#and kind of got away from everything for a little while

[sereia4skz]

Hey hey can you make something hurt to comfort with chan plss?? Like yn and chan get into a tiny argument maybe just a misunderstanding going on not a big fight but some broken hearts but at the happy ending🥹🤝🏻😭🫰🙏🏻

oneshot | don't walk away

pairing: chan x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: mild argument? chan being busy

word count: 1.1k

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

It starts with a quiet kind of disappointment. The kind that builds slowly, unnoticed at first, like a draft slipping under the door. You don’t even realize how tightly your chest’s been wound until the key turns in the lock.

He’s home. You’re still on the couch, dinner long cold on the table, your phone lying silent beside you. You’d checked it too many times. The battery’s nearly dead from all the hope you kept feeding into it.

Chan steps in, looking exhausted, hoodie pulled up, eyes slightly red. His studio bag sags off one shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly.

You look up. “Hey.”

It’s all you say.

He toes off his shoes, glancing at the couch. “You didn’t eat?”

You shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

A beat passes. He blinks, takes in the untouched meal, the candle you’d lit two hours ago, now a pool of hardened wax. Realization creeps across his features, slow and unwelcome.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Baby, I’m sorry. I lost track of-”

“Of time,” you finish. “Yeah. I figured.”

Your tone isn’t harsh, but it’s not warm either. It lands somewhere in the middle, brittle and tired, and Chan flinches before he can catch himself.

“I should’ve texted,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to leave you waiting. Everything ran over and I just-”

“I get it,” you cut in. “Work happened. It always does.”

That hurts him. You see it. You didn’t mean it like that, not really but it’s been weeks of this: missed dinners, short calls, canceled plans. You’ve smiled through most of it, understanding as best you can, but tonight… you cracked a little.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you add, softer now. “I just- I made dinner. I was excited to see you. And then I waited. And waited. And it just… I don’t know. It felt stupid after a while.”

Chan sets down his bag and walks closer. Not too close. He’s reading you carefully, like he knows one wrong step might send the whole night spiraling.

“I never want to make you feel like you’re waiting alone,” he says. His voice is steady, but his eyes shine with something tender, or maybe guilty.

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” you murmur. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

He exhales and sits beside you slowly, his hands clasped between his knees.

“I’ve been messing up,” he says quietly. “I’ve been running around thinking I can juggle everything, the group, the deadlines, and… us. And I thought if I could just keep pushing through, eventually I’d have time for everything. For you.”

You look down at your lap. “I don’t want to be the afterthought that gets your leftover time, Chan.”

He flinches again, visibly this time. “You’re not. God, Baby, you're the part I miss most. The part I feel most guilty about when I mess this up.”

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them.

“I was staring at my phone like some idiot,” you whisper. “Kept telling myself you’d text. That I mattered enough for you to think of me.”

“You do,” he says instantly, but there’s panic now, like your sadness is suffocating him. “You do. I just… I got so in my head tonight. I felt like I couldn’t stop working or I’d lose momentum. But I lost you instead. At least for tonight.”

“You didn’t lose me,” you whisper, even though the words burn. “I just needed to feel seen. Like I’m still a real part of your life, not a calendar event you keep pushing back.”

That’s when Chan cracks. He doesn’t sob. He doesn’t even make a sound. But his eyes fill, and his hand reaches up like he doesn’t know what to do with it, whether to wipe his face or reach for yours.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and now his voice is trembling. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You’re my home, Baby. I’ve been running around trying to keep everything afloat, and I forgot that none of it means anything if I don’t have you to come back to.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not trying to make you feel worse. I just- I needed you tonight.”

“I know. And I wasn’t here. Not in the way I should’ve been.”

You both fall quiet. The air between you is thick, not with anger, but with heartbreak. Like you both want to reach for each other, but you're afraid the hurt still lingers on your skin.

But then Chan shifts forward. He reaches out, cautiously, and takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes your knuckles, soft and tentative.

“Can I… hold you?”

Your bottom lip wobbles, you nod, and then you’re in his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. The tears come harder now, yours hot and breathy, his quiet and broken against your temple.

“I hate crying,” you whisper against his shoulder.

Chan huffs a soft, wet laugh. “Me too.”

“You’re really bad at texting.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’ll get better. I promise. Just… don’t give up on me.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed, but even now, he’s still looking at you like you’re everything.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say. “I just want us to do better. Together.”

“We will,” he says immediately. “Starting now. I’m going to be better, not just for you, but with you.”

You nod, and for a moment, the world feels quiet again.

Then, in a much smaller voice: “I reheated the rice like three times.”

He lets out a real laugh this time, and you feel it vibrate through his chest.

“I’ll eat it cold,” he says. “I deserve cold rice.”

You swat at his chest weakly, laughing through your tears. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m in love,” he says simply. “It comes with the territory.”

Your heart swells painfully, and you kiss his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids, all the places his tears had touched. He kisses you too, soft, slow, apologetic. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… real.

That night, you eat together at the table. The rice is awful. The chicken’s dry. But the air between you is warm again. Softened. Mended.

Later, in bed, he tangles around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His thumb traces circles on your hip. His breath ghosts across the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna set reminders,” he mumbles sleepily. “Daily check-ins. Morning voice notes. Alarms that say ‘Text her, you idiot.’”

You laugh quietly. “You don’t have to set alarms to love me.”

“No,” he murmurs, “but I’ll do anything to make sure you feel it. Every day.”

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, still a little raw, still a little tender, but whole again.

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[meowcats734]

When I came to, it was well past dark in Songserra. I warned the reconstruction workers that the sword had some kind of aura of death, but was otherwise harmless; indeed, once I’d managed to communicate to the blade that we simply wanted to move it out of the ruined battlefield, it ceased its psychic warning signals and allowed a few remotely-piloted golems to draw near. I made sure to schedule a follow-up, and made a mental note to ask if Ana wanted to come. From context, the blade was crafted by one of Songserra’s extraplanar allies that had been called in to deal with the Twenty-Seventh Magic… and had never managed to return. Even though sending the artefact back to its home dimension was likely impossible, maybe it would appreciate knowing someone else who lived through that clusterfuck.

Maybe Ana would, too.

The demolished city blocks were far enough away that the satellites visibly jumped in the sky when I walked back through the portal to Songserra proper. I took the tram back instead of walking and spent fifteen minutes staring at the magic mirrors on the walls as they tried to figure out what advertisements I’d be most receptive to in my exhausted, work-drained state. The mirrors settled on a family membership that gave out stimulants in exchange for kindergarten tutoring. There were families for everything nowadays, huh.

I hopped off the tram and made a stop by the supply depot to burn through a day’s grocery rations, picking up some shitty plastic oven mitts and a cheap poncho. Our two-bedroom apartment was just down the street; I buzzed myself in. Really, it was a one-bedroom nowadays; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept alone. The metallic scent our pipes gave off when they got hot filled the air before I even opened the door. Ana was home, then, and had been here long enough to shower.

She was curled up in one corner of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest as if trying to fold herself up into the smallest space possible. Flowers curled out from under her fresh clothes, little vines and buds weeping corrosive sap that discolored her t-shirt and shorts wherever they touched. I sat down next to her; wordlessly, she looked up and let her legs drop.

“I look like a man, don’t I?” Ana asked.

I shook my head, taking out the oven mitt and folding it into a pillow. Her acidic skin sizzled faintly as a few of my stray hairs dissolved, but I could lay my head on her shoulder and that was all that mattered. She smelled of petrichor; she felt solid, warm, and real. “Not to me,” I said.

“...Guess that’s good enough.” She let me share her weight, leaning into me as I leaned into her, and I set down the poncho so that I could swing my legs onto her lap. “How was work?”

I shrugged. “Took a talking sword quest. They’re a veteran of Twenty-Seventh as well, if you wanted to talk to them.”

Ana carefully folded the poncho over my legs, so that she wouldn’t burn me where we touched, and set one hand on my knee. “You can tell me later. There’s… there’s something I need to ask.”

I shifted around to glance at her face; her eyelids were closed, and my hair fluttered with her breath. “Go ahead,” I said.

She opened her eyes. They weren’t always green. “Do you ever think you’d be happier with someone else?”

The sheer absurdity caught me off-guard. “What? No. Never.”

“...Okay,” she said. Ana bit her lip. “I believe you.”

I slipped my hand into one of the oven mitts to hold her cheek. Acid sizzled against my gloved palm. “Did something happen while I was away?” I asked.

Ana shook her head, then leaned into the motion, nuzzling my hand with her cheek like a cat. Despite my worry, I managed to smile. “No. No, I just…” She gestured at all the layers of plastic we had to wear just to be close to each other without her mutated body burning me. “I mean, what kind of relationship did you dream of having when you were a kid? I know it wasn’t this. No child thinks ‘I wish my future girlfriend had to be wrapped up like a slab of steak every time I wanted a hug.’”

“It’s not perfect,” I admitted. “But I want to be with you anyway.”

I traced Ana’s cheek with my thumb, and she leaned into the touch like an eager cat.

“...Thank you. I… I think I had to hear that.” She inhaled, breathed in the same air I breathed out, and said, “I… I had to know. I had to hear you say that, because… I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make myself human again. And I don’t want you to worry that it’s because of you.”

To be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. But I knew what it was like to live in a world dominated by anxieties, and even though I’d never pry, I had a feeling this was one of those thoughts. The shadows of someone you cared about that grew larger the further they were from you, cast on the inside of your mind. 

“I’m with you,” I promised. “Whatever it takes.”

“Okay.” Ana breathed out, all at once, and said, “I want to get Thom’s forgiveness.”

“Thom?” I asked. “We were just doing our job, and Thom was doing… well, one of the few things that could have actually taken me out of play for good.”

“I know. But I still put them in the hospital. Because they were a kid with too much power and hurting things is all I’m good for and—agh. This is exactly why, don’t you see?” I squeezed her tighter as she clenched her jaw, held her until I could feel the tension in her shoulders through my palms. “Magic is… it’s just a trick of perspective, when it comes down to it. I’m like this because I see myself like this. I see myself as someone who it hurts to touch. So maybe… maybe if Thom forgives me… it’ll… fade.”

And if he doesn’t? I wanted to ask. But now wasn’t the time to rip holes in her theory, not now that she had a goal again. I wouldn’t take that from her, ever. “I’ll do what I can to help,” I said.

She held me back, not replying, and I took that as acceptance. This, finally, was something I could help with. Some part of the world I could push out of the way so that Ana’s path would be clear. First thing tomorrow, I was talking to Thom. And I was damn well making sure that Ana would get the forgiveness she needed.

A.N.

This is part of a longer story, check out the rest below if you liked this one!

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That nonsexual intimacy of just being in each other's spaces, of gravitating towards each other, always subconsciously reaching out to each other. Finding comfort and satisfaction in being close to each other, breathing each other in, existing together.

[crazziforazzi]

Fighting for the love (of the game) -Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Team dinner

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Trope: Second chance

A/N: I hope you enjoy this one as much as I have enjoyed writing it. We are getting closer. :)

Word Count: 5.9k words

Masterlist

Azzi POV: Azzi hadn’t said another word to Paige after that moment in the car.

Not when her throat still ached from keeping herself together. Not when the weight of Paige’s voice, I’m so fucking sorry, was still settling into her chest.

Julie had joined them a few minutes after what happened, sliding into the backseat with a loud complaint about her aching muscles. Azzi had laughed, loud and fake, while Paige just smiled tightly, murmuring something about training camp being intense.

Azzi had let herself disassociate after that.

Her brain flickered into survival mode, filing away everything from that moment into some mental folder labeled feel later. She turned toward Julie, asked her about her plans for tomorrow, cracked a joke about Rae’s dance moves in the locker room, and did everything to drown out the lingering echo of that damn SZA song and Paige’s tear-glossed eyes.

By the time they arrived at the rooftop restaurant, the others had started trickling in as well. It was great to see their new teammates dressed up, fresh-faced and obnoxiously loud, exactly the kind of energy Azzi needed to disappear into. The place was beautiful too, warm-toned lights strung overhead, the city buzzing beneath them, music humming low in the background. 

She ended up seated between Sarah and Azurá, which turned out to be a blessing. Sarah was easy to talk to, warm and lowkey surprisingly funny. Azurá was sharper, a little reserved at first, but once Azzi got her going about hiking routes near LA, she lit up. They fell into easy conversation, and for a while, Azzi let herself believe she was just a rookie on a new team, at a normal team dinner, talking about everything except the person sitting two seats diagonally across the table.

But it only worked for a while, because Paige was there and even when Azzi wasn’t looking, she could feel her. She caught her in peripheral glances laughing at something Kelsey said, clinking glasses with Cam, leaning back in her chair with her small smile at the corner of her mouth. 

Paige wasn’t loud tonight, did not try to be the center of attention, but Azzi noticed every shift in her posture, every time Paige reached for her drink, every moment she looked over and didn’t quite meet Azzi’s eyes. And still, Azzi could not stop looking. 

The team did a bonding thing at one point, go around the table, share a fun fact about you. Paige had muttered something about being able to braid hair very fast and Azzi had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her face neutral.

She knew that skill all too well, she was the reason Paige learned it at the first place.

She remembered Paige sitting cross-legged behind her in the early morning before practices, braiding slowly at first, then speeding up once she got the pattern. Fingers tugging gently at her scalp while some series played in the background. Paige always finished the braid by leaning over and kissing the top of her head.

Azzi had smiled at the memory, then immediately shut it down.

She needed air even though they were sitting outside on a rooftop. She let the team fall deeper into drinks and desserts before slipping quietly from the table. No one noticed, or at least, no one said anything.

She crossed to the far side of the rooftop, behind a few oversized plants in big terra cotta pots, half-hiding her from the table view. The city stretched out below her, the air felt cooler back here, touched with a salty breeze.

She leaned against the railing, closed her eyes, and finally let herself breathe. Her shoulders slumped like they’d been held up by invisible strings all night. Her fingers unclenched, her jaw loosened.

God, she felt exhausted.

Not only physically, she was used to that kind of exhaustion. It was the emotional weight that made her feel like she’d been fighting through war all night.

Like every laugh she’d given, every story she’d told, every sip of wine had been threaded with restraint. She was acting fine in a show where everyone else had the script and she was stuck improvising.

She tilted her head back toward the sky. Let the quiet wrap around her. 

But even here, even in this sliver of privacy, Paige lingered in her mind. The apology, that look on her face, the way she’d leaned into her hand like it still meant something. 

And Azzi knew that she, herself, hadn’t stopped meaning it, not even after Paige broke her heart.

She pressed a hand to her chest, right over the spot where it still ached and just stood there, eyes shut, breathing in the city and the distance and the pieces of love she hadn’t figured out how to let go of yet.

Azzi didn’t know how long she stood there before the footsteps approached.

She almost didn’t turn, figured it might be someone looking for the bathroom or another teammate sneaking off for a phone call. But the steps stopped just behind her, and then came a familiar voice, quiet and kind.

"Mind if I join?"

Azzi glanced over her shoulder and found Cam already halfway into a crouch beside her, long legs folding easily as she sat down at the sofa near the edge of the rooftop. Her eyes were on the horizon, not on Azzi which helped.

Azzi hesitated, then smiled to her best abilities.

"Sure," she said. "Just needed a little air."

Cam nodded, like she understood. She didn’t say anything else at first. Just sat there with her, both of them gazing out toward the Pacific, the city lights starting to flicker on one by one as the sun dipped lower, casting deep purples and burnt orange across the skyline.

It was peaceful and Azzi finally let her shoulders drop a little.

"I hate eating alone," Cam said after a while, voice calm and conversational. "My boyfriend was out of town this week, and I didn’t feel like cooking, so I texted Paige. Asked if she wanted to grab dinner together."

Azzi blinked, startled for a second. The last thing she expected was for the moment to pivot like that, from a shared silence to… Paige.

"Oh," Azzi said, cautious. "Cool."

Cam didn’t seem to notice her hesitation or maybe she did and just let it pass.

"We went to this new Italian place. Their cacio e pepe was amazing. I can definitely recommend."

Azzi nodded vaguely, still unsure where this was going.

Cam leaned back a little, elbows resting on the stone ledge. "We ended up staying there for a couple of hours. Just talking and catching up, it has been a while. We ended up talking about my ACL tear and how hard the rehab was. I know that I do not have to explain that to you."

Azzi turned to glance at her then but Cam was still watching the ocean.

"We also spent quite a bit of time talking about the mental aspect of it. I was in a really bad place, couldn’t see my future clearly," she said simply. "I almost ended things with my boyfriend during that time. I thought I was dragging him down. He kept showing up, but I kept pushing him away."

Azzi’s throat tightened but she didn’t say anything. She started to understand the connection.

Cam continued, soft and steady. "Eventually I got into therapy. Like… real therapy. Not the I will show up once a month kind, but actual deep discussions multiple times a week. And slowly, I started figuring out how to let someone stay. How to stop apologising for struggling and how to ask for help without thinking it made me weak. And it worked, he and I… we found our way back."

She glanced sideways now. Not directly at Azzi, just enough.

"I told Paige all of that," Cam said. "And she just… sat there. She barely touched her food, she listened to every word. And when I finished, she said, I wish I’d asked for help like that before it was too late."

Azzi felt her pulse quicken, her grip on the railing tightened. She didn’t want to cry again, not here and not now.

Cam finally turned fully toward her, voice low. "She asked for this trade for a reason."

Azzi’s head snapped to her hearing that, eyes meeting hers. "She ...what?"

"She asked for it herself," Cam repeated gently. "She didn’t tell you?"

Azzi shook her head. Small, just once.

"She asked for this trade," Cam continued gently. "And yeah, sure, LA’s a good fit for her on the court, but I think we both know that’s not all this is. She clearly came here because she wanted to fight for things she gave up on before."

The words settled over Azzi slowly, like warmth spreading across chilled skin. She hadn’t known that, not for sure. Part of her had still wondered if Paige ended up here by chance.

"I know this is confusing," Cam said softly. "And heavy and way too much to process over team dinner and wine tonight. But I hope..." she paused, voice steady, "...I hope you give her the chance to explain what happened. Not for her. For you. You owe yourself that much."

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her heart was thudding loud in her ears, and every breath felt like it might shatter her all over again. But she didn’t pull away from it, didn’t put the walls back up.

Cam stood slowly, stretching her legs, brushing off her jeans. "Either way… I’m here. For both of you. If or when you need to talk. Or if you just need someone to sit next to again."

She paused, then added with a small grin, "Also, I have a really great therapist recommendation. Just saying."

That made Azzi let out a breath of a laugh, quiet but real. 

"Thanks Cam," she said finally, voice small but steady.

Cam nodded. "Anytime."

She gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading back toward the group.

Azzi stayed behind with her mind only focusing on one message.

Paige had come here on purpose.

Paige POV: 

Paige immediate noticed it of the corner of her eye. A subtle shift in the background, Azzi slipping away from the table like she was trying not to be noticed. It was quiet and smooth, but Paige’s eyes tracked her anyway. She tried not to be obvious about it, didn’t want to make a scene or draw attention, but when five minutes passed and Azzi still hadn’t come back, Paige’s leg started bouncing under the table.

She scanned the rooftop.

Laughter, drinks, conversations, all of it humming in the foreground while her focus narrowed, until finally she spotted Azzi’s silhouette near the edge, on the far side, away from the warmth of the group. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, hands on the railing. Paige started to rise, already half-standing, when a gentle touch on her arm made her pause.

Cam.

"I got it," Cam said quietly, already reading the situation.

Paige looked at her, unsure, maybe even a little defensive, but Cam just smiled knowingly. "Let me check on your girl, P."

There was no malice, no teasing in Cam’s voice, just gentle, steady understanding. Still, Paige opened her mouth to object, maybe out of habit, to correct her. To say she’s not mine anymore. But all that came out was a nod.

"Thanks," she murmured instead.

She watched Cam walk away until both of them disappeared from her line of sight. Paige exhaled slowly, torn between staying where she was and craning her neck to follow them. Her stomach was still twisted up when she turned back to the table, only to see Kelsey already watching her, raising an eyebrow and motioning her over with a subtle nod of her head.

Paige dragged herself over, dropping down next to her with the kind of caution reserved for a coach’s office after a bad practice.

"Don’t start, Plum," she muttered.

Kelsey ignored that entirely. "So what are your intentions with our rookie?"

Paige’s eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You heard me." Kelsey tilted her head again, sharper this time. "I’m asking what you plan to do about her."

Paige blinked, trying to gauge if this was a joke. But Kelsey’s expression didn’t budge. She stared back at her, unbothered, sipping her drink like she had all the time in the world. 

Paige sat back with a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. "You don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure the team dynamic stays clean. I’m not gonna mess anything up."

There was a pause. Then Kelsey’s voice softened a touch. "That’s not what I hoped you'd say."

That caught Paige off guard.

She’d known, that their history wasn’t really a secret, the basketball world knew about them even if they called themselves best friends. That was the easier version while being teammates in college. Unless you were in their circle, no one ever said it out loud.

But clearly Kelsey had been paying closer attention. Close enough to realize they weren’t just being professional these days, that something had cracked between them, friends or more. That they clearly weren’t close anymore, and it wasn’t just about keeping a low profile.

And for some reason… Kelsey wanted her to fix it.

That caught her off guard more than it should have. She lowered her voice even further, almost to a whisper.

"I’m gonna try to earn her trust back. I mean that. But basketball comes first… for both of us. Our careers are on the line and I can’t screw this up for her. For us."

Kelsey nodded, the corner of her mouth tilting up. "Okay. Then I’ll keep an eye on her. ‘Til you can."

A smirk tugged at Paige’s mouth. "Already falling for the People’s Princess charm?"

Kelsey rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. "Don’t act like you didn’t do the same thing."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, staring at her drink. "Yeah," she said. "Guess I never stood a chance either."

By the time the clock crept past 10 p.m., the rooftop had started to thin out.

The week had been long, filled with intense practices, nonstop media, and a constant hum of adrenaline that only now was starting to wear off. Conversations still floated in the air, but it had dulled down, softened into yawns and slow blinks.

Some players hugged goodbye with lingering arms and tired eyes, others lingered a while longer, not quite ready to end the night but too tired to prolong it much longer.

Paige stayed where she was, her non-alcoholic cocktail half-finished in her hand, gaze occasionally flicking across the table. She tried not to be obvious about it, but every now and then, especially as the wine settled deeper into Azzi’s smile, she found herself watching her.

Whatever Cam said to Azzi, it worked.

Azzi was noticeably different after coming back to the table. Her shoulders were looser, her laughter easier. The longer the night went on, the more she leaned in, not toward Paige directly, but toward the group, toward the moment.

And sometimes, just sometimes, Paige caught her looking. Not by accident and not only for a brief second, but like she couldn’t look away. Paige didn’t press it, she just waited. Calm on the outside, even as something restless stirred quietly beneath her ribs.

Julie was the one who finally broke the lull, weaving back to their part of the table with flushed cheeks and a little grin like she already knew what decision was about to be made. She leaned into the space between Paige and Azzi, catching both their eyes at once.

"I’m thinking about heading out with Sarah for one more drink," she said lightly. "You’re welcome to join. Totally up to you."

Paige didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at Azzi who was already looking at her.

Their eyes locked, it was warm, and something steady that settled low in Paige’s chest. Azzi gave the tiniest shake of her head, almost imperceptible, but it told Paige everything she needed to know.

"I think I’m good," Paige said, voice low, like it had been her decision all along.

Azzi nodded. "Yeah, same. Think I’m calling it."

Julie smiled like she’d seen this coming, squeezed Paige’s shoulder, and disappeared into the night.

Not long after, it was just the two of them walking side by side down a quiet stretch of sidewalk, the city cooling around them. The breeze was gentler now, brushing over them as they passed under flickering street lamps, and for a moment, Paige forgot to feel cautious.

Azzi’s curls caught the light, and her steps stayed in sync with Paige’s like they used to, effortless.

Paige could almost pretend that nothing had changed. That they were still just two girls stumbling out of a party, shoulders brushing, the air between them thick with something unspoken and familiar.

But it wasn’t the same, not really.

Not with her hands clenched tight inside her pockets to stop herself from reaching out. Not with her heart thudding against the cage of her ribs like it hadn’t quite learned how to be careful again.

And all Paige could think about was how stupid she’d been.

How deeply, irrevocably foolish she was to let this slip away, to let her slip away, when this right here, this life, this city, this quiet late-night walk with Azzi at her side, was all they had talked about for years.

Back then, it had been the dream they clung to when the days felt too heavy and the pressure of being who they were started to crack at the edges. 

They used to whisper it to each other like a promise, spoken into the backs of necks and the soft space between shoulder blades and shared pillows in dark rooms.

One day, we won’t have to hide. One day, I’ll take you anywhere you want. One day, this gets to be ours.

She used to tell Azzi she’d spoil her. And she’d meant it, not in the cliché way people throw that word around, but in the real, rooted way that meant I see you, I treasure you, and I want the world to rearrange itself around your happiness. 

Paige wanted to take her to midnight movies and overpriced bakeries and hidden bookstores with coffee that tasted like lavender and cinnamon. She wanted to kiss her in public, hold her hand without a second thought, watch her try on clothes she didn’t need and buy them for her anyway. She wanted to treat her like the princess she always was.

And now here they were.

Azzi was right next to her, but Paige couldn’t touch her. She couldn’t lean over and rest her head on her shoulder, couldn’t press a kiss into her cheek and feel her smile against her skin.

All she had was the distance Azzi allowed, and the ache that settled behind her ribs when she realized how far away that version of them still was.

She kept her hands buried deep in her pockets, fingers twitching restlessly, trying to keep all that longing contained. And still, every step beside Azzi felt like falling in love all over again. Like a reflex she hadn’t unlearned, no matter how much time had passed or how badly she’d messed it all up. 

Even when this was all her fault.

Why did she let her go? Why did she pull away when she should have held tighter? Why did she let her own fear dictate her silence and let distance calcify what could’ve been repaired?

And now the life they’d dreamed about was finally here, laid out before them, but Paige had no idea how to reach for it again without shaking.

And Azzi… Azzi was right there, her expression unreadable in the low light, her body relaxed but her hands tucked into the back of her pants. Paige didn’t know what she was thinking. If she was remembering the same late-night talks, the same whispered plans. If she felt the same ache.

But God, Paige hoped she did.

Because if Azzi asked, if she turned right now and said show me you learned from your mistake, Paige would drop everything.

She would find a way to rewrite the stars, the whole season, the last nine months just to get one more shot at being the girl who got to love Azzi out loud.

Azzi POV:

By the time Azzi came back to the table, everything felt just a little lighter.

Cam hadn’t said anything groundbreaking, hadn’t given some magical fix, but just talking, hearing someone name the thing out loud, had helped. It loosened something in her chest, made it easier to sit down again without feeling like she had to brace herself every time Paige moved or spoke or laughed too loud next to her.

She sipped the wine Julie had left in front of her. She let herself laugh at one of Kelsey’s dumb stories, leaned into Sarah’s shoulder without thinking. She let her body relax into the buzz of the rooftop and the warmth of good company and the slight haze of alcohol working its way through her veins.

But then she made the mistake of letting herself look at Paige again.

It was stupid, honestly, how fast it hit her. How intense it still was. One second she was laughing at something Kelsey said and the next, her gaze drifted across the table and landed on Paige. And it was like every nerve in her body pulled taut all at once.

She didn’t mean to stare, she hadn’t let herself all night. Every time Paige moved, every time her voice slipped through the noise to make someone laugh, Azzi had instinctively looked away, afraid of what it might do to her if she really took her in.

But now the alcohol had softened that discipline. Blurred the line between smart and reckless and suddenly it was like her eyes had a mind of their own, drinking in every single detail they’d been starved of.

Paige looked stupidly good. Her black tank top clung in places Azzi had memorized too well, hinting at the curves and planes of muscle she used to trace lazily with her fingers on mornings they didn’t want to get out of bed. Her slightly tan legs stretched out beneath the table, long and lean and relaxed, crossed casually. Her chain kept catching the lights above them, glinting every time she tipped her head back and laughed, which she was doing more and more as the night wore on, her smile wide and easy.

Azzi’s stomach flipped at the sight of it, at the way Paige’s eyes crinkled in the corners, at how completely and painfully familiar it all still was.

It wasn’t just attraction she felt, it was hunger. Her eyes moved lower, lingered longer than they should have. On the slope of Paige’s shoulder, the dip in her collarbone, the way her fingers curled loosely around her drink, the little scar on her wrist that Azzi had kissed a hundred times.

Everything was the same and still, everything was different. And none of it was hers anymore, not that her body seem to care.

She kept her face mostly blank, or at least she hoped she did, but she could feel the heat rising in her chest, spreading up her neck. She looked away, then looked back too quickly. Tried to sip her wine like it might distract her, but it didn’t.

Paige was magnetic and that old gravity was still there, pulling at her like a tide she didn’t have the strength to resist.

And when they finally said goodnight to the rest of the team, when the rooftop noise faded behind them and it was just the two of them walking side by side into the night, Azzi could barely keep it together.

Azzi’s heart was already pounding, but not with anxiety this time.

It was heat and need and want. That same buzz that had always lived in her chest when Paige was near, hot and insistent and impossible to ignore. Every step they took together, every unspoken inch of space between their bodies, was making it worse. She could feel the warmth radiating off Paige, feel the faint brush of her arm every few strides, and it was driving her crazy.

She should have been thinking about everything that had gone wrong, about the fallout and the heartbreak. But she wasn’t. Not with the wine still humming in her blood and the streetlights glowing soft and yellow and Paige walking next to her like no time had passed at all.

Right now, all she could think about was how badly she still wanted her.

Her body remembered everything. How Paige used to run hot like a furnace, how good it felt to fall asleep with her thigh slotted between Azzi’s, how her hands always knew where to go, how she’d hum under her breath while untangling Azzi’s hair after a game.

Her brain could somewhat rationalize the breakup, could remind her why they didn’t make it, but her body didn’t give a damn.

Her body still wanted Paige, desperately.

She wanted to feel Paige’s hand on the small of her back, wanted to reach over and curl her own fingers around Paige's wrist, tug her closer, feel her body slot against hers like they hadn’t spent the last nine months pretending they didn’t still fit. She wanted to grab her by the collar of that stupid tank top and kiss her until they forgot why they ever stopped.

And God, it wasn’t fair that Paige could still look like that and Azzi couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t have her.

The thoughts came fast, unfiltered.

What if I just reached for her hand? What if I pressed up against her, right here, in the middle of the street? What if I kissed her before I could change my mind? Would she stop me? Would she kiss me back? Would we make it to the car or would we just…

She glanced sideways, quick, but not quick enough to miss how Paige’s jaw was tense, how her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her shorts like she was afraid they might betray her too.

She looked like she was trying not to look at Azzi, which only made it worse. Because Azzi knew that meant she was thinking about it too.

Azzi’s hand twitched at her side, fingers curling into a fist, just to keep herself from acting on it. She bit the inside of her cheek, tried to slow her breathing. 

Then, like the universe was trying to cool her down, a breeze picked up and cut straight through her. She shivered, her top had been cute in theory but was clearly not meant for the drop in temperature. She should have taken that jacket...

She tried not to show it, tucked her arms tighter across her chest, pressed her biceps in, kept walking like everything was fine. When they reached the car, Paige unlocked it without a word and opened her door before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Then Paige reached behind her seat, pulled out a worn grey hoodie, and set it gently in Azzi’s lap. Paige, of course, noticed.

Azzi stared at it for a second, her throat tightened. She recognized it immediately. Soft and faded, sleeves stretched out from years of use, a faint scent of cedar and whatever detergent Paige had always used. The smell hit her so hard it was almost stupid. She didn’t question it, she just pulled it on. Slowly, like she needed to savor it.

"Thanks," she said quietly, voice raspier than she meant it to be, fingers tugging the sleeves down past her hands.

Paige gave a small nod, eyes already forward. "Anytime."

The car rolled out into the street. With gospel music playing low, Azzi let her head fall back against the seat, eyes half-closed, nerves fried and heart still racing.

She didn’t mean to speak again, but the words slipped out anyway.

"Tonight was fun," she said softly, almost surprised by her own voice. She saw Paige glance at her, just briefly. Azzi kept going, a little bolder now. "You and Kelsey didn’t have to do all that. It was really sweet."

Paige’s voice was soft. "Just wanted to make sure we all got a night together. Before the roster’s set and things change."

Azzi turned her head slightly. Paige looked calm, but her jaw was still tight. Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel like she was holding something in. Azzi bit her lip, suddenly needing to know. 

"Can I ask you something?"

Paige nodded. "Yeah."

Azzi hesitated, but the wine made her brave. "Did you know?" she asked. "That I was going to be traded here. Before you signed?"

Paige’s hands on the wheel stilled completely, her knuckles pale where they wrapped the leather. For a beat, she didn’t answer. Azzi stared straight ahead, biting the inside of her cheek. She almost said never mind. Almost walked it back. But then Paige took a slow, quiet breath and nodded once, gaze still on the road.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I did."

Azzi blinked, her heart thudding a little too loud in her ears.

"I called my agent the night of the draft," Paige added after a moment, her voice softer this time, almost cautious. "Asked him to find a way to make it happen. That if there was a way… I needed to be here."

Azzi blinked again, her eyes burned suddenly, from heat or wine or something else entirely. She turned her head slowly to look at Paige.

And that’s when she saw it.

Not the usual restraint, not the tension Paige had been wearing around her all week. Her profile was lit only by passing streetlights, but it was enough to catch the open lines of her expression. There was no performance in it, no careful calculation. Just… softness. The kind that made Azzi’s stomach twist.

Paige’s mouth was slightly parted, like she’d been ready to say more but decided against it. Her eyes, still on the road, looked almost shy. Vulnerable in a way Azzi hadn’t seen in a long time. Like she was waiting for a rejection.

And suddenly, Cam’s voice echoed back in her mind.

"She clearly came here because she wanted to fight for things she gave up on before."

Azzi hadn’t wanted to believe it or maybe she’d been too afraid to hope. But now Azzi could finally see it.

Here was Paige, fingers still curled loosely around the steering wheel, jaw flexing like she was holding back everything she actually wanted to say to her.

Paige hadn’t just known about the trade, she’d asked for it. She had chosen this on purpose. Chosen to be near Azzi, even knowing that she will not be welcomed back with open arms.

Azzi turned back toward the window, heart pounding now for a different reason entirely. The hum of the city outside faded, all she could hear was her own heartbeat and the quiet, patient space Paige was giving her. 

Because Paige had been clearly waiting.

Not just for this drive, not just tonight, she’d been waiting since day one of training camp. She has been letting Azzi have her space, letting her decide if she wanted to open that door again. 

Azzi sat with that for a long moment, the weight of it shifting inside her until it stopped feeling heavy and started feeling like something she didn’t want to carry alone anymore.

She didn’t want to avoid this. She didn’t want to keep playing pretend. Whatever this thing was, this unfinished, half-held, still-burning thing between them, she didn’t want to run from it anymore.

So she swallowed. And when she spoke, her voice came out quiet, but certain.

"I have something early tomorrow," she said, not looking at her this time. "But after that… I’m free. If you want to talk."

There was a beat of stunned silence, just long enough for Azzi to question whether Paige had heard her.

Then Paige turned to her so fast it was almost funny. Her eyes wide, like she hadn’t expected Azzi to say that out loud, like she’d been bracing herself for another shutdown, another silent wall.

"You sure?" Paige asked, barely above a whisper. She didn’t sound skeptical though, she sounded hopeful, like she wanted to reach across the console and touch her but didn’t trust her hands yet.

Azzi finally looked over, and the corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something close. "Yeah," she said. "I’m sure."

Paige nodded once, quickly, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. "Okay. Yeah. I’ll be around. Write me when you are done."

The eagerness in her voice was barely contained, tucked just beneath the softness, like she’d been holding her breath for days and finally exhaled.

Azzi went quiet again, but not in a closed-off way. More like… she needed a second to feel what it meant that the door was open again. That she herself had opened it.

When they pulled up to the building, she reached for the zipper of the hoodie without thinking, but Paige stopped her with a quiet, "Hey, keep it."

Azzi paused.

"You still need to get inside," Paige added with a tiny smirk that didn’t quite hide how serious she was.

Azzi let out the smallest breath of laughter, shook her head.  She opened the door but didn’t step out yet, her fingers curling over the frame as she hesitated, not ready to let go of the quiet between them. 

They didn’t say anything at first, just stared, suspended in the thick silence, both of them leaning in the smallest bit, like they could meet in the middle and fall into something old and familiar and dangerous.

Paige’s mouth parted like she wanted to say something, maybe even move, maybe close the last inches and pull her in. God, Azzi could feel the warmth of it already, the ghost of a hug that would have undone her, but neither of them crossed the line. 

Azzi blinked once, slow and heavy, and said, "Goodnight, Paige," her voice barely more than a whisper, but loaded.

Paige’s eyes didn’t leave hers as she nodded, soft and steady. "Night, Azz."

That was it, Azzi stepped out into the night, hoodie wrapped tight around her, and she didn’t look back, but she felt Paige’s eyes on her the whole way up the steps, full of something she wasn’t sure she could carry yet but didn’t want to ignore anymore. It wasn’t until she stepped inside and the lock clicked behind her that she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Later, curled up in her bed with the hoodie still wrapped around her, Azzi didn’t try to stop the thoughts anymore.

She let herself remember the way Paige had looked at her, let herself feel the weight of those blue eyes still following her everywhere, still brushing her skin like a touch she hadn’t gotten. 

And for the first time in months, she let herself fall asleep thinking about her. Not the pain, not the questions, just Paige. 

[twilightsumu]

wave goodbye ⋆｡⋆❀˖°

༄ pairing: k. nanami x f!reader

༄ synopsis: you visit kento’s favorite place to live in the pockets he has left behind and to say goodbye.

༄ warnings: wc: 3k+. little a bit of everything: angst, fluff, and smut (very soft), canon (in the sense that nanami dies), staggering flashbacks (the same day but different years), mentions of death, sadness, heartbreak, quiet ending.

༄ a/n: for the lovely @lily-bisque’s (ily) summer collab!!! my chest caved in a little while writing this.

July 5th, 2017 

Postcard from Kuantan, Malaysia 

To my love,

The sea is loud, but she is constant. The ridges of the waves speak to me in a way that drags the salt from the water into my hands. It’s where I know I’ll always find you. You’ll find me in the tides. 

I wish you were here. But, I see you in the glitter on the early morning sand and the waves that follow me as I walk along the shore. 

Your Kento. 

July 5th, 2019

The postcard feels heavy in your hands. The sun bleached edges bite into your palm, familiar now. Like it’s trying to cling to you as hard as you’re clinging to him. 

You’re not sure if you want to dip your toes in yet… not when it feels like you’ll be stepping into his ghost. 

It feels unnatural. To be in his favorite place without him. You ignored the heavy feeling in your chest when you got on the plane to get here — sitting in the middle of two strangers. Kento’s thigh not the one to press into yours. His hand not weaving into yours when the turbulence became too much to handle.

Now, the deep lavender sky envelopes the warming peach and gold hues flowing in. The horizon stretches on forever. You stare long enough to start hoping it’ll give him back. It stares back — probably wondering where he is too. 

This was the place where he came to breathe. You returned just to remember the sound of it. But the ocean — loud, aggressive — doesn’t let you mourn quietly.

It remembers him too. 

You swear, for a second, you hear him. 

“It always sounds angrier before it calms.” 

You look over your shoulder, just to be sure. The waves knock in a humid breeze, one that tangles your hair. One, that if the stretch of sand wasn’t empty, but had your Kento walking towards you — his feet would have sunk deeper into the sand, the pages of the book he brought to study the animals he’ll see, would have flutter. 

But he isn’t walking towards you. The salt isn’t clinging to his sun kissed hair. It’s just, your sandals, and the tide crawling closer. 

You press the postcard closer to your chest, right where it aches the most. The paper’s warm from the sun, but you tell yourself it’s kept the warmth from his hands when he first picked it out for you. You wish it really was his hand on your chest. His breath on your neck when he’ll lean down and ask if you wanted to get breakfast before the stalls ran out of roti canai. Instead, the waves crash another humid breeze towards you. 

Your body still remembers how to love him. It keeps reaching — for his hand, for his laugh, for the sound of him breathing next to you.

But there’s nothing to catch. Only wind.

You inhale, sharp. It smells like sandy seashells and sunscreen and fruit. Like him. Like then. You blink against the sting in your eyes. You want to blame it on the salt. But that isn’t fair. 

Your heart aches for the sea. 

Maybe it misses him too.

July 5th, 2018

You’re straggling behind — Kento leisurely walking along the shore. His footprints clear, the tide trying and failing to wash them away. The crystal clear water pools in his footprints, letting you walk in his steps. 

The water is a quiet kind of blue today. It folds over itself, staying near Ken’s feet a little longer than necessary — rolling with a hush, retreating with a wistful sigh.  

The sand is pale and warm, packed firmly from where the waves have kissed it. You smile at the sensation when the sand becomes sugary and crumbly when you’re closer to the dunes. Your feet are still stepping into Kento’s path. The path you know you’ll follow for the rest of your life. 

The air is thick with salt, the salt that you know will cling to Kento’s lashes and you’ll be even more memorized when he looks down and blinks at you. The smell of sunscreen and rambutan settles sweet and sticky into your hair — you even consider skipping shampoo tonight. The smell of Kento’s favorite place wrapping you up and being presented to him later tonight. 

You’re not talking to each other. The sounds of the waves crash towards you, pulling you both into the blues of the unknown. The sand gently shifts gently under your feet. Birds you don’t recognize call out overhead (Ken knows them, you saw the book about animals in Malaysia snuggled near his socks in his suitcase). The early morning bustle of beach goers setting up camp. It’s calming. But, hearing Ken’s breathing is louder than anything. Words aren’t needed — you know he’s here and vice versa. He hears your toes imprinting into the prints he’s left behind. 

You squint at Kento’s bare back, your heart squeezing with it. You want the sun to hold him like you plan to — forever and ever. 

And then, he turns around. Facing you. 

Golden in the sunlight.

Shoulders relaxed. Head tilted like he’s listening to the water speak. The smallest hint of a smile, the real one that you’re lucky to know. You could feel it, your heart leaping when his lips quirk. You’ve had this thought before — that you’d know this smile, even from miles away.  

At times you think his mother created him in a lab, grabbing inspiration from Greek sculptors.

“You okay?” He calls out to you, and then you realize you stopped walking. A line of his footprints slowly filling up with water — tiny little puddles gasping with your love and the sea’s love for your golden boy. 

“Perfect,” you whisper. You can’t help but smile back at him. A bird caws in back of you, it sounds closer than the others. It’s pretty.  You could see the gears in his brain start to turn, the bird book coming in handy. 

“Well, come over.” He waves his arm and like a snake charmer to a cobra, you follow along. The sand pushing on your heels as you lightly jog to be near your love. 

“Look at what I found.” As you approach, you see a line of seashells — not just scattered, but arranged deliberately. Like little offerings from the sea, pulled in just for him. You’re just happy to be involved. 

Your arms are brushing each other — sweaty and salty. The sun is now shining on you both, and you wonder if Kento feels the warmth as softly as you. The heat isn’t beating on you, no fear of sunburned skin and aloe kisses happening. But, it’s easy and tender — like his fingers running along your spine when he wakes you up in the morning. 

You look up at him, ignoring the pile of seashells that he’s so intrigued by. Sweat drips from his temple and you realize — the sun is yours and the sea is his. 

“Let’s see who could find the prettiest one.”

He crouches down, skilled fingers lightly brushing sand off the variety of colors flashing in front of you. Hues of pink, blues, and beige weave around his digits, a content humming coming from him and ringing in your ear. 

You kneel beside him, watching the way the sun glints off the water droplets still clinging to the shells — like they haven’t quite let go of the ocean. Like they’re not ready to be taken.

Then you spot it — the blue one that looks like it’s curling into itself. You immediately reach for it, your fingers brushing his. A shell so blue, it matches the button up he wears everyday for work. 

“It reminds me of you.” You hum and he chuckles. You lean into his shoulder a bit. The shell rolling in your palm — you want to squeeze it so that the salt and the tales of the waves it rode in lives in you forever. 

“So I have to find one that reminds me of you.” His voice is gentle, his lips brushing on your hairline is even gentler. 

He jumps up — sudden and determined. You hold in the giggle that wants to escape. Watching as he starts to lightly jog across the beach, following the line of shells laid out in front of him. 

Giddily, you jump up too. The shell is still in your hand, the light waves are still filling his footprints, and his chuckle is still swimming in the air. You follow him. 

The sea chased him. So did you. 

July 5th, 2019

It’s quiet — and not the quietness that used to follow him. His quiet was still and calm, waiting to be popped by your invasive questions and his hearty chuckle. Or even by the gallops of the beach just outside, it was always waiting. Always patient, and loving. 

This quiet is lonely. It’s eerie almost — as if it is just cloaking itself over what you and Kento have built in this little bungalow. It knows it isn’t welcomed, it shouldn’t be here. But, like your grief and his wavering quiet — it doesn’t know where to go. 

You fully step into the bungalow, the palm tree right by the door sending you a little wave as you brave this home that once was filled with salty kisses and Kento’s calm sigh, alone. 

You don’t realize the tears are falling until you’re inside. 

Your eyes skirt around the familiarity of the place, despite the most important piece missing. You see the blue seashell you picked up last year — the one the color of his work shirt. A shirt you have tucked in your suitcase for when you just want to feel him draped over your shoulders. 

Your knees buckle at the simpleness of the seashell. The sunlight warms the dust that’s settled on it. It’s still beautiful. It’s still him. 

Your fingers reach for it, fast and unsteady. You silently pray that you don’t drop it. You don’t know how you’ll react to a piece of him shattered at your feet. 

The curves grove along your palm the way the postcard did earlier. It feels smaller now, more lived in. And the fact that this little remnant of life has the audacity to keep moving without him causes your chest to heave in. 

And you let yourself cry. 

You let yourself imagine his fingers combing through your hair, his sunscreen penetrating the air with such force you’ll stop crying just to make sure he rubbed it in correctly. 

While the tears flow out violently and unending, your feet graze the floorboards — every inch of this place memorized in your DNA. Your body knows where to go, what to walk around. It’s only missing his hand in yours. 

Red rimmed eyes and the sluggish, aching feeling of crying creaks in your shoulder blades as you walk to the bedroom window. The shell is still craved into your palm, you crack the window open. 

You let the world in. The breeze, briny and humid. The faraway call of someone selling food on the street. The scent of rice and palm sugar wafts in like a ghost. The distant rhythm of children laughing down the beach. The sea doesn’t crash here — not yet. It hushes. It lulls.

From the corner of your teary eyes, you realize something waves for your attention. And there, hanging as if he just placed it there a minute before is his tie. Your free hand immediately reaches for it. 

That stupid patterned one you use to tease him about. The same one you helped him knot because he could never get the length quite right. You grab it slowly, as if he might be around the corner to question your motives. The fabric is stiff, sun-worn, but you can still imagine it looped around his neck. You can almost feel him though the threads of the funny patterns. 

You press it into your face. Inhaling. It doesn’t smell like him anymore — not that you expected it too. But still your chest caves. Your body jerks slightly, waiting to feel his arms wrap around you. 

But the tie doesn’t hold him. It should. It always did. 

You pull it back for a moment, almost dropping it.  Your nose running, searching for his scent.

Your memory does the work anyway. You taste him in the back of your throat. 

You can’t move, so you stay there with pieces of your love in your hands. The tears are the only thing that could move out of you. 

Not because you’re alone. 

But because the air still feels like him. 

And you know he would’ve had his head out the window, letting the sea speak to him. Their secret conversations were nothing more than his slight, slow breath, and his listening. 

Letting the sea carry all the words neither of you could say. 

July 5th, 2018

The lights are dimmed, the curtain losing its fight with the salty breeze tangling in — allowing just the lightest kiss of moonlight to flitter throughout the room. The air smells like pockets of the sea and skin, the ocean breeze wrapping around the room like a cloth. 

You hear the moon dictating the tides as they whisper along the shore — allowing for your moans and Kento’s grunts to dance around the room without a care. All of the sounds create a melody that’s steady and heartfelt. One that will live in your heart and the breeze that the palm tree would feel tomorrow. 

His breath is hot against your neck, but his touch is soft and reverent. His heart is beating against your palm from where your hand is plastered to his back. He moves as if he’s trying to keep you tucked in the bed, in this bungalow, with the beach leading his hips into yours. 

You’re staring at him from below, his blonde salty hair tickling your nose. Legs are tangled together, skin sticky from heat and love. One of his hands is buried under your head, cradling you as if you’re delicate. His other hand traces your ribs, the dip of your waist, the beauty mark he loves on your stomach. Over and over. You think he’s memorizing you for a moment when you won’t be here. As if he doesn’t know who you are or what you are to him. 

“Kento,” you whisper along with the salty breeze. You feel his heart stutter on your palm. A welcoming feeling. You almost want to grab on to it, keep it engraved on your skin for years to come. 

He sinks into you deeper — bottoming out in you with a low, broken groan. Your own moan follows, accompanied with a shiver down your spine. He holds still there, buried in your warmth like it’s sacred. His hazel eyes boring into yours. Unsaid words floating between your bodies and floating out the cracked window to join the palm trees.

Then he begins to move again — slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that grind him deeper into you. He drags soft, needy sounds out of you with every thrust. His hand presses into your lower belly like he’s grounding you to the earth, to him. 

“I love you,” he breathes, lips brushing your cheek. “I love you even more you’re here with me.”

He kisses the curve of your shoulder, his hair tickling you even more. You could almost see the particles of sand that didn’t wash out in the shower twinkle in his hair. His rhythm doesn’t change, it’s still slow… it’s still him. He takes his time, stretching you out so that you could feel him whole. 

“Because I bought you that bowl of nasi lemak?” You whisper against his lips. The hand that was pressing on your stomach is dipping in between your legs, you arch your back at the invasion. His hips are still slowly kissing yours in a pace that’s matching the sound of the waves rolling in. 

He chuckles against your lips — warm and wet. “Maybe.” 

His hips roll forward, even slower this time — dragging his length along your gummy walls. The only response you could give him at the moment is clenching your walls around his creamy shaft. And an airy breath, not from urgency, but from how deeply you feel him. 

“Where else would I be, if not by your side?” You ask. Your voice is soft, even you had trouble hearing yourself. The vibrations of your chest as you spoke let you know you said it out loud. 

Your hand that’s been grasping at the thumping of his heart runs along his back, stopping at his shoulder to give it a squeeze before crawling its way to tangle into his blonde hair. His hair is damp, curling at the ends and you can’t help but fall in love again. 

He stares down at you, his brows relaxed. His eyes are shining so brightly, you have to remind yourself you shut the lamp off before you guys became tangled in bed. Plump lips parted just slightly, you catch his tongue running over his bottom lip. 

“We could just stay,” his tone is dreamy and you can’t help but just nod along. “Let the sea age us.” 

His index finger has found your clit, tracing lazy circles that echo who he is — slow, certain, and achingly tender. 

The sea sighs, creeping through the windows, entering your lungs and his. And with it, so do you. 

July 5th, 2019

The quiet from the bungalow follows you and the moon to your spot on the sand. 

The postcard is still in your hand, the shell that is the color of Kento’s button up shirt is snug in your pocket. His tie looped around your fingers lazily, soft in the wind. You don’t remember doing that. Your hand just knew to drag it along. 

“I wish you were here,” you whisper, but your voice breaks halfway. The words come out watery and achy. Like you’re in physical pain. You feel like you are. 

A wave replies, gently brushing your feet. 

You scurry your feet closer to you. It feels cruel and wrong to be kissed by the sea. It feels too much like him. 

A chilled breeze weaves through the palm trees. Dragging along good night kisses from lovers in the bungalows behind you. Kisses filled with promises of seeing each other in the morning. The kisses you miss the most. 

Out of heartbreaking anger, you roughly grab onto the postcard — holding it a little tighter. Your thumb running along the ink smeared words acting as if you don’t know how he crosses his ts.

“You’ll find me in the tides.” 

You shove it to your chest, ignoring the slight pang of physical pain. Not when the grief is growing from under your ribs and pressing your heart out of your chest. 

You’re not ready. You weren’t ready for him to go. You doubt you would ever be ready for that to be true. 

The moon brings the tide closer to you. The usual warm water feels cold tonight. The waves are soft, so soft. You just have to sit there and wonder if he is controlling the waves — having them match his kisses. Maybe he thinks this is making it easier. 

But, the burn in your throat and the crack in your shoulders as you try to push them down from your ears tells you it’s time. You know that you have too. He would want you to. 

If you don’t let go now, it will keep breaking you in newer and sharper ways everyday. Like how those heavy waves erode rocks on cliffs. The crash and pull created something the rocks weren’t planning on becoming. 

The shell is burrowing itself into your pocket, or maybe it’s your hand trying to keep it there. 

A wave rushes towards you, this one heavy and dark.

You drop the postcard first. Your eyes closed, like it’ll hurt any less. It didn’t. Your fingers grasps at air as it rushes out of your clammy hands. 

You feel the pain in your chest coming out as full body sobs. Your shoulders shaking, leaving that knowing soreness that is going to riddle your body in the morning. 

Another roll of a wave, and your fingers grasp the shell. The sound it makes when it hits the water is too soft. Like it doesn’t understand what it meant to you. It doesn’t understand who it is. 

The tie wraps around your fingers, a gentle tug to be kept in your hand. Your stomach caves in. All you could do is allow your toes to get wet while you hold on to it, bringing it closer to your nose. Still looking for his scent. 

You feel your body curl into itself, like the shell you just left go of. Your whole body aches. Your teeth are clenched together. You want to scream — at him, at the sea, at everyone involved. You want him back. You want the sea to rewind time, so that it can get him back too. 

You don’t think you can let go. You want to laugh at the pattern one more time. You want to loop it around his neck, tugging on it softly to lead him down so that his lips meet yours. 

But, another wave comes and you think your mind is playing tricks on you. 

It sounds just like him. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to say your name when he was tired. 

You let the tie sway out of your hand. 

Eyes still closed and spilling out hot tears, you stay sitting in the cold wet sand. Your knees curled into your body. 

Even with your eyes wet and shut, you know the moon is bright, you see glimmer of it whenever you move your head. The sky is calm. 

The sea is endless and forgiving. The waves have stopped lapping at your feet, staying nearby quietly. You’re grateful for the companion. 

He’s gone. He has been gone for months now. 

But, he’ll be in the sea. In the tides, waiting for your toes to curl in the wet sand. For your fingers to graze over seashells that match his eyes. For the salt that would cling to your hair, dropping on his pillow — since you can’t sleep on your side anymore. 

For now, he’s floating in the groves of his favorite place. For now, he’s everywhere where he's meant to be. 

In the sea. In your heart. 

happy belated birthday kento bean <3 you deserved better (sorry i can’t write that way). 

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

[svt-ara]

⋆｡𖦹°‧𓂅 DINO and his USEFUL NOONA

synopsis࣪ › a fan-made video where it shows ( some ) of the cutest clips between the seventeen's maknae and group's only noona— dive into these 22 min. and 19 sec. of chanra

ᯓ★ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦/𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡 dino being made fun of (lol nothing new), mention of food, mild alchool use | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗪𝗖 3.0k | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗔𝗡 some of the scenes are sliiiiightly different from the actual ones just to make the "boring" part shorter iykyk. half proofread (sorry got lazy)

[ additional subtitles ]

ⓘ masterlist, youtube masterlist

🎬 ⌗000 , INTRODUCTION — ❝ how do you feel about having only one noona ? ❞

set ⤹ ask in a box: seventeen , part 1

mingyu smirks sightly as he is about to read the frist question for the maknae written on the white paper between his fingers.

"how do you feel about having only one noona?"

hoshi's laugh and curious hums from the others fill the room. from his seat, dino lets out an enthusiastic "ooh~" likes he's been waiting for this moment the whole life.

he pauses, think for a second and then:

"it's kind of a flex-" he doesn't even get to finish because the reactions are quick. dokyeom stands up from his chair clapping loudly, like it's a standing ovation, but blends into the noise of the other members laughing or teasing the maknae.

and ara is just there, trying ( and failing ) to hide from everyone eyes because her face is probably all red— she is a flex?!

"let me exlpain, let me explain" dino tries to talk over the noise that fades soon after, hands in the air like he's calming a crowd. "she is balance" he tries again, but he just get back other chuckles he decides to ignore this time.

"twelve hyungs is like being in a group project without a manager, but one noona ? she feels like the manager" ara, briefly shown on camera, is smiling proudly — though the flush on her cheeks gives her away.

[ shy shy shy ]

"so, you're basically saying she's not part of the group" woozi chimes in, barely containing his laugh flustering the maknae. "no no no, that's not what i meant- ayy. can i say something serious without being interrupted?" he complains, barely holding a smile for the hilarious situation. he finally recives some nods, so he clears his throat drammatically and continues.

"she knows how to help and when let me figure things out. but honestly, when she is angry she might be scarier than all the members combined" he chuckles galancing her way, his mind thinking about those moments. ara stares at him wide-eyed, mouth half-open but nothing cames out— just the corner of her lips lifting.

[ the women was too stunned to speak ]

"you said you were being serious!" seungkwan shouts, the laughter returns, full volume this time. but dino raises a hand, smiling soft now, and adds.

"one noona is more than enough. i don't need other, she makes up for like... twenty"

[ happy ending ]

🎬 ⌗001 — ❝ what were you saying ? ❞

set ⤹ going seventeen - treasure island: 14 raiders , part 2

some of the members were spread out on a blanket, eating like they hadn't seen food in days, while casual chattering about the treasure hunt they were doing today.

ara wasn't really part of the conversation— not fully. she was just listening, jumping into the conversation every now and then— but honestly, the bowl of ramyeon in her hand was taking all of her attention now. she was sitting cross-legged beside dino, who was fully involved into the conversation— loud and animated.

"i want to shoot a TTT" dino suddently says, changing the whole point of the conversation they were just having, but getting ara's attention anyway.

"it was the only time i..." she galanced his side profile, waiting. the breeze catched his dyed blond hair, messing it up a little. her mouth was full of ramyeon, her right hand perfectly still and holding the chopstics between her fingers mid-air— like she'd paused everything as dino spoke.

[ tries to open up ]

"is there more ramyeon?" joshua's voice cuts through whatever the maknae was in the middle of saying, making ara slightly flinch and gaining a laugh from seungkwan.

she blinks and galances around confused for a moment, before shifting her attention back to him again. "what were you saying?" he quietly looks at her for a second, then shrugs.

"nothing, really" he says with a small shake of his head, but she frowns not happy with that answer. "ya~ come on, tell me. don't be like this" she push his shoulder lightly, wanting him to continue what passed unnoticed.

[ caring noona ]

he cutely lowers his head, the corners of his mouth curving up before telling her was he was about to say.

[ bros lowkey happy with the attention but will never ever admits it ]

🎬 ⌗002 — ❝ let's go, dino ! ❞

set ⤹ game caterer x seventeen 2-1

the super-store game with na pd had been going on for what felt like forever. most of the members were already placed on the side, who sat and who standing up, watching closely the last ones still in the game— somewhat jeonghan, seungkwan, vernon and dino.

ara patiently sat on the chair beside woozi, leg crossed and hands resting on her laps, waiting for the maknae turn — curious about the game he is going to play.

[ it's dino the razor ]

"i'ts proverb relay" na pd says, getting a breath of pure relief from dino. not exactly the same reaction as the others, not encouraging him. "oh, he's out" many voices overlapped, already assuming he would lose.

the frist one ara heard was woozi, because he's right beside her, gaining a silent chuckle from her. without even looking, she lightly hits his arm. "let's go, dino!" she decides to cheer him up, her hand on the side of her mouth like he is meters away.

dino briefly turned his head with a confident grin painted on his lips. someone— probably jeonghan, protested in the background. hoshi fake-gasp and mingyu sighs, like he had just been betrayed. "that's favoritism" he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

[ spoiler: he got it wrong ]

🎬 ⌗003 — ❝ but sometimes there was ara... ❞

set ⤹ eunchaestardiary ep. 25

"how it feels to have 12 older brothers and even an older sister?" eunchae curiously asked, getting from dino a sudden "oh~" somewhere between understanding and a tragic sound— making the youngest chuckle, waiting for his answer.

"i had so many things to say back in the day" he hesitated for a moment, not knowing if he should've gone into details. but after the girl encouraged him, he spoke up again. "they pranked a lot, they would deliberately say mean stuff" dino uncounciously pouted while explaining.

"i would get hurt by them and then be like this-" he demostrared the exact face— full pout, head lowered, looking down at the floor like a kicked puppy.

"but sometimes there was ara..." dino pauses, his voice soften a little because of the memory snuck up to him. eunchae tilts her head to the side, watching him curiously. a smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

"i mean, she wasn't, like, protecting me 24/7 or anything-" he waves his hand dismissively, clearing it up. "but, she just had this way of showing up exactly when i needed it" he shrugs, trying to keep it casual, like it wasn't a big deal.

"like, when some of the hyungs would gang up and say i messed up at something-" he paused, remembering those times. "she wouldn't defend me right away, but later she'd just walk past and be like 'you were right, btw'" dino smiles at the way eunchae's eyes widen sightly.

"she sounds scary" she genuinely says, making the boy giggles. "she kinda was when she did that," he nods, agreeing with her "but she also was the one who knew when i was really upset, and not just joking around" he pauses again, then adds under his breath.

"and she bought me food, which helps"

[ theyre so cutie patootie coded ]

🎬 ⌗004 — ❝ give him time ! ❞

set ⤹ going seventeen - i know & don't know , part 1

ara stand beside seungkwan, one arm loosely laced through his while her hands tucked deep down into her jacket pockets, searching for warmth. some of the members were sprinting toward them, making her giggle under her breath as they looked a bit stupid.

"its been a while, don't know" dino was the frist one to speak as they stopped in front of them. ara could already sense the relentless bickering about to start, another normal day in seventeen.

"he went to going elementary and you went to sevong elementary" jeonghan chimed into the conversation after a while, getting a quick and hilarious answer from mingyu. "you haven't grown".

that one sent ara, she couldn't help but to find that really funny, covering her mouth with her sleeve. but she still had a role to play— noona duties. she wasn't quick enough tho.

before she could even say anything, seungkwan was already on it, "he's going through a growth spurt!". ara belives he isn't just laughing, but defending him just because theyre on the same team.

but she didn't wait another second as she takes some steps foward and lock eyes with the tallest,"ya, you have to give him time! ". she said, as she pointed her finger straight at mingyu.

[ girl is ready to throw hands ]

dino was somewhere between a flustered and triumphant mess, seungkwan leaned into her like he'd just been personal validated, "say it louder!". ara didn't even looked back, she stood her ground— dramatic and honestly kinda of useless, but it's the thought that counts after all.

🎬 ⌗005 — ❝ why would you have pants this long? ❞

set ⤹ inside seventeen - thunder

the air in the dance pratice room was lit, jokes were throw around and laughter filled the space. they were midway through the frist run of the chorus, everyone slightly out of breath and sweats layering on their foreheads.

ara was off the side, a little far from the center position, where dino was sliding into with a smooth transition mid-step. except, his foot got caught on his own long pants, and then a thud echoed through the walls.

the full volume laughter filled the room immediately, but ara was genuinely confused— she blinked once, then again looking at seungkwan body launching on top of dino with his endlessy laugh.

then she collected the pieces togheter, hearing someone talking about his pants. ara hold back a smile, approaching the boy who was still sitting on the floor with legs streached out in front of him.

she crouched in front of him and reached for the ends of his pants, "why would you have pants this long?" . the way they pooled over his shoes like a broken curtain just made her sigh more. he just pressed his lips togheter, his shoulders trembling cleary stuggling with holding his laughter.

her fingers folded the hems, tucking the extra fabric so it would at least behave for the rest of the choreo. she was fast, members still being loud around them— and when she was over, she tapped the top of his head messing with his hair.

[ dino's second mom ]

🎬 ⌗006 — ❝ you're adorable ❞

set ⤹ going seventeen - TTT part 2 , hyperealism ver.

ttt was probably one of the funniest content to record, ara would just drink and sing karaoke endlessy— it didn't even felt like work.

after the too many drinking games, ara was knocked down— she even lost the count of how many shots she had taken, not like she would care. she was draped halfway across the table, holding her soju glass like it was a microphone.

she would slur something every now and then, but none was really capable of understand what she was talking about— but probably it was something with no sense at all.

dino, who was sitting on the chair beside her, looked at her with an unfazed gaze— the time they acknowledge theyre going to film a ttt, we already know ara is going to be a whole mess.

"noona," dino said carefully, not knowing if his voice could startle the girl, "how many fingers am i holding up?". the boy, holding up three fingers, asked. ara squinted her eyes, leaned fowards and even blinked many times but, nothing to do— her vision was too blurred.

[ now the maknae is taking care of the noona wtf ]

"you're adorable" she said instead, deciding to ignore the question. dino blinked, confused at what he heard, but as he tried to speak again— ara was too fast. "you're like, so good. like, really. you always try so hard and you don't even complain and that's so— like, respectable".

and then, like her behavior was the most normal thing in the world, she leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "i swear, i'm not that drunk" she whispered, closing her eyes hoping the headache would eventually go away.

dino unfazed expression was now replaced with a smile, not knowing if to blush or laugh at the mess she was. "she might start crying soon" s.coups, who watched all the weird interaction, laughed pointing at ara.

[ fun fact: ara didn't cry, but she do asked dino to sing a love song with her ten minutes later ]

🎬 ⌗007 — ❝ wait, i'll keep you company ❞

set ⤹ going seventeen - boomily outing , part 2

ara was mostly just chilling around since she had nothing to do. cooking definitely wasn't one of her strong suit, so she let the other handle the hardesr work. she was comfortably seated on the stairs beside mingyu and jeonghan, messing with his fluffy hair.

"dino's been standing at that microwave for like, twenty minutes now" mingyu said, galancing toward the open door where, from their spot, you could clearly see dino staring at something heating up. he looked really— really, bored.

"dino, close the door or bugs will come inside" mingyu shouted and like a puppy, he reached the door— but got stopped by ara before he could close it. "wait, i'll keep you company" she got up from her seat with a soft stretch, and padded over before he could close it.

with a little smile, she slipped inside beside him and pulled it shut behind her. she walked over him casually slipping beside him, looking at the food draped over the counter. "you didn't have to come in if you were having fun".

ara shrugged, brushing her hair behind her ear as she leaned against the counter. "we were just chilling anyway, and you looked insanely bored" ara's arms where folded loosely crossed across her chest, dino finger tapping the counter creating a small rhythm.

"then, you could've just chilled" he offered, looking at her. "ay~ don't worry. this felt funnier anyway, i'm okay with that" she was too overwhelmed with his cutesy and worried face, she couldn't resist but lightly pinch one of his cheek.

dino was so flustered at that he didn't even hear the microwave sounds, so ara tilted her head and gave him a look. "you gonna get that or are you waiting for it to cool down in there?"

🎬 ⌗008 — ❝ say please ❞

set ⤹ svt record #2

the camera was fixed on dino at frist, explaining something about the music video they were just recording. he even showed the other members rolling their group dance part, and ara was one of them.

"let's see the members monitoring" cut to handheld, dino's point of view, the camera shook slightly as he made his was toward the group. the screen showed some of the members, and then he showed ara— focused and slightly bend forward as she watched the monitor playback of their dance shoot.

she didn't noticed him, nor heard him, so ofcurse he got as closer as humanly possible. the camera hovered just cenimetres away from her cheek. "oh!" she gasped sharply, turning and nearly bumping right into him.

"you scared me!" eyes wide, voice breathy, one hand flying straight to her chest. the camera shook a little as dino brust into a quiet laughter behind it, clearly proud of himself. "you should've seen your face".

ara squinted her eyes at the camera with disbelief, "why youre like this" but she didn't go an answers as he just continued giggling— until she reached for the camera and tried to cover the lens with her hand.

"give me that" she muttered, "say please"

🎬 ⌗009 — ❝ why did you take your jacket off? ❞

set ⤹ inside seventeen - rock with you , mv behind

a cut to a clip of dino out in the dark, jacket draped over one arm, was shown. he was trying to show his outfit for the music video. "it's giving main caratcher-" he tried to say, but got interrupted.

from the edge of the frame ara suddently popped in— a paper cup between her hands, her head tilted and eyes squinted.

"why did you take your jacket off?" she asked bluntly, completely ignoring the camera. dino blinked, caught off guard, "i was showing my outfit to carats" he replied, poiting at the camera still recording.

she didn't even look. instead, she walked up to him gently pulling the edge of his sleeve, then made a face. "you're cold, you're literally freezing" she complained, touching his cold hands. "i'm passionately showing my outfit" he defended

[ he was trying to be cool ]

ara rolled her eyes and held out her cup, "hot tea, take a sip before you get sick" and he took it without a word, trying to hide the tiny smile tugging at his lips. she nooded produly, then reached for his leather jacked and laid it back over his shoulders.

one hand gave a quick adjustment, the other patted his shoulder with a proud smile directed right at the camera. then turned and walked off just as quickly as she came. dino watched her go, then turned back to the camera, lifting the cup ara gave to him. "anyway, it's still giving main caratcher... just warmer"

🎬 ⌗010 , BONUS CLIP — ❝ i think dino forgot that ❞

set ⤹ weverse livestream

it was one of those random weverse lives. ara and dino were just sitting in the girl's living room side by side on the floor, leg crossed and a low table in front of them filled with many takeout boxes already open when they went on live.

the comment section was rolling really fast, she barely had the time to read some of them— but when she finally did. "i'm dying, dino let her talk", ara silently giggled reading that, trying to not get caught dino's attention.

he was too focused on what he was saying to notice what ara was on anyway. he was endlessy talking a lot, switching subject every two minutes. that's when an idea crossed her mind.

"in the second chorus of the new set, if you watch really closely, you'll see hoshi hyung almost tripped and he even tried to cover it up but-" ara didn't even blinked, she just took a spoonful of rice, nooded at the camera, and shoved it directly into his mouth mid-sentence.

"mfh-?" she smiled sweetly at him, before turning back the camera, "this was supposted to be also a muckbang, but i think dino forgot that". dino looked at her like he's been personally betrayed, bliking in shock.

"i was making a point tho" he mumbled under his breath. "and i was feeding you, you can do both" she said with a grin, already going for a second bite. and when he opened his mouth to talk, she raised her spoon again— dino immediatly shut.

[aahsokaatano]

It's kind of a frustrating ability.

I can't extend it to protect someone else, or even really control it. One time I gave an entire presentation to my 8th grade class, only to realize at the end that no one heard it, because time had stopped to give me time to get away from a bee that had somehow ended up in the classroom (turns out I have an allergy that I wasn't aware of).

I've made the best of it, though. If the universe wants to give me a get-out-of-jail-free card, then I'm not going to complain (too much). I just wish that there was something I could, y'know, do with it.

And then everything stopped while I was walking to work one morning. I could tell immediately - the rain froze in place, and the people around me stopped moving. Great, okay, what is it this time? Car skidding out of control? Lightning about to strike? Mugging about to go wrong?

Except... I couldn't see anything around me that seemed to be the issue. I kept going, down the block, and then the next four, weaving through the people frozen like statues and grimacing at the weird sensation of walking into stagnant rain.

I walked until I hit the edge of the city, but nothing changed, and my stomach sank. This couldn't be good.

I ended up just going back home - partly because I wasn't sure where else to go, and partly because I wanted my bike. It seemed I was going to have to really cover some ground to get away from whatever this was.

But when I sat down and balanced on one foot, the other resting on its pedal, I hesitated. Something bad was about to happen. Something that was big enough to cover at least half of the city, and probably more. And I was going to... run away? Hadn't I always bitched and moaned about how frustrating it was that my power wasn't good for helping other people, just myself?

Maybe this was my chance to actually fucking do something, for once. After all, I had all the time in the world.

Biking around the city was pretty fruitless, until I thought to look up. And there I finally found them - two small shapes, way up in the sky, clearly caught in the middle of a super-powered tussle. Irritatingly high, in fact. Why does it seem like all the people who end up doing the super hero/super villain shit end up flying? It's very inconvenient for the rest of us!

Whatever they were doing was about to destroy the city, clearly, so I needed to break up the catfight somehow. And to do that, I needed to get up there.

Machinery doesn't really like working outside of time - hence the regular old bicycle - but I can make it happen with enough patience. And god knows I've got plenty of that. Good thing, too, because first I had to read up on how to operate a crane, and those things are fucking complicated. Then there was the issue of moving one close enough to the idiots to be useful (more carefully than anyone has ever moved a crane before, because I couldn't exactly ask people to move out of the way), and getting the arm in position... Let's not even get into how sketchy it felt climbing the arm up towards the idiots.

But I did it, some how. I was still quite a ways below them, but a lot closer than I had been on the ground. This close, I could at least identify the idiots. The hero was actually from the much bigger city a short ways away - I guess we technically count as part of their territory, but they weren't usually seen around here, which meant that it was probably the villain who had tried some shit. She wasn't even one of the heavy hitters that was on the news with some kind of regularity; in fact, the most recent story on her had ended with a group of aspiring teenage heroes shutting her down.

She must have upped her game since then, if whatever was about to happen between these two was going to destroy my city. Not that I have any particular claim over it, I'm not a hero myself, obviously, but shit, I live here. I'd like to continue living here! And that can't happen if these idiots level the place!

It was a little difficult to work out exactly what was happening from my awkward angel below them, but I eventually pieced together that the hero's palm, glowing with energy, was millimeters above some kind of contraption that the villain was holding. Seemed as likely the culprit as anything else. And if I was wrong, then I would just have to try something else.

The best tool always has been, and always will be, a big stick, and you can quote me on that. It's what started our distant ancestors on the path of becoming human, and it's what I used to knock the stupid hexagon-box-thingy out of the villain's hands. It dropped right down towards me, and I did not catch it, because I was still holding my stick with one hand, and hanging on to the crane with the other.

Didn't really matter, though, because suddenly things were moving again.

" - end your... What the fuck?"

"Hi!" I waved cheerfully, causing the idiots to look down at me in shock. Which, fair. From their perspective, I - and a huge crane - had basically just appeared out of nowhere. "Both of you need to stop, 'kay?"

"Who are you?"

"No one important," I shrugged. "But you guys were about to destroy the whole city, and that would really suck, because I live here and also my favorite coffee shop is here."

"What did you do?" the villain demanded, looking around frantically for her device.

"Stopped you both from doing something stupid. You're welcome, by the way."

"How?" the hero asked. They looked even more confused than the villain.

"Oh, it wasn't easy! Took the equivalent of several weeks, which is the longest I've ever had by far, it was a very weird feeling, but I got here in the end. Now please go finish your fight somewhere else, I'm gonna be so late for work."

I turned and started shimmying my way back down the crane, ignoring the questions being shouted at me.

After all, I was on the completely wrong side of the city now, and I did have to get to work.

You were born with a strange power. Whenever you are in immediate danger, time freezes until you move out of the way. One day, time freezes, but no matter how far you go...it doesn't unfreeze.

[bearforcecaptions]

It’s my cologne.

That’s where it begins for most of them — but especially for him.

The scent hits first. It always does. Leather and smoke, with warm notes of aged cedar, worn tobacco, musk that clings to the lungs like memory. But under it all — beneath the rich, masculine perfume I distilled over years of trial and private experimentation — there’s something that doesn’t come from any bottle. Something that wraps around the mind like a warm fog. Gentle. Heady. Opening.

I don’t need to touch. I don’t need to command. All I need to do is be there — and breathe.

He was straight when I met him. The real kind. The kind that walks around with a cocky grin, a worn baseball cap, and no real awareness of how much of his identity is just noise. His voice was always a little too loud. He always looked like he was performing for someone, though I don’t think he ever figured out who. Confident in the way young men are when no one’s ever made them doubt themselves — yet.

That gym was full of them. Shaved chests, neon tanks, cold stares. They glanced at me sometimes — older, heavier, hairier — then looked away like they hadn’t. He was no different. The first few times, anyway.

Until he caught my scent.

I was sitting on the bench near the back corner, toweling off, the cologne still fresh on my beard and chest. I saw him walk past, mid-conversation with a friend, mid-laugh. Then I saw him stop. A beat too long. Just a breath. That’s all it took. His laugh cracked. His eyes flicked to me, puzzled. I didn’t even smile. Just met his gaze. Let the scent do its work.

He wouldn’t remember that moment. I made sure of it. It would dissolve into the background of his day, like a skipped beat — like forgetting why you walked into a room. But his body remembered. His brain learned something, in ways his conscious mind couldn’t grasp.

That’s the trick of it. The cologne doesn’t shove. It seeps. It convinces.

He started changing his schedule. I didn’t ask him to. He just started arriving when I was there. He told himself it was coincidence. That he liked the quieter hours. But I watched him — how he lingered near me, how he seemed distracted, a little more uncertain around me than anyone else. That cocky smile softened when he talked to me. He forgot to perform.

He asked about my cologne on the third week.

“What is that stuff you wear?” he said, with a nervous chuckle. “Smells… I don’t know. Good. Strong.”

I just said, “Something I make myself.” And that was enough.

He didn’t notice the way his breathing changed when he got close to me. How his body leaned in. How his shoulders dropped a little. He didn’t question why he started listening to me more — why when I gave advice, he followed it, even when it contradicted everything he’d done before.

I told him he’d look better with a beard.

Two weeks later, he stopped shaving. He told me it was just laziness. He said it offhandedly, as if he barely noticed. But I saw him stroking it while we talked, tugging the edges while his eyes flicked toward mine, waiting for approval. When I reached out and touched his cheek — thickening with scruff — he didn’t flinch. He just smiled. Nervous. Flushed. Obedient.

He still thought he was straight. That was important.

He still dated girls for a while. Still posted their pictures, still made the occasional comment about “getting laid.” But there was something hollow in it. The way someone sings along to lyrics they don’t understand. He was going through the motions, but the heat was gone. The hunger.

Meanwhile, I was in his dreams.

He wouldn’t tell me at first. But it leaked out, slowly, as it always does. The confusion. The vividness. The way he could feel the heat of my body, smell my chest hair, the weight of it — heavy, masculine, real. He said it like he was confessing something. I just smiled and rubbed his shoulder.

He stayed longer each night. Claimed he lost track of time. We’d sit on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, his breathing slower when I was near. Sometimes his head would tilt, just barely, until it touched me. He never apologized. Never pulled away. And I never said a word.

By then, the changes were more than social. His clothes shifted. He stopped wearing flashy brand names. He bought flannel. Heavier jeans. Real boots. He told me he was “trying a new look.” He didn’t remember where the idea came from. I did.

I helped him cut his hair shorter, rougher. Said it brought out his jaw. It did. He looked good. He always had. He just hadn’t known how to be seen before.

He stopped waxing his chest. That was my rule. I wanted him natural. I wanted him mine. The first time he stripped off his shirt and I saw the new growth — darker, denser, thicker — he blushed. I stepped forward, placed a hand on his chest, and said softly, “Good.”

He didn’t speak. But he stood a little straighter.

He sleeps in my bed now.

I never told him to. He just… started. A few nights a week, at first. Then every night. His old apartment’s still out there somewhere, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He has a toothbrush here. A drawer. A place by my side. And in his mind, this has always been the way it was going to be.

He calls me “Daddy” now. Not with a wink or a smirk. Not in some playful, performative way. He says it like it’s my name. Says it softly when I brush past him. Whispers it when he wraps his arms around me at night, burying his face in my chest hair, breathing me in like he needs it to sleep.

And he does.

When he’s away from me too long, he gets restless. Fidgety. He doesn’t know why. Can’t explain it. But when I pull him in and press his face to my beard, I feel the tension leave his body. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

He never questions it.

Never wonders why his old self feels like a stranger now. Never wonders when exactly he stopped wanting women, or why the thought of obeying me feels so right, so natural. Why hearing “good boy” makes him close his eyes and smile.

Because he doesn’t remember who he was.

He thinks he’s always been this way — mine. Submissive. Devoted. Gay. In love with his big, hairy Daddybear.

And he is. Because I made him that way.

All it took was a little patience. A slow hand. A warm embrace. And a scent that slipped into every crack of his mind, filling the spaces he didn’t know were empty.

It’s my cologne.

And he’s mine.

Now. Always.

[mrsjjongstby]

A scenario where husband jay is a total support to his wife who just gave birth... I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD MAKE US CRY😭

Stawppppp thats such a good req! i HAD to write it off as quickly as possible! hope u'll like it!

tw: mentions of pregnancy, skinship, kind of angst, comfort, mentions of blood and giving birth (lmk if there's more!)

___________________________________________________________

The room is dim and quiet now. The storm of hours-long labor has passed. You’re lying in the hospital bed, exhausted beyond words, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds as nurses gently finish their tasks.

Jay hasn’t left your side. Not even once.

He holds your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. His eyes are red — not just from lack of sleep, but from watching you go through pain he couldn’t take away. Every time you screamed, every tear you shed — he felt it all like it was happening to him.

The nurse walks in, carefully handing you the baby. But your arms are trembling, eyelids too heavy.

“I can’t,” you whisper brokenly, guilt choking you. “I’m too tired... I should hold him, but—”

Jay stops you gently. “No, no, love,” he murmurs, brushing sweaty strands of hair away from your forehead. “You’ve done everything. You carried him. You brought him here. That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You burst into tears. Not because you're sad, but because he gets it. He doesn't push you to perform the perfect mother act. He just holds your hand tighter.

Then, Jay picks up your son carefully, like he's holding the universe. And maybe he is.

“Hey, little guy,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You have no idea how strong your mama is. I watched her fight for you. And I promise I’ll fight just as hard for both of you.”

You manage a tired smile, eyes fluttering shut again as he leans in to kiss your forehead.

"Sleep, my love," he whispers. "I’ve got him. I’ve got you."

He sits in the chair beside your bed, baby in his arms, gently rocking.

And that’s how the nurse finds him two hours later — holding your son, watching over both of you with the softest expression, as if he’d protect this little family of his with everything he has.

___________________________________________________________

It’s your third day home from the hospital.

The house is quiet — too quiet. No visitors, no chaos. Just the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional sleepy coo from your baby resting in the bassinet by the bed.

You’re curled up under a blanket on the bed, still healing, still sore, still figuring out how to be a mom in this new world that shifted overnight. You’ve barely showered. Your hair’s tied up in a lazy bun, your eyes are puffy from crying two hours ago — over nothing and everything.

You hear the gentle creak of the door.

Jay walks in, quietly, like he’s scared to break the air around you. He’s wearing an old hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy, holding a tray — warm soup, a glass of water, a folded towel.

“I heated the soup again,” he says softly, placing it beside you. “You didn’t eat much earlier... I added more carrots. You like it that way.”

You look up at him and feel your eyes sting.

You whisper, “I feel like I’m failing. I’m supposed to be stronger. Better. I couldn’t even change his diaper properly this morning—”

Jay kneels beside the bed, eyes locked on yours.

“No,” he says firmly. “You are recovering from literally creating life. You bled, you tore, you fed him from your body. Baby, you are not failing. You’re healing. That is strength.”

You break again. Quiet tears, shaky breaths.

And Jay just pulls you into his arms.

“Let me be strong for both of us right now,” he whispers into your hair. “That’s what we promised, didn’t we? I’ll hold you, while you hold us.”

You stay like that for a while — his hoodie against your cheek, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

Later, he walks around with the baby tucked into his chest in the wrap carrier, whispering lullabies under his breath as he cleans up the dishes and folds laundry with one hand. When you wake up from your nap, the soup’s still warm, your meds are set out, and a small note on the nightstand says:

“You are everything he needs. And everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Rest, angel. I’ve got the world in my arms — and it’s ours.”

___________________________________________________________

[mariasont]

hot to the touch

you were fully prepared to tease aaron mercilessly while he grills, but one small burn has him play caretaker. maybe injuries aren't so bad after all

pairing: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: suggestive content, minor injury (burn), sexual tension, sudden marriage fantasies triggered by men with tongs prompt: here! wc: 0.7k

You nod at all the right times (or maybe the wrong times, you wouldn’t know), while Aaron says something about charcoal ratios or burner placement, details that seem very important to him, and impossible for your brain to retain when he’s looking like that. One hand rests near his mouth, thumb grazing his lower lip like he’s posing for the cover of Men Who Know Things and Also Ruin Your Panties. His shirt clings to his chest with a damp little wrinkle, and you’re hit with the overwhelming urge to drop to your knees and just… take a little detour. Chest to navel, navel to belt.

He drags his forearm across his brow, smearing a dark streak just above his temple — soot, grease, or possibly some chemical compound the government invented in a lab to make men full of pure, unfiltered sex appeal. 

“Hold still,” you say quickly, already yanking your tank top up and blotting the edge of the mark with a careful hand. “Got a little something, handsome.”

He doesn’t respond, just stares, all squinty and broody and clearly seconds away from kissing you into next week, right here, in the presence of God and team members while the tongs dangle uselessly from his hand and your body leans just a little too close. Maybe you were meant to be a lake wife. Maybe you were born to wear flannel and make babies with a man who smells like hickory smoke and bourbon. Maybe you need to price out outdoor furniture. And double strollers.

“Sweetheart,” he says, one hand ghosting toward your waist.  “Careful. The grill’s hot.”

You bat your lashes. “I’m fully aware of hot things in my immediate vicinity.”

“That’s not  —”

“One burns food. One burns through thongs.” 

He lets out the kind of breath that sounds like it’s been fighting to escape for an hour. “You want dinner, or do you want me to drop everything and bend you over the nearest surface?”

“...Both?”

He doesn’t justify that with a response, just catches your wrist, kisses it once then tugs you in front of him, slotting you between his arms.

“Okay,” he says against your ear, “burger watch. You look pretty. You keep me company. Talk to me about anything but your thong and warn me if I get too distracted and set something on fire.”

“Are you objectifying me right now, Agent Hotchner?”

“Constantly.”

“So obsessed with me. It’s cute.”

His tongs hover mid-air for a second too long before he clears his throat and shifts a patty to the cooler side of the grill. “You make it difficult to do anything else.”

You open your mouth to hit him with something dramatic, probably “well I make it hard for most men” because you are who you are and he deserves to suffer, but apparently, the universe thinks you’re getting a little too cocky.

Your hand, moving of its own volition like a traitorous limb, finds the grill's edge and suddenly your palm is sizzling like cheap diner bacon at three in the morning. It takes one Mississippi, two Mississippi for your brain to connect sizzling flesh to actual pain. 

“Oh,”  you squeak.

“Shit,” Aaron breathes, already grabbing your wrist, tugging you toward the kitchen.

The skin at the base of your palm is already turning pink, angry and glossy. You stare at it as Aaron moves. He flips on the faucet, cold water blasting as he angles your wrist under it, thumb pressing gently to the back of your hand to keep it steady.

“Surface burn. Small area. Base of the palm’s got padding, you’re lucky,” he says, almost to himself. “Not deep. Should heal clean.”

“So no amputation?”

“No amputation,” he confirms, half-laughing as he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Though you do seem committed to testing my blood pressure.”

And oh, isn’t that a delightful thought — you, single-handedly responsible for the downfall of Aaron Hotchner’s otherwise perfect cardiovascular health. You’d probably feel guilty i it didn’t thrill you just a bit.

“See? This is what happens when you distract me with your face. I get hurt. And then you get stressed. It’s a dangerous cycle, Aaron.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

You tilt your head toward him, lashes still damp from the steam, mouth pulled into a soft pout. “In the meantime, I think you should take responsibility and kiss me until I forget I was ever injured.”

He chuckles under his breath, already reaching for the burn cream. “Somehow I don’t think that’s what the CDC recommends.”

Yet, despite his skepticism, he’s already leaning in, breaking every known regulation in existence, just for you.

join me at the lake for my 5k event!

maria's red, white and bau masterlist

[moonqz]

I MIGHT SAY SOMETHING STUPID ; Choi Seunghyun

track 04 of the BRAT SUMMER CHALLENGE

@gdinthehouseee thank you so much letting me be apart of this, and for being so sweet and kind 🤍

pairing : Choi Seunghyun x Fem!Reader

genre : fluff

description : You and Seunghyun have been dating for a few years now, and five minutes before a concert, there’s a sent text to the wrong number, about how he wants to marry you.

; ; ;

Being in love with Seunghyun was like living in two worlds at once.

There was the public world, the one filled with overly bright, flashing lights, airport papparazzi, the never ending thought of whether he would be seen by media everytime he walked out the door. That Seunghyun was polished. Perfect.

And then there was your Seunghyun. The one who couldn’t cook to save his life but insisted on trying for your sake - because he felt bad you were the one cooking everything recently and wanted to surprise you. Which later ending up with the smoke alarm blaring, causing you to wake up and the sweet surprise to be ruined. But you were happy.

The one who left post-its in your planner when he knew you had a rough week. The one who called you “jagiya” with the sleepiest voice at 3am after rehearsals.

You’d been together for nearly a three years now. Not secretly. But quietly. In your own world, away from the media, where the public eye hadn’t a clue about what happens in your relationship. And he intended to keep it like that - shielding you from the brutality of his world.

It was worth it though, every delayed date, every hidden goodbye, every half-second of panic when someone looked at you a little too long in the same café he’d just left.

But still, there were moments when you wondered if the private lifestyle ever wore on him, the way it sometimes wore on you. In the sense that you guys had to be so careful with everything you did, every step you took, every movement.

Tonight was the final stop of BIGBANG’s MADE tour. You were seated discreetly backstage, tucked toward the side where no camera would ever catch you. Your lanyard said “Guest”, your hoodie was unbranded, but your heart? That was screaming.

He looked good. too good; on stage, hair slightly damp with sweat, eyes full of fire, and a smile that made your heart clench, as he performed like he was born for it. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the last thing he’d texted you.

Seunghyun had done this a hundred times; tighten his in-ear monitors, run vocal warmups half-heartedly while bouncing his knee, let a stylist fuss over his hair. But tonight, the adrenaline was sharper. Everything was a little louder, a little faster. Probably because he knew you were there.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about the last thing he’d texted you.

Because it wasn’t what he meant to send.

-

The backstage area was a whirlwind of activity. Staff members hustled to and fro, finalizing last-minute details before the concert. Seunghyun stood near his dressing room, his phone in hand, attempting to send a message to his group chat. His fingers moved quickly, composing a playful message to his members.

“Bro this is the last tour stop, after this i’m proposing for real” he sent to the BIGBANG group chat, one that had a profile picture of the four members in their early days.

“she has no idea” Youngbae wrote back, tucked away in his own dressing room as if he had all the time in the world.

“you got a ring yet Hyung?”

“Can we be there when you do it?”

A staff member rolled by warning him five minutes, to which he absentmindedly nodded, turning his phone back on once he picked up his sunglasses, which were purely for decoration, and was greeted with his phone wallpaper. A picture of you he took not long into the relationship but was still his favourite to this day, you were sipping coffee at 7am, half asleep on his sofa, curled under his arm, trying not to fall back asleep when he snapped the picture the moment you looked at the camera with the same smile he fell in love with.

“I might say something stupid though like, ‘please let me marry you’” He wrote back quickly, hurriedly, trying to not fall behind concert schedule. Him and Jiyongs rooms were right next to each other, and the two walked to where the stage would lift them up, their conversation carrying on as they then stood with the other two members.

A message whirled through to his phone. A simple, ‘what? are you serious?!’ from you. His first thought was that he had done something wrong, something stupid like not bringing you fresh coffee, or not telling you the concert was starting. Until he opened the chat to check. And there was his message.

Wrong chat.

Wrong fucking chat.

The one that outright said he wanted to marry you, and suddenly he was already sweating half of his stage makeup off in a panic frenzy, showing the other members the situation, muttering curses under his breath.

The message was in a private conversation.

With you.

His girlfriend.

You, who had no idea he’d already been to two jewelers. You, who still blushed when he brushed your hair behind your ear in public.

In all honesty, Youngbae was laughing at his stupidity, whilst Daesung, who was more excited for the proposal then Seunghyun, made a ‘nooo’ as if all hope was over. Jiyong stayed half-quiet, completely shook that he had managed to do that.

His fingers worked quickly once again to type, ‘wrong number baby, ignore that lol i’ll see you after the show’

And suddenly, his friends ‘Yah!’ in protest to his message made him regret sending that.

“Hyung that just makes you sound dumb, or that you wanna marry a different girl” Jiyong commented. Of course you wouldn’t think that. You trusted him, but Seunghyun clearly was overthinking all of this.

With a racing heart and a mind full of dread, he shoved his phone into his pocket and made his way to the stage.

Your heart thudded so loudly you almost didn’t hear the lights go down.

Seunghyun performed like a man possessed. Fans screamed, confetti rained, and the entire stadium vibrated with energy. But all he could think about was how you’d taken the message.

He caught glimpses of you near the wings a few times, but your face was unreadable. Smiling. Cheering. But were you freaking out? Laughing? Panicking?

Did I blow it? he wondered mid-dance break, somehow still hitting every step. Did I just confess via a wrong chat

The final song wrapped with a group bow. He smiled at the crowd, waved, and said all the right things into the mic. But inside, he was bracing for disaster.

Backstage after the show was a whirlwind. Interviews. Quick outfit change. Water bottles shoved into his hand. He snuck away the first chance he got, slipping into a storage hallway where no one would bother him.

A text from you. Ten minutes ago.

“So i also might say something stupid? Like yes?”

He stared at it. Read it again.

Then he let out a shaky breath and laughed. The kind of laugh that came from deep relief and overflowing love.

And that’s when the door creaked open.

You stood there, hoodie sleeves pushed over your hands, your expression unreadable.

“You sent that text to me,” you said softly, as if he wasn’t completely aware.

“I know.” He responded, still gaining his breath back from both the panic and the concert. You looked beautiful. The simple outfit and minimal makeup was the times where he thought you looked somehow more then perfect.

“Meant to send it to the boys?” You questioned gently, a hint of a smile on your face.

“Yeah.”

“Did you mean it?” You asked after a beat. Both your hearts racing like it was your first date all over again n

He nodded briefly, “I did.”

You stepped closer. “So… was that the proposal?” The question came out, as you were entirely unsure of what was going to happen.

He blinked. “Wait, no. No! That wasn’t it. I had a whole plan, with a rooftop and candles and Daesung was gonna-” He trailed off as you started laughing.

“You are such a mess,” you whispered, eyes shining. “But I love that mess.”

He stepped toward you, his hand reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Then let me do it right,” he said, quietly. “Not now. Not here. But when it’s perfect for you.”

You nodded, smiling. “Until then, I’ll just keep pretending I didn’t see that text.”

“You’ll pretend?” He asked, looking down at you with a soft smile, one that was real, as if all the relief was finally washing over him.

“Well… maybe I’ll keep the screenshot. Just in case you ever try to back out.”

Seunghyun grinned. “Now that’s reckless.”

-

A couple weeks later, when sunset was dawning upon Seoul, and a calmness washed over the both of you.

The rooftop was warm under the fairy lights. Summer had settled into the city, and music from a portable speaker played softly in the background.

Seunghyun stood beside you, eyes shining nervously, and his hand, pinky intertwined with yours, his lips ghosting over your forehead before peppering kisses softly, savouring the sweetness of the moment and the way you looked at him when he pulled away.

“I’m not sending this one by text,” he joked.

You laughed, eyes misting over. “Good. Because I already know my answer.”

“The guys wanted to be here but I told them they couldn’t” he quietly told you, before he sank to one knee on the ground, his heart full and his eyes full of adoration.

And this time, when he said something stupid- like Will you marry me? - it was the smartest thing he’d ever done.

[curlysswirlywirly]

THE PERFECT HERO

⋆ IZUKU MIDORIYA has a very difficult time looking anywhere else but your soft, pink, glossy lips when he sees you now. he genuinely can’t stop thinking about you and hates himself for it. you were always spectacular, even back when you were just fifteen year olds at ua, but now you’re larger than theory, too bright for his brain to process entirely. he remembers that your jokes were always funnier than they had any right to be, he remembers that your technique always flawless. you were top of the class in every department except written strategy, and he helped with that, sliding his annotated notebooks into your desk during lunch insisting nervously that it wasn’t a big deal. but it WAS a big deal. you never teased him for his neat handwriting or the fact that he color-coded your strengths in pastel highlighters, which he appreciated. you were loud about your admiration for your classmates, loud about his worth in a way he couldn’t be for himself yet.

his admiration never went away. it mutated, gained complexity, got messier when you got taller and braver and wore lip gloss that glinted in a way he didn’t know how to categorize. even now, he corrects inaccuracies on your hero wiki page during sleepless nights, anecdotes about your first joint patrol, quotes he remembers you mumbling while dozing off in class, habits you still have. you always crack your knuckles before a solo mission. you always write thank-you cards to your support engineers by hand. you always give 103%. he remembers all of it. he’s never forgotten a second of it. he stumbles around you, hands flailing, throat dry, and you make it worse. he can’t look at you when you speak too earnestly. he can’t focus when you nudge his arm or put your sunglasses on his head like it’s normal. it’s not normal, you’re just not normal anymore. you touch him when you laugh, you praise him publicly, you once called him your favorite hero to train with in a q&a and he blacked out, phone slipping from his hand, heart going ballistic in his chest. your praise has always been disproportionate. too bright, too sweet, too difficult to forget. too, too, too, TOO MUCH!!! his twitter algorithm feeds him your campaigns because he either favorites, likes or re-watches everything having to do with you at least five times. your lectures, blurry fan cams of you entering summits in custom couture. he thinks he might love you. not hero-love either, literal, actual, pink hearts sweeping over his head love. but that’s laughable, ridiculous, stupid, impossible.the list of synonyms for never going to happen goes on. you are mythic now. he tries not to read your interviews anymore, they make this unbearable fixation of his worse in ways he doesn’t have language for.

⋆ SHOTO TODOROKI used to catch you watching him between class drills, your eyes darting away too fast, cheeks flushed warm even before he’d even have a chance to say anything. you’d stammer when he asked to pair with you or when he asked what you were doing for lunch, always polite and sweet, but visibly rattled every time he held eye contact with such intensity. he used to wonder why you couldn’t just look at him the way you looked at everyone else, now he understands it a little better. you don’t look at him the way you look at others because you don’t speak to him the way you speak to others. he liked the way you reacted to him, and he likes it even more that you never outgrew your virus on him. back then, he didn’t know what to do with the feeling that came from being wanted by someone so genuine. he will never admit to this with his own words, but he finds a kind of selfish comfort in that. you’ve grown in every direction possible for a pro-hero. your name is on magazines, your commentary is quoted in political circles, your photoshoots stop traffic. but only he still gets the version of you that looks down and fidgets when he compliments your work. maybe it’s terrible of him, but he likes that you still get nervous around him. he thinks about your pretty, manicured hands when you sign autographs, no ring on your finger, yet.

he thinks about your back when you turn to leave press events before him, maybe he might one day see more of that, who knows. he will admit that he likes the backless gowns the best, only to you. at the last gala, he had one hand on the small of your back as you made your way down the press lane, guiding you half a step in front of him in a sort of presentation of yourself, but only to those deserving. one of which, by his own silent decree, none of them were. you were already tilting into him slightly from the pressure of his hand when the strap of your gown slipped slightly. you’d stopped breathing the moment his fingers met your shoulder and didn’t start again until he swept the pad of his thumb over the fabric just once to settle it, then let his hand slide down lazily back to the curve of your waist where he left it without ceremony. your chin dipped slightly, but you didn’t look at him, and he didn’t ask you to. you didn’t thank him, and he wouldn’t have liked it if you had. you were walking again before he’d decided to, all calm movements and glossy lips that parted just enough to let out a quiet exhale he caught more than heard.

he thinks about what it would feel like to have you every day, less as performance and more as possession. just the trusted, shared things between you too. zipping you into those gowns instead of waiting for you at the car. lifting them over your head instead of watching you pose in them from beside a backdrop. sharing a bathroom sink in the early evening while you pin your hair up so it doesn't leave impressions on the pillow. he can see you in his dress shirt and nothing else, biting the cap off your gloss while asking if he’s coming back to bed anytime soon. he can see himself kneeling on the cool tile floor just to mouth at the insides of your thighs while you tell him he’s getting your robe wet.

⋆ KATSUKI BAKUGO knows how stupid it is, really. he knows how far beneath you he sounds when he thinks things like she stood close to me once or she asked me something about my gauntlets during that tower breach or i know what perfume she wore at the tokyo exhibit because it stayed on the collar of my jacket for hours after she hugged me. it’s sooooo pathetic to him. he’s one of the highest-ranking heroes in the country and he still looks like he’s waiting for permission to want you. he’ll touch you only when necessity requires. he’ll do it cleanly in a way that seems like it never meant anything anyway. but later he’ll replay it in his mind, hating himself for needing it so bad he might actually go insane. he #requiresthat. you’re one of those things that doesn’t get less intense with time. every fight, every press appearance where you wear something drop-dead gorgeous and smile with your eyes half-lidded. he likes that you never play dumb and that you never play anything. your confidence is unnerving because it’s real. you say things like bakugo’s my favorite sparring partner, he hits hard but listens into microphones not knowing it caused a five-day-long spiral he had to drink himself out of. he doesn't talk to you much because he knows he won’t be able to stop once he starts. you once leaned over him in a press box to whisper something stupid, probably about someone’s outfit but your mouth was too close to his ear and he didn’t catch a word. you smiled when he turned to look at you and asked if he was even listening, and all he could do was nod like an idiot because of course he was but also no, not really. he was just trying to survive the sound of your voice. he wants you something ugly. raw i mean aww. most likely not even in the way anyone else does (expect shoto). he wants you in his passenger seat, eating something greasy and kissing him between bites. he’s not a natural flirt. you make jokes and he just huffs, arms crossed, trying not to give away how much he likes the sound of your laugh. he keeps his hands at his sides so he doesn’t grab your waist and spin you around like he wants to. he calls you ridiculous when your dress has a slit up the side, but only because marry me would come out too fast if he opened his mouth any wider.

he’s not proud of how quick his thumb moves to hit report on the thirstier tiktok comments, how often he screens your name before bed just to make sure there’s no new photo dump he hasn’t memorized yet. he’s not even active on social media like that, he doesn’t even follow you. always says it’s for “professional boundaries” but still manages to watch your entire panel circuit in 4k, on mute, rewinding to the part where you tilt your head, laugh into your palm, say thank you for asking, that mission was rough but bakugo really kept us afloat with that stupid soft look like he didn’t hear about it from five different people already.

he hates your plus ones. the sleazy, rich guys you let tag along and the smug way they hover when you show up to award balls or summit dinners, hand loosely on your waist when they earned no right. he hates that you don’t push them off and he hates even more that they exist at all!

he once saw someone call you mommy under a slow-mo clip of your face turning in profile during a red carpet walkthrough. he sat in his car for ten minutes after practice and flagged the comment three times from separate burner accounts. for spam, for harassment, for misleading information. misleading because that’s his face to want. his version of you to think about. his midnight fantasy when he’s bruised and too wired to sleep and you posted something with a slit. you’d probably laugh if you knew. ask him if he’s the morality police now. maybe lean in real close and tell him to stop looking if he doesn’t like what he sees. but that’s the problem. you’re the only thing he does like looking at.

⋆ TENYA IIDA didn’t mean to sleep with you the first time. or the second time. or the third and fourth and fifth. obviously it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. he’s the thirteenth-ranked hero in japan. nationally beloved, awarded, revered, no scandals, no exposés, no mistresses or mistress rumors, and yet he still thinks he should be getting a tax break for the way you sigh into his mouth when you ride him after state dinners. you had made it embarrassingly clear that you’d wanted him since ua, back when you used to trail him through hallways in your regulation skirt and nudge his elbow with your pencil when he was getting too righteous over team grades. you were always bold with him, something about his discipline seemed to bring out your worst, and he let it. he remembers those weeks before finals where you sat on his desk instead of in your seat, swinging one leg, telling him you studied better when people looked at you. you never stopped saying things like that. it got worse after graduation, worse when your suits got tighter, worse when your agency grew legs and broke through city lines, worse when you started sitting beside him at joint events with that look that said you knew exactly what you did to his blood pressure.

now you share a bed most nights. sometimes his place or sometimes yours. you show up in silk, in nothing, in one of his pressed undershirts and boxer briefs and stretch your arms when you know he’s looking. he tells himself that this is temporary, harmless even. after all, it’s not really breaking code if nobody reports it and neither of you ever say what it is, right? that’s part of the charm. no one else has seen the number-four hero panting, flushed, bare from the waist up. no one else gets your early-morning stretch and your raspberry jam kisses and the way you say tenya under your breath, sweet and amused and all his. you call him ‘sir’ when no one’s listening and moan when he tells you to behave.

there’s a photograph on his phone he’s never shown anyone, one you took in his bed last spring your hair was tousled, rosy cheeks warm from the bath, cotton sheets slung low around your waist and his glasses resting crooked on your face because you insisted you looked smarter in them. he has the original file backed up three different ways. he opens it more often than he opens his schedule. you never push and demand he announce or solidify the legitimacy of your frequent intimacy, even if you know it would make him feel better. you never even ask what it means when you press your knee between his thighs under a hotel blanket and call him tenya instead of iida, when you link your ankle behind his at embassy debriefs and whisper things that make his face go tight and red. it isn’t a game for you, you want him plainly, always have. you once told him his mind was the sexiest thing about him and then proved it, mouth parted, head tilted, cooing quiet into his throat until he nearly forgot where he was.

you don’t kiss and tell. there are no leaks, no gossip, and no rumors except the ones people dream up when you two arrive to panels in separate vehicles but leave in one. he should have said no, he did say no! on the first time. but then you asked if he wanted you to leave and he didn’t and he hasn’t, not once. you pull him in by the belt loop when you want him closer. you fix his glasses for him before he testifies. you say things like you’re my favorite boy in the room and pretend it’s a joke but look up through your lashes anyway. he’s never touched you in daylight. he’s never so much as brushed your cheek in public. but everyone can tell something’s off when you sit too far apart, when your shared silence on stage is a little too loaded, when you both leave early from post-conference mixers and his hair is messed up the next morning.

he takes pride in the fact that you chose him, that you keep choosing him, and that when the doors close and your heels come off, it’s his bed, his hands, his name. always his.

⋆ DENKI KAMINARI AND HANTA SERO like every photo within minutes of you posting, quotes your captions like gospel, publicly thirst. half of denki’s explore page is you, the other half is people dressing like you, talking like you, trying to analyze your powers or trace your skincare. you replied with a tongue-out emoji to one of his comments a few months ago and he still brings it up when he’s drunk. he’s not delusional, he knows you’re miles above his league. not just in rank either, though you are, comfortably, more elite than most of your former class. but in appeal, magnetism, and aura that never feels manufactured. he says damn, she’s like if moonlight could punch someone through a building. sero said that doesn’t make any sense, and then bookmarked the tiktok that made him think of it.

sero plays it cooler, but only slightly. he’s the type to send you your own screenshots like yo is this from the west coast tour? cause wtf you snapped. he comments on your photos with too many emojis. he uses the word slay because he knows it makes you laugh. calls you queen and and mami interchangeably. he’s been a fan so long it doesn’t even feel ironic. if anything, it’s loyalty.

one time you called them the funniest men in japan and neither of them have recovered. they’ve watched every interview, read every profile, sent each other mirror selfies when you wore their merch on accident. they bring you up in interviews and pretend it was prompted. sero once corrected a fan’s misquote about your quirk and got ratioed in the replies by shippers. they are your biggest supporters. unapologetically, and everyone knows it. you flash a smile and they fold like twin lawn chairs. if you ever asked, they’d carry your bags, bring your mic, moderate your comment sections, fight your exes. anything. you’re their hero’s hero.

and you play alllll the way into it. call them my boys when they hype you up online. toss them kisses at events. let denki hold your phone and sero carry your heels when the night runs long. they’d never take it too far. but they’s never take it for granted either.

⋆ DABI wants to ruin you but he also wants to watch you work. how your throat bobs when you speak through your comms, how you frown when things don’t go as planned and smile when they suddenly do. you’re too good to exist in his world but you stay in it anyway, just long enough. he knows you hate the paparazzi because you said so in an offhand tweet at 2:37 a.m that got deleted twenty minutes later. he knows you hate being followed and yet you always look good from behind. he’s never met a hero who blushes when she taunts, whose lashes flutter when she flies backward from impact. he sees you in battle more than anyone else. no one’s been sent to chase him as often. not hawks, not endeavor. you. always you. you show up late, show up alone, always say his name in a whisper tone that loves.

he never liked heroes. he hated the ones on the cereal boxes or the ones whose endorsements played between commercials for tamagotchis and toy weapons. he hated the smiling plastic men who gave his little brother pats on the head and fake smiles that never touched their eyes. they were always lying. the posture, the slogans, the straight white teeth and the press-trained cadence, all of it was lies. he figured out young that being a hero didn’t mean saving people it meant being adored for doing the bare minimum.

he saw your agency’s debut video the night it dropped. your whole roster standing under spotlights, suits pressed, posture militant. you stepped forward when they introduced your name. so flawless, so clean. you had your little speech memorized. low heels, perfect arch. hair up but a few strands loose. so delicate, so controlled. so perfect. you were everything he despised, of course. but damn.

you think your location history is private but it’s not. you think your apartment is secure but it’s not. he’s watched you come home at 2am, slip off your shoes in the dark, lean against the fridge while waiting for something to heat. he likes the guys you bring home even less than he likes heroes. they don’t get you and they don’t touch you right.

he’d do it right, he’d take his time. he’d start slow, tell you what he thinks of those little live interviews you do, he’d put his mouth where your hero name is tattooed on your hip and say your real one instead.

he knows you feel it too. you want someone to ruin your image. you want someone who sees what’s under the surface and wants you anyway. he thinks about how much of a scandal it would be. how bad it’d look for you. thinks about how you’d let it happen again.

you like tight dresses and fine jewelry and dresses that cling to your hips and leave your back completely open. he likes them too. he speaks low when you’re close. tells you you’re looking better than usual, asks if you’re getting stronger just to impress him, tells you to stay a little longer next time. says you fight prettier when your hair’s up. calls you miss universe wnd princess when you roll your eyes and put distance between you. you’ve hit him hard enough to fracture a rib. you’ve also hesitated once. that’s all he needed. he wants to show up at your door just to see if you’d open it. he imagines catching you just out the shower and seeing how flustered you get, towel slipping, hair soaked. he wants to take you someplace no hero should go, make you forget your own agency’s name. he wants you to say his name when you come, because you mean it. because it could be real.

he’s not shy about any of this. he touches your wrist when he parries, lets his palm linger on your hip when you slip during hand-to-hand and try to catch yourself on him. breathes against your neck when he pins you. this is flirting! you’re not soft or naive but you keep letting him walk away and he’s decided that means something. you always look over your shoulder once. once during the fight, once after it ends. no one notices except him. he doesn’t show mercy to anyone else but he never burns where it’ll scar. says it’s because he wants you spotless for when he finally pulls you down and ruins you right. you really shouldn’t entertain it, nor should you get warm when he says your name in a room that’s already on fire. you’ll come around. you always make the first move. he’s counting on it.

miiiight do a part two idk

[munsonify]

Hiiiii there

Can I request a Joaquin Torres x reader where maybe they're close friends, roommates or they have like a mentor - mentee relationship and the reader has developed conflicting feelings for him

Like she doesnt know if she likes him romantically or if she's just super close with him

(Optional: The reader is in her early 20s)

hiii of course!! i feel this in my bones, she is me and i am her. like that’s twin. thanks for sending this in!

a/n. i do not know how internships would work with the military/government so pls spare me lol also a VERY possible chance of a second part if people like this. here’s to hoping this isn’t a jumbled mess!

confused and frustrated - joaquin torres x fem!reader

summary. you find yourself struggling to distinguish what kind of feelings you have towards joaquin

content warnings. flufff, a little bit of angst (kinda hurt comfort feelings wise), age gap (readers 23, fresh out of undergrad), probably way too long of a backstory, kinda unintentional flirty!joaquin & touchy!joaquin (sfw), r being referred to as ‘my girl’, food, swearing, hugging. not proofread

word count. 3046

———

moving in with joaquin was one of the best and luckiest choices you’d ever made.

you started your search for an apartment near dc and john hopkins university ignorantly optimistic. surely, you thought, there would be plenty of options for a recent 4.0 graduate ready to begin her masters degree. your optimism died down within two weeks, realizing quickly how difficult this was going to be for you. there were flaws in everything you found: outrageous rent prices, horrible (or the simple lack of) amenities, potential roommates who seemed to be from the deepest pits of hell.

when you’d found joaquin’s listing up on craigslist, you were practically leaping for joy. while living with a man wasn’t the most ideal situation - something you’d learned when you’d called him, his phone number listed on the contact information-, he seemed kind enough, and tidy. it was a two bedroom apartment, and while the rent was slightly out of your price range, it was doable. especially considering how convenient it was between the university and the dc area.

when you’d signed the lease, you didn’t know he was in the air force, nor did you know the kind of connections he had. it was pure luck on your account that you’d found joaquin.

during your first week living together, you’d gotten to know each other, dropping little tidbits of your lives as you came and went from the apartment. you’d told him your aspirations one night over a shared takeout dinner, cozied up in pajamas. you were beginning your masters in global security, desperately searching for an internship in dc. you weren’t even sure where to start with it, and you were rather casual with letting him know this. it’d been on your mind, and joaquin was curious, so you spilled.

it wasn’t your intention to receive his help, despite immediately receiving it without a second thought. he’d spoken to sam, the captain america, along with a few other people, and was able to hook you up with an internship with them. joaquin practically took you under his wing from then on, and you couldn’t have been more grateful. everything about this situation made you ecstatic. you felt accelerated, accomplished, proud.

that’s how you’d gotten yourself in your current predicament, thought it was incredibly intentional. you’d began spending more time with joaquin the longer you lived with him. some of it had to do with your internship. you were working with the air force, and a good bit of what you did was with him. he showed you the ropes of what he did, both as an air force captain and as the falcon. other times it was casual roommate things: movie nights, quiet conversations in the kitchen, late night snack runs.

you got along with him well, you respected him and admired him, his hard work something you strive to meet. you had your time away from him, you had university classes to attend and new friends you’d made since you’d moved here. still, you came back to joaquin and your apartment, forcing yourself to face something you’d been shuffling away from.

you might possibly, maybe, have feelings for him. the situation was complicated, you were conflicted.

at some point along the way, you found yourself becoming excited to see him, to come home and tell him about your day. you wanted to tell him about the little things, like the cute dog you’d passed on the street one morning, or the sweet new coffee place you wanted to visit. you wanted to spend time with him, to be close to him and enjoy his company. and sure, these were things you could feel towards a friend. a platonic friend. still, you were conflicted. was it the close proximity? all the time you’ve spent together getting to your head?

this is what you were tossing over in your head one morning as you lightly jabbed at your morning cereal, head hung low, body slouched. you weren’t inexperienced, you’ve had a boyfriend before, you were aware what romantic attraction felt like. despite that, you were still abundantly confused. platonic and romantic attraction, you found, had a bit of a blurry line between it.

your body tenses the moment you heard the bathroom door open, the floorboards of your apartment squeaking under joaquin’s feet as he enters the kitchen. distracting yourself, you scoop a spoonful of cereal into your mouth, chewing slowly. you fight back a choke when he enters the room, freezing momentarily at the sight of him. there he was, damp hair, low hanging shorts, shirtless, and all too casual.

this wasn’t abnormal, you’d grown a bit comfortable around each other. with what’s been on your mind, however, it caught you off guard. your eyes lingered at his torso for a moment or two before they glided up to his face. luckily, he didn’t catch on, his head turning to look at you the moment your eyes drifted to his. joaquin gave you that large grin of his he always has on his face. his hand found your shoulder as he passed you to find the cabinets, squeezing in a gentle, friendly way as he bids you a good morning.

you normally wouldn’t think twice about that, either, your mind once again drifting to your conflicting feelings. you swallowed it down as you greeted him back, turning your head to offer him up a small smile. with his back turned to you, he rummaged through the cabinet until he found coffee grounds, beginning the process of making himself a pot. your eyes lingered there, too, only briefly.

turning back to your cereal, spoon poking at bits of it through the milk, your mind began to turn again. the way you admire him like that certainly wasn’t friendly. heat prickled at the tip of your ears and the apples of your cheeks at the mere sight of his bare skin, tanned and toned. you needed to get yourself together, to compose your thoughts before you combust right then and there.

the next few days were strenuous for you. with two lengthy essay due for your courses by the end of your week, most of your focus was turned to that. even though you prepared for and began these essays in advance, your life was busy, especially with your internship. though grateful for the opportunity, you were pleased to have these three days off to focus on your coursework. you holed yourself up in your room when you weren’t in class.

that didn’t stop you from thinking about joaquin and your little situation while you attempted to fall asleep. it infuriated you that you couldn’t understand your feelings for him. you’re both friendly people who just so happen to live together. you couldn’t tell how that deep running respect and admiration you had for him was manifesting inside of you. you enjoyed and appreciated the close bond you’d grown with him. a part of you feared that if that if it was more than just that close friendship you felt for him and wanted from him, that it would ruin what you had.

you settled your mind on that last thought for the time being. that this friendship you had, the bond you’d made with joaquin, was something you needed to hold close to you. your second thoughts had to have been nothing. you were searching for something in him that you should, realistically, be finding elsewhere.

that sentiment kept your body and mind at ease throughout the remainder of your time working on your essays. between joaquin’s job and your schoolwork, you didn’t get a chance to even see him (despite living in the same apartment), let alone speak to him. it made things a lot easier on you.

after you’d finally finished your work up friday night, you granted yourself some well deserved tv time. sure, you could go out with some friends, drink and have fun. after the weak you had, though, you wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a blanket. that’s exactly what you did, and that’s exactly how joaquin had found you when he’d gotten home.

he pushed himself clumsily into the apartment, his keys jingling in his hand, the rustling of a large takeout bag in his other. you pulled your head up from the armrest of the couch far enough to glance over at the front door, peeling your eyes away from your intriguing show. there joaquin was, toeing off his shoes and tossing his keys to the kitchen counter. he smiled wide at the sight of you, watching you perk up excitedly, your eyes shining over at him.

“there’s my girl,” joaquin beamed, sliding the bag off his shoulder and setting it to the ground. after grabbing two cold beers and a bottle opener, he began his way to you, beelining to the empty spot on the couch. “feel like i haven’t seen you in forever. i got us dinner!”

there goes your brain again, whirring up like a rickety old machine as he nonchalantly speaks to you. you tucked your feet away to give him space, situating yourself to sit upright on the couch. he sat down right down next to you, the coffee table in front of you becoming your dinner table for the might.

“you’re the best,” you told him, beginning to take out the white boxes of rice and noodles. out of the corner of your eye you could see him opening up your bottle for you and setting it aside. “those papers nearly kicked my ass this week.”

“they didn’t stand a chance,” joaquin told you, fishing out plastic silverware as he opens up one of his own respective boxes, quick to dig in. “not against you.”

he always had a way with making you feel nice. everything he told you had the sweetest sentiment to it, even if you were talking about metaphorically fighting a writing assignment. what had been settled in your mind was now being kicked up a little, dust particles floating in your mind now as you thought. the way joaquin spoke to you made your heart flutter, even if he wasn’t meaning to. it was the sincerest of praises, they always were, and it came so naturally out of his mouth. that left you a little dumbfounded.

with a box of noodles in your hand and a fork in the other, you leaned back into the couch, drawing your vision away from him and to the television. you still spoke to him, though. you’ve seen the show before a million times. you could practically quote the entire thing.

“you’re right, i totally made it my bitch,” you confirmed, a small cheeky smile on your face. joaquin huffed out a small laugh as he leans back with you, legs spreading open a little as his vision drifts to the tv, too. your jaw clenched as you caught sight of his parted legs, his knee right near yours. if you moved just a few inches to the side and you’d be touching.

your grip on your fork was a little tight, something you were almost too late on noticing. it was close to snapping underneath your fingers. you wished you weren’t so tense around joaquin, and you wished he’d stop making it worse on you.

“we got some new tech in yesterday,” joaquin told you. you didn’t quite understand some of the things he and sam used, though it was intriguing nonetheless. “i can’t wait to show you tomorrow.”

thats exactly what he’d done.

after the two of you ate and spoke together well into the night, you parted ways to your respective bedrooms for the night. you thought in bed about joaquin again, eyes open and staring up at the dark ceiling. you thought about how he called you ‘his girl’, how he seemed so excited to see you just like you were him. luckily, exhaustion took over your body before you could worry yourself all night.

the next morning, bright and early, you and joaquin headed out together for the day. the first thing you did on base was head over to the new equipment and tech he was so eager to tell you about. sam was on base, too, walking around with two of you. you listened to them both eagerly and intently as they spoke. joaquin took over the conversation, and sam let him have it, his clear passion pushing him to the head of the explanations.

at some point, joaquin needed to excuse himself, running off to assist someone. that left you and sam, who’d began tapping away at a computer in search of something. hardly looking up, he spoke to you all casual. “you’re super obvious, you know that, right?”

“what do you mean?” you asked, an eyebrow cocking at his words. you sat yourself down in a rolling chair beside him, spinning yourself around to face him. you earned yourself a glare from the man, a look of slight disbelief etched on his features.

“the way you look at joaquin? like you’re in love with him or something? it’s obvious.”

“what?” you croaked out, a look of horror washing over your face. you sat up a little at his words, arms crossing over you chest. “sam i’m not in love with joaquin.”

“you’re a horrible liar,” he told you, eyes not even leaving the computer this time.

okay, sure, you admired joaquin. he was one of your closest friends, someone you could rely on, someone you cared for deeply. and sure, you may or may not have romantic interest in him, you still weren’t certain. that didn’t mean you were in love with the guy.

“i’m not lying,” you told him, your voice breaking slightly. cause you weren’t. to your knowledge, you were not in love with him. your nexts words came out in a low tone, just above a whisper. it surprised you a little, a worry you didn’t quite stumble upon until it was said. “it doesn’t even matter anyways. he wouldn’t go for me. i’m a little younger than him.”

you weren’t sure why that was your defense and not that you two were simply friends. you weren’t even sure where that idea came from. leaning back in your chair, you kept your arms crossed over your chest, seemingly sulking. you thought about what you said briefly, and it was true. there was a nearly 10 year age gap between the two of you. it wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t the most favorable, either. there were a lot of girls closer to his age who weren’t still earning their degree, even if you were working towards a masters. the thought of this bummed you out a little, something you didn’t get to dwell in for long.

“again, horrible,” sam insisted, finishing up what he was doing on the computer. he turned to face you properly, his eyes scanning your practically pouting face and your slightly hunched body. you weren’t sure if he had more to say or not, the conversation was cut short by joaquin’s presence. sam gave you a knowing look before the day continued.

he was no help to you. the entire rest of the day was spent with joaquin bouncing around the base together, practically attached at the hip. sam split halfway through, claiming he had other things to attend to. and, despite how much grievance he’s caused you, you were upset he was going. it left you with joaquin and your string of never ending thoughts.

it was clear that you were nervous and in your head. joaquin noticed the way you shifted on your feet more than usual, your mind, despite trying to focus, so clearly drifting elsewhere. he didn’t say a word about it, not for a long while anyways. you two finished up for the day, and he finally drove you guys home. even during the car ride, he stayed silent about it. it was best to ask about it in the apartment, somewhere you could retreat to. somewhere that wasn’t so enclosed and cornering.

the moment you’d entered the apartment, eyes a little heavy, joaquin began making his move to question you in the most careful way he could think to do.

“have you been doing okay?” joaquin asked you. while you were en route to your bedroom, your shoes already off and on the shoe rack, you stopped in your place. he looked awfully worried when you turned to him. his eyebrows were knitted together, a small frown on the same mouth that usually smiled at you, wide and welcoming. “it’s just that you seemed a little off today. like something’s bothering you.”

you nodded at him as you thought. you couldn’t tell him what was going on, not when you could hardly explain it to yourself. it was too complicated, too messy to bring up. the last thing you wanted was for him to be dragged into it, too. not until you had your feelings sorted.

“i’m okay,” you lied through your teeth, folding in on yourself a little. joaquin began walking towards you, and as much as you wanted to step back, you let him continue his way to you. “i’ve just had a long week, ya know. it’s starting to weigh on me.”

the second half wasn’t a complete lie. yes, you were tired. yes, you had a long week. that wasn’t the only thing bearing down on you, and you thought that, possibly, joaquin could see through that. he nodded along with you, though, finally reaching you. wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he tugged you into a warm hug, one you couldn’t help but melt into. you leaned into him, arms wrapping around his waist in a gentle embrace. with your head resting on his chest, joaquin whispered to you.

“i’m always here if you need someone to talk to,” he reassured. you nodded against him, pulling him a little closer on instinct. you knew you could, you knew you could trust him with anything. just not this, not now, not yet.

besides, when joaquin treated you like this, so soft and caring and careful, how could you not be a little confused?

[moonixen]

thanos with big tits reader..?👅

OOOOOOOOOOOO see as a big titty girl myself i live for this.ᐟ thank you anon ♡︎

| cw: sexual content, big boobs!reader, fem/afab!reader, explicit, titjobs, mentions of cumming on the face, thanos is clingy, mentions of sensitive boobs, thanos literally can't keep his hands to himself, maybe more i'm not sure </3

¬ mdni

└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

pre-relationship.ᐟ

thanos loves your boobs. to him, they're to die for. he's always been more of an everything kind of guy but when it comes to tits- small, medium, large? he doesn't care, he just loves the feeling of them in his hands.

so imagine when you first came along, he was in the Pentagon, surrounded by his crowd of people. his friends all either drunk or high (or both) and then in you come in this pretty little low cut dress. the clubs nasty flashing lights casting such a pretty shadow on the curves of your body, specifically your chest. that dress was working wonders.

the poor guy nearly did a spit take when he saw you, his eyes tracing over each edge of your body like a man seeing water for the first time in years while being stranded out in the desert.

so of course he had to try and pull a move on you.

with how charismatic he was, the conversation flowed with ease. it was when you started dancing together on the club's dance floor that his infatuation grew to an all time high. and his hard on.

your boobs were pressed tight up against his chest, squishing together and making the line of your cleavage appear never ending. yeah he was a goner. his hands couldn't stop wandering, specifically to your tits with every pull of your hips. and god forbid you press your back to his chest, allowing his hands to freely wander up to yours.

he's groping and squeezing and pawing whenever he gets the chance.

post-relationship.ᐟ

you could be doing the most mundane, domestic thing possible, and this man would still have his hand down the front of your shirt. oh, you're wearing a tank top because it's hot during summer? yeah his hands are grasping.

"baby stop- it's too hot for all that business-" you'd whine at him with a sigh, trying to pry his hand away from your right boob. his arm was slung around your shoulders while you were both lounging on the couch, a standing fan close by to blow cool air at you.

he kisses his teeth, keeping his grip on your boob, "m'not even doing anything! just resting my hand here." he complains, refusing to move. you give in, too hot to bother with his antics. and it's a win for him.

it doesn't even need to be sexual, he just loves the weight of them so much in his palms.

and if he's had a rough day- say, some rap lyrics aren't clicking like they should or he's just incredibly burnt out, he's immediately pulling you by your waist to the bedroom, your previous task be damned, just so he can rest his pretty head on your plush cushions, your fingers in his hair.

sometimes, and he won't even realise he's doing it, while he's again got his hand down your shirt while you're both relaxing, his fingers are toying with and pulling at your nipples, forcibly hardening them.

you'll gasp and he'll glance down in confusion, "wassup?" he asks, eyes tracing over your features, but his fingers are still going.

you frequently have to remind him to be careful because some days you can be more sensitive than others, and he barely even bats and eye.

in the bedroom however, his hands are still all over your chest- but so much more aggressively.

he's tugging, pulling and pinching at the skin whenever he can. thanos often has his mouth locked around a nipple while he's already deep in your guts, sometimes even pressing your breasts together just for the chance to possibly catch both nipples at the same time.

your boobs are always covered in excessive spit, marks and bites after merely one round with him, he can't help it! they're just right there!

missionary style has you with your thighs tucked up, his hands underneath your knees to keep him up while his face is buried in your cleavage. he can't get enough honestly. if he could suffocate and die in there, he would so happily.

it can be that sometimes he might go a little overboard and end up making you overly sensitive the next day. it might even be on purpose because he knows that he's the reason your nipples are so sore. which also means your shirt and bra keep chafing against them, which means he gets to see you walk around without them at home if it's really too bad.

titjobs with him are insane.

"yeah- yeah fuck! hold 'em just like that pretty-!" he's panting above you, his usually spiky purple hair down and sticking to the sweat on his forehead as his tongue darts out to lick his drying lips from having his mouth open to let his sounds out for so long.

thanos' eyes are intense and staring with a purpose, he would kill for the image he gets to see whenever you allow him to fuck your tits.

they're bouncing and rippling with each of his rushed and uncoordinated thrusts. he really doesn't last too long in this position.

watching his pink- damn near red and leaking tip continuously peak out from between your tits has his abdomen tightening with effort as he tries his hardest to make it last.

but when you lean your head down just ever so slightly and stick your pink tongue out to catch his tip as it pushes up, it has him spilling all over your face and those tits he loves so much.

you've taken to only ever giving him titjobs on special occasions or as a treat or else this man will literally ask for it all day everyday.

thanos isn't ashamed about making his love known publicly either- to an extent. maybe you're clothes shopping and dragged him along with you. if you're standing still in an isle for longer than he deems necessary, he's coming up behind you seemingly innocent at first, only to creep his hands up your waist to grope at the underside of your boobs and squeezing.

"ah! baby careful! we're in public..." you threaten lowly with your hands on his wrists, not really pulling him away.

he's staring down at you with lidded eyes, languidly blinking, "takin' too fucking long."

he will go out of his way to use his paycheck to buy you a cute little lingerie piece he knows you'll love, or some nice low-cut dresses and tops he knows he'll love.

it doesn't matter if it's on the expensive side, if it fits his vision, he's getting it. it's his money damn it. he is considerate enough to check if it'll be comfortable though.

he's witnessed first hand when a piece of clothing ends up restricting you despite how good it looks on you, your comfort is one of his top priorities.

all in all thanos adores his girlfriend, and her big boobs .ᐟ

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

sorry for any mistakes </3

[natsswife]

dating nat hcs!! (pre crash tl)

cw: brief cigs n drugs mention, fluffy

notes: kinda self indulgent in the cigs n drugs part cuz i dont do any of those and i know nat wont do it around you<33 also i wanna write something inspired in california from chappell but idk what plot or what to write ksolcisafujkfjkdjfjm HELP

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆˚

༘⋆ i def see nat as the one who fell first and harder, always being the tough one, but under all that she had a soft spot for you

༘⋆ type of girlfriend who LOVES being taken care of, inside door, in the privacy of your rooms there's nothing she loves more than you playing with her hair<33

༘⋆ she is def touch starved, not having a good relation with her mom, everything that happened with that dickhead of a dad made her build a cold shell to avoid getting hurt all over again, but everything changed when you came to her life, first as a friend and now as her secret lover<3

༘⋆ thats why she loves when came with whatever that involves you taking care of her, wanna paint her nails and do a whole manicure un her? hell yeah, wanna try your hair stylist skills on her which means she will get you playing and messing with her hairs for a good hour? she’s all in, you read in one of your moms magazines a little tutorial on how to make back massages like a professional? she will gladly be ur guinea pig, especially because this kind of massages always ends up in a hot make out session<3

༘⋆ loves complimenting you after a match, doesnt matter if u didnt try hard enough just know nat will be there telling you how good you did in this one, she never got someone being all proud for her and knows how it feels, so if theres an opportunity she will let her inner cheerleader out just for you

༘⋆ fast makeout sessions in the locker room after a match, cuz the adrenaline and her being all sweaty, with a messy ponytail, manspreading in the bleachers while drinking water does wonders inside you!!

༘⋆ loves taking you out either for eat or to some parties, will save enough money for it because you’re not paying anything on her watch!! ofc if she sees that u start to get annoyed because you want to invite her she wont stop you! anything but see you angry because that would ruin her night

༘⋆ if you’re not into cigs (and drugs) Nat would do her best to not do it in front of you, she can't promise that she will stop it for good because at the end they’re are a little escape of her reality at home, but if she knows it makes you uncomfy she’ll try her best<3

༘⋆ loves when your invite her over to sleep, you know about her situation and the less she spends at home the better, so sleepovers that turns into horror movies night and being awake till 4 a.m arent uncommon, because for nat you are her favorite person, and a night with you with means a lot of heal for her heart

༘⋆ in your anniversaries she’ll gift you anything you want, no matter how dumb ur request is, your wish is her command. got problems with some maths exercises and the due date is near? no problem! nat is there to ask the smart person of the class (more like force them) to  do it for u, she will pay for it (gives them a price n they have to run with it cuz either way there will be problems)

༘⋆ and last but not least, will always reassure you that she's there for you, no matter how rough things get Nat is there to help you with anything, and won't let you make stupid decisions, because if there’s something that hurts her more than anything is seeing you feeling trapped and would do anything to brush that feeling away, because only Nat knows how many times you’ve been there for her, when her mom, when her dad, when life gave her the worst time and you’ve been there to wipe her tears, and the least she can do is do the same for you<3

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Do not translate w/o permission, copy or use for ai training, train your useless brain instead<3

[shysuccubusstuff]

Milking time pt. 2

Content: Cow Hybrid! Caleb + Rancher! reader + Non proof-reader; Masturbation + Scent kink + Breeding kink + Size difference + Cunnilingus + Tummy bulge

Note: I was listening to one of these NSFW audios and I just got inspired so yeah, here it is! Idk if people want to hear it tho :P It's not really related to the actual content, but I just liked it ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ I can't believe I've been writing this for more than three days, sometimes my brain just doesn't want to cooperate cause I keep realising I may sound a bit repetitive at times... I hope you all like it!! (๑>◡<๑)

It had been quite a few months since Cow Hybrid! Caleb had been able to sneak into your bedroom, his cock about to burst as he basically begged you for help. Still, you had been unable to act as you had used to, your whole body reacting each time his calloused hands got close to you, your mind being suddenly flowed by the images, the feeling of your hands rubbing his... How were you supposed to work as always after that? Anyone would probably understand your position! Well, anyone except Caleb, of course.

Since that had happened, he had become even clingier than usual, constantly following around you like a lost puppy, his ears lowered as he tried to hide his huge frame behind a wooden post, his tail peaking from it even regardless of how much he tried to stop it from showing. He didn't really understand what was up with your sudden change in attitude, he had been your favourite since he had arrived, was it because of something he had done? Maybe you had started to hate him and wanted him dead? He would happily send himself to the closest butchery if it meant making you happy again.

Luckiily for him, the perfect chance for the two of you to be together after your dear aunt told you to go to the city a couple of hours away, as the most important fair for ranchers was about to begin. She briefly explained what you had to do, simply listening to the many conferences regarding the possible changes for the ranchers' rights and privileges, simple enough, right? Still, your aunt told you to go with Caleb, as he had never been there, and you really needed some "buff man" just for some of the ranchers to take you seriously, as annoying as it was.

With all said and done, your aunt prepared everything you both could possibly need, from your clothes to many different delicious plates in case the two of you missed her. She kissed both of your foreheads, waving goodbye at the two of you before going back to her chores.

Well, all left was spending the next five days there, it was fine, what could possibly go wrong?

The first three days had gone smoothly, with the two of you spending as little time as possible, constantly going around the fair talking to the many old friends of your aunt, letting them ramble about how it was when they were younger and similar anecdotes, with Caleb simply following you around like a lost puppy, staying in complete silence during the whole day, as you quickly fell asleep as soon as your face hit the pillow.

Caleb knew that he had to be patient, after all, despite hybrids are quite similar to humans, they did still present various differences, specially when it came to this kind of thing. He knew it, he kept reminding himself of that. But it was to no avail, really. His chest kept hurting each time he saw you speaking to all those other men, always smiling at them as they talked to you about some unimportant matter. Still, he couldn't help but act that way, rummaging around your luggage to look for his prize. It took him a while to find them, but as soon as he did he could already feel his head getting lighter, his face now buried on the soft fabric, inhaling with force, his hand already trailing down his body and removing all the buttons that kept his lower hidden. He got up, moving to the small bathroom and sitting on the toilet, muffling his moans with your underwear as he moved his hand up and down, his chest moving up and down as his breath quickened.

This kept going for a while, with Caleb trying his best to muffle his moans as much as he could, whispering soft praises to you even despite you were still asleep. "So good... You smell so good... Can't wait to breed you..." Small tears came running down his cheeks, the tip of his cock leaking as he saw the floor stained from his cum. "I'm sorry... I'm trying so hard for you... Just for you... Ugh... I love you, I love you..." Caleb whimpered as he finally felt like his head was a bit less crowded from lewd thoughts about you, the shame starting to make his face feel quite hot.

Caleb finally reached his limit by the night of the fourth day. The two of you were supposed to leave the next morning around the early morning, as you had already planned helping your sweet aunt with all the farm work that she may have been unable to do due to her old age.

Just as you were about to throw yourself to the bed, Caleb tugged from your pajama, his soft ears lowered as much as possible as fat tears fell down his face. "How much are you planning to ignore me? I know I misbehaved but I don't want you to keep on ignoring me... Please." Caleb got on his knees, his hands and head rubbing against your hands as a way to calm himself down. "If you really hated it, I won't ever do it again... I'll let you find someone for me to be with... Just don't ignore me... I can't... I just can't handle it. I've been trying to, these past couple days... I don't think I can go any longer without you." Caleb gaze lifted from the floor, looking at you with his purple eyes glistening under the dim lights.

"I... I'm sorry, Caleb. It's just that, I kind of... Well, I kept getting like, reminders of well, what happened between us and I kind of... couldn't help but feel a bit, ashamed?... About it, anyways, I didn't mean to hurt you, Caleb. You know you're my favourite, right?" You caressed Caleb's cheeks, petting his hair and moving it away so you could see his full face. Caleb pressed his face against the palm of your hands, his expression lightening up, suddenly getting up from the floor and getting on top of you, his cheeks flushing from pure bliss.

"Really?! You don't hate me? I'm so glad! I just... I'm sorry. My... my body seems to have become, attached to your scent, so each time I smell you it's... It's just too much for my body." Caleb moved away, sitting by your side and letting you see just how much it had affected him. "I'm sorry... I'm really trying so hard to keep myself on check... Just, I just didn't want to keep on using them without your knowledge... Let me just go to the bathroom, I'll be back---" You grabbed his hand, forcing him to sit back down on the bed and keeping your hand tightly grapped around his. "I... I can help you a bit, just if you want--" Caleb moved swiftly, suddenly having you under him once again, his hand already removing his overalls together with his undershirt.

"I'll be careful, if I hurt you just pull from my horns, ok?" Caleb started to kiss your whole face, leaving soft pecks as he slowly made his way towards your neck, his right hand massaging around your tummy, then removing your trousers together with your underwear in the blink of an eye, leaving them on the bed before focusing once again on you. "Such a pretty pussy... It looks so tasty... Let me just have a little taste, please?" Caleb moved down, getting on his knees on the floor before pulling from you by your ankles in order to get you to be close to te edge of the bed. He carefully put both legs on his shoulders, opening them with his hands before starting to leave soft kisses all over your lower half, your hands petting his hair as a way to avoid squirming as much as possible. "No running from me, baby." Caleb smiled, his mouth suddenly starting to suck on your clit as he used his fingers to play with your entrance, only moving up and down so as to lubricate his fingers. "So good, pips... Keep calm, I'm in charge right now." Caleb went back to focusing on his task, his tongue lapping your poor clit with his long tongue, one of his fingers slowly entering you, slowly opening you as he kept playing with that sensitive bud, making your whole body squirm as the stimulation started to feel a bit overwhelming.

Not like it really mattered to Caleb, his mind already far too gone from eating you out, that delicious scent making his mind go blank regardless of how hard you tried to get him to slow down, ignoring all the soft hits on his shoulder together with all the pleas each time you came all over his tongue. It wasn't until your whole body was about to give up on you, your legs trembling as if you had been working out for far too long, that you chose to grab his horns, his eyes finally focusing on you, getting away from your poor overstimulated pussy as he finally took a deep breath. "So-sorry! I got a bit lost there, promise I will behave next... Can we keep going?" Caleb looked at you with those sweet puppy eyes, his hands massaging your love handles as he waited for your response.

"Just... Just the tip, ok? Your cock is too big for me to... uhm... take." Caleb nodded, grabbing his cock with his right hand and giving your entrance a few slaps on the entrance, his eyes once again completely glued on the way your entrance kept twitching each time he hit it with the tip of his cock. Caleb moved his hands for a moment, holding both of your hands as his cock started to make his way inside you.

"Take a deep breath, pips... I'm still putting in the tip..." Caleb kept kissing your lips as his cock entered you, the stretch making you feel as if you were about to break just from the pressure that you felt in your tummy. "There... It wasn't so hard, right? Now we can take as much time as you need, no need to rush..." Caleb now focused on kissing your sweaty face, his eyes glistening with the pure feeling of love, hands interlocked as he forced himself to remain as still as he could.

And you knew you were supposed to stay still, let your body get accustomed to the... length. Still, you just had to prove yourself, wrapping your legs around his hips before suddenly pressing against his hips, forcing the weight of Caleb to rely against your smaller frame, the sudden pressure making all the air leave your lungs before you could take a deep breath as Caleb immediately moved away, his expression changing to one of concern as his eyes checked for any sign of discomfort. This concern soon changed into a slightly annoyed look, his eyes becoming a bit darker the moment he focused on your entrance. "Guess it's my fault for not expecting it... Since you want to be a brat, may as well treat you like one." Caleb smile turned a bit sadistic, lifting your whole body with ease as he moved the two of you towards the end of the bed, sitting just in front of the mirror. "Make sure to get your brain to remember this, baby." Caleb kept you still, slowly entering you. You clenched your eyes shut as the slighty painful stretch took place, trying your best to avoid seeing the lewd image of your pussy being forced open by Caleb's cock. After all, it wasn't as if you were able to do much more, with Caleb holding both your legs on a tight grip as a way to get you to keep the image as a reminder.

Despite Caleb's attempt of scaring you, he knew exactly just how important it was for you to get completely used to it, getting the horses to act as they should. "Now open wide..." Caleb moved, lifting your whole body with his arms, slowly lowering it as he slowly forced the tip of his cock inside, bitting his lips as he tried his best to keep calm. "Just like that... Relax, I ain't running nowhere, don't squeeze me so hard, pips... It's hard to stay calm." Caleb kissed the top of your head, letting you rest your back against his chest as he was finally able to bottom down once more, the feeling of being full being just enough for you to feel as if you were out of breath.

"Caleb~... You're too big..." You whined, the feeling mixing with the heat that you kept feeling on your face as you noticed the bulge that had formed on your tummy, forcing you to hide your face just as a way to avoid seeing it. As soon as Caleb noticed that, he removed them from your face, using one of his hands to force you to look into your reflection. "No running, pips, gotta make sure you get a detailed view of just how good I can make you feel." Caleb wrapped his arms around the back of your knees, making sure that you got a perfect view of the way your pussy greedily ate his cock each time he pull a bit of it out, making it an almost hypnotising view, seeing it enter you, then suddenly pulling away before giving you a kind smile, almost as if he was mocking you each time you tried to squirm away from his iron grip.

It took you just a few minutes to finally get used to the feeling, turning what were soft whines into lewd moans that kept escaping from your lips, eyes rolling back each time Caleb rubbed against that slightly rough spot. Suddenly, Caleb moved one of his arms, keeping your whole body lifted with just one arm as he used the free one to rub your tummy, making small pressure every now and then each time he pushed his whole lenght inside, ignoring each high pitched moan and whine that left your lips every time he forced you to cum all around his huge cock. "Caleb!... Too much, can't keep cumming! Please, please~...!" Caleb ignored you once more, kissing the top of your head as he kept hammering your gummy walls, making sure to stay a few seconds outside before forcing his lenght rapidly inside. "Sorry pips... I gotta make sure I get you all full~... Gotta prove I'm the best one for you." Caleb kept this fast rhythm for a while, bitting softly on your neck each time he came inside you, "a way to mark you" he said.

By the time you were finally released from his grip, the digital clock was already far past 02:00, your whole body sticky from the sweat, together with the mixture of your fluids, and the semen that was slowly leaving your pussy. Just as you were about to simply let yourself fall asleep from the exhaustion, Caleb took your body, carrying it to the warm bath and letting you sit on the tub that had already been filled. "Gotta make sure you feel comfortable enough to sleep, can't have you seeing aunty all dried up." Caleb peppered soft kisses all over your face, rubbing a warm towel all over your body and letting you fall asleep with ease as you felt him clean all your body.

[orellazalonia]

orella,

Hey hey! Could I request a bucky x reader where Bucky is the head of HYDRA but the reader doesn't know about her husbands business and what it actually entails even though she visits his office every day? I was also wondering if maybe it could be set around the 1940s time period where the reader is a housewife and she's good friends with Steve and Peggy, who know about Bucky and his line of work?

Thank you so much I love your work 👏👏👏 it's so beautiful each time I read a new story I jump with happiness :)

Hello, dear. Thank you for the kind words! I’m so glad to hear you’ve been enjoying my work so far. I have been so eager to get to your request, it sounded so interesting! I absolutely loved Bucky in this one honestly. So, I hope you enjoy it as well! Happy reading!!!

To Love and Lie

Summary: In 1940s Brooklyn, you're a devoted housewife blissfully unaware that your charming husband, Bucky Barnes, is secretly the head of HYDRA. As small cracks begin to show and your curiosity grows, Bucky works to gently steer you away from the truth while your friends Steve and Peggy, who know everything, say nothing. (1940s AU | Soft!Dark!Bucky Barnes x Housewife!reader)

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist

The smell of fresh bread clung to your coat as you walked down the quiet Brooklyn street, gloved fingers clutching a thermos of chamomile tea.

The morning’s chores were already behind you: laundry hung, dinner planned, and the floors scrubbed until they shone like war medals. The sky was overcast, but you didn’t mind. You had a routine, and routine made you feel like everything was right. It was just past noon, and as always, you were on your way to visit your husband at work.

The building was tall and gray, tucked discreetly between a hardware store and an old war bond office. The sign out front simply read "Strategic Resource Development." It sounded vague and official, the way most government-related work did these days.

You didn’t know exactly what your Bucky did. Something to do with security or defense. That’s all he ever said, and you never pushed. It wasn’t a wife’s place, not during wartime.

Every day, the men at the door greeted you politely, their uniforms sharply pressed with their expressions unreadable. You smiled sweetly at them in return. They never asked who you were. They knew. You were Mrs. Barnes, always dressed neatly, always carrying something small and homemade for your husband, and always punctual like clockwork.

You didn’t work or have a job. Bucky wouldn’t have it, not when he could provide. So most of your days were spent tending the apartment, writing in your little journal, swapping recipes with the older women down the hall, and sometimes having tea with Peggy or Steve when they were in town.

They were good people, old friends of your husband. They always smiled when they saw you, always asked if you were well. But sometimes… there was something tight in the way Steve’s jaw would twitch when you asked how he and Bucky have been at work. And Peggy, sharp as a whip and confident, always seemed like she wanted to say something she didn’t.

But you didn’t dwell on it. You were happy and you loved your life.

You rode the elevator to the top floor, heart fluttering in that familiar way it did whenever you got to see Bucky in the middle of his busy day. You imagined the way his face would soften when he saw you, how his eyes would crinkle, how he’d take the tea from your hands with a quiet thank you and brush a kiss over your temple.

That’s what love looked like. That’s what a good marriage felt like.

You paused outside the door to his office, noticing the usual receptionist wasn’t present at the moment. So, you smoothed out your dress and made sure your lipstick hadn’t smudged. You didn’t knock just yet. You listened first to make sure you weren’t interrupting. Most of the time, it was quiet. Today… it wasn’t.

You could hear voices, low and tense, and something metallic. A clink, or a slide of machinery. You furrowed your brow but didn’t linger long. You stepped back and turned toward the secretary’s desk, just as the door suddenly opened.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky’s office didn’t feel like yours.

You couldn’t quite explain the shift in air, the way the men in the room turned to look at you not with recognition, but curiosity. They were dressed in black, not navy or green, and there was an odd symbol carved into the wall, not a flag or an eagle. Something colder. A skull that looked like it had tentacles coming out from it. You blinked.

And there was Bucky. Standing at the head of them all.

He wasn’t startled. He wasn’t smiling. He was… composed. Unmoving. Like he’d expected you. Or like you were a problem he needed to solve.

“Sweetheart,” He said, stepping forward, his voice soft but layered. “You’re early.”

Your fingers tightened around the thermos. Suddenly, it felt heavier than it had an hour ago.

“I… brought your tea.”

He took it from your hand, his smile small, almost indulgent. Behind him, the men remained silent. They didn’t move. They didn’t speak. You felt eyes on you from every corner of the room.

Bucky looked at you gently, the same way he always did.

“Come in,” He said.

And like a good wife, you did.

You stepped inside, heels soft against the dark polished floor, the familiar weight of your coat suddenly stifling. The air in the office was colder than usual, the lights dimmer that cast long shadows behind the broad shoulders of the men in black.

You tried not to look too long at them, at the strange octopus-looking symbol, at the quiet tension that seemed to hum in the air like static.

Bucky closed the door behind you with a soft click. The sound made you flinch. He noticed.

He moved toward you, his posture easing as he reached out to gently take your hand in his. “You alright, doll?”

You blinked up at him, nodding once. “Yes, I just… I didn’t know you were in a meeting. I thought your secretary would–“

“She had just stepped out,” He interrupted smoothly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t interrupt anything important.”

You glanced past him at the men who hadn’t moved. “It looked like–”

“Just some internal policy talk,” He tilted his head to meet your eyes. His voice was calm, soothing. “They get a little stiff about it, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry your sweet little head about.”

He let out a short, warm laugh like the tension hadn’t just shifted in the room.

“Besides, you’re the best part of my day. I needed a break anyway.”

You smiled a little, because he was the best part of your day. He always had been. Bucky was the steady center of your world. And even now, when the room felt off and your chest felt tight, he looked at you with the same eyes that tucked you into bed every night, kissed your forehead every morning, and held your hand when the news from overseas got too grim.

Still, something about that strange symbol behind his desk lingered in your mind.

“What is that on the wall?” You asked quietly, nodding toward it. “It looks… new.”

Bucky glanced back over his shoulder, then turned back to you with that practiced, lazy smile. “Just some branding, part of a new division I’m managing. Defense contracts are getting more complicated lately. Gotta look sharp for the boys upstairs.”

You tried to smile back, though your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your gloves, trying to ignore the men who were dead silent. “You never really told me what you do, you know.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “That’s because I’d rather spend our time talking about you.”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what you even meant to say. But he touched your chin lightly, guiding your gaze back to him.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” He murmured, eyes locked with yours. “What I do… it keeps you safe. That’s all you need to know.”

Your breath caught, and you nodded again. “Of course. I didn’t mean to–”

“Shh.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “It’s alright. You’ve never asked before. Just caught you off guard today, huh?”

You leaned into him, resting your cheek against the warmth of his chest. The tension began to slip away. His heartbeat was steady, familiar.

“I guess so,” You mumbled. “You always seem so calm in here. I didn’t expect it to feel so… serious.”

His hand smoothed down your back. “Well, that’s work. You don’t get to the top without learning how to act the part.”

You smiled at that, eyes closing. You liked hearing that. Your husband who was smart, steady, and respected. Powerful. He always made you feel like the luckiest girl in Brooklyn.

Behind you, the door opened again. A voice, quiet and respectful, murmured something about clearance codes. Bucky turned his head but kept one arm wrapped around you.

“I’ll be just a minute,” He stated firmly. Then, more gently, to you: “Why don’t you wait in my lounge, huh? I’ll bring you home when I’m done.”

You nodded, stepping away slowly.

“Alright, but only if you let me spoil you and our friends for dinner tonight.”

He smiled, eyes warm. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You kissed his cheek and slipped into the side room he kept for private guests full of soft chairs, a small bookshelf, and a radio he’d installed just for you. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the softness faded from Bucky’s face.

He turned back to the men waiting silently.

“Clean this up,” He commanded coldly. “And find out why the damn secretary left her post.”

The dining room was warm and glowing, lit by soft amber lamps and the flickering of two tall candlesticks you'd pulled out for special occasions. Bucky had brought home your favorite flowers, peonies and roses, as they sat in a small vase at the center of the table. You’d spent the afternoon preparing everything just right: the roast perfectly browned, the potatoes buttery and soft, and the pie cooling on the windowsill like something out of a magazine.

Steve arrived first, coat draped over one arm, and cheeks pink from the walk over. He gave you that same boyish smile he always had, a little tired around the edges, but genuine.

“You didn’t have to go all out, you know,” He said as you took his coat.

“You always say that,” You replied, nudging his arm affectionately. “And yet, here you are.”

Peggy followed soon after, elegant even in a simple dress and coat. Her lipstick was a bold red that only she could wear so effortlessly. She kissed your cheek and complimented the smell in the kitchen, but there was something keen behind her eyes, something she always carried when Bucky was in the room.

You didn't see it. Not really. You just figured they were all wound up from the war.

By the time dinner was served, Bucky had joined the table with the rest, freshly washed and changed into his off-duty clothes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loose. He was good at this. At shifting between warmth and command, between softness and strength. You only saw the former.

Steve and Peggy, however, knew both.

Conversation stayed light for a while. You laughed with Peggy about the disaster that had been your attempt at knitting a sweater, and Steve offered to help fix the radio you kept in the guest room. Bucky chimed in only when you touched his knee beneath the table or when your hand brushed his on the way to refill drinks. He watched everything. He always did.

Eventually, the topic turned as it always did toward the war. Steve asked Bucky something vague about his “department,” and you didn’t catch the full meaning, only the way the two men locked eyes for half a second too long.

You were pouring coffee when you asked, lightly, “Do either of you even know what it is Bucky does, really?”

There was a pause.

Steve looked at Bucky, then at you. His jaw twitched, subtle but not invisible.

“I know enough,” Steve said finally.

You laughed. “That makes one of us.”

Peggy gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You trust him. That’s what matters.”

“Of course I trust him,” You replied, glancing toward your husband. “I’m just saying… I walk into that building today and I feel like I’m the only one in the world not in on the joke.”

Bucky reached over, brushing his fingers over yours.

“You don’t need to be in on it,” He said gently. “That’s the point.”

Steve watched the exchange carefully. Peggy took a sip of her coffee, her expression unreadable.

You looked between them. “Do you two know something I don’t?”

“No,” Bucky answered at once, his voice smooth and disarming. “They just know the world’s not always as clean as we’d like it to be. You know how much I’ve worked to make sure you don’t have to worry about all that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” You muttered quietly, pouting almost. “Just… curious.”

Bucky’s thumb traced the back of your hand. “Curiosity’s dangerous in my line of work, sweetheart.”

You felt the heat creep up your neck, but not from fear. From the way he looked at you when he said it. Possessive and protective.

Steve shifted in his chair. “We’ve all got our roles to play and might I say, this roast is divine,” He added, voice taking on a lighter tone.

Peggy caught on, gently changing the subject with a compliment about dessert. You followed the lead easily, slipping back into warmth and comfort, even though something still tugged at the back of your mind. A feeling you couldn’t quite name.

But Bucky held your hand beneath the table the whole time.

And somehow, that made it easier not to ask any more questions.