not because you were shocked, but because finally. You tilted your head.

“That almost sounds like you want something serious, Rafe. Which would be cute if I didn’t know you better.”

His grin faltered just barely. “Maybe I want you.”

You laughed softly. “You want the chase, baby. And you’re good at it. But I don’t fall for pretty lies.”

You turned to walk down the porch steps when—

“Y/N—” he said, just a little rougher.

You stopped.

And then he was there again, closing the space, hand reaching gently for your wrist, spinning you to face him. He looked at you like you were fire and he was tired of being cold.

You stood like that — eyes locked, lips a breath apart, the air buzzing around them. His hand cupped your cheek this time, hesitant but wanting.

You didn’t pull away.

He leaned in slowly, eyes flicking to your mouth—

“RAFE! Yo, Rafe! Get your ass over here, man!”

Topper.

You pulled back fast like you’d been slapped. Rafe blinked, visibly torn for one second — and then, just like that, the mask slipped back on.

He stepped away. Shrugged.

“I’ll be right back.”

And just like that, he walked off — no sorry, no explanation. Gone.

You stood frozen for a second, chest tight, eyes narrowed.

Then you scoffed under your breath and turned back toward the street.

He wasn't gonna play you like that again.

Not this time.

You texted Bri.

“I’m done. Catch an Uber?”

You didn’t text him the next morning.

You didn’t snap him back. Didn’t like his dumb story of him and Kelce trying to fix a golf cart either.

And when he called once, then twice, you declined the second one and didn’t bother replying to the “u good?” that followed.

You were good. Just not with him.

Instead, you were at Bri’s place, legs tangled with yours on the couch, a greasy slice of pizza in one hand and Lex painting your nails a dangerously sharp red on the other.

“I’m just saying,” Lex said, blowing on your nails, “if he wanted to kiss you, he would’ve. And if he didn’t want to be an ass about it… well, same logic.”

You snorted. “Amen.”

Bri reached for her water, slumped on the floor. “I never liked him anyway. His jaw is too perfect. Feels like a trap.”

“It is a trap,” you muttered, staring at your phone lighting up again with his name. You silenced it. No reply. Again.

Lex raised a brow. “Still trying?”

“Three missed calls and a ‘u good?’ text,” you said with a fake-sweet smile. “Very emotionally intelligent.”

Bri made a gagging noise.

Rafe was unravelling.

It took him less than 24 hours to realize something was off — and even less time to get pissed about it.

You had been nothing but cold, collected and absolutely untouchable. So when he saw you at the dock two days later he pulled up next to your Jeep, window down, Ray-Bans perched low on his nose.

“You avoiding me?” he asked through his car window, voice all lazy confidence. But his grip on the steering wheel? White-knuckled.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “That depends — are you used to girls waiting around after you ditch them mid-moment?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, damn. You’re still mad about that?”

“Oh, still mad?” you snapped, shoving your phone in your bag. “Didn’t know there was an expiration date on being disrespected.”

He grinned, trying to defuse — or distract. “Babe, you’re dramatic.”

“And you’re exhausting,” you fired, standing up. “You don’t get to flirt with me like that, act like you want something real for half a second, and then just walk away like it didn’t happen.”

He leaned out the window a little, face hardening. “It’s not that deep.”

“Then maybe you should find someone who floats.”

You didn’t wait for a reply, you turned just in time for your friends to pull up in Bri’s Mazda, blasting SZA and waving dramatically out the windows.

Rafe watched as you slid into the passenger seat without another glance his way.

Lex flipped Rafe off with a grin when Bri peeled out of the lot.

Rafe just sat there, blinking, while you threw your head back and laughed with your girls, loud and unbothered.

That night, Rafe didn’t go to the usual bonfire. Neither did you.

But the next one? He was there early. Already sipping a beer, eyes scanning the crowd every five seconds.

You looked incredible. Dress, silky, short and painted with a bold floral print – clung in all the right places and dipped daringly low at the neckline. You stepped onto the beach like the main event — glowing, confident, and completely unbothered.

Rafe’s jaw practically hit the sand.

You saw him.

And walked right past.

Every time he tried to talk to you, Lex intercepted, or Bri pulled you into some fake emergency — “I need your opinion on this guy’s shoes, it’s life or death.” Rafe wasn’t used to working this hard. He wasn’t used to being ignored.

Rafe found you alone, near the edge of the party where the music didn’t quite reach. Just like before.

He approached slower this time. No swagger. No stupid grin.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t turn. “Didn’t Topper call your name again?”

He exhaled a laugh, but it came out a little bitter this time. “Okay. I deserved that.”

“No, Rafe. You deserved worse. But I’m tired.” Your voice dropped just slightly — not sad, just... done. “I’m not playing this game with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t trying to play,” he said, stepping closer. “I just— I panicked, alright? You kissed me back.”

“No,” you said sharply, eyes finally on his. “You almost kissed me. Then you left. Don’t twist it.”

He looked at you, jaw ticking, searching for something in your face. “So what? You’re done with me?”

“I’m done waiting for you to decide if you mean anything you say.” You paused. “You want me? Prove it. You want to joke around and run back to your boys every time things get real? Then stay out of my way.”

And with that, you walked away again — this time, not with bitterness, but with clarity.

Rafe stood there alone, mouth tight, heart pounding.

Rafe didn’t text. He didn’t call.

He showed up.

Unannounced, mid-afternoon, while you and your girls were poolside at Lex’s — laughing, lounging, and collectively trying to forget boys existed.

You spotted him before anyone else. You knew that shape, that posture — shoulders tense, chin tilted like he had something to prove.

“Is that Rafe?” Bri muttered.

Lex sat up, shielding her eyes. “Wow. Man really wants to be humiliated in broad daylight.”

You took a slow sip of your drink. “He’s already halfway there.”

But you stood up anyway.

Because no matter how furious you was, how much he hurt you, he wasn’t just some guy.

He was Rafe. Your Rafe. Your best friend. The one who used to sneak you snacks during detention and swore you’d never catch feelings for each other.

And now here you were.

“You really have the audacity,” you said flatly, meeting him at the gate.

Rafe looked at you like you still hung the moon. Like he didn’t remember you used to tell him exactly when to stop flirting so you wouldn’t fall for him. Like he hadn’t just made the dumbest choice of his life two nights ago.

“I had to see you,” he said.

“You had to ditch me mid-kiss first.”

“That wasn’t— I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“You didn’t mean to? Rafe, you and I have been best friends since we were kids. You think I don’t know when you’re lying to yourself?”

“You pulled away like you were embarrassed,” you went on, voice quiet but cutting. “Like I was just another drunk mistake.”

“You are not a mistake.”

“Then why’d you leave like one?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t expect it to feel that real.”

“We’ve always been real,” you snapped. “You just finally couldn’t hide it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been sorry since the second I walked away.”

You crossed your arms. “And now what? You think one apology’s gonna fix a broken friendship and the fact that you shattered something that might’ve been more?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it,” he said.

You tilted your head. “You better, Rafe. Because this isn’t just about flirting anymore. You don’t just lose me as a maybe. You lose me as your person.”

He stood there, quiet.

And when you walked back through the gate — back to your girls, your peace, your new boundary — Rafe didn’t follow.

He finally understood this time, he’d have to earn you back.

Rafe didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that.

And you? You didn’t chase. You said your piece. You had nothing to prove. Let him sit with the silence — with everything they almost were.

But on Friday night, something shifted.

You were heading home from Bri’s when her phone buzzed. A text.

“Come to the dock. Just you.”

No name. Didn’t need one.

You almost didn’t go.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing — especially when it’s tangled in history and heartbreak and a boy who once made you believe forever could exist between best friends.

The dock was quiet. Moonlit. The water still.

And there he was. Hoodie, hands in his pockets, heart practically written across his face.

You didn’t say anything as you stepped onto the wood.

He didn’t speak either — just gestured to the blanket he’d laid out. Two drinks. A box of your favorite cookies. And something else sitting next to it.

A photo. The one from that dumb Halloween party freshman year — you in fairy wings, Rafe in devil horns, both of you grinning like idiots.

“I found it in my drawer,” he said quietly. “Been sitting there for years. I look at it sometimes. Always thought we were just… messing around. Having fun.”

You folded your arms, guarded but listening.

“But looking at it now?” His voice cracked slightly. “I was gone for you. Even back then.”

You didn’t respond. You waited.

“I messed up, I know that,” he said. “But I didn’t come here to ask for things to go back to normal. Because they can’t. And I don’t want them to.”

You raised a brow. “What do you want, then?”

Rafe stepped forward.

“I want more. I want us. No more games. No more pulling away when it gets real. I want to be someone you trust again. Someone who shows up.”

He hesitated. “And I know I lost that right. But if there’s even a piece of you that still wants this... I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. Just—don’t shut the door all the way. Please.”

Silence stretched.

The water lapped gently against the wood.

Then—softly, finally—you spoke.

“You don’t get to come back just because you finally figured out what you want.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed. “I know.”

You stepped closer. “But you came back anyway. That’s a start.”

For a long moment, you both just stood there.

And then, for the first time in what felt like forever—you let your guard down. Just a little.

Rafe looked at you. “So… we good?”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

Then like always, he smiled back, cocky and warm and yours in all the ways he never admitted before.

Two weeks later

“You’re seriously wearing that?” You asked, brows arched behind your sunglasses as you stared Rafe down in the Target parking lot.

He looked down at his plain white T-shirt and black athletic shorts, then at you — black cropped tank top hugging your figure, light-washed denim shorts and gold hoops shining in the sun. “What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like you jogged here and forgot it was a date.” You popped the trunk of his car. “Get the bags. We’re doing a picnic and you’re not embarrassing me in front of the ducks.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rafe muttered, grinning as he grabbed the cooler. He didn't argue. He never argued anymore. Not with you.

You laid out the blanket under a willow tree at the park, spread out the snacks like a curated charcuterie board, and even lit one of those tiny portable candles from your purse. Rafe just watched you, utterly gone, leaning back on his elbows while you cut strawberries like it was an artform.

“You’re smiling,” you said, glancing over.

“I like watching you boss me around,” he said, deadpan. “It’s hot.”

You snorted and tossed a grape at his face. “You’re such a simp now.”

“I was before. Now I’m just allowed to show it.”

Later, they lay side by side under the tree, your head resting on his chest, one leg thrown over his like you owned him — which, arguably, you did.

“You still scared?” you asked quietly, fingers tracing shapes on his bicep.

“Terrified,” Rafe replied, voice low. “But it’s worth it.”

You leaned up slightly, eyes searching his. “Why?”

“Because I’m not just your best friend anymore.” His hand found you waist. “I get to kiss you now.”

You grinned, lips brushing his jaw. “Damn right you do.”

So he did.

Slow, warm, nothing rushed — just mouths pressed together like they had all the time in the world. You tasted like lip balm and peach lemonade. He tasted like want and sunscreen.

“Still afraid?” you murmured when they broke apart.

“Of you? Always.”

“Good.” You kissed him again, rougher this time. “Keeps you humble.”

EXTRA:

Rafe Cameron was sitting on a pink blanket at a Sunday morning yoga in the park class, sweating through his overpriced tank top while an instructor told him to open his heart center and “embrace the divine feminine.”

You, completely serene beside him, reached out mid-pose to fix his form.

“You’re stiff,” you whispered.

“I’m dying,” he whispered back.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he muttered. “This is Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Mm. That’s not what you said last night when you made me breakfast at midnight.”

He just groaned and reached for his water bottle. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

You leaned in close, lips at his ear. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re whipped.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled like an idiot. “I’m whipped.”

“Good boy.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #outer banks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x reader #rafe x bsf!reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #obx rafe cameron #drew starkey imagine #drewstarkey #drew starkey

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sknyuz · 2 days ago

Note

HI MAKIII CONGRATS ON 400 !!!!!

here to request for dino + anything 4 u by lany :)))) it could be f2l au? bcs of the song's lyrics hehe

i hope u have fun with this and all ur other reqs too 💗💗💗

now playing — anything 4 u - lany *read with this playing for best experience

pairing — lee chan (dino) x reader

genre — childhood bestfriends to lovers, slow burn, chan is a yearner, u want each other so bad c’mon now, will they won’t they?

cw — none, afaik !!

wc — ~1.5k

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

note: oh calli... oh my sweet summer moot calli... maybe knight!dino might have to wait for a while but anything 4 u!dino is riiight here

i know the house you grew up in / all of the names of your best friends

you and chan have always been that kind of best friends. the ones who show up to everything together, who text each other about random dreams at 2 a.m., who say i love you without a second thought—because it’s always been safe, right? platonic. easy.

but something’s been different lately.

maybe it started with the way he said your name during that beach trip last summer, soft and a little too slow, like he was tasting it. or maybe it was when you got sick and he sat on your floor for hours, refusing to leave until you’d eaten at least two bites of soup. or maybe it’s the way he remembers everything—your coffee order, your brother’s graduation date, that one thing your ex said that made you cry.

i spent the summer on your couch / you fell in love with someone else / you came to me the times that it went bad

you were seventeen when you had your first real boyfriend. he was kind, on paper—the kind of boy your friends said looked good with you. but you remember the way he never quite listened, how he’d zone out when you talked about the things you loved, how his hands always felt a little too far away, even when they were holding yours.

chan never said anything back then. he just smiled that tired smile and asked if you were happy.

you said yes.

and then one night, you called him from the curb in front of a convenience store, mascara smudged and voice hoarse from holding it all in. “he said i’m too much,” you mumbled. “too sensitive. too emotional. too… everything.”

“he’s an idiot,” chan said without hesitation.

“you don’t have to say that.”

“i’m not saying it because i have to,” he said. “i’m saying it because it’s true.”

he showed up ten minutes later, even though it was past midnight. handed you a bottle of strawberry milk and let you cry into his hoodie. didn’t flinch when you said, “maybe i’m just hard to love.”

“you’re not hard to love,” he whispered. “you’re just waiting for someone who knows how.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. you still don’t.

you know the house i grew up in / you wouldn't knock, you'd just walk in / stay up for hours talkin' to my mom

and it was no secret that his mother was fond of you as well, you’ve always gotten along so well with mrs. lee—there’s something about the way she makes you feel at home, the way her kitchen always smells like freshly baked bread and the way she’d effortlessly get you talking about everything, from school to your dreams. she’d listen patiently, always with a gentle smile, as if nothing you said was ever too small or too silly.

prom night was no different. after slipping into your dress, she insisted on taking photos, her camera flashing just as chan stood awkwardly by the door, adjusting his tie for the third time. “you two look so grown up,” she’d said with a soft laugh, sending you off with a kiss on your cheek and a reminder to be safe.

chan, however, was a mess—eyes wide, hands fidgeting with his jacket, clearly flustered by the sudden attention, but still holding the door open for you. it was those little moments, where everything felt so familiar, so right, that made you realize just how deeply rooted you were in each other’s lives. like he was always meant to be here, in this quiet, unspoken way. and somehow, neither of you had noticed just how much love had grown in the space between the laughter and the shared silences.

after the breakup with your first boyfriend, things shifted—just a little.

i'm somethin' so familiar / that you don't even notice / the way i wanna love ya

chan started noticing more; walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, waiting up when you stayed late on campus, texting you goodnight even on days you didn’t talk, not because he had to—but because that’s just what love looks like when it’s quiet and patient.

you once fell asleep at his place after a movie night, and when you woke up, he’d draped his leather jacket over you, your favorite playlist playing softly in the background. his own hoodie was pulled over his head as he dozed beside you, one hand still resting on the couch between you, fingers slightly curled like he’d reached for you and stopped himself.

he never pushed. never asked for anything back.

but sometimes, when you looked over and caught him already watching you—like he was memorizing your face for the hundredth time—you wondered how long he’d been waiting.

i'll catch a flight, go to the moon / lay on the floor of your living room

it was a quiet evening when it finally hit you, how everything had quietly changed.

you were sprawled across the couch in your living room, legs tucked up under a blanket as the soft light of the tv cast shadows across the room. chan was spread out on the carpeted floor, eyes closed, arms stretched out like he had no care in the world. his face looked so peaceful, but you could see the faintest hint of a frown pulling at his brows—like he was lost in a thought too heavy for him to easily shake off.

you were sure it was just the way he always was, calm and collected. but tonight, it felt different. you had been sitting in silence for hours, only the quiet hum of the tv filling the space between you. it had been an ordinary night, but somehow the stillness felt louder, deeper. the weight of it was pressing down on you, curling in your chest.

you peeked over the back of the couch, stealing a glance at him, and your heart gave a sudden, unexpected thud. he wasn’t paying attention, his eyes still closed, but there was something about the way he was positioned on the floor, so still, like he was waiting for something.

your voice broke the silence, soft at first, barely audible. “stay?”

he froze, eyes snapping open, and you felt your stomach twist. his gaze flickered toward you, concern lining his features, even though his lips only parted in hesitation. “you okay?”

you nodded slowly, the weight of your own words heavy in the air. “just… don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

a long pause followed, thick with the unspoken words that neither of you had been brave enough to say yet. he looked like he might leave—like this was all just too much, too fast. and part of you almost wanted him to, because if he stayed, things might change. but you didn’t want him to leave. you never wanted chan to leave.

he took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see him weigh it all. finally, without a word, he shifted on the floor, sitting up slightly, and reached a hand out toward the edge of the couch. his fingers brushed gently over your arm, seeking permission in the quiet of the moment. his gaze never wavered, asking without saying a word if it was okay for him to get closer.

it's time that you should know this, know this

you nodded, and that simple movement was all he needed. he slowly scooted closer, moving up onto the couch next to you. he sat down, hesitating for a split second before he lay down next to you, pulling the blanket further over your shoulders. his head rested against the cushion, his body close but not quite touching, until his hand found its way to your back, wrapping gently around your waist. he pulled you closer, as if he couldn’t help it, as if the closeness was instinctual, something he couldn’t deny any longer.

girl, just tell me what i have to do / i'll do anything for you

and for a while, neither of you said anything. it was just the quiet—just the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft pulse of your own heart. but then, as the dim light from the tv flickered in the background, he whispered, his voice barely above a breath:

“i’d do anything for you, you know that?”

the words hung in the air, and for the first time, you didn’t need to answer. because the truth was written in the way his thumb brushed across your skin, in the warmth of his hand on your waist, in the way you fit together like the missing piece of a puzzle you hadn’t even realized was incomplete until now.

you’d always known. but now, in the quiet darkness of your living room, with his heart beating so close to yours, you could finally feel it.

and you knew—knew you’d do anything for chan, too.

note: omg what a way to open my 400 follower event!! thank u sm for requesting this, calli <3 and i hope u have fun reading it as much as i had fun writing it. and i had fun with the cover art and i had the song On Repeat the whole time 😭🙏 im inlove with this fic so much

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet | @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu @dhaliaa1211 @seokminfilm @babilou-pov @crowneve @hhaechansmoless

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yuuhwa · 3 days ago

Text

Dark Game - Cap 3: Checkmate

Pairing: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader Genre: dark romance Context: After exchanging barbs and pranks, the unexpected (or expected) happened

a/n: I need your opinion. Do you prefer long or short chapters? I didn't know whether to write the meeting in this chapter or another one, so I wanted your opinion. Thanks in advance :))

It felt like the place had lost its charm since the last time Y/n had been there. But now she was back — not because of Seongje, of course not. She just needed a break, to clear her head, sit in front of the same old PC, play the same games. Relax.

Lies. The very first thing her eyes sought out was him.

There he was. Same machine. As always. Only this time, he wasn’t playing — he was watching. Her profile was pulled up on his screen, the mouse cursor hovering right over the game invite. As if he already knew she’d show up. As if he had been waiting.

“You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna challenge me already?” His voice cut through the hum of computers — a perfect echo of the line she had used the day before. He didn’t look away, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t yesterday’s beating enough for you?”

“I let you win a few rounds. I won’t go easy this time.” That arrogant smile widened across his face.

That damn smile. Y/n didn’t understand how something so simple could ignite something so... intense — maybe even warm — inside her.

“You better be ready to lose,” she shot back.

“I never play to lose.” He stood slowly, patting the seat beside him. “Let’s see if your mouth matches your skill.”

She muttered something under her breath as she sat down. They picked a fast-paced shooter — tense, chaotic. The rules were simple: loser does a dare. Nothing too extreme... or so she thought. But something in his eyes — a hunger, restrained and sharp — said otherwise.

Seongje was different today. More direct. More dangerous. The way he narrated each move, each ambush... it felt like he was playing two games at once. And in the second one, she was already caught.

“Running from me? That’s odd... thought you liked a little pressure,” he said, closing the gap between their chairs without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Pressure doesn’t scare me. Honestly, I think you’re the one sweating,” she snapped back, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The match ended. The big bold “Game Over” flashed before Y/n’s eyes. From the corner of her vision, she saw the smug smile spreading across Seongje’s face. Familiar — but today, it was different. There was something else behind the satisfaction of his win.

He had destroyed her. Completely.

She groaned. “Alright, what’s the dare?”

Without hesitation, he leaned in. Too close. His sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses, desperate to lock onto hers. Their breaths mingled. His voice came out low, hoarse.

“You’re going out with me. Tonight.”

She laughed — dry, sarcastic. “That’s not even a dare. I could do that if I wanted to.”

A strange cocktail of thrill and tension twisted inside her — even though she masked it perfectly.

“But you haven’t. Not yet,” he murmured, eyes locked. “Now you will... because you lost.”

Y/n hesitated. Something about the way he said it — it wasn’t just a date. It felt like a move. A calculated one.

And the worst part? She wanted to see where it would lead.

“Fine. But if you bore me, I vanish.”

“You won’t,” he said, with the certainty of someone who already had the game in his hands.

And for the first time, Y/n wondered if she was still playing... Or if she had already become the prize.

#geum seongje x reader #weak hero class 2 fics #geum seong je #weak hero class x reader #whc2 x reader #whc2 #weak hero class two #seongje x reader

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pink-nostalgya · 2 days ago

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Under the Stars (As if I cared)

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem Reader! Summary: In the winter, where the girls are still trying to survive, you and Nat have started a friendship in which she helps you hunt while you two play and laugh as if everything is fine, but deep down she is struggling with some feelings of her own, which she ends up venting to you. 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistake, also this is my firt fic, so wish me luck⋆⭒˚.⋆

The sound of the broth made by Mari sounded throughout the cabin, and you were waiting for Nat to change to go hunting together, or so you expected for the last few mornings in which this was her daily routine, but this time it was different, Nat came out with her usual clothes to go hunting but instead of giving you a look to give you to understand her departure, she avoided you and went to the door without saying a word.

Confused, you opened the door to the hellish cold that was the forest, and trying to keep up with her you grabbed her shoulder trying to get an explanation out of her for her recent coldness.

“Hey Nat, let me walk with you, let's see if we'll hunt something together” you said with the recognizable sweet mood of yours (and at the same time trying to soften Nat up), but she even without looking you in the eye, didn't move or change the speed in which she walked.

“Go to the cabin T/n, I'll go alone this time” she said, with a coldness she used to use with you before the accident, that changed to a warmth after weeks of interacting every day, a warmth you loved and treasured deep inside.

“But Nat... it's too dangerous and you know it, that's why we both go together” something in your being didn't want to accept the way she was talking to you, trying to see if your sweet words and even a bit of a bootlicker could soften her character.

“My god” she said as she stopped walking to turn to you, with an expression of anger but at the same time something else, as if she wanted to hide something ”Can't you see I don't want to put up with this, I don't have the energy today to try to fix your mistakes, we haven't hunted anything in weeks and it's driving me crazy.”

You stood in shock, looking at her as you tried to process the frustration you gave her, not understanding how from games and giggles in the woods she came to an angry confession to your being, one you expected from everyone but her at this point.

“I don't want to leave you alone Nat...please at least let me come with you” you spoke those words in a gentle voice still but at the same time trying to hold back tears, you weren't looking to stress the one you considered your only friend into a fucked up situation and start all over again.

“You better go to the T/n cabin, see if there is something you can be of any use” and that was the last thing Natalie said to you before she left leaving you alone out in the woods, with the words stuck in your throat and bitter tears falling from your cheeks at the unnecessarily cruel words of hers.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You two were under a log practicing marksmanship for future hunts, you trying to adjust to the accuracy the shotgun required and your hands shaking waiting for the signal to fire.

“ Focus T/n, animals don't wait to be hunted” Natalie was saying in your ear trying to distract you so she could test you, on your daily lessons from a week ago.

“ That's what I'm doing Nat” you said, biting your lip in frustration as you took the shot and managed to hit the old can. At that you happily smiled from mouth to mouth and turned to Natalie to let her know your enthusiasm.

“You saw that, you saw that” she looked at you with a proud smile that came naturally to her, with a warm gaze that you became accustomed to.

“Not bad hamster, now the deer instead of pitying you will have respect for you” she said with that nickname that according to her gave you well because of your nervous and shy nature, something that before gave you insecurity but after that affectionate nickname you saw it with a more optimistic tone.

You could only smile enthusiastically at the progress you were making, and even more so with how close you had become to Natalie. Normally you didn't even talk to each other, you with your shyness and nervousness made you only talk to Lottie but because you were cousins at the end of the day, and Natalie only saw you as the team mascot, the hamster who would die if someone yelled at her or hide after every training session. But after the accident everything changed, at the end of the day it turned out that you had a lot of knowledge of nature thanks to the hobbies your mother forced you to follow, not to mention all the books you read in your free time in the library while sneaking sweets.

That's when you two got together and started helping each other, and a feeling beyond friendship formed in the two of you.

You decided to lie down in the middle of the forest looking at everything and at the same time at nothing, but a certain tension was felt between the two of you but you wouldn't even talk about it, you preferred to ignore it and at the same time appreciate it, but Nat still liked to see you in silence, she liked how you smiled peacefully as if nothing fucked up was happening, the sun illuminating your face making it look more angelic than it was, and your eyes... she could see them every day and she would still call them his favorite thing in the world.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It had been hours since you had last seen Natalie, and your heart was pounding with anxiety at the possibilities of what could have happened to her. The other girls wanted to convince you that she was probably smoking something or just went to meditate, but in the end they concluded that you shouldn't think anything of it. But they all knew deep down that the last time they thought that someone died.

That's why you decided to swallow your pride and go out to look for Natalie in the middle of the night, with the light of a candle you kept shouting her name, hoping she would answer you or at least give a sign of life, succeeding because soon after you saw her sitting on the same log where the two of them did their shooting lessons.

“Are you here to lecture me or what?” she growled, being the first thing she said to you.

Seeing her like that, you could only smile a little and slowly sit down next to her, placing your hands in your lap and watching her carefully and softly. “I just wanted to make sure you weren't eaten by a bear.Though I doubt it, even they will be afraid of you” you joke.

She laughs, a rare and genuine sound, but then looks off into nothingness, trying to find words for what she is now going to say.

“I'm sorry for what I said to you in the morning... I had some things in my head that didn't let me reason and, I left it all on you” she said, being a genuine apology.

You stood in silence for a while, listening to each other's breathing and enjoying the silence as you usually do, as you didn't occupy words to communicate, just each other's presence.

“Shit... this is stupid,” she muttered, swallowing hard.

“What's stupid?” you asked, confused at the unexpected confession, one that you could tell had her choking for a good moment.

“This whole thing, the situation...” she said, making sense of her actions and thinking, realizing things that in normalcy she would refuse to accept. “But if this damn hellhole taught me anything, it's that people leave. And I don't want them to...” She interrupts herself, frustrated. “Fuck, why is it so hard?”.

You look at her with tenderness, appreciation and even love, not trying to hide how you felt about her for these months. Not knowing how she was going to react, you took her hand with the gentleness she loved so much about you, and she without withdrawing it looked at her hands, taking a deep breath calming her worries.

“I never thought Natalie Scatorccio was afraid of anything,” you say softly, trying to lighten the moment, at least for a few minutes.

“Shut up,” she says with a restrained laugh, but she squeezes your hand. She didn't want to let you go and you weren't going to make her do it, not now. The warmth of her grip was worth more than any words of love and it was clear to you, you loved each other so much and needed each other twice as much.

“...It's just that if something happens to you, I'm not going to...I can't...”.she said, having difficulty trying to say what she's been thinking in months, with a ragged breath and a lump in her throat she looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in her life, the only thing keeping her sane right now. “Damn it. You're important to me, okay? More than you should be.”

You were a little shocked at such a direct confession, and before he could react, you gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, still with their hands together these were caressing each other and after that sweet kiss you tried to preserve the innocence that remained, she looked at you as if you were something ethereal, promising herself in that moment to protect you no matter if it condemned her.

You helped her up, and still with their hands together they returned to the cabin where they had a long watch, but next to each other everything became lighter and comforting.

You watched the fire in the cabin closely, together and united, she puts her arm behind your shoulders and rests her head on your shoulder, calm with the feeling that at least now in this part of her life she found something to hold on to, something to fight for and live for.

#natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #wlw #fanfic #fanfiction #sophie thatcher #sophie thatcher x reader #i feel like shit #writers on tumblr #writer in progress #hallelujah

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l1v-jzn · 2 days ago

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„Bite The Blade” Series –Chapter. 02 – No Accidents, Just Targets

pairing: Ghostface!Seong-Je x FinalGirl!Reader

genre: Horror, Thriller, Dark Romance

summary: Tension coils tighter as Y/n and Ben Park take shelter in the Y/n’s apartment after a near brush with danger. Though the space is familiar, nothing feels safe anymore, not with Seong-Je out there. Fear bubbles beneath every breath, but so does something else... something almost electric between them. Across the city, Seong-Je toys with another victim, his movements deliberate, eyes gleaming with amusement and menace. And just when Y/n thinks she can finally breathe, he shows up—barefaced, uniform untidy, smile too easy. Keum Seong-Je at Seong-an High. He’s not hiding anymore.

taglist: @thepoeticfirefly @kyungjunnies @hikaerys @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @miyawwn @sanaxo-o @feralmaneater @jeewhat @satorustorm (and anyone wanna be tagged here!)

— All Chapters. — — Next Chapter. —

rain streaked down the rusted gutters, soaking the alleyway in shadows and blurred neon light. The world felt muffled under the weight of water and fog. Atop an old, crumbling rooftop overlooking the narrow street below, Keum Seong-Je stood silently. His eyes didn’t waver, locked on the figures moving beneath him.

they exited the dim glow of a streetlamp, their footsteps echoing in the puddles. Hu-min’s broad frame walked protectively beside her, occasionally glancing back. He was alert. Seong-Je’s jaw twitched.

he tilted his head, black blazer fluttering slightly in the wind. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but his entire body was tense, like a predator waiting for a signal to pounce. Until he got a call from someone—telling him to go to the place that was sent to him via message. He smirked at the message and went off the building.

meanwhile, the apartment was dimly lit. Rain pressed against the windows in waves, like the city was trying to wash itself clean. Y/n leaned against the door after locking it, chest rising and falling fast. Her clothes clung to her from the rain, the tension of the moment seeping into the fabric.

Hu-min toed off his soaked sneakers near the entrance, eyes flicking to her. “You okay?”

she nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know.”

they stood in silence until the heat from the apartment crept into their skin. He stepped closer, not touching, just being there. His presence was steady, solid.

she led him to the couch, handed him a towel, and sat beside him. Her fingers trembled, not from cold.

Hu-min glanced at her, then around the apartment like he could anchor her with his gaze. “You know… you can tell me. Whatever this is.”

“I’m trying to,” she whispered, voice hollow. “But it’s like… if I say it out loud, it becomes real.”

the tension pulsed between them. Hu-min hesitated, then reached over and gently took her hand. The contact grounded her. Maybe too much.

because despite the fear pressing in, there was something else beneath it. Something electric. Hu-min’s warmth. His quiet strength.

and yet, her mind drifted. To the rooftop. To the eyes that watched like they owned her. “It’s okay,” he said, voice low. “He’s not getting through that door.”

Y/n exhaled shakily, clutching the sleeves of her jacket. “It’s not the door I’m worried about.”

she moved to the coffee table where a plain manila envelope had been left. She hadn’t noticed it earlier. With trembling hands, she opened it.

her breath caught. Inside was a photo.

she was asleep, face turned toward the window, blanket pulled high, but unmistakably her. The angle. The closeness.

Hu-min appeared at her side the moment he saw the picture. “Where was this taken?”

she didn’t answer. Instead she looked at the window near her bedroom

he followed her gaze to the window. His face darkened. Without a word, he rushed to it and slammed it shut, drawing the blinds tight.

the room felt smaller. Tighter. Less safe than ever.

“I’m staying,” he said simply, no room for argument. You nodded in response. A glimpse of hope appeared in front of you. Because this time you're not alone (yet).

the moon hung high and sharp over the city, casting silver streaks across darkened alleyways. In the murk of the backstreets, Seong-Je followed the sluggish steps of a student in a soaked Eunjang High blazer. His target walked alone, headphones in, utterly unaware. How boring.

Seong-Je tilted his head, trailing silently from shadow to shadow, hands deep in his pockets. The thrill never hit. Not like before.

he cornered the boy at the edge of a construction site, metal and dust clouding the air. The student turned, startled only to find nothing there. Not until–he bumped into someone. The boy quickly backed away from the person.

Seong-Je stood before him now, framed by scaffold bones and the flicker of a faulty streetlamp. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.

“Hey,” he said, voice flat, almost tired. “You dropped something.”

the student blinked, confused, clutching his bag like it might ward off ghosts. “What?”

Seong-Je flipped something shiny between his fingers. The boy’s phone. Still playing some tinny pop song like it hadn't just changed hands. The boy hadn’t even noticed it go missing.

"Clumsy," Seong-Je said, stepping forward, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot like a countdown.

“You want it back?”

the student nodded, dumbly. But Seong-Je didn’t hand it over. Not yet. He leaned in, close enough for the boy to see the shadow behind his gaze.

“Tell your friends,” he whispered. “Eunjang’s losing its touch.”

then he let the phone fall to the ground. It cracked on impact, a spiderweb blooming across the screen.

Seong-Je turned and vanished back into the dark, already bored again.

his boots echoed off concrete as he walked away, eyes glinting with wild focus. He was done playing with nobodies.

only one person was worth this game.

behind him, the student just stood there, frozen like his system was buffering. A beat. Then two. The tremble started in his fingers first, and he dropped to one knee to gather his shattered phone like it was something sacred, something safe. But Seong-Je didn’t look back.

He moved through the skeletal maze of the construction site like smoke, fluid, quiet, untouchable. He lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lips, unlit. It was just the ritual now. The motions. The performance of menace.

a sharp buzz came from his pocket. He picked up without looking.

Baek-Jin’s voice came through, cool and composed.

“Seong-Je, let's check up on Park Hu-min.”

Seong-Je paused on the landing, tilting his head like he’d just heard his favorite song start.

“Baku? Sounds good. I could use some action. Okay.”

Click. Call ended.

he slid the phone back into his pocket, a grin twitching at the edge of his mouth. That old spark, faint but flickering. He kept climbing, the hunt already winding its way back into his blood.

he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, then flicked it into the dark without a second thought.

he turned on his heel, boots tapping a slow, echoing beat down the cracked concrete path. The city watched in silence. It always did.

and high above, the moon didn’t blink.

the night yawned ahead, hungry and wide, moonlight sharpening everything into blade edges. Seong-Je shoved his hands back into his pockets, cracked his neck, and kept walking.

the next morning, the bus ride to school was uneventful. Or so Y/n thought.

Hu-min had insisted on accompanying her again, sitting close, one hand gripping the handle above her head, shielding her from the crowd. They got off near Seong-an High, where the air was crisp, the school gates crawling with students. But something wasn’t right.

you froze mid-step. There, leaning casually against the wall just outside the main entrance, was Keum Seong-Je.

unbuttoned red blazer, white polo sloppily parted to reveal a tight black tee beneath, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks like he belonged there.

Hu-min’s steps slowed too. “That's him?”

you didn’t respond. Your heart had already climbed through your throat.

Seong-Je’s eyes flicked from her… to Hu-min… then back again. Possessiveness surged like a rip tide behind that lazy smile.

as Y/n passed, he pushed off the wall and stepped right into her path.

“You didn’t tell me you were taking the bus with someone else. Especially him.”

his voice was calm, casual. Too casual. “I didn’t think I needed to,” she said quietly. His gaze slid to Hu-min again, then back to her, sharp and unreadable.

“You do,” he murmured, stepping closer. “If someone’s getting that close to you, I should know. Don’t you think?”

Y/n’s throat tightened. “What are you doing here?”

Seong-Je’s smirk widened. “I missed you.”

“Why are you like this?”

his hand lifted, almost brushing her cheek but stopped an inch away.

“I don’t like sharing,” he said again, voice like a purr now. “You already knew that.”

then, with maddening ease, he turned on his heel and walked off through the courtyard, slipping between students like mist.

Hu-min bristled. “What the hell is his problem?”

you didn’t answer—hands shook. “You get going Hu-min.” you murmured softly looking at him. Hu-min nodded and went to the bus stop.

“Uh… bestie?”

Han Soo-Min’s voice broke the moment. She appeared beside her, all bubblegum brightness and concerned curiosity. Her eyes followed where Seong-Je had gone. “Do you know him?”

you didn’t answer. Soo-Min narrowed her eyes slightly. “You okay?”

“I… yeah.” Soo-Min tilted her head but didn’t press. Instead, she threw an arm around Y/n’s shoulder. “If you get murdered, I call your record collection.” Y/n laughed—shaky, but real.

they walked through the school gates together. But Y/n’s mind was miles away. Still replaying the look in Seong-Je’s eyes.

the kind that didn’t just promise danger. It guaranteed it.

SEOUL MUSEUM OF HISTORY

the museum's quiet corridors echoed with the soft hum of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows over the polished floors. Si-eun stepped into the washroom, the cool air a brief respite from the day's chaos. As he approached the sink, he cleaned the buldak sauce that was in his white hoodie using a tissue, after cleaning he looked at the mirror and reflected just his own weary face. He quickly threw the wet tissue in the trash bin and went outside. Turning swiftly, He saw him. Keum Seong-Je, squatting—hands on his phone, playing a game. Seong-Je glanced at him, then back at his phone. “Are you Baku's friend?” Seong-Je asked. Si-Eun didn't answer. Seong-je looked at him—his expression unreadable, eyes sharp. Seong-Je stood up facing Si-Eun. “You know, you'll screw up your life if you hang out with the wrong crowd.” He said while still playing on his phone.

Seong-Je chuckle, “Now. Look Here.” pointing his phone at Si-Eun, taking a picture of his face, “One, Two, Three..”—camera clicked. Seong-Je snorts while looking at the picture. “You have sad eyes, don’t you?”

“Do you know who I am?” Si-Eun said still observing him—maintaining eye contact.

Seong-Je slowly looked at him, the flicker of a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. The phone slipped into his pocket, forgotten. “Man, this punk.. won’t look away.”

without a word, his body shifted—smooth, practiced. In one sharp motion, he launched a punch straight for Si-eun’s face.

but Si-eun had already read the tension in his stance. He ducked, clean and quick, the punch slicing the air where his head had been just a second before.

he rose, calm and composed, barely a breath out of place.

Seong-Je lunged again, no words, no warning. His fist came wide, aimed at Si-eun’s jaw. Si-eun ducked low, pivoted, and spun just out of reach. A shoe squeaked against the bathroom tile. The air pulsed with movement.

Si-eun shoved forward, both hands on Seong-Je’s chest. The force sent Seong-Je stumbling backward, crashing into the bathroom door. It burst open.

he staggered inside. But he didn’t fall.

he caught himself on the stall divider, boots skidding slightly on the clean tile. Slowly, he straightened—still silent. Still smiling. “You're not bad.”

Seong-je smirked, stepping closer, the distance between them shrinking. But before he could make a move, Si-eun's eyes darted to a nearby flower pot. "Thinking of using that? Clever."

he chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. “I just came to say hi today, so let's stop here.”

“I'll see you later.” With that, he turned on his heel, disappearing into the corridor, leaving Si-eun alone with his thoughts and the lingering tension.

————————————————————————

note: HELP YALL I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS LIKE WTFFFF I LITERALLY MADE IT LIKE 2AM AND MY BRAIN WAS GETTING FUZZY THAT TIME I DIDN'T KNOW I DELETED I SWEAR I PRESS THE DRAFT THAT TIME 😤😡 SO I JUST HAVE TO REMAKE IT 🥹😚 this is kinda rush tho 😭🥀 anywaysss hope y'all enjoy this chapter 2 🫡🙌🏻 quick update guys, I added some scenes just to make it longer and more interesting yess 🤓☝🏻

#geum seong je #geum seongje #keum seongje #wolf keum #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #keum seongje x reader #wolf keum x reader #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class one #weak hero class two #crossover #ghostface!seongje

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