#and looking for places to hide in his own home

[just-a-sweet-girl]

Hii omg THANK U for opening requests for DMC just finished the Netflix show and I am now a fan lmao anyways ! Can I get Dantexreader who are in a beginning of a relationship but dante has yet to show his demon form to reader? Reader could be catching glimpses of his red eyes. Could eventually ask to see etc but ya! Just an idea that scratched my brain. Thanks in advance!! <3

Thank you for the request <3

Demons existing wasn't exactly a secret to you. As a kid, you're elementary school had been attacked and to this day, you had no idea if it had been planned or random. To be fair, you didn't want to know, surviving it had been more than enough.

So, it wasn't all that hard to believe your boyfriend of 3 months explained that he was half-human, half-demon. He's never harmed you, or even tried to, Dante was a great boyfriend. So you stayed.

Lately, however, you've begun to notice some new things happening. Like last night during a heated make out session. Things had been going as usual until you caught a glimpse of red in his eyes. The sight made a small, surprised sound escape you while pulling back.

"Dante, your e-" His large hand covers your own eyes. Brows furrowing, you reach out for him, hands gripping his shirt. "...Dante?"

"It's nothing, just..." He heaves a sigh. Still not removing his hand until he knew his eyes were back to normal. "I'm tired, that job earlier took a lot outta me!"

You didn't really believe him, yet you still nod. Hands cupping his face gently to gaze at his eyes. His now, very blue eyes. You smile. "Let's go to bed then... I'll even cook breakfast in the morning."

Dante grins, feeling better now that the subject has changed. Placing a noisy kiss on her forehead. "You're the best, babe!"

It happens a few more times after that. And each time, Dante came up with some excuse to run away or cover your eyes. He even went as far as throwing his coat over your head one time during a demon attack. Even though you had already see his eyes red, his form beginning to change. It was starting to bother you how secretive he was being about this.

Did he not trust you?

"Hey, hey, pretty. What's wrong?" His voice called out, cupping her face in his large hands.

you blink a few times and his face comes into focus. You didn't realize that Dante came home already. His expression filled with worry as he tried to look you over. You didn't think the thought of him not trusting you would have made you cry, but it did.

"You're eyes go red." you sniffle, getting straight to the point. "I accepted you being half-demon, so, i understand you would have some characteristics."

He called your name.

"Why do you hide it from me?" you whisper, hands holding his. "It doesn't matter to me if you have blue or red eyes. Or any other appearance besides the one i see now. You will always be Dante."

You finally see that vulnerability in him. "I don't want to scare you away." His forehead rests upon your own. eyes closing for a moment as he debates within himself.

"You won't." Then, you say, "Show me."

Dante close his eyes. Brows scrunched together as he hesitates. Even though you're asking to see, he was scared. What if you screamed and ran away from him? It hurt to think, but that might be the better outcome for you...

But you don't do any of that.

Smiling softly at the sight you only caught glimpses of. Nose brushing against his. "You're still my handsome Dante." The words are enough to have his smile return. "Red does suit you, after all."

[demon-at-peace]

DC + DP

Danny was supposed to be on the run from the GIW. Which he was, don't he didn't get him wrong, but he'd only had a few run ins with them, in Chicago, and NYC mainly. The foster care system was another issue. Somehow social workers were more competent than the GIW.

The first time he'd run in with them had been in Missuiri, accurate to the name it was miserable. He knew he had a baby face, he hadn't aged since he'd died after all. But was eighteen really such a stretch? he was sixteen after all!

Apparently it was, because they found the abandoned warehouse he was staying in and put him in foster care. He wasn't too happy about that. But he stayed, the Mathews were nice if a bit odd, but the GIW came to town and he ran.

They found him. So he ran again. Eventually he stopped staying stopped waiting for the ball to drop and just ran first chance he got. They started putting him in places for bad kids, places that had top notch security, still he ran. The foster system, infamously known as being terrible, kept finding him. They didn't put him in good homes, but they found him. He kept running.

Danny was done with it. Until he found Gotham, because their foster kid was practically nonexistent. It didn't really have other perks, but Danny didn't really have other options. So Gotham it was. The city was basically hell. Kinda, in reality it was just full of organized crime, violence, and death. A whole lot of death.

The dead roamed the streets, except they weren't ghosts. They were shades. Contrary to popular opinion they aren't the same.

Ghosts are their own being, an aspect of their past but not the full thing. Ghosts had moved on from their deaths. They were beings of the infinity realms. But shades are beings of the living realm. Because while they are dead, they linger, because they haven't accepted their deaths.

Danny knows he would have been a shade had he not been a halfa, he would have been watching waiting, for years. So he talks with them, to those who don't accept it, and they move on. Slowly losing the doubts from their life.

He talks and they help him in return. Shades after all understand humans, ghosts don't. They understand doubts and worries and pain. So they help him, they show him the cheapest stores. the crime free places. The best places to get free food, where to find shelter. The parts of the sewers where Grundy or Killer Croc don't roam.

So he learns, quick and fast, he knows Gotham in a way no one else does. The dead guide him. But the dead are not the only otherworldly inhabitants of Gotham. The city herself is ancient, a city spirit with so much power it's otherworldly. yet she smiles upon him.

He doesn't quite know why, he is young, weak in comparison, and yet when he asks she answers "You protect things, my city needs more defenders." He takes the duty with pride. He cannot be Phantom, but he's Danny. He's reckless perhaps, but he defends. He doesn't fail.

Ever.

Despite never failing, he gains attention. The protectors of Gotham notice him. The first time he meets them it's after a knife wound. He knows taking on the guy was dumb, but he wasn't about to let that girl get hurt. Or even worse r@ped,

He's taller, a red helmet and leather jacket. Just jazz's type. Danny meets his eyes evenly, he's dead. Partially, really it's been ages since he met someone who's contaminated. But he ignores it because they look at him with anger.

"What the fuck kid?" His tone is gruff, harsh grating, he clearly had a voice changer Danny notes. "Don't do that again, ever," the warning is ominous, Danny has no intention to listen.

so he vanishes, fleeing from Gotham's beloved knight and hiding. He feels guilty, that he's not listening. But he can't, because the shades are there. Begging him to help their home. So he does, he listens.

But he's not doing enough, he knows that. But he can't be phantom. he'll die. He doesn't want to die again. Not at the GIW's hands.

But Gotham needs him. So he fights harder. Night after night, he takes bullets, shuts down drug rings. He shuts down a trafficking ring and shows the meta kids how he can float. They giggle and laugh. It reminds him why it's worth it.

The second time he meets one of them it's a kid, Robin they call him, he's outnumbered, yet he's holding his own. Danny helps anyway. "Go away!" the kid demands, worry in his voice.

Danny doesn't care, he fights, and he takes them out. it's easy really, fighting. He's used to it, they don't even have guns tonight. The kid fights too, with worry in his eyes as he looks at Danny. Danny knows Robin doesn't want him in his city, but Danny can't leave. He won't.

Red Robin is next, blue eyes,and he moves like grace, Danny's hurt he knows, the shades muttering, scolding. He knows getting hurt makes stuff harder, he's such an idiot. And Red Robin reaches for him.

"Are you hurt?" he calls. He's judging him, Danny knows, telling him that he's weak. And he's right, so he runs. The shades guide him and he vanishes.

He meets Nightwing later that week, in the middle a taking down a drug ring, Danny fights, and he does too.

"Hey!" he calls. Danny runs, he's mad, Danny knows it's his fault for interfering, he didn't mean too. He did, he won't stop. He;s sorry.

Two days latter he is confronted by the bat, "Why are you here? Don't you have somewhere else?" he asks. Get out is what he's sayying, Danny can't there's no where else that's safe. Nowhere where he'll be okay.

So he runs.

---------

In case you didn't notice Danny's unreliable in this. So ha ha yeah the bats are trying to help and he's freaking out. So the bats perspective is coming up soon!

so kinda freaking out, so yesterday I felt bad, like puked and then just fainted, my roommate dragged me to bed, she thought I just fell asleep on the floor cause I've done that before. Am fine but thought I'd share?

also love ya'll! and I'm working on my Danny/Dick thing fingers crossed I'll be finished with part 4 soon!

Bye!

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒕

synopsis. you run into dean while working on a case.

pairing. supernatural﹢ dean winchester x hunter!reader ﹢ smut

wordcount. 1.1K

warnings. nsfw ! alcohol, too much flirting, semi-public sex, unprotected sex.

You clock him the second you walk into the bar.

It’s not just the leather jacket or the stupidly confident sprawl of his legs beneath the sticky table. It’s the way his eyes cut across the room like a weapon, scanning. Like yours. Like he’s hunting too.

You pretend not to notice. Order a whiskey. Neat. The bartender raises a brow but doesn’t argue.

The bar smells like beer and regret. One guy’s already passed out on the pool table. Perfect place for a cursed object to be changing hands. You’re here for the hex bag that’s been killing truckers up and down the state.

He’s probably here for the same thing.

You settle into the stool, sip your drink, and resist the urge to turn around and stare.

Doesn’t work.

Because suddenly, he’s beside you, leaning against the bar like he owns it.

“Hunter?” he says, low, amused.

You arch a brow. “You don’t exactly scream civilian.”

His smile kicks up lazy and crooked, full of trouble. “Dean.”

Of course he’s Dean. You’d know that face anywhere—even if you’d never met him before. Rumors. Stories. That smile.

“(Y/N),” you reply, taking another sip. “You here for the hex bag or just to annoy me?”

“Both,” he says, and he means it.

You snort, lips brushing the rim of your glass. “You always this charming?”

“No,” he says. “Usually I’m worse.”

You don’t flirt when you're working. Usually. But Dean Winchester is the kind of problem you want to make worse before you fix it. That look in his eye? That hungry edge under the smartass? You’ve met enough bad men to know what good trouble feels like.

He buys you a drink. You let him.

Then another. You pretend it’s for information-gathering. For the case.

But you both know better.

It starts as a game. The slow lean of his shoulder into yours. The way his hand brushes your thigh like he’s not even trying to hide it. He tells you about the hex bag—how he’s tracking it to some lowlife in the back booth, fourth beer in, about to head home with a “gift” for his wife.

You tell him about how you have already set a trap for the witch.

He looks at you like he’s impressed and turned on, and you’re too buzzed to care which one wins out first.

“You always work solo?” he asks.

“I like the quiet.”

“Bet you moan loud, though.”

You choke on your drink. He grins like it’s his birthday.

“Wow,” you cough. “Real smooth.”

“I can be,” he says, voice low, like he’s already picturing it.

There’s heat curling between your thighs now. You hate him for it. You love it.

One more drink. One more dare in his eyes. One more glance at that mouth and you know exactly how the night’s gonna end.

The bar’s too crowded. The alley’s too gross.

But the Impala? Oh yeah.

You don’t even make it ten feet from the bar before he’s pushing you up against the passenger door, mouth crashing onto yours like he’s been dying for it all night.

It’s not romantic. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. Tongues and teeth and hands fumbling at layers of leather and denim. His knee slots between your legs and grinds just right, and you whimper before you can stop yourself.

“God,” he groans against your neck, “you sound even better than I imagined.”

You grip the back of his shirt and drag him into the car.

The moment you land on the backseat, it’s chaos.

He’s everywhere.

Mouth on your throat, your collarbone, your breasts. Hands unzipping, tugging, lifting. You don’t even remember your boots coming off. Your jeans hit the floorboard and his tongue hits your skin and it’s all heat and sweat and filthy little moans.

“Dean—fuck—”

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your stomach. “Don’t wanna give the whole lot a free show.”

“Then stop doing things that make me wanna scream,” you snap.

He grins. “No promises.”

His mouth moves lower, tongue sliding between your thighs like he’s starving. He groans when he tastes you—groans, like the fucking sound of it’s enough to undo him.

And you?

You’re seeing stars.

Your fingers claw at the seat, legs shaking, breath catching as he circles your clit with slow, devastating precision.

“Jesus Christ—Dean—”

He pulls back just enough to smirk. “Still like the quiet, huh?”

“Shut up,” you gasp.

He chuckles and dives back in. Your hips buck against him like they’ve got a mind of their own. He holds you down, firm hands on your thighs, tongue working you open like he’s been dreaming about this for years.

You come hard—loud, messy, clenching around nothing and sobbing his name like a prayer.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Oh my God—”

He only lets you breathe when he finally crawls up your body, kissing you like he needs to taste your moans in his mouth.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he pants, lining himself up. “You want it, sweetheart?”

“Dean—”

“Say it.”

Your nails dig into his back. “I want it. I need it. Fuck me already—”

He thrusts in.

Your head snaps back with a cry. He fills you deep, thick and hot and perfect. You cling to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, every breath hitching as he starts to move.

Hard. Deep. Rhythmic.

The Impala rocks under you. The windows fog up. His name falls from your lips like a mantra, your whole body wound tight, strung out, ruined.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, fucking into you like he’s trying to leave bruises. “So tight, so wet—fuck—been thinking about this since the second I saw you.”

You gasp against his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him growl.

He slams into you faster, sweat dripping from his jaw, lips crashing into yours like he can’t get close enough. His hand slides between you, rubbing circles over your clit until your vision blacks out.

You come again—loud, shaking, writhing beneath him.

That’s all it takes.

Dean curses, slamming deep one last time before he groans your name and spills inside you, buried to the hilt, panting like he’s just fought off a demon with his bare hands.

The car goes still.

You’re both wrecked.

Boneless.

You don’t even open your eyes as he slumps on top of you, breath warm against your ear.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles.

You laugh, breathless, hair stuck to your forehead. “That was... yeah. Wow.”

“Top three,” he admits, nuzzling into your neck.

You snort. “Three?”

“Gotta leave room for improvement.”

You smack his shoulder.

He pulls back enough to look at you. His smile’s softer now, lazy and stupidly satisfied.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[howlingmod]

crawls up to you on 3 of my 4s (joldong a soda in one hand) ummmm uhh can I get a uhhh hcs for killers x a survivor reader who is a single parent of a kid. as you’d expect the spectre freakin sucks and dragged the kid there too

summary - 1x4, Jason x single parent reader

misc - ASKS THAT REMINDED ME I HAVE A SWEET DELICIOUS DRINK IN THE FRIDGE ..... thank you so much anon ..... this ones a little silly i can't lie I <3 PARENTAL 1x4 ....

1x4

-Your relationship started off as poorly as it could. You'd been with a smaller group of survivors, watching as they were picked off one by one. You didn't think it would go this bad. You all knew there were threats whenever you went out, you just didn't expect that they'd be so close to your campsite.

-You'd all gone on a small run to pick up supplies, running low on basic necessities. It was just meant to be a quick look around and then head back home, it was never supposed to devolve like this. You'd hid your kid as soon as you heard the screams, finding a place for them to hide from any potential danger while you figured out what was going on. You thanked your past self for finding somewhere they wouldn't be able to see any of this. Bodies were strewn about the ground, in all states of togetherness- disemboweled, beheaded, all clearly dead.

-You'd only managed to find one other survivor before you'd been caught, finding him hiding away in an odd corner of the area, clearly just as lost and confused as you.

"What happened? Did you see who did this?" You'd asked, struggling to keep your voice steady enough with how fast your heart was beating. His hands flew to your shoulders, clasping down tight in desperation for some support.

"I-I don't know, I was with Casper and then this thing just appeared out of nowhere and tackled him and-" He started to ramble, devolving into incoherence the more he spiraled.

"Hey, just calm down. We'll find a way out of here, I promise," you tried, mustering as much calm as you could in an effort to reassure him.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something before suddenly stopping, growing pale as he looked a little past you. His hyperventilating only got worse, much to your displeasure, after a few seconds of trying to make him look back at you, you relented, looking over your shoulder and finding the source of his fear.

They were tall, unnaturally so. You didn't have to stare long to find the swords clasped in either hand, dripping with fresh blood. You both scrambled to stand up, you immediately trying to think of a way to lose them once you started running, but your thoughts were cut short. The hands on your shoulder squeezed and, through the blood rushing through your ears, you could just barely hear an 'I'm sorry,' before you were shoved forward.

You landed hard on your back, stunned by the sudden motion as you stared up at the sky. Shakily raising your head, you watched as they ran away, slowly growing smaller. The thing behind you laughed, low and sinister before drawing closer. You didn't have any time to get back up, them catching up to you and dragging you up by the collar of your shirt.

"Well well well, the unfortunate martyr," She crooned, leering down at you. Your feet dangled off the ground, unable to find any purchase other than their legs, unmoved by your struggle. His glowing eyes found your own, delighted by the fear he saw in them. He only grinned, slowly raising the edge of one of his blades to your throat, daring you to move and cut yourself on them. He opened his mouth, ready to mock you once more before something hit him.

"Hey! Leave 'm alone!" Your blood ran cold instantly, the rush instantly dizzying you to nausea. You couldn't breathe around the ball in your throat. Of course they would come looking for you, you'd been gone so long. God, you should've just ran when you had the chance. You thrashed harder now, kicking hard at his torso and scratching wherever you could find space. To your absolute dread, she cackled, full-bodied and unadulterated.

"Well, what do we have here? This is your rescue?" He just kept laughing, dropping the blade to his side to turn to your child.

"Leave them out of this!" You yelled, falling on deaf ears.

"Let my (parent) go!" They yelled, only furthering your struggle. You couldn't afford for them to get the ire of the killer holding you hostage. You wouldn't be able to protect them in time.

"This is too rich," he hummed, thoroughly pleased. Finally, she dropped you, letting you hit the ground once more. You'd scrambled up, instantly heading for your child as they ran to meet you in the middle. You stared back up at the killer, finding them grinning back down at both of you.

"I have to admit, you're a brave one," she started, directing her attention to your child, "I'm curious to see what you'll become."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran in the direction that the other survivor had gone, leaving you to sit there in confusion. You watched her slowly shrink into the distance, disappearing behind the tree-line. You made no move yet, too dumbfounded to think of what to do next. Finally, your child had looked up at you, still caged in your arms.

"Who was that?"

-The next few months were a blur. You found your way back home with everything you were able to pick off of the others. You felt awful for it but you had a mouth to feed, you couldn't afford to overextend your kindness if that whole interaction had taught you anything. You were able to find a relative normalcy, only haunted by the new silence with your lack of company. Your kid took to sword fighting with sticks in the yard, using the dead trees as dummies to duel with. It wasn't the best life, but it was enough of a routine that you were happy with it. That was until you noticed the same monster that nearly killed you was gifting your child a sword.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" You'd shouted to your visitor, watching as your child's extended hand shot back to their side in surprise.

"Aw, don't be like that, I'm merely checking up on my prodigy," he called back, calm as can be.

"Your- That's my kid, jackass!" You were seething now, temporarily dropping your filter in disbelief.

He only laughed at that, placing the gift in your kid's hands before stepping closer towards you, "I never said they were mine, just that I've taken an interest in their development. It takes guts to stand up to me, I was impressed."

He only stopped once he was a hair's breadth away, smiling down at you like she was a family friend. You glared right back up at him, crossing your arms over your chest with a grimace.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing but you can leave them out of it. If you have some kind of problem you take it up with me, you understand?" You hissed, poking her in the sternum for emphasis. You were playing a dangerous game prodding her, but you'd much rather take the blunt of their malice over your kid.

She scoffed, turning to throw her arm over your shoulder and pull you into her side, "Are you deaf? Like I've been saying, I'm just invested in seeing their talent be used to the fullest. I'd hate to see such courage go to waste, is all."

"Here," she crooned, tugging you ever closer and leaning down to your level as best she could, "If you're really so concerned, I'll only ever come to visit while you're around. You can supervise me if you truly think it necessary."

You narrowed your eyes, glancing over to your child. They were busy looking at the sword they'd been gifted, brushing their fingers over the dull blade wrapped in burlap to protect their hands. You could practically hear her grin grow with your growing defeat.

"Fine. Only when I'm around," you relented.

"It's a deal," he chimed.

-It became routine from then on. 1x4 would come to visit, offering all kinds of gifts to your child: post-cards from far away lands and coins long out of production. In recent times, he'd begun to offer you gifts more often, bearing glimmering jewels and a surplus of food for the two of you. He'd present them to you as soon as he found your side, watching as 'his prodigy' trained. Rarely would he participate, only when you relented to your child's pleading for him to play with them under your careful eye. Usually, he'd just sit next to you in a comfortable silence, occasionally offering some kind of feedback to your child, both praise and critique. Truthfully, it seemed like they really were getting better with that sword...

-The visits would turn longer and longer, following you two into your home for dinner when your kid asked for him to stay one night. Tentatively, you'd busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing some of the supplies she'd dropped off the other day as you listened to their conversation. Your child was rambling all about the books they'd been reading, filling her in on all the stories they'd heard about drakobloxxers and princesses in castles saved by shining knights. Readily, she listened, offering her own inputs and spins on those tales with pride. Slowly, you grew calmer, finding peace in the moment.

-One day, she'd come all the same as normal. Greeting your child and offering them a piece of seaglass they'd soon put up on the shelf with all her other gifts before she found your side once more. You'd given her a nod of acknowledgement, too focused on your kid's training to pay mind to her finding her gift for you. Just a moment later, he'd presented it to you, more casual than he normally did. He said nothing, just held his palm out for you to look. It was a ring, lined with diamonds and held by a gorgeous, gold band. You'd laughed, more earnestly than he'd heard before.

"What's this supposed to be?" You hummed, warm with amusement.

He smiled back, softer than his usual mischievous grin, "A gift."

You'd snickered at the simplicity of it, readily taking it from his hand. It fit perfectly, unsurprisingly. You found he had a way of knowing things before he was told. Neither of you said anything more about it, turning your attention back to the excited child in the yard pointing out the deep cuts they'd made in the bark.

Jason

-Jason found you before you could even meet the others. You didn't know it then, you couldn't see him in the dark, sneaking through the cover of the woods. You were too scared then, too terrified to pay attention to the sounds around you over your own heart in your ears. You just needed to find safety, somewhere you could hide away with your child until you figured out where you were.

-You ran around in circles, passing the same clearings and scratching yourself on the same brambles of thorns- straining to lift your kid up above them and through the webs of branches reaching out for you both. Jason only watched as you got more and more lost, growing more frantic by the second. It'd taken watching you trip over an overgrown root and flip over to ensure you hit the ground instead of your child that finally made him draw closer.

-It was still too dark for you to really see him, only able to make out that there was a person there. You'd shot upright, scrambling backwards against a tree and pulling your kid tight to your chest, hidden behind your arms.

"Who are you?!"

He didn't answer at all, just stood staring at you from a few feet away. You were going to try asking again, only further irritated by his lack of response before he finally moved. It was purposeful but unhurried, leaving you just a sliver of time to contemplate running before he reached out and grabbed for one of your arms. You'd instantly tried to pull back, fearing he was trying to pry your arms away from your child but he was stronger, overpowering you-

He grabbed your hand, turned away, and started walking.

-He didn't talk on the way there at all either, didn't make any noise at all, really. So, you didn't ask any questions. You were terrified, you really shouldn't just be letting him drag you god knows where like this but ... if he really wanted to hurt either of you, you figured he would've done that already. You could just barely spot the glimmer of something sharp in his free hand.

-Eventually, he reached a cabin. It was a very worn, aged looking cabin but shelter nevertheless. It was only then he dropped the iron grip he had on your hand, barely turning to you and pointing in the direction of the door. You'd stood there for a second, dumbly staring at him. The thought of this all being one big trap, some game to him, popped back up in your mind. Nevertheless, you tentatively padded over to the door, tightening your grip on your child once more. You'd expected him to be on your heel, shoving you over the threshold and into his lair but, looking over your shoulder, you found he hadn't moved an inch. He stared right back at you, waiting for you to step into the house. He stayed there even when the door was shut, only turning to leave a few moments later, leaving you in the shabby house without a word.

-The house itself was in better condition than you'd expected. It hadn't been occupied too recently based on the layers of dust piling up but, compared to the woods you'd just run through, it may as well have been a fully-furnished mansion. It was just you and your child as far as you can tell. There seemed to be some kind of dirt road leading there but you'd made no move to explore, not wanting to risk it quite yet. There were enough supplies left behind there for you to provide for your kid as they slowly regained their energy and started running around the house to explore. By the time you even began to worry about running low, he came back.

-You'd been startled, nearly jumping out of your skin when you heard the knock on the door, but, even though you'd barely seen him in the dark that night, you could immediately identify who it was. He didn't strike any fear into you, even with the mask and ragged clothes. He'd saved you and your child's life, you couldn't muster any ill-will towards him if you tried. You'd welcomed him in with arms warmer than he'd expected, inviting him inside and talking to him. You'd been a little worried by his lack of response until he began signing, slow and shaky but still understandable. It wasn't the clearest to you at first, but, with his repeated visits, you slowly picked it up more and more. As did your child, who would happily run up and try signing back to him, much to his delight. Their energy was refreshing, the familial situation made him feel comfortable, at peace for a time.

-The cycle repeated for a few months, you slowly growing more and more acclimated to your surroundings. You found ways to live off the land, figuring out what was and wasn't safe to forage with the help of your company. Your kid found new trees to climb and learned to set up small traps that you'd learn how to spot and avoid. Life had found some kind of normalcy again.

-One day, you had a new visitor a strange looking man with an equally strange face(?) on his shirt and a hat your kid would later laugh about when describing him. Neither of you spoke to one another, he'd gone stock still and slack jawed staring at you and your kid from afar, obviously confused about why you were there. You didn't bother filling him in, only turning on your heel and heading back home. You're sure he would've tried to chase after you, ask who you were and why you were there if it weren't for the shadow that'd followed you here, standing just a few feet away from you in a clear threat. 'Stay away.'

[nezuswritingdesk]

meow! (All the LIs with GN! Reader)

Synopsis: Oh no! They’ve turned into kittens! Now what?

Tags: fluff fluffy fluffy cats!, possibly ooc lis, based on the kitty event

Wc: 1.1k

A/n: this was like the first ever ask/request I've ever gotten (im sorry it took so long shu @sylusonychinus aka my dearly beloved husband) I hope you like it!)

Xavier- meow * naps *

Hes a small white kitten with the most expressive eyes and the fluffiest tail, a literal cloud. Hes a British short-hair with either cream or fawn fur.

And what's the first thing this little kitty does?

Naps.

He just naps all the time.

Or eat, that's his second favorite thing to do. Has tried to eat food he can't have

Dont be fooled by his cute face! He is a proficient hunter of mice and bugs.

Has presented you with dead animals and bugs with a calm expression.

Stole clothes

Chirps at the window, chrips at birds, at baked goods, at a random lizard, at his own reflection— Everything.

Will follow you everywhere, marking you with his scent.

Xavier kitty was a good kitty. He kept to himself, napped near the window for most of the day, occasionally changing position to stretch and retreat once more.

Today was different.

Xavier kitty was awake. His bright eyes looked out of the window, his small mouth chattering at a particular brown bird by the window.

“Meow!” He meowed, and glanced back at you with those big eyes that made you bring him home.

“No.” You said firmly, shaking your head. “I'm not letting you out.”

“Meowwww!!” He whined and pawed at the window. You sighed even more, picking him up. He began to look out the window, chirping loudly at the innocent bird outside.

“Maybe next time, Xavier.” You whispered. “You can get the bird later, you did a good job with that mouse a while ago.”

Xavier purred and nuzzled his chest against your neck. He glanced at the window once more, and napped once more in your arms.

Zayne - meow meow

Maine Coon. Hes a maine coon with the most expressive and bright forest green eyes known to mankind, Fluffy coat

A very perceptive cat, would softly bump his head against yours if he senses that you're not doing well

Also naps. As a busy doctor now turned feline, he can now catch up on much needed nap time

Hes an introverted and indoor cat, always hiding away (maybe in his study room)

As much as he is a cute and well behaved cat, he feels miserable because he can't have sweets (cats aren't allowed to have sweets)

Would chirp at Clopidogrel, but the poor squirrel got terrified. Zayne has never forgiven himself.

Has a calming presence towards everyone and everything he approaches. Except the carrots. He still hates them.

Wants cuddles, as much as he doesn't want to admit it. Give him cuddles please.

Has big big Boba eyes

Very hygienic and well-groomed.

Zayne kitty pressed his head gently against yours. You looked at the cat, his bright green eyes seemed to go forever with his calm and peaceful reaction. You tilted your head, wondering what's wrong.

“Meow.” Zayne said, nudging your hand. He left you , jumping down from the counter top and walking his way to the fridge. He raised a paw and patted it.

“Meow.” He repeated.

You opened the refrigerator, seemingly understanding his request. The fridge was primarily empty, say for the few water bottles and half-eaten food.

“I should get new groceries.” You concluded. Zayne meowed again. “You're right,” You knelt down and placed a hand on his soft fur. “I'll get new groceries it is.”

Rafayel - screeches and cries (he hates being a cat)

Kitty Rafayel…he hates it.

He hates being a cat.

He has been whining non-stop about his current state

A very very vocal kitten. He's a very loud siamese.

Has pretty fur and bright eyes too.

Is trying to draw with his paws and making art

Likes to hunt fish and annoy Tomas

As much as he is annoying and dramatic, he warms up to you and can be seen with you

Swims in the water

Praying to the gods that the paint he uses wouldn't poison him.

Kitty Rafayel had the worst day in his 800 years. He had turned into a kitty. He cried? Yowled? At his current state.

He glanced at his blank canvas, looking at it with disbelief and confusion. Now what?

He continued to cry, dipping his paws beneath the paints. The bright and striking colors fill the white floors. He played with the canvas, the colors splashing as he made progress — or whatever you'd call progress from a cat.

“Rafayel?” You called out, peering into the art studio. The small feline stopped and looked up at you. He immediately abandoned what he was doing, dragging paint behind him as he reached you. He nuzzled against your legs, purring loudly.

You smiled, lowering yourself down to pat his head. You sat beside him, glancing at the small pawprints that lined the bottom of the white canvas.

“That looks lovely.” You smiled. Rafayel meowed properly and nuzzled close. Though he was his least favorite creature, your compliments make his feline state tolerable enough.

Sylus - smug rich cat ma-ow

What a smug cat. Doesn't meow , he ma-ows.

has chased Mephisto around countless times

Has terrorized the twins in his feline form (though they do find the boss adorable, If he doesn't hiss at them, which is all the time)

Hes a caracal. He has sharp ears, and piercing eyes, it was like Onychinus had a lion in their midst

it doesn't matter that he was a cat, just like kitty Xavier, he is still as fierce and scary like in his human form

Do not be fooled! He's still a loverboy ? Lover cat? He's just as soft and affectionate with you.

Loves his laser. So much.

His favorite laser glows a bright and striking red that he would pounce on. His little exercise even.

Likes to sing?? Can cats even sing? Maybe he chirps a lot at Mephisto

PURRS SO LOUDLY like a little engine

Kitty sylus was curled up in your chest, purring loudly. You were asleep, trying not to mind the heavy weight of the cat. He continued to purr, wrapped up in a loaf position. He'd stretched occasionally, his claws pressed down against your chest as he made biscuits. “Meow…” Sylus meowed in a deep tone, you hummed incoherently and patted his head. Sylus purred along, leaning his face against the touch of your warm hand. You continued to pat and cuddle with him absentmindedly until he slipped out of your chest and walked away, probably to terrorize Mephisto and the twins once more.

Caleb - in distress because he wanted to be dog instead

He wanted to be a dog. But he here was, turned into a very well-loved housecat , no exact breed but well-loved

Very floofy but not fat. His fur makes him look fat.

Hes not!! He's a very active cat

Loves to run around and play

Please take him out on walks whenever he can

Steals your clothes too, sits on your warm laundry to place his scent all over (like kitty Xavier)

Loves to follow you in the kitchen

Will not eat if you will not eat!

Loves to keep you company

Loves being toll (standing on his hind legs)

Kitty Caleb always kept you company from the moment you wake up to the moment you fell asleep, the sight of his wide eyes and tail wagging in the winds kept his presence known.

And every afternoon, Kitty Caleb loved going on walks. He would meow at the door like a dog, looking back at you with expecting eyes, pleading to go outside.

You sighed and got up from the couch, grabbing his leash and collar. You called him over, placed on his leash and collar, grabbed your keys, and headed out with him, leading the way.

[chimielie]

go loud

summary: Kita x F!Reader. you come back from university. he’s still waiting.

wc: 1.4k

cw: one (1) instance of kita lookin at ur butt, pining, misunderstandings, reader is carried but kita is a strong farmer so don’t be offput lol

a/n: sorry for being obsessed with using fanfic to work out feelings about my hometown

you've been acting weird around kita ever since you came back from the city.

when you decided to move back to hyōgo after graduating university, he'd been delighted in his own quiet, mild-mannered way. he'd always hoped for this outcome, though he had tried to hide it. you seemed happy when he came to visit you, but he always had the uncomfortable sense that you were becoming something beyond his comprehension, wearing styles that were unfamiliar, laughing about jokes for which he lacked context, your heart expanding at the rate of the universe but somehow without room for him in it.

he knew this was silly reasoning, but he just felt... drowned out in tokyo. it made him afraid that someday you would stop seeking his voice—but you hadn't. instead, you had called him one day and said "shinsuke, what do you think of my moving back home?"

he thought so highly of this idea he could have climbed the sky tree for joy. finally, things would return to the way they had been since you were children. you would meet him on saturday mornings and walk to the market with him, one hand supporting a book, the other holding his. he would be waiting in your kitchen when you came home from teaching language lessons at the high school, slicing up vegetables and laughing with your mother. you would sit on the narrow paths between the rice paddies as he weeded, mimicking the sounds of birds and frogs back over the water. his world would fall back into place.

it hadn't. you had come back with a little piece of that loud city life inside your soul. on saturday mornings, you no longer relied on him for guidance while you frantically turned pages and attempted to walk into poles; now, you face the morning with a bright smile and shout greetings to people even kita isn't familiar with from across the street. it takes fifteen more minutes to reach the market because everyone has questions for you that you answer bashfully, one hand on the brim of your sunhat as kita stands beside you, his hands in his pockets. you teach at inako, but don't come home until late, stumbling through the doorway and laughing about how much fun you had at karaoke with your colleagues. you always invite him, but his mornings are much too early. you insist on helping him weed when you come with him to complete his chores, borrowing a pair of his boots and sliding around in them as you stomp toward the paddies. occasionally, you slip, and he's forced to put a hand on your waist to steady you. your yelp startles all the birds, their feathers fanned out stark black and white against the sky.

this isn't what's weird. kita is pleasantly surprised that you've found your voice, having always chafed against what you felt was your stifling hometown. he's pleased to watch you smile, the flash of your teeth as your new friends compliment you, the sway of your hips when you return from karaoke inebriated. the feeling of your body beneath his square palm makes his heart pound fast, but that isn't anything new either. he's always been in love with you. how could he not be?

you, however, jerk away from kita's touch, water sloshing into your shoes when you stumble again. he asks you to taste test his cooking, but you knock the chopsticks away from his hand and insist on feeding yourself. he comes to karaoke and you don't look at him at all when he sings.

he walks home with you anyway.

you're wearing impractical shoes, the kind that make your legs very difficult to avoid staring at but that are now clearly hurting your feet.

"take them off," he says, exasperated.

"no," you say stubbornly. "you can't tell me what to do." he's grateful you kept your kansai accent, even though you can switch to a flawless standard dialect if need be. this is your real voice, the one you use with all your walls down.

"you're clearly hurtin'," he says pointedly as you stumble again. "take 'em off. i'll carry you."

"...fine," you say, already bending over.

(kita is a gentleman, but he doesn't quite look away fast enough, and the way your skirt rides up is seared into his brain forever.)

he unbuttons his shirt while you fuss with the straps, leaving him in a white tank, and gives it to you before you climb on his back.

"tie this around your waist," he instructs, and you goggle at him, speechless for a moment. too late, he realizes he's indicated that he was looking and briefly considers dying of shame right there on the sidewalk.

here lies kita shinsuke, who passed at age twenty-four, having unholy and perverted thoughts about his childhood best friend, who did not love him back.

mercifully, you say nothing for once and just let him carry you, your heels dangling from one hand and knocking against his thigh. your body is warm through the thin material of his undershirt, your voice soft as you hum absentmindedly in his ear.

he sets you down on your front porch and you wobble. instinctively, he reaches for you, but stops himself in time to hover only a few centimeters above your skin. your head snaps up and you look at him, mouth parted like you want to say something.

before you can, he blurts: "who'd you leave behind in tokyo?"

"what?" you say. he wishes he could slap a hand over his past self's mouth. then he keeps going.

"you're pining for someone, right?" he asks, shoving his foot deeper in his mouth. "that's why you're always singin' love songs and dressin' like you wish you had someone to impress."

you're silent, gaping at him like a fish. something he had been too stupid (lovestruck, lovesick) to consider before pops into his mind.

"or you didn't leave them behind? you're still together?" your hands are rising to your mouth as he speaks, abject horror written all over your face. he steps back and bows, his squeezed-shut eyes preventing him from seeing the way you move towards him, reaching out but not quite touching him. "i'm so sorry, L/N-san. i've been behaving improperly out of habit, i hadn't considered that it might have different implications now that we're adults. i apologize sincerely."

"shin!" your gasp brings him out of his bent posture, your hand holding his wrist. "stop that! and don't talk to me so formally. i'm not seein' anyone at all. in fact," the porch light pours gold over your face, neck, and shoulders, not helping with the way his skin prickles with your touch, "i did go on dates while i was away. i won't lie about that, but all i learned was that i didn't—i couldn't like anyone who wasn't you."

kita echoes your earlier question. "what?"

"i didn't understand it in high school because it was all i'd ever known," you admit, "but when i saw my friends start dating, it was unfamiliar. then once they settled down, i saw their love like i saw my feelings for you. i always wanted to come home to you because i knew you'd always listen, that you make me laugh harder than anyone, that i understood you without sayin' a single word, but i didn't know what it meant 'til now. i'm sorry you noticed. i really did try to keep it quiet."

kita stares at you. you look apologetic, your eyes wet, your lips curved down. he glances down at his wrist, which you're still holding, prompting you to drop it like it had burned you. his overfried brain mourns the loss of contact, so he grabs you by your hips and really touches you, hauling you in for a kiss so close your chests are touching, your lips soft and warm as he presses his own against them.

when you separate, both of you are breathing heavily. you thought you knew the depths of your heart’s beating for shinsuke. you were wrong.

"i was scared i was gonna lose you again," he tells you, resting his forehead against yours. “i thought nothing was ever gonna be the same.”

“it probably won’t be but that’s okay.”

“yeah,” he breathes, a slow, shuddering thing. something he hadn’t known was wound tight unravels in his chest. “yeah. but you wouldn’t—you stopped talkin’ to me.”

“i didn’t,” you draw back, looking insulted.

“not like this,” he puts his fingers to your lips, slightly swollen from his kiss, then on your breastbone, over your heart. “see?”

[heechwe]

lexiiii popping in your inbox because i saw the 3k celebration!! first i wanted to say congratulations on achieving 3k followers you absolute deserve it for making absolute bangers and amazing fics💗

but if i could add a mix of hate/possessive sex with jay or sunghoon (im always on my jayhoon agenda)

¿por que no los dos? hehe if this throuple idea goes badly, i apologize, it's my first time writing it and i kinda went feral

𐔌 𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𐦯 — your best friends are just looking after you. that's what they tell themselves, anyway. jay and sunghoon didn't expect you to go all out at this party, drinking and dancing like you can't be bothered by anyone's stares or comments. and stare they do, especially with how low-cut your dress is. nobody should be ogling you like this, the two guys think as you giggle into your solo cup. you're not a piece of meat; you're an incredible and capable woman, but it's so hard for even them to keep themselves in check as they carry you home. your mind is still buzzed from the liquor but not in a place of total loss of recognition. why couldn't they see it was all for them?

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝟑𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓

𐔌 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𐦯 જ⁀➴ 𝒋𝒂𝒚 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙

"You didn't have to storm me out of there. I can take care of myself," you mumble as Jay locks the door to your apartment. Sunghoon immediately runs to the fridge to grab you a bottle of water, but you flick it away when he presses it to your chest. "Stop hovering over me, the both of you."

"You need to drink something that isn't 40-proof, sweetheart," Jay says in an admonishment, running his hands through his hair to keep from saying something he regrets. He can see it in Sunghoon's eyes too. They just want to protect you. That's all they've ever wanted.

It kills you that they can't get past that and give you what you want yourself.

"He's right, doll. Take this water and—"

"I don't want water! I want you both to stop treating me like a kid when I'm grown and I know exactly what I want." You huff into the air, storming past both of them and into your bedroom with tears in your eyes.

You feel stupid thinking the dress, the glittery makeup, the show you put on for the both of them would work. All they ever saw you as was their younger, close friend. That would never change.

Trying to hide the sniffle behind your hand doesn't work, the boys immediately coming to your side when they hear the sound from the doorway.

Jay tucks your hair from your shoulder as Sunghoon squeezes your knee. "Talk to us, please?" Sunghoon sounds so confused, so hurt, and Jay echoes the words in his expression, bright brown orbs laced with concern.

In that moment, you resolve not to hold it in any longer. Even if they say they don't feel the same as you do, at the very least you won't be waiting in the wings any more. You can take the truth and be done with it, go back to how it used to be with no more concealed emotions.

"I did all of this for you." You respond to Sunghoon before turning to Jay, your cheeks heating quickly. "Both of you. But I know neither of you see me that way, so it's—"

It's a crash of lightning the way Sunghoon captures your lips with his own, followed by the rattle of thunder when Jay pulls you away to take your mouth for himself. Sunghoon kisses down your neck as a way to occupy himself, eager to have you again but taking his time. He's waited this long.

Clearly the both of them have.

Sunghoon's eager fingers inch towards the inside of your thighs, lingering just outside the skin covered by your panties. You shiver under the touches of both men, Jay licking inside of your mouth and now squeezing one of your breasts outside of your dress as Sunghoon slips your underwear to the side to do what he's wanted for weeks, months, years.

It's all so much, so soon, you have had no time to speak. You find your voice again, tearing away from Jay's lips to whisper. "H-How—"

"Sweet girl," Jay tsks, running a finger along your cheekbone with a relieved expression, lips puffy but eyes lit with eager desire. "Why didn't you say something sooner? We would've given you anything you wanted."

Sunghoon hums in agreement. You did not notice the man had sunken to his knees, his face in between your legs and dress bunched up at your hips. Was this reality? How did it get to this point? "Didn't expect us to want you this bad, did you?"

You shake your head quickly, and Sunghoon responds with his face and fingers suddenly buried in the apex of your thighs. He licks and curls his fingers with precision, like he knows exactly where to suck and sink his digits in. It makes you tuck yourself deeper into Jay's chest. "Like what he's doing, sweetheart?" Jay asks.

You nod eagerly, riding your friend's face and fingers like your life depends on it. "S-So much, Seongie. I want you too, though," you confess before attaching your lips to his once more.

Jay chuckles into the kiss, cupping your face with both of his hands. "You'll have me—both of us—soon enough, pet. Be a good girl and come on his tongue first."

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @frenchkisstheabyss @prkhaven @tinycatharsis @fangel @aaa-sia @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @xylatox @dawngyu

[hazeysmile]

000 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 - pazzi

| Parings: paige bueckers x fem!oc x azzi fudd

| Synopsis: valeria de martel, a rookie foreign basketball player, scores a sponsorship that lands her at UConn, home of the Huskies. She meets star player Paige Bueckers, who’s not too happy about her joining, while Azzi Fudd is super excited to have Valeria on the team. As Valeria settles in, she vibes really well with Azzi, and their connection feels natural. But things are tense with Paige, who sees her as competition. Over time, though, they go from rivals to friends. With her strict parents far away and the pressure of big games, Valeria feels overwhelmed, especially when an old flame shows up at university. Meanwhile, both Paige and Azzi starts falling for her.

| word count: 9.4k

| author note: I just wanted to say this is my first time writing something like this about real-life people. I've never done this before, so bear with me; I’m a novice writer. This is how I portray the people in the story, and I hope you like the prologue. Thank you to everyone who reads!

જ⁀➴ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗡𝗢𝗦𝗘, 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗔 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛 𝗔𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗢𝗠'𝗦 𝗡𝗔𝗚𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗘𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘─

Your phone was cradled between your shoulder and ear as you drifted away from your mom's words. She wasn't really worried about your safety; she just focused on your disobedience to your dad and her orders. You hadn't told her about your trip to america, only sharing it with your brothers and uncle—if she knew, all hell would have broken loose.

As you grabbed your luggage from the conveyor belt, the air thickened with tension. Your mother’s Spanish accent grew stronger, her quick, frustrated curses cutting through the busy airport noise. With a practiced ease, you slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, silently acknowledging the storm brewing in her voice.

Wincing at her shout, her thick Spanish lilt filled through the phone with urgency. "Valeria De Martel, ¿me estás escuchando, joder?"

You puffed out your cheeks, once weighed down by your parents' expectations. Now, across the country, you relished the freedom of your own life. Your father, a successful businessman in Lyon, exuded a charm that drew people in, even when his words were mere bullshit.

Your mother exuded elegance, turning heads effortlessly. Behind closed doors, she revealed a different side. In public, your parents were a powerful duo, radiating confidence and a touch of cockiness. At press events, they charmed everyone with their warmth, but it was all a carefully crafted facade, hiding the complexities beneath.

You argued with your mother on the phone for about ten minutes, your voice rising as frustration spilled over. People around you began to stare, giving you strange looks as you shouted a bit. She had a way of bringing out your anger, and after the heated exchange, you fell silent, knowing you wouldn’t hear the end of it, you just listened.

"Sí, Sofía," you whispered-shouted, mumbling her name just out of earshot, aware that it would only fuel her anger with your blend of French and Spanish accents. "Lo sé, lo sé, acabo de aterrizar. Podemos hablar de esto en otro momento cuando esté listo."

"Valeria, no te atrevas—!" Before she could complete her sentence, you swiftly hung up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of your jacket. You knew all too well that her voice would rise in a cacophony of shouts and curses, filled with disapproval and words that offered no support.

You didn't exactly hate flying; you loved traveling, even if it meant attending your parents' parties and galas for their businesses. At least you got to see new places. But now, flying on a commercial airplane with strangers felt completely different from the comfort of your parents' private jet.

You hated the long lines at the American airport, the slow check-ins, and the hassle of having your luggage searched. Despite holding a permanent resident card—your green card—given by your sponsor, you felt like an immigrant. "God bless America," you thought, or whatever the saying is.

You were heading outside the terminal because your new coach texted you the contact details your sponsor provided. He mentioned that one of your teammates, KK Arnold, would pick you up and take you to the penthouse your sponsor bought for you. You did some research on the team, and your brother Benjamin helped too, even though he's a plays futbol.

You and your brother Benjamin share a strong bond. Although he's two years older, people often think you’re twins because of your similar looks, with him being more masculine. He’s passionate about futbol; you used to love it too, but your heart now belongs to basketball ever since your uncle Damien taught you the ins and outs of the game. While you were decent at futbol, Benjamin's skills were exceptional, and he was a devoted fan of the Huskies.

As you walked out of the airport, a bright poster caught your eye, reading, "If your name is Valeria, come here right neow! I swear I’m not a stalker, just a girl tryin' to find the one named Valeria in a crowd of people—seriously, where are you hidin'?!" Leaning against a sleek black SUV was a girl about 5'9", her warm brown skin glowing. She had a slightly athletic build, and her dreads were styled half up, half down, framing her eager face. She held the poster with excitement, her energy lighting up the moment.

You instantly recognized her as KK Arnold, the talented point guard for the UConn Huskies. Her confidence shone through, a true reflection of her skills. With your research and your brother's insights about the team, you felt a connection. He trains at AS Monaco, dreaming of joining La Roja, the Spanish national team, yet his heart still beats for basketball.

He stumbled upon the UConn Huskies a year or two back, and his fascination grew into an enthusiastic fangirl. His excitement was infectious, as he delighted you with passionate conversations about every game, sharing the highs and lows with a fervor that made you feel like part of the team.

You blinked, unsure if you were seeing things correctly. There was KK Arnold, holding a bright poster to grab your attention. A laugh escaped you as you read the playful words on it. You walked over casually, dragging your luggage behind you, but before you could speak, she gasped joyfully, dropped the poster, and pulled you into a warm hug.

"Girl, boo! I thought you got lost on your flight! I was ready to turn into a pilot and hop on a plane to find you," she said, her tone a mix of playful and serious. You couldn’t help but laugh, the warmth of her concern wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

As you stepped back from her warm embrace, a soft smile graced your lips. With a thick accent, you said, "C'est un plaisir to finally meet you, KK Arnold. I've heard so much about you, UConn, and of course, your esteemed teammates. My name is Valeria De Martel."

She snorted, covering her mouth as laughter bubbled up, clearly amused by your formality. "Easy, girl! No need to be so formal; I don’t bite. Your accent is as rich as chocolate—me likey! Welcome to America! I’ll be your trusty guide and chauffeur, KK or Papi KK. Now, let’s get you settled into your new home."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you began to place your luggage in the trunk, but KK was quick to intervene. With a determined grace, she took over, ensuring that your belongings were securely stowed away, closing the trunk with a gentle click.

"Hop in, m'princesa. Papi KK will take care of everything; you just sit back and look pretty," she said, standing by the open passenger door and gesturing for you to enter. You couldn't help but smile at her bold demeanor as you settled into the plush passenger seat, feeling a delightful mix of amusement and admiration for her confident charm.

"A charmer, huh? Well, I’ll take it! Just promise me one thing—don't go calling yourself daddy!"

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“How you feelin’, Vee?” KK asked, her voice softening as she caught a glimpse of your contemplative expression. As she made a smooth left turn, the car glided effortlessly down the street leading to your penthouse.

About forty minutes ago, the car was alive with music and laughter as you and KK enjoyed your favorite tracks. She surprisingly loved your mix of Spanish and French songs, along with those catchy 2000s hits. At one point, she sang in Spanish, saying, “Hey, Spanish music just brings out the Spanish-speaking in me!” You both laughed heartily. But now, as the music faded, KK felt a shift in the atmosphere, the playful banter replaced by a subtle tension.

"My hands won’t stop shaking," you admitted, your accent thick as you released a shaky breath.

You felt a rush of excitement, finally free from the strict rules and high expectations of your parents. Yet, beneath that thrill was a wave of nervousness about being in America. Surrounded by strangers, you only knew the UConn team and your new teammates, leaving the rest a mystery. Thankfully, you understood English from your brother and uncle, who spoke it better than you.

You stared out the window, lost in thought, when KK's hand brushed against yours, making you jump. You realized you were fidgeting, and as she gently stroked your hand, a sense of calm washed over you. With a reassuring squeeze, she said softly, "Hey, you'll be fine, bookie. It's just Nika we're meeting outside your residence. Trust me, she already loves you." Her soothing voice wrapped around you, easing your nerves.

As the car came to a gentle stop outside the towering complex, you take in the sleek, modern building before you. It stands tall and pristine, with large windows that reflect the afternoon sun, hinting at the vibrant life within. It feels like a world unto itself, with other apartments lining its elegant facade.

You and KK step out of the SUV, the air buzzing with anticipation. Together, you start unloading your things, the sound of laughter mingling with the soft rustle of bags and suitcases. Each item you pull out feels like a new chapter waiting to unfold in this fresh, exciting space.

As you and KK strolled across the street toward your new home, she effortlessly balanced two duffel bags on her shoulders and two suitcases in hand, her presence a steady anchor beside you. Meanwhile, you were laden with the weight of your entire existence, having transported your life from Lyon, France, to America without leaving a single trace behind.

Your gaze drifted to a young woman casually leaning against the building, her dark brown wavy hair flowing down her shoulders, framing her warm brown eyes. Recognition washed over you—it's Nika Muhl, the Croatian point guard for the UConn Huskies. She's known for her defensive prowess, offensive skills, and exceptional leadership on the court.

As you approached, Nika looked up from her phone, her face brightening with joy. “Beba!” she called out, excitement filling her voice as she rushed toward you, wrapping you in a tight hug. In that moment, nothing else mattered; you dropped your bags, your arms encircling her neck while she held you close, swaying like long-lost friends.

“I’m so happy you’re finally here. Coach has been talking about you since summer." Nika whispered against your neck, and you smiled. You were supposed to arrive earlier, but your parents had complicated things. “Damn, I must be popular then. Everyone seems excited to meet the new girl,” you teased, your thick accent adding a playful touch.

Nika stepped back from the hug, her hands resting on your slim waist, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “Yeah, duh! It’s been forever since we had a foreign player. You’re a total mystery since you don’t show up on social media,” she said, a small frown hinting at her disappointment. She clearly wanted to see your high school highlights or any gameplay, but found nothing.

“Hehe, you’ll just have to see it in person,” you teased, your smile bright and inviting. Nika smirked, knowing there were indeed video out there. Your Instagram was filled with edited highlights from your international championship win at just 15, a vivid snapshot of your journey that you and your brother had crafted together.

"Alright, alright, what we’re not gonna do is leave me out, new bestie! Save some Valeria love for yours truly, KK Arnold," she chimed in, her voice light yet tinged with a hint of faux jealousy as she observed the two of you, feeling a touch sidelined.

"Could never forget about you, bestie," you replied, your fingers slipping from Nika’s waist as you wrapped your arms around KK's shoulders for a warm side hug.

"Now, let’s head up to see your new place—and my new home, of course, if it vibes up there. Paige might have to start lookin' for a new roommate because I’m totally movin' in with you!" KK declared, her playful tone laced with an undercurrent of seriousness. As you withdrew your arm from her shoulders to grab your luggage, Nika swiftly intervened, hoisting two duffel bags over her shoulders while you were left with two suitcases. Together, the three of you stepped into the building, an air of excitement enveloping you as you made your way toward the elevator.

KK swiped her key card against the elevator panel, and the doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, sealing us inside. “This shit is fancy, not gonna lie. At least no one can just waltz up here; they need a swipey swipe,” she laughed, her joy infectious, making you and Nika giggle along with her.

As we chatted, Nika and KK noticed the striking partial heterochromia in your left eye, a detail that stood out beautifully. They also caught glimpses of the tattoos peeking from your neck, while the rest remained hidden beneath your clothes. You shared that you had braces in the past, recently removed, and their surprise was clear; they had thought your smile was naturally perfect.

When the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival on the 42nd floor, the doors opened to reveal your new home. Before you could step out, KK was already out the door, luggage in hand, and the sight sent you and Nika into fits of laughter. It was a funny moment, watching her act as if this place was hers, while you and Nika followed behind.

“Hey Vee, would it be cool if I moved in? No bullshit." KK called out, stepping into the living room—a space that effortlessly blended modern simplicity with an air of dark elegance. She flopped onto the couch, her feet kicked up, and her arm draped casually over the backrest.

“God damn, you really are a princessa,” she murmured to herself, taking in the vastness of the room.

You, Nika, and KK meandered through the expansive living area, which was bathed in a warm, natural glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the stunning city skyline beyond. The walls, painted in a deep charcoal gray, provided a sophisticated backdrop for the sumptuous deep blue velvet sofas, their plush cushions beckoning you to sink in and relax.

At the heart of the room, a sleek, low-lying coffee table crafted from polished steel and glass commanded attention, surrounded by modern sculptures and art pieces that lent an air of creativity. On one side, a large flat-screen TV was seamlessly mounted on the wall, framed by a minimalist media console in a matching charcoal gray, offering ample storage for entertainment essentials while maintaining an uncluttered aesthetic.

You three entered the spacious kitchen, a place that exuded a sense of dark elegance. The tall black cabinets reached up to the ceiling, beautifully contrasting with the bright white marble countertops. Soft recessed lighting filled the room, highlighting the central island that served both as a prep space and a casual dining area. Sleek stainless steel appliances, including a double oven and a roomy refrigerator, blended into the design, making everything easily accessible. The glossy dark backsplash added a touch of sophistication, while clever storage solutions hinted at luxury.

"Damn, this feels like a scene from a dark romance novel," KK said, and you and Nika nodded, imagining the kind of rich, ruthless businessmen who might inhabit such a space—only this time, it was a penthouse instead of a mansion.

"I know, right? Those rich, ruthless businessmen from those dark romance stories." Nika chimed in, as if reading your mind.

"You just took the words right out of my head," you replied, your accent thick as you bypassed the studio room. Your gaze was drawn to the inviting balcony. In a rush, you all made your way to the glass door, flinging it open to step out onto the medium-sized balcony, the vibrant city sprawling below you.

The modern oasis unfolded before you, a stunning blend of minimalist design and sleek sophistication. Dark wood decking contrasted beautifully with contemporary metal accents, creating an inviting and stylish atmosphere. A chic outdoor sofa paired with a glass-top coffee table formed a cozy lounge, while carefully arranged planters added a splash of greenery. The compact outdoor kitchen and a small bar had Nika and KK buzzing with excitement.

"We don’t even need to hit up a bar anymore; we can just grab drinks and whip them up here." KK exclaimed, her enthusiasm bright as you leaned against the railing, soaking in the breathtaking city view. Your phone buzzed softly with missed messages from your parents. Were you going to answer? Nope! Would they be mad? Definitely. Did you care? Not at all; they were far away.

KK joined you, gripping the railing and leaning forward to shout, "WE GOT A FUCKIN' NEW TEAMMATE! HER NAME IS VALERIA DE MARTEL! WATCH THE HELL OUT, UCONN HUSKIES ON TOP, IT'S KK ARNOLD HOE!" You and Nika exchanged amused glances, stifling laughter as you watched KK turn around, her triumphant smile beaming like she had just won a grand victory.

As we stepped away from the balcony, excitement pulled us toward your master bedroom. KK gently opened the door, its soft creak unveiling a space filled with warmth and style. The walls, painted a deep charcoal grey, wrapped the room in a cozy embrace, while detailed molding along the ceiling. Rich black velvet curtains hung gracefully, framing the large windows and allowing just a hint of soft light to seep in.

In the center of this oasis was your grand king-sized bed, with a plush headboard that invited relaxation. The bedding was a luxurious mix of silky sheets, a chunky knit throw, and an array of soft pillows, creating a perfect spot to unwind.

Across from the bed, a sleek flat-screen TV blended seamlessly with the decor, while stylish nightstands held elegant lamps that bathed the room in a warm light. A chic leather chair nestled in the corner.

Your walk-in closet was a dream come true, displaying a carefully chosen wardrobe that reflected your unique style. Custom shelves showcased each piece like treasures, while the en-suite bathroom sparkled with modern luxury. A deep soaking tub and a refreshing rain shower awaited, all set against dark marble countertops that gleamed softly.

You and KK stepped into your bedroom, a soft sigh escaping as you both collapsed onto the bed, the sheets wrapping around you like a warm embrace. In that moment, you felt a deep sense of belonging in this new space—one that was all your own. It might not have the luxury of your parents' grand mansion, but its cozy charm was a perfect fit for your hearts.

"Damn, this has really changed how I see things. Paige will have to find a new roommate because I’m moving in with Vee! This bed feels so forbidden and divine; I’ve never experienced anything like it." KK murmured, her voice muffled by the plush pillows, surrendering to the comfort that enveloped her.

"So, beba, are you excited to be here? 'Cause I’m seriously thrilled for you—!" Nika's enthusiasm spilled over, only to be playfully interrupted when KK shot her a look. Nika rolled her eyes with a laugh, backtracking. "Sorry! I mean, we’re excited for you to be here," she said, gesturing between herself and KK.

"But I'm more excited than she is." KK mutters to herself, though the words escape her lips just loud enough for you to hear. You can't help but snort, rolling over to catch Nika's gaze. KK, sensing the pull of sleep, sits up, knowing all too well that surrendering to the comfort of the bed would mean drifting off.

"Yeah, I'm excited too, but honestly, I'm also a bit nervous. My hands were shaking earlier, but KK helped settle my nerves. It's just... fitting in here, in this new country, and with the team. Will they see me as a stranger or an outsider?" you confess, your voice a delicate blend of uncertainty and a hint of excitement, though the weight of doubt lingers heavily in your mind.

"Trust me, they won’t treat you any differently than they treat us. They’ll love you just like we do. They’re genuinely eager to meet another foreign basketball player; they’ve been talking about you all summer, waiting for your arrival since you were supposed to come then." Nika reassures you, settling beside you and rubbing your back in a soothing motion, her tone enveloping you like a warm embrace.

"But be ready; Paige might be a tough cookie to crack," KK chimed in, her smile radiating warmth as she glanced at you.

You blinked, trying to process the flurry of information. The prospect of meeting more people so soon after your arrival made your heart race, and a nervous bead of sweat formed on your palms, prompting you to discreetly wipe them on your black cargo pants. "Why is Paige Bueckers a tough cookie to crack? Wait, a party? When? Where? For how long? I just landed in America for the first time; can't a foreigner catch a break?" You rambled, your French accent lending an air of charm to your flustered words.

"Well, last year, she tore her ACL during a game and had to sit out for the rest of the season. The coach basically banned her from practice and the gym, which left her feeling isolated. She was crushed about missing out on playing, but now that she’s back, her competitive spirit is fiercer than ever. No one takes this sport as seriously as Paige does. She might see you as a potential rival, like one of those cocky ass basketball players who only care about themselves. So, she’s a bit on guard right now. But trust me, once she meets you and gets to know you, you two will become great friends, just like me and you." KK explained, her gestures weaving the bond of your friendship into the conversation.

But that only sparked your curiosity. They say curiosity killed the cat, and it had led you astray more times than you could count. This time, however, you held back your questions. KK and Nika caught the flicker of intrigue in your eyes, and KK added, "Just remember, I was here first, before Paige. We’re besties for life."

"We were thinking of inviting them over to your place, if that's cool with you. We could bring some ice cream and make our own bowls—nothing too fancy, just a chill hangout with the team and you," Nika said softly, her hand gently rubbing your back as you nodded, welcoming the idea. "But we have practice in an hour, so we need to leave early since your home is about 30 to 40 minutes away from campus. You can relax here or take a nap; we’ll be back around seven or eight, so just be ready."

With that, Nika stood up, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she moved toward the bedroom door. KK, however, groaned, reluctant to leave the warmth of the cozy bed. With a sigh that echoed her reluctance, she rolled out of your bed, "See you later, Vee." As they stepped out, you fell back onto your bed, stretching out like a starfish while your gaze wandered up to the new ceiling above you.

Exhaustion finally washed over you after that grueling eleven-hour flight. You slowly pulled out your phone, your heart sinking as you saw ten unread messages and two missed calls from your father. He was more intimidating than your mother, and the thought of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Alongside that, there were five missed calls and twenty unread messages from her, a reminder of the whirlwind of family life waiting for you.

Amidst the chaos, you noticed unread messages from your uncle, your brother Benji, and your older brother Marco, which brought a soft smile to your lips. But the weight of sleepiness was heavy, and before you could even think to reply, your phone slipped from your hand, landing gently on your chest. Your eyelids fluttered closed, surrendering to the sweet embrace of sleep.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The UConn Huskies packed into the elevator, their chatter a lively symphony of excitement and laughter, buzzing with the thrill of finally meeting you. Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware, lost in the depths of slumber, your new bed cradling you in its embrace. It was 7:54 P.M., and Paige, on the other hand, had been dragged from her dorm by none other than her best friend, Azzi Fudd. Reluctantly, she had agreed to join this little gathering, Azzi adamant that she needed to connect with you, the new freshman now that you were part of the Husky family.

As the elevator ascended, Paige leaned against the wall, a look of mild disinterest etched on her face. Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her snug dark gray Nike tech zip-up jacket, perfectly accentuating her lean, athletic frame. A gentle ding heralded their arrival, and the doors slid open to reveal your inviting abode.

Stepping inside, the girls' excitement was almost tangible as they took in the spaciousness of your home. They explored every nook and cranny, while Aubrey, Sarah, and Lou made a beeline for the kitchen, arms overflowing with bags of ice cream, condiments, and an enticing array of toppings and syrups, their eyes sparkling with the promise of indulgence.

"Damn, she's loaded; she could seriously be my sugar mommy," Azzi quipped, her eyes glimmering with playful mischief as she absorbed the inviting atmosphere of your penthouse. The air was thick with a rich tapestry of scents—an intoxicating blend of incense and deep chocolate, intertwined with the warmth of aged wood and leather, evoking the essence of spiced red wine.

Paige rolled her eyes, a hint of disapproval crossing her face, though she couldn't deny the allure of your home’s fragrance. No way she’d ever admit that, though. KK nodded in enthusiastic agreement with Azzi's words. "I already told Vee I'm movin' in; Paige is just gonna have to find a new roommate." At that, Paige snapped her head toward KK, disbelief etched across her features.

"You just met her, and you're already thinking about moving in? What if she's not who she seems—maybe just a cocky, two-faced bitch hiding behind a sweet smile." Paige interjected, her voice low and laced with skepticism. KK shot her a sharp look, while Azzi gently nudged Paige, silently urging her to hold her tongue.

Nika rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defiantly. "Paige, chill out; she's really sweet and cool."

"Girl, boo, right! She's already stirring up trouble without even meeting my new bestie." KK replied, a teasing smile creeping across her face as she plotted how to wake you up, her excitement bubbling over. "Now let me go wake my bestie boo up!"

With that, she dashed upstairs, her footsteps light and eager, while Nika followed closely behind, anticipation dancing in her eyes as she prepared to witness KK's playful attempt to rouse you from your slumber.

"Paige, can you just put on a friendly face for a bit?" Azzi whispered, her tone laced with a mix of hope and exasperation as they made their way to the kitchen. "We’re really just trying to get to know her."

Trailing behind, Paige exuded a palpable reluctance. "Honestly, I didn’t want to be here at all. You dragged me along after I said no more times than I can count. What’s the point of meeting yet another cocky bastard who thinks they’re the best thing since sliced bread?" she replied, a hint of disdain coloring her words.

Azzi let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to stave off a headache. As they entered the kitchen, they found Aubrey perched casually on the expansive countertop, effortlessly tossing grapes into her mouth, her demeanor relaxed as Sarah leaned against the sink. Lou stood nearby, animatedly discussing you and your quirks.

Sarah caught sight of Paige and Azzi as they sauntered into the kitchen. "Wait, Paige, hand me your phone real quick," she declared, her tone abrupt yet laced with urgency. Paige raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering across her face, but curiosity soon took the reins. With a languid motion, she retrieved her iPhone 14 Pro, the sleek device glinting in the light, and handed it over to Sarah, the screen already illuminated.

Aubrey gracefully slid off the countertop, positioning herself like a shadow behind Sarah, while Lou stood to her right and Azzi took up a spot on her left. The trio formed a tight circle, their energy palpable as Sarah focused intently on the screen. "What the hell are you doing on my phone, Sarah?" Paige's voice was tinged with a mix of intrigue and mild alarm as she caught a glimpse of Sarah's determined expression.

"I'm just trying to find Valeria's Instagram to see if she's posted any highlights." Sarah replied, her tone casual yet purposeful. In an instant, Paige lunged forward to reclaim her phone, but Sarah deftly pulled it out of reach, a playful glint in her eye. Aubrey and Azzi gently placed their hands on Paige's chest, holding her back with a teasing restraint.

"Aht aht, let her find the damn Instagram. You're acting like we're watching porn on your phone." Aubrey chimed in, a smirk dancing across her lips. Lou's curiosity mirrored Aubrey's, both eager to see what would unfold. Meanwhile, Nika and KK were busy scouring YouTube and TikTok for your highlights, but their efforts yielded nothing. You simply didn’t exist on social media, or at least not under the terms they were searching for.

"Hell no, I don't want that girl in my search history," Paige shot back, her tone thick with disdain and contempt.

Sarah, brushing off Paige's words, swiftly dove into the digital realm, her fingers dancing across the screen until she unearthed your Instagram profile under the username "Val_Astral." The aesthetic was strikingly minimalist; a blacked-out profile pic that hinted at mystery. Your bio was a cool mix of flags—France, Spain, Brazil—alongside your age, 19, punctuated by a basketball emoji. A powerful quote captured the essence of your spirit: "No soy quisquillosa; solo sé lo que merezco."

With a raised eyebrow, Sarah observed the follower count—17k—and mused, "For 17k followers, I lowkey expect like a million or something." Her gaze shifted to the two posts, one from five years ago and another from four. Intrigued, she tapped the video from five years back, which boasted a staggering 6 million views and over 1.9 million likes.

The video unfolded, revealing a younger version of you, a teenager with a tousled manbun, sweat glistening on your brow as you caught your breath. Clad in a bold black and red jersey emblazoned with the number 44, the matching shorts hung loosely at your hips. You stood amidst a swarm of reporters, microphones thrust forward, their eager inquiries echoing in the air, capturing a moment that was both electrifying and overwhelming.

Questions in rapid French flew around you, like "Quelle a été la clé du succès de votre équipe tout au long du tournoi?" and "Pouvez-vous décrire les émotions que vous avez ressenties lors du match final?" Sarah and Lou translated the French words for their friends, helping them understand better.

You answered the barrage of questions with an air of quiet confidence, your breath coming in soft puffs as you lifted your shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. The light glinted off your slightly toned abdomen, a hint of four-pack abs shimmering in the glow, each droplet of sweat accentuating the moment. Your voice, light yet imbued with a hint of raspiness, flowed with a thick French and Spanish accent, the black braces behind your crooked teeth adding an unexpected charm.

Behind you, Paige leaned against Azzi, her gaze fixed on the screen as she watched the video unfold. Her expression was a mix of disinterest and curiosity, pondering why this seemingly mundane clip—just you conversing in a different language—had amassed a staggering number of likes and views. It was dull, almost hypnotic, threatening to lull her into a state of slumber.

“Valeria,” began a young reporter from L'Equipe, her voice wavering slightly in the face of your imposing presence. "Félicitations pour votre victoire ce soir. Une performance phénoménale, en effet. Vous êtes devenu le joueur vedette de la France, nous éblouissant avec 63 points à couper le souffle, 18 passes décisives, 8 blocs, 6 interceptions et 7 rebonds. Mais la vraie question est la suivante: saviez-vous que votre équipe gagnerait ce soir?"

When Lou and Sarah heard the French reporter's words, their mouths fell open in astonishment at the remarkable stats from the championship game you had just triumphed in. As Sarah and Lou translated for their friends, Aubrey’s eyes widened in disbelief, while Azzi stared, caught in a blend of intrigue and shock. Paige, however, remained skeptical, convinced it was all a fabrication of fake news and sensationalism, yet they all leaned in closer, captivated by the unfolding scene.

A palpable silence filled the air, thick enough to be felt, as the anticipation became almost unbearable. Your lips, adorned in a deep, almost vampiric red, curled into a slow, barely perceptible smirk. Your gaze, devoid of warmth yet piercingly intense, was accentuated by that striking heterochromia eye, sparkling with a chilling confidence as it locked onto the reporter.

"Est-ce que je savais?" you echoed the young reporter's question, your French tinged with a subtle Spanish accent that only sharpened its impact. You paused, allowing the tension to swell, each heartbeat amplifying the suspense. "Let's be clear about something, chéri.. I don't 'know' things. I dictate them. So yeah, I fucking knew. From the moment I stepped onto that court. I knew. This entire goddamn championship was mine to take."

"Et franchement," You tilted your head, your chillingly confident gaze sweeping over the stunned faces of the reporters. "quiconque pensait le contraire est un putain d'imbécile."

The atmosphere crackled with tension, your casual arrogance hanging in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating any attempt at a comeback. One journalist, visibly shaken, stammered as he tried to formulate a follow-up question, but you silenced him effortlessly with a dismissive wave of your hand.

"Maintenant, si vous m'excusez," you said, your voice dripping with a blend of cockiness and elegance, "J'ai un trophée pour célébrer. Essayez de ne pas vous mettre en mon chemin." With that, you turned and strode away, leaving a trail of bewildered reporters in your wake. The echoes of your chilling confidence lingered long after you had departed. The victory may have belonged to France, but tonight, it was unequivocally yours; you owned the court, and you were fully aware of it.

"Haha—my performance tonight? Flawless. Mon tournage ? Mortel. La victoire ? Une putain de formalité." Your voice rang out as the video morphed into a captivating edit, the infectious rhythm of "Hmm - HotHeads" setting the stage for a breathtaking showcase of your court prowess. Each frame unfolded like a masterful painting, illustrating your finesse—sinking three-pointers, executing mid-range shots with precision, and gliding effortlessly to the paint for layups. You dazzled with slick passes, leaving defenders scrambling, snatching the ball with an ease that seemed almost choreographed. Your leaps were nothing short of poetry in motion, swatting shots away and claiming rebounds, orchestrating flawless assists that left the crowd in awe.

Once again, your voice pierced through the edit, brimming with confidence: "I'm just quicker, sharper—I'm just straight-up fuckin' better!" The scene captured the moment you drained a three-pointer, the ball swishing through the net as you locked eyes with your opponent, flashing a cocky three-finger salute, a smirk dancing on your lips.

In another electrifying clip, you crossed up your opponent with lightning speed, sending them sliding across the gleaming hardwood floor. Laughter erupted from you, a joyous sound that filled the air as you launched yet another deep three, not even bothering to watch it fall—your instinct told you it was a sure thing. You strolled away, confidence radiating from every step.

Then, your voice returned, rich with a blend of accents—Spanish intertwined with French. "Yeah, we won," you drawled, the satisfaction evident in your tone, a perfect finale to the exhilarating display of your undeniable talent. "But let's be honest without me? They wouldn't have stood a fucking chance. I carried that team on my back, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. This trophy? It's basically mine." As the montage unfolded, you sank a stunning buzzer-beater from half court in the final quarter, the ball arcing gracefully through the air before swishing through the net. The moment was electrifying, a perfect climax to your highlight reel. As the video faded out, the victory felt palpable.

"Damn, that was cold." Aubrey said, her voice filled with admiration and disbelief at your incredible high school highlight. "That edit is fire." Lou exclaimed, her accent adding a melodic charm to her words, clearly mesmerized by the stunning edit and the perfect track that accompanied the edit.

Azzi and Sarah nodded in awe, their eyes sparkling with admiration, while Paige scoffed, disapproval etched across her features. She couldn't overlook the way you seemed to overshadow your teammates, your confidence bordering on arrogance.

"Did you see how she just basically shamed her own teammates? Seriously, do we really want someone like that—who doesn't give a flying fuck about us at all? She only cares about herself and her image." Paige shot back, her voice slicing through the admiration like a knife, laced with disbelief and indignation.

All eyes turned to her, the tension palpable. Sarah rubbed her neck, deliberately avoiding Paige's piercing gaze, while Aubrey and Lou exchanged knowing whistles, diverting their eyes. Everyone recognized that Paige spoke a harsh truth, but who would dare to voice their agreement? Not a chance.

"C'mon, P. That was literally high school; she was just 14 or 15, winning a huge championship like that. You weren't even in France that day." Azzi broke the silence, her voice steady and calm. She could feel the weight of Paige's sharp gaze on her, a momentary pause hanging in the air as she continued. "You have no idea what she was feeling in that moment. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she was on top of the world after dropping 63 points and walking away with a big trophy."

"Yeah, Paige, chill out. Nika and KK say she's coo peeps; give her a shot." Aubrey added, her tone soothing as she rested a hand on Paige's shoulder. Yet, despite the comfort, Paige remained tense, muttering curses under her breath—a silent rebellion known only to herself.

"Alright, let me hand P her phone back." Sarah said, returning the device. Paige immediately dove into her Instagram search history, swiftly deleting your username with a flick of her thumb. Just as she was about to voice her thoughts, KK's voice broke through the tension, shifting the atmosphere once again.

"Girl, boo! I was just waking you up!" KK exclaimed, rolling her eyes with playful exasperation, a teasing smile illuminating her face. Nika couldn't help but chuckle, her mind drifting back to the moment KK had roused you from your dreams. You lay there on your side, blissfully unaware of the delightful chaos that was about to unfold around you.

KK nestled beside you, positioning herself a mere seven inches from your face, gently tapping your cheek while whispering softly, "Wake up, babygirl! Come on, wifey—our tiny tornadoes are downstairs plotting their next snack attack, and they need their queen to lead the charge!"

With each persistent tap, you groaned, and as your eyes fluttered open, you were met with KK's radiant grin, startling you to the point of tumbling out of bed with a loud thud. Nika erupted into laughter, and KK seized the moment to tease, "You know you drool when you sleep?"

Her voice dripped with playful mockery, and embarrassment flooded your cheeks as your hand flew to your mouth, wiping at the corners as if to erase any trace of your slumber. Your cheeks burned with a rosy hue while KK snickered, and Nika simply reveled in the joy of the moment, laughter echoing in the air.

As KK took the lead in choosing your outfit, her approach mirrored a mother’s care on a child’s first day of school. With a playful sparkle in her eye, she couldn’t help but tease your quirky Bugs Bunny UGG slippers. What started as a simple task quickly evolved into a lively dress-up session, completely overshadowing the ones waiting downstairs.

KK carefully selected a stylish yet casual look: a black Big Worm graphic sweatshirt that hung just right, teasing a glimpse of your toned abs whenever you reached up. The dark gray, baggy sweatpants sagged slightly, allowing the edge of your white Calvin Klein boxers to peek out. Your dark gray UGG slippers rounded off the outfit, enhanced by a spritz of Dior Sauvage cologne. Though she considered taming your wild hair, KK decided it was perfect as is—messy yet charming.

Your outfit beautifully showcased the intricate tattoos that adorned your arms and neck, each design a captivating mix of flowers and vines, as if they were alive. The delicate patterns wrapped around your fingers and flowed down your forearms, with slender vines dancing gracefully. KK admired them, her fingers lightly tracing the ink, captivated by how they enhanced your look.

"I finally managed to wake our sleeping beauty!" KK called out, playfully pulling you along toward the rest of the team, who erupted in laughter and teasing applause.

A nervous smile crept onto your face—not from shyness, but from the excitement of meeting Americans for the first time in a new country. As your gaze swept over the girls, you were enveloped in warm embraces and friendly high-fives, a delightful surprise that swiftly banished any lingering doubts. The atmosphere buzzed with energy as your new teammates playfully jostled one another, eager to decide who would be the first to engage you in conversation.

Before long, you found an instant connection with Lou. The two of you effortlessly slipped into conversations in Spanish and French, delighting in the rhythm of your words. Lou laughed at the speed of your speech, her dialect slightly different yet harmonizing beautifully with yours. The other girls watched with smiles, their faces lighting up despite not understanding a word. They were simply thrilled that you had found someone to relate to, not only in basketball but also in language.

Aubrey glided in, effortlessly commanding your attention—a moment you had been eagerly awaiting, thanks to your diligent research on UConn. Your hands met in a cool, casual dap, a gesture that felt both familiar and inviting. "Hey, I'm Aubrey Griffin. So awesome to finally meet you, Valeria. The coach, KK, and Nika have shared so much about you!"

A gentle smile graced your lips as you responded, your accent rich and warm. "Same here. It’s an honor to play for your team, and a true privilege to be in America." Aubrey's grin blossomed further as she casually draped her arm over your shoulder, guiding you toward Paige and Azzi, who were engaged in a hushed exchange.

Azzi chastised Paige for her somewhat childish antics, while Paige, ever the defender, insisted that her skepticism was perfectly reasonable. Azzi, with a knowing glint in her eye, encouraged her to stop behaving like a child.

"These two lovely people are good friends of mine and also your new teammates—"

"Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers, right?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, feeling Aubrey's arm slide away from your shoulder. Azzi greeted you with a radiant smile, her eyes shimmering with warmth and friendliness, while Paige exuded a cool detachment, her expression suggesting she couldn’t care less about your presence or the fleeting moment.

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both. Valeria De Martel at your service," you proclaimed, your signature accent dancing through the air as you extended your hand toward both Paige and Azzi. Azzi nudged Paige, a hint of urgency in her gesture, but Paige remained unmoved until KK broke the silence.

"Aye, P-Boogers! You really gonna leave my bestie boo hangin'? Or are you just gonna keep actin' like the ultimate nonchalant dreadhead? You need to greet my girl Valeria, aka Vee, with the green!" KK snapped her fingers, her tone teasing yet insistent. Paige rolled her eyes, the very picture of casual indifference, but finally, she reached out, grasping your hand in a grip that was surprisingly firm.

Your eyes widened at the strength of her handshake, a spark of unexpected electricity coursing through you. A grin tugged at your lips, and your heart fluttered as her piercing blue gaze met yours. Yet, within those striking depths lay an unmistakable air of disinterest and ennui, as if she were trapped in a moment she wished to escape—an unvarnished truth that lingered between you, palpable and raw.

She stood tall, exactly six feet, her lean athletic physique accentuated by the fitted dark gray Nike Tech sweat outfit that hugged her frame just right. There was an undeniable magnetism about her; her long ash-colored hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, allowing her fair skin to radiate under the soft light. High cheekbones framed her face, and the sharp angles of her sculpted jawline made her look both fierce and stunning.

You found yourself lost in her presence, staring with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. When she tried to retract her hand, your grip tightened instinctively, as if you were trying to hold onto the moment itself. "Can you let go?" Her voice was a captivating blend of husky softness and firm demand, slicing through your daze.

In an instant, you snapped back to reality, blinking as a rush of embarrassment colored your cheeks. You released her hand like it was a live wire, your own hands flailing in a nervous dance. An apology tumbled out in French, completely unplanned, as you felt the weight of all the eyes around you. The other girls erupted in laughter at your awkwardness, their amusement clear, while Paige shot you a look of annoyance, as if your flustered charm was more of a bother than a delight.

"Cálmate, cálmate, Vee. Eres bueno; no quisiste decir nada con eso." Lou's voice broke through the tension, her rich accent wrapping around you like a warm blanket, soothing your frayed nerves. Just as you were about to let another apology slip from your lips, Azzi appeared, her presence radiating warmth as she pulled you into a cozy embrace. That familiar flutter ignited in your chest, reminiscent of the electric jolt from Paige's handshake.

"She isn't mad, so no more apologies." Azzi chimed in, her tone a gentle melody that brushed against the shell of your ear. "But damn, you look even better in person than in that video." Her words were soft yet firm, sending a delightful warmth cascading through you, your cheeks flushing as Paige shot you a glare, her irritation a riddle you couldn’t quite solve.

"My, my such a silver tongue, ma bella. I wonder if it tastes as sweet as it sounds," you whispered, your accent rich and inviting. Azzi's lips formed a delicate "o," a blush blooming on her cheeks, even though the French words slipped just beyond her grasp. There was something undeniably enchanting in your delivery, a charm that seemed to captivate her completely.

"I might've missed the words, but the way you said that? Damn, that was hot. You're such a tempting charmer with that pretty face of yours—care to say it again but slower?" Her lips brushed against the shell of your ear, igniting a spark that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The warmth of her breath danced against your skin, a tantalizing whisper that lingered long after she pulled away. Her hands, strong yet gentle, settled on your lower back, a perfect blend of softness and strength that spoke of countless hours spent on the basketball court.

As you leaned in closer, your arms draped over her shoulders, you noticed how she stood just a fraction taller than you. It was an unexpected advantage that made your heart race with excitement. When she uttered those words again, her voice a sultry blend of mischief and allure, your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t anticipated her playful flirting, and the way she teased you sent your mind spinning.

She pulled back slightly, her gaze locking onto yours, and the lingering sensation of her lips against your ear left you feeling breathless. The warmth in your cheeks betrayed you, a rosy hue blooming as you stared into her deep brown eyes, which sparkled with warmth and a magnetic charm.

You didn’t even realize that the other girls in the kitchen were watching with amusement, their eyes glinting as they lowkey hyped you up, caught in the electric vibe of the moment. Lou was in the corner, her voice ringing out in Spanish, cheerfully urging you on, her energy infectious. But then there was Paige, the lone dissenting voice in the crowd, glaring at you with a look that could freeze flames, rolling her eyes as if this whole scene was beneath her.

Yet there you were, completely lost in Azzi’s gaze, the rest of the world fading into a soft blur. It felt like a bubble had formed around the two of you, isolating you from the laughter and chatter of the kitchen. Just as you thought you could drown in those deep, captivating eyes, a sharp throat-clearing from KK sliced through the air, yanking you both back to reality.

KK stepped in, her arm sliding between you and Azzi, disrupting the magnetic pull that had drawn you together. As her hands trailed down from your lower back, you reluctantly pulled your arms away from Azzi’s shoulders, the warmth of his presence slipping just out of reach. “Aye, aye! PDA, y’all! Damn, you two looked like you were about to eat each other’s faces—straight disgusting!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with playful mockery as she faked a gag.

The heat rushed to your cheeks, a blush blooming as you glanced at Azzi, who was equally flustered but couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across her face.

"Lo siento, let me try this so-called American ice cream for the first time," you muttered, your thick accent rolling off your tongue as Nika gasped and rushed over, her arm slinging around your shoulders like a warm embrace.

"Wait, seriously? You’ve never had ice cream?" Nika asked, her eyebrow arching in disbelief. You shook your head, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face. Your parents had always been too fancy for such simple pleasures, opting for elaborate desserts crafted by chefs, while you and your brother Benji usually whipped up sweet treats for each other. Ice cream was definitely on your must-try list, but somehow, it had always slipped through the cracks.

"Don't worry, Beba! You're gonna love it. We’ll make sure you have the best time in America so you can leave a five-star review," she joked, and the room erupted in laughter, your chuckle mingling with theirs, the tension of the moment melting away like ice cream on a hot summer day.

As the night wore on, the welcome party turned out to be a blast. All those doubts and nerves you had felt earlier were tossed aside, replaced by a comfortable sense of belonging. Laughter filled the air as you and the girls began crafting your ice cream bowls. Nika and KK enthusiastically threw out suggestions, and you settled on mint chocolate chip, drizzling it with chocolate syrup and sprinkling on colorful chocolate sprinkles.

"Hold up, let me pull out my phone. I gotta get this on camera.” KK exclaimed, her excitement palpable as she whipped out her phone, ready to capture the moment of your first ice cream experience. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the blush creeping in as Azzi and Nika teased you, giggles bubbling up around you, especially as they noticed your red ears.

Meanwhile, Paige remained mostly quiet, her gaze occasionally fixed on you with a sharp intensity. Each time she heard your voice or caught a glimpse of your accent, her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were trying to decipher a puzzle that intrigued her.

The basketball team and Azzi were definitely tuned in to your little ice cream adventure, their eyes dancing with amusement as you cautiously dipped your spoon into the bowl. With a mix of anticipation and trepidation, you lifted a generous scoop to your lips, and as the chilled mint chocolate chip met your tongue, it was like a burst of pure joy. The sensation was heavenly—until a sharp chill shot through your tooth, prompting you to instinctively blow on it, which only made the girls roar with laughter.

KK's laughter rang out loud and clear, a vibrant melody in the midst of the chaos. "Naw dawg, that ain't soup! What you blowin' on it for? You think it’s gonna start a fire or somethin'?!" she teased, her voice echoing off the walls as the cold creaminess melted in your mouth, leaving you in a state of blissful delight. You swallowed the first bite, still feeling the coolness linger.

“It made my toof cold,” you muttered, rolling your eyes in mock annoyance, your thick accent adding a layer of charm to your words.

“Yo, ‘toof’?” Aubrey exclaimed, her voice dripping with playful mockery. Sarah doubled over, clutching her stomach as laughter erupted from her. Lou, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, raised a hand to her mouth, but it was a losing battle; she burst into fits of giggles that only fueled the hilarity of the moment.

As the six of you dug into the ice cream bowls, the joy of the evening wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. You had to admit, ice cream was a delightful treat, even if it did send shivers through your teeth. The laughter and camaraderie filled the air, creating a backdrop of warmth that made you feel right at home, despite the initial nerves. In that moment, surrounded by friends and laughter, you realized that this was exactly where you belonged.

Azzi nudged her best friend Paige, who was practically glued to you with her piercing gaze. You felt it, but you were too caught up in the hilarious banter with Sarah and Lou, the three of you tossing around jokes in French, laughter bubbling up like the fizz in a soda. It was a lively scene, filled with warmth and camaraderie, but Paige's intensity was hard to ignore.

"You know you been shooting daggers at the new rookie all night." Azzi's voice sliced through the playful chaos, soft yet firm, as if she were trying to break through the stubbornness that often characterized her best friend.

"Yeah, like how you been eye-fuckin' her the whole night! Might as well just suck her face off." Paige shot back, her words a low murmur meant only for Azzi's ears. Her gaze flickered back to you, burning with an intensity that could probably ignite flames.

Azzi's breath hitched at Paige's words; she knew her friend wasn't wrong. She had been staring at you, captivated not just by your looks but something deeper, something that felt familiar yet elusive. It was a mystery she was determined to unravel, even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it just yet. As the laughter continued to flow around them, Azzi couldn't help but wonder what it was about you that had caught her attention so completely.

"P. I wasn't eye-fucking her! What's your animosity towards her anyways? She's new to America and a freshman, that's all?" Azzi shot back, but Paige just rolled her eyes, arms crossed tight across her chest. She simply didn’t trust you, and that was that. She didn’t get what everyone else saw in you.

"I just don’t trust the Frenchie, that’s all." Paige shrugged, and before Azzi could even respond, she was already striding out of the kitchen. You glanced up from your ice bowl, catching her leaving with that unmistakable look of boredom plastered across her face.

[howlingday]

jaune trying to live a happy single life

Meanwhile a reformed cinder :

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGaaHS3SLAs/?igsh=MWp0MHQ3bXVsYnd1MQ==

Link

Life has... not been good to Jaune. Since cheating his way into Beacon Academy, what little good Jaune has experienced or performed paled in comparison to the amount of harm he's seen and inflicted on both the people around him and himself. It was an oddly cathartic lesson for him to learn that his greatest enemy wasn't literal monsters who thrived on negativity, nor was it those who went out of their way to aid and abet the master of said monsters, but rather his own feelings of inadequacy and self-hatred.

Jaune Arc is a failure in every task placed upon him. He failed as a partner to Pyrrha when she sacrificed her life to save everyone. He failed as a teammate and team leader when his two closest friends were having relationship struggles. He failed as a huntsman when innocent civilians died as he guided them to safety from Atlas. He's even failed as a hero by forcing his will on magical creatures who sought death so that they could become better people.

And what was the big lesson Jaune learned in all of these failures? He didn't know. If anything, he's the same dumb, clueless idiot who broke into Beacon Academy all those years ago. The only change he's gone through since those days was he's gotten much older than his former peers, and though this change was reverted physically, it doesn't mean there was no change mentally. And walking around his friends, he knows they know it, too.

Ruby, after her self-actualization within the Ever After, has thrown herself into her work as a huntress. What little time she had to spare between missions and planning was with her team, her family, and Oscar, with the latter being her focusing on how he's doing with his slow change into the new vessel of Ozma. What little effort she took to glance at Jaune was always... professional, like Jaune was just another huntsman to her.

Weiss had taken a similar tactic, though her focus was primarily on dust management and caring for her mother and her siblings. She'd grown to understand just how much her family means to her, and they didn't have a lot of time to make up for what should have been precious family moments, rather than bickering familial toxicity. Jaune had noticed she'd placed a lot more distance between them, not that he could blame her given their rocky history. They respected one another, but it was little more than professional respect, like Ruby had with him.

Blake and Yang had been attached at the hip since their confession in the Ever After. And when they weren't together, Yang was with Ruby and Blake was checking the Faunus neighborhoods and ensuring fair and equal treatment among everyone. Jaune remembered the hectic day he and Yang when Oscar was kidnapped, before they themselves were taken into custody, before going into the literal belly of the beast to rescue him. Though the memories were unpleasant, it still doesn't change the fact that they went through it together, even if Yang passes him by like it never happened. He couldn't blame Blake for treating him that way, since the two had barely interacted.

Speaking of couples, JNPR's own couple of Ren and Nora have also been spending time together, though also a lot of time apart, too. Much of their time with the other members, himself and Oscar, before ultimately coming home to each other's embrace. He'd caught them coming out of the same room a few mornings, too. But he couldn't really blame them for pursuing love anymore he could blame Blake and Yang for the same thing, even if there was a pain in his chest every time they looked at each other.

The same way a pair of amber eyes locked onto his blue.

"What do you want?" Jaune didn't bother hiding his disgust nor did he bother pulling free Crocea Mors. He gave her a passing glance and continued walking. She began closing in, like a torpedo on an escaping ship. He could hear her following, glancing over his shoulder and noticing how fast she was pursuing. "What do you want?! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Jaune slammed the door behind him. He backed away, hand to his sword. No flaming blades of magic or shouts of frustration made it through the door. Was that really Cinder?

"Everything okay, Jaune?" His eyes snapped to Oscar, who was looking out the window. "Is that-"

"Keep away from the windows, Oscar." Jaune growled. "Who knows what she'll do next?"

There was a rap against the wood of the door. It was sturdy enough to be head, but polite enough to not sound like she was breaking the door down. Was she... being polite?

"What should we do?"

Jaune looked to Oscar. He remembered sitting down for a conversation with the other soul in his body and finding an odd sense of familiarity with the former headmaster. They understood each other, both feeling like an outcast even amongst their peers. How Jaune and Oscar saw each other was... trickier to determine. For much of their time together, Jaune saw Oscar more as a younger brother of the team, similar to how he viewed Ren as a similarly aged brother. Nora was, well, Nora. But Oscar still looked to Jaune for advice, and it was times like these when he needed it more than anything.

With a gulp, Jaune asked. "What should I do?"

[jealousjersey]

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹”secret”⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

summary // you house sit miles place while while he’s at work and abby is at school. you find yourself in his bed, overwhelmed by his lingering scent. caught up in the moment, you touch yourself using his t-shirt, only for Mike to return home early and catch you in the act.

tags // reader getting caught masturbating, mike schmidt x perv!reader, p in v sex, penetration, yearning, intimacy, sexual tension, smut and fluff, friends to lovers, soft dom mike, mild humiliation

mentions // @stop-talking @janitorhutcherson @lile6969 @whimperly @joshfutturman

authors note // we’re so back guys writers drought it out

you get back from taking abby to school, mikes at work and you have the house to yourself…you think.

you lay down in mikes bed which is normal for you. when he gets home he usually wakes you up softly or carries you to the couch. he’ll never admit it but he loves it.

as soon as you get ready for bed you feel a familiar sensation in your lower stomach. you notice that the room is full of his scent and it makes you loose it, grabbing a tshirt from his pile of unfolded clean clothes and innocently laying down with it.

before you know it you’re touching yourself with his tshirt in between your legs, got the smell of him has your eyes rolling back in your head as you touch your pretty cunt and think of him.

The scent of Mike’s t-shirt, a heady mix of his cologne and something distinctly *him*, clings to your senses, driving you deeper into the haze of your own desire. Your fingers move faster, the soft cotton of his shirt pressed between your thighs, muffling the quiet gasps that escape your lips. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, as you lose yourself in the fantasy of him—his calloused hands, his low voice, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You’re so caught up in the moment, eyes squeezed shut, that you don’t hear the faint creak of the front door or the soft tread of shoes against the hardwood. Mike’s home early. The pizzaria let him off sooner than expected, and he’s already through the living room, his mind on you, on the quiet comfort of finding you in his space.

But as he steps into the hallway, he freezes. The door to his bedroom is slightly open, and there’s a sound—soft, breathy, hot. His heart stutters, a mix of confusion and something hotter, more primal, curling in his chest. He should turn away, give you privacy, but his feet don’t move. Instead, he nudges the door open just enough to see you.

You’re sprawled across his bed, his t-shirt clutched tightly against you, your head tilted back, lips parted. The sight hits him like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He’s never seen you like this, so unguarded, so raw. His mouth goes dry, and he grips the doorframe to steady himself, torn between stepping back and stepping closer.

Your eyes flutter open at the faint sound of his movement, and you freeze, heart lurching into your throat. There he is, standing in the doorway, his work jacket still on, eyes dark and unreadable. The t-shirt slips from your grasp as you scramble to sit up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Mike—I—I didn’t hear you come in,” you stammer, pulling the blanket over yourself like it could hide what just happened.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares, his jaw tight. You brace for him to turn away, to pretend this never happened, but instead, he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The air shifts, charged with something electric. “You’re in my bed,” he says, voice low, rougher than usual. It’s not a question, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s trying to piece together what he just walked into.

“I… I was just…” You trail off, unable to find an excuse that doesn’t sound ridiculous. Your pulse races, humiliation warring with the lingering heat in your veins.

Mike takes another step closer, his gaze flicking to the t-shirt now tangled in the sheets. His lips twitch, not quite a smirk but close. “That’s mine,” he says, nodding toward it. There’s no judgment in his tone, only a quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t be.” He’s at the edge of the bed now, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of motor oil and sweat on him, grounding you back in the reality of his presence. His hand hovers near your knee, not quite touching, but the proximity alone sends a shiver through you. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he admits, his voice barely above a murmur, like he’s confessing a secret he’s held too long.

Your breath catches, eyes widening. “huh… what?”

He chuckles, a soft, almost broken sound, and finally lets his hand rest on your knee, his thumb brushing lightly against the blanket. “You think I don’t notice you? The way you fit into my life, into *this*?” He gestures vaguely to the room, the house, the quiet routine you’ve both built. “I come home, see you in my bed, and it’s all I can do not to climb in with you.”

The confession hangs between you, raw and unguarded, and suddenly the embarrassment fades, replaced by a rush of boldness. You shift, letting the blanket fall slightly, revealing the curve of your thigh. His eyes follow the movement, darkening. “Then why don’t you?” you ask, voice trembling but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Mike exhales sharply, like the question physically pains him. For a moment, you think he might pull back, retreat into the safety of his usual restraint, but then he leans in, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Because once I start,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends heat pooling in your core, “I’m not sure I’ll stop.”

You don’t give him the chance to second-guess. You close the distance, pressing your lips to his, and it’s like a dam breaking. His kiss is hungry, desperate, all the pent up tension of months, spilling over. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you climb into his lap, the t-shirt forgotten as you lose yourself in the reality of him, no longer just a fantasy.

Mike’s kiss deepens, a slow, searing thing that steals your breath and sets your skin alight. His hands, rough from years of manual labor, grip your waist with a tenderness that belies their strength, pulling you flush against him as you straddle his lap. The weight of his confession still lingers, raw and electric, and every touch feels like an extension of it, a promise, a release, a claiming. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting the heat coiled tight in your core.

“God, you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and the way he’s staring—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes your heart stutter. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, lingering as if he’s memorizing every detail. “How long I’ve wanted this. Wanted *you*.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard planes of his body through his worn t-shirt, the warmth of him grounding you even as your head spins. “Then show me,” you whisper, bold despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You lean in, brushing your lips against the stubble along his jaw, and the low, rumbling sound he makes in his throat is enough to make your thighs clench.

Mike doesn’t need more encouragement. His hands slide under your shirt—*his* shirt, still tangled around you from earlier—his calloused palms skimming up your sides, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You lift your arms, letting him pull the fabric over your head, and the cool air of the room contrasts sharply with the fire building between you. His gaze rakes over you, reverent, hungry, and when his hands find your bare skin, it’s like he’s worshiping you, mapping every curve with deliberate care.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, almost to himself, and before you can respond, he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, like he’s pouring everything he’s held back into it. His lips trail down your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasp, arching into him. Your hands fumble with the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, and he chuckles softly, helping you tug it off. The sight of him—broad shoulders, the faint scars from years of hard work, the way his muscles shift under his skin—makes your mouth go dry.

You pull him closer, your lips crashing into his as you rock against him, the friction sending sparks through your body. He groans, hands gripping your hips to guide your movements, and the tension that’s been building for months, maybe longer, snaps like a taut wire. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, and the raw need in it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

He flips you gently onto your back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he hovers over you, one arm braced beside your head. His eyes search yours, checking for any hesitation, but all you can do is nod, reaching up to pull him down to you. “I want you,” you say, the words spilling out before you can overthink them, and it’s like a key turning in a lock.

Mike’s restraint crumbles. He kisses you like he’s starving, lips and tongue claiming yours as his hands explore, teasing and stoking the fire in your veins. When he finally presses himself against you, the slow, deliberate way he moves makes your eyes roll back, a soft moan escaping your lips. Every touch, every whispered word, is laced with the weight of everything unsaid—every late-night glance, every moment you’ve both pretended was just an arrangement.

The room fills with the sounds of your shared breaths, the creak of the bed, the quiet gasps and murmured praises. He moves inside you, for you, each thrust a blend of passion and urgency, like he’s trying to make up for all the time you’ve both wasted. Your nails dig into his back, urging him closer, and he obliges, his lips finding yours again as the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat and rhythm building to the upmost pleasure.

When you finally unravel, it’s with his name on your lips, your body trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows moments later, a low, broken sound escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his breaths hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, you just hold each other, the intensity giving way to a soft, almost fragile quiet, like neither of you wants to break the spell.

Eventually, Mike shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, warm and steady, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your cheek. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t say it.

You softly smile, pressing a kiss to his bare collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales, a sound of relief, and tucks you closer, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. The room is still heavy with his scent, but now it’s mixed with yours, a quiet testament to what’s changed. As you drift toward sleep, tangled together in his bed, you know this is only the beginning—messy, complicated, and undeniably yours.

[zorange13]

—he’s such a loser, wtf? pjs (part 2)

pairing. geek! park jay x afab poc popular! reader

content. acquaintances to lovers, jay is lowkey a loser but not, ft. popular athletes! hyung line, jay’s an asshole like fr, allusions to The Duff by Kody Keplinger (little me loved that book, i’ve read it twice. i still love it idc. don’t talk to me abt the movie tho…sigh), photographer geek! jay, journalism major! psych minor! reader, arson jokes, playfully questioning friend’s sexuality, making out

word count: 30,974 (5,383 in this part) part 1 here! ao3 ver.

synopsis: jay’s been hiding behind his cool, distant demeanor, never letting anyone get too close. when he crosses paths with you, a popular cheerleader, your unlikely connection sparks a series of misunderstandings, awkward encounters, and him trying—and failing—to navigate feelings he’s not used to confronting. With a secret mission to keep his distance while helping her, jay finds himself caught between his own stubbornness and the surprising depth of his feelings.

after well into writing this i realized that a lot of jay’s behaviors display signs of autism spectrum disorder. this was not intentional but if this does offend or put anyone off in any way PLEASE let me know!! (symptoms/signs such as: must follow certain routines, seeming blunt or rude without intention, taking things literally—as in—does not understand figures of speech or sarcasm, prefers to be alone, hyperfixations,) again, not intentional but i didn’t want to put this out without making it clear that i’m not ignorant to what i’m producing. i literally didn’t put this together until my close friend (who is autistic) told me that these were signs. she said this did not offend her, but obviously she doesn't speak for all! this isn't to offend anyone, if this does then please tell me. my dm's are always open for any reason!

The next few days had been pretty lonely. The group chat you shared with the boys had been active but you never responded or interacted. But in the event that one of them needed to speak with you, you definitely replied. It wasn’t like they did anything to you. 

Jay hadn’t stopped trying to get a hold of you, calling you a few times a day. Texting you. But he gave you space at the end of the day and that was really all you wanted. 

Your mom had told you to check the mail as she had just sent a care package for you. With glee, you went right to the university post office and checked your godforsaken P.O. box. As you opened it, you saw two slips. Which made you furrow your brows in confusion but maybe mom just couldn’t fit everything into one box.

You mindlessly got your boxes and headed to your dorm. As you kicked off your shoes and placed the boxes on your desk, you grabbed a pair of scissors to open the boxes.

Your heart warmed as you saw your mom’s mail: soap, framed pictures from home wrapped in bubble wrap, perfumes, shirts that you mentioned you forgot at home and some new ones, then finally a brand new journal with floral prints on it. 

You grabbed the pictures with a smile and set them on your desk with a smile. Missing your troublemaking siblings a lot more than you’d like to admit. You made a mental note to give them a call later.

But then your attention turned to what could’ve been more to the other box. You opened it with glee, only for that to be replaced with sadness and frustration.

As you pulled the second object from the box, your fingers tightened around it, but the excitement quickly turned to confusion and a simmering frustration. It wasn’t a journal, though it looked like something you might have appreciated if it were from anyone else.

It was a sleek, well-made leather portfolio with a silver clasp, the kind you’d expect a professional to carry. You turned it over in your hands, a sinking feeling in your chest. There was a small embossed emblem on the back—a symbol you didn’t recognize immediately.

Your stomach dropped as you read the letter that was tucked neatly inside, almost as if it were designed to hide the truth you didn't want to face.

The letter was from Jay, written in his familiar handwriting.

“Hey, I know this isn’t something you’d ever ask for, and I don’t expect anything from you. But I wanted to give you something that might be helpful. I used my dad’s connections, and I pulled a few strings. It’s an internship offer at Hybe Publishing, a place that handles journalism and creative writing, stuff I know you’ve mentioned wanting to do. They were looking for someone with your profile, and I thought you might be interested. It’s paid, out-of-state so they’re willing to give you housing, and there’s food allowance.”

“I hope you find it useful. It’s not just a favor. I know you’re capable of amazing things, and I just want to help you get there.”

“I also know I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m here, and I’m trying to do better. No matter what happens, I want you to succeed. Don’t let me—or anyone—hold you back.”

“Take care,

 Jongseong.”

You could feel your heart in your throat as you read the letter again. It was a mix of sincerity, guilt, and distance all at once. You’d been trying to move on, to escape the emotional baggage tied to him, but this—this felt like another string pulling you right back into his orbit. You didn’t want to care. You didn’t want to be grateful for this internship offer, not from him. Not after everything. But a part of you was undeniably touched by his effort. You sighed and closed your eyes, trying to ignore the wave of conflicting feelings that hit you.

The internship could be a great opportunity, but the circumstances surrounding it made it feel...tainted.

You placed the portfolio on your desk, feeling the weight of it, both physically and emotionally. You had a choice now—take the opportunity and maybe let Jay back in, or turn it down, and risk cutting ties with a potential future you could’ve had.

Your heart was heavy, but there was only one thing to do.

—

Jay was in his study, tip tapping away at his laptop. Trying to fill the void of his seemingly never-ending guilt by doing his history essay. But his mind kept drifting to you. The look on your face when you stopped you, the look of disgust when he spoke to you, the fire in your eyes when you finally pulled yourself together. Building up a wall that he’s never seen, but only one that someone would do when they’ve been hurt.

He also hadn’t spoken to the guys that much either since what happened the other night. The narcissistic, petty part of him feeling like they were to blame for the demise of what was blossoming between you two.

If only they hadn’t even brought it up, then I wouldn’t have said that. Then I’d probably be the reason she went to sleep happy that night.

He just needed someone to blame. 

This was the longest he’s gone without speaking to them within the two decades that they’ve been friends. But this was Jay’s problem; his pride, all of his life, has been the epicenter of all of his problems in his life. 

He hated crying because he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they upset him.

When his mom told him to wash the dishes as he was enroute to washing them, he turned right back around because now I’m not doing them just because you told me to.

He hated admitting he was wrong when it really mattered, because he hated looking stupid. 

And now, it was happening all over again—this time with you.

It was his pride that kept him from even admitting he was doing things for you—he didn’t want you to see his affectionate side. He didn’t want to look weak, like he cared.

He was too prideful to apologize to you for the first infraction and that only worsened and festered into a worse situation.

So as he stood up to stretch, groaning as his limbs stretched. His butt ached after sitting in the same chair for two hours. 

Mid-stretch he heard his doorbell ring, which caught him off guard. He hadn’t been expecting any guests but he still went down to open the door.

He skipped down the skips, jumping down when he reached the last two. Then opened the door without looking through the peephole. 

 And there you were.

Standing on his doorstep, clutching something tightly to your chest—the box he mailed to you. Your eyes met his, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Jay’s heart jumped into his throat. He half-expected you to be wearing the same anger you wore the last time he saw you, but you didn’t. You just looked…tired. Tired and hurt.

Two emotions he knew too well.

You held out the box toward him, your arms stiff, like the whole idea of being here repulsed you. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said flatly. Your voice was calm, but Jay could hear the crack underneath it—the exhaustion. The sadness. He swallowed thickly, words jamming up in his throat. You shoved the box lightly into his chest, forcing him to grab it.  

“I don’t need a handout to make myself feel better, Jay. I needed respect. And you made it real clear how little you thought of me.” 

You didn’t even wait for him to respond—you turned around, your hair whipping over your shoulder as you walked back down his driveway, head held high. Jay stood frozen in the doorway, still holding the box, feeling every inch of shame burn under his skin.

For once in his life, he didn’t care if he looked stupid.

“Wait,” he called out hoarsely. You stopped walking and turned around to look at him with a sigh. Jay stepped down from the porch, clutching the box against his hip. “I don’t think little of you,” He put the box down on a small table next to him. “I think the world of you, actually.” He edged closer to you, the heat from his chest radiating onto your skin. 

“I respect you, a lot more than you think.” He reached up slowly, carefully. Now the heat from his hand resting on the top of your head, then running it slowly down your curls. He gently pulled at the end of a strand, letting it spring back into place. “I just want you to give me a chance to show you just how much.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly, your heart warring with your mind. Every instinct told you to push him away—to protect yourself, to keep that wall firmly in place. But Jay’s hand in your hair was so careful. So gentle. Like he was afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong.

And for once, his voice wasn’t clipped or cold. It was low, raw, almost pleading.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said immediately. “I wouldn’t trust me either.” His thumb brushed over the curve of your cheekbone, tentative. “But I’m gonna earn it. Even if you never speak to me again after tonight—I’m still gonna try. You deserve that. You deserve better than what I gave you. I just need one thing from you.”

You looked up at him, really looked at him—the mess of his hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his mouth was set like he was trying to keep it together. Jay, who usually acted like the world needed to catch up to him, was standing there...waiting. For you.

You tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to give you a proposition.

“Just…come inside,” he whispered that last part. A look of desperation in his eyes, pleading. “Please, just come inside. I’ll cook for you, we can watch all the stupid Disney movies you like, a-and you can ask me questions. A million questions and I’ll answer every last one. And I can make you laugh,” He locks your gaze as he rests his hands on your cheeks. “And if you hate me after everything, then I promise on everything I love, I will leave you alone.”

His hands were warm against your cheeks, cradling you like you were something fragile—something precious. His thumbs brushed along your skin, grounding you.

You swallowed thickly, it was so easy to say no—to turn around and walk away. But he was almost hypnotic. His musky, yet sweet cologne. The way he touched and held you like you were fragile and easily broken—which at this moment, you were. The way he spoke to you, like he needed you.

Even with that, it was so dangerous—so easy to say yes. 

And you did. “Fine,” you sigh shakily, “One night,”

Jay let out a breath of a laugh, like you’d just given him oxygen after he’d been drowning. “One night,” he repeated, like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to scoop the box off the table and then he reached for your hand—tentative, giving you space to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. Your fingers curled into his automatically, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring it.

He led you inside—into the warmth of his house, into something uncertain but maybe, just maybe, something still worth saving.

—

The sound of the oven door closing echoed softly through the house as Jay carefully set the temperature and then washed his hands at the sink. His mind was a whirl of thoughts—half of them still about you, but the other half wondering if the food would actually turn out decent.

He wiped his hands on a towel, trying to calm his racing heart. When he turned around, he saw you sitting on the couch, your posture stiff but your eyes tracing the room. He couldn’t blame you for being distant. He wasn’t exactly the picture of trustworthiness.

As he stepped into the living room, he caught the way you looked at the space—familiar, like you were trying to gauge how much of it was still his. So much had changed between the two of you, and it seemed like it was more than just the argument.

You didn’t say anything when he sat down beside you, but Jay could feel the tension in the air. He didn’t push, just letting the silence fill the room.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke softly. “Feel like talking?”

You gave a slight shrug, the barest hint of a frown tugging at your lips, but you didn’t pull away when he subtly edged closer, facing you. His heart skipped a beat, just for a second.

“I’ll do the talking then.” He chuckled, a little nervous but trying to keep things light. “So, um, I can’t cook for shit. Like, it’s honestly embarrassing. But if you want to help me out in the kitchen after this, I’ll…I’ll consider it an investment in our future.”

You suppressed a smile, looking down at the cushion. “Our future…” You smiled, feeling a bit of fluttering in your chest. “I seriously doubt you can’t cook though. It smells good.”

He leaned his elbow against the back of the couch, smiling a bit as he looked into your eyes. The warm lighting only made your golden skin gleam. “I just follow cookbooks, but I was a bit nervous cooking just now so I’m afraid I might’ve messed up. But if all else fails, pizza?”

You smile, “I actually don’t like pizza.” 

His jaw dropped, but in interest. “Really?”

You shook your head shyly, with pursed lips. “Mm-mm, I’ve had it too much. I just feel like all of the pizzas I’ve had just blend together after a while and they all taste the same.”

He laughs, adjusting his glasses, “I just think that’s…sacrilegious. I mean, I can’t imagine a world without pizza.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension between you both starting to ease just a little. It was a tiny moment, but it was enough to remind you that the Jay you once knew was still somewhere beneath the mess of misunderstandings and pride.

“If you know great places then I’m down for conversion. I will say I’m not easy to please, though.” You shrug.

“Are you a picky eater?” He scooted closer to you, his knee bumping your hip.

You shook your head, “Nah, but I’m just very choosy with the food I eat.”

Jay’s eyes flitted to the side before looking back at you, “So you’re a picky eater?”

“...Basically.”

Jay laughed under his breath, the sound low and boyish, and it made your heart do a little skip before you could stop it.

“You could’ve just said that,” he teased, nudging your leg lightly with his knee again.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I don’t like the word ‘picky.’ It sounds... bratty.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, giving you that familiar, lopsided smile. “Nah. I think it just means you know what you want.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Nothing wrong with that.”

The two of you fell into a brief silence, comfortable this time. Jay’s hand brushed yours as he reached for the glass of water on the coffee table, and you didn’t pull away. It felt like something had shifted between you, even if only a little. He could feel the warmth of your proximity, and though your trust was still fragile, you weren’t pulling away entirely.

“I have a feeling you’re not just here for food, though,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Do you wanna talk?”

You met his gaze again, this time your eyes a little softer. There was something about the way he looked at you now—like he really was ready to listen. That slight openness, the unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

You nodded slowly, setting your hands in your lap. “Yeah, I guess…there’s a lot on my mind.” You hesitated for a moment, then added, “I don’t know where to start, though.”

Jay leaned forward slightly, his posture open and encouraging. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his voice made you take a breath. You still weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it felt...different. The way he was treating this moment. The way he was treating you. Maybe it was worth it, after all. Maybe.

The oven beeped from the kitchen, and Jay quickly jumped up, eager to distract himself from the heavy silence. “Aha, saved by the bell,” he muttered under his breath, trying to make light of the moment. He motioned for you to stay where you were. “I’ll grab the food, then we can talk.”

—

Jay is usually very particular and prefers to eat at the table, but tonight he set the plates right there on the coffee table, like he didn’t want to be too far from you. It felt almost domestic—your plates side by side, your knees brushing under the low table as you shifted to sit cross-legged. Jay set down a bowl of pasta and some garlic bread, both a little clumsy looking, but still warm and comforting.

He sat down beside you again, closer this time, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

“I figured it’d be easier to eat here,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know...so you don’t run away from me again.” His smile was a little self-deprecating, but there was real hope behind it too.

You picked up your fork, glancing at him with a small smile. “You’re not that easy to get rid of.”

Jay chuckled under his breath. “Not when it comes to you.”

There was that beat of silence again—this time heavier, sweeter, filled with things neither of you dared say just yet. And even though the food was right in front of you, warm and waiting, neither of you moved to take the first bite.

Jay picked up his fork first, twirling it around the pasta halfheartedly before sneaking a glance at you. “You know,” he said casually, “you don’t have to be nice about it. If it sucks, you can just tell me.”

You laughed under your breath, finally taking a bite. To your surprise, it wasn’t bad at all—simple, but good.

“I’m serious. I’m a big boy. I can handle the truth,” he teased.

You swallowed and tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm…edible. Not life-changing, but edible.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Edible? That’s it? You wound me.”

You laughed again, real this time, and Jay’s shoulders relaxed. It was small, but he could tell—you were starting to trust him again, if only a little.

After a few more bites, the playful atmosphere dimmed into something quieter again, like both of you knew there was more to say. You set your fork down, wiping your hands on a napkin.

“I just…” you started, tracing a small pattern on your napkin with your finger. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it would hurt. Hearing you say those things about me. Like I was just…something to joke about.”

Jay put his fork down too, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer.

“I was stupid,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was trying to—I don’t even know. Look cool? Save face?” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “It was the dumbest thing I could’ve done. Especially when you…you meant more to me than any of them.”

Your heart ached a little at the admission, but you kept your expression guarded. “But those are your best friends. But still, why not just say that?”

Jay looked down at his hands, flexing them nervously. “Because I’m an idiot who didn’t think he deserved you,” he admitted. “And somewhere deep down, I figured if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized it too.” He sighed, “And yeah they’ve been my friends for a very long time but…I’ve never really felt like this before.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening slightly around your napkin.

There it was. The truth, raw and real.

And somehow, hearing it didn’t make the pain worse—it made it a little easier to breathe.

You nudged your knee against his, just barely. “What does that mean?” you muttered, but your voice was soft, teasing.

He looked up introspectively, “I’ve never really liked anyone before. At least not since I was pretty young so that doesn’t count. But it’s just…all of my friends—I love them. They’ve been there for me in spite of my stubborn ways and I don’t know who I’d be without them, truly. They humble me, support me, and everything else. But in case you haven’t noticed…they have their fun.” He looked at you with a bit of a smile. 

You nod with a laugh, “They do, for sure. Love them though!” You hold out your hands in defense.

Jay nods, “Yeah, of course. But I think because I’m obviously with them all the time and some people assume that I’m like them in that way. And really, a part of me has always wanted something more. I don’t just want to fuck people and that be my life. I know I can have that, but I’d rather not have that with just anybody.”

You blinked, caught a little off guard by how candid he was being. Jay was usually careful with his words—measured, sarcastic when he was nervous—but here he was, laying it all out there, raw and unfiltered.

Your voice softened without you meaning it to. “You want something real.”

Jay nodded, the movement slow, almost hesitant. His knee brushed yours again, and this time it stayed there, the small point of contact grounding you both.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I want someone who knows me. Someone I don’t have to perform for. Someone who actually sees me...and doesn’t run.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Your heart tugged painfully in your chest because you understood more than you cared to admit.

Jay leaned forward a little more, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. “I was scared you were gonna realize how much of a mess I am,” he said, almost in a whisper. “So I tried to ruin it first. Before you could.”

There was a lump forming in your throat now, but you pushed through it, blinking rapidly.

“You didn’t have to be perfect, Jay,” you said quietly. “You just had to be honest.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, nodding, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. His hair was a mess, his shoulders were tense, but he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

“I’m trying now,” he said simply. “Even if it’s too late.”

You fiddled with your napkin for another beat, heart pounding in your ears, before you finally whispered, “It’s not too late.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes wide, and you watched the tiniest crack of hope break across his face.

He looked almost boyish like that—caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.

You shifted a little closer on the couch without thinking, your knees brushing again, your hand still twisted in the napkin. Jay didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, like he was afraid the moment would shatter if he so much as blinked.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out and placed his hand over yours, covering the napkin too, his palm warm and slightly trembling.

“You mean it?” he asked, voice low and earnest.

You nodded, a small, shaky smile playing at your lips. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The distance between you grew smaller, like the pull of gravity itself was stitching the space closed. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, featherlight, as if memorizing the feeling.

And when you tilted your head just slightly—an almost imperceptible invitation—Jay leaned in too, slow and tentative, like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your forehead brushed his first, a soft, clumsy touch that made you both let out breathy laughs. And then, gently, his nose bumped yours, and the world fell into a suspended hush.

His lips brushed yours—barely, barely there—more a question than a kiss.

And when you didn’t pull back, when you leaned in just a little more, the kiss deepened by the barest fraction. Sweet. Careful. Like he was afraid to break you.

Like he was afraid to break this.

He was a little weary of crossing any further boundaries with you. Jay just wanted to be close to you and this was the first time he had felt butterflies in a very long time. So, he just wanted to be careful with you. 

Jay rested his hand on the nape of your neck, gently guiding your lips closer to his—only deepening it. The warm ambience and distant songs from High School Musical 2 only made this funny and sort of endearing. Hearing “Everyday” while he was doing his best to show you what he could mean to you had made him smile into the kiss.

You, on the other hand, were a little cautious as well. But you yearned to cross boundaries, and a part of you knew that he’d let you. You leaned up on your knees to shift onto his lap without breaking the kiss. To which he instantly complied, hands hovering over your figure as you settled onto his lap. You grabbed them and placed them on your hips as your lips danced across each other’s. 

But as much as he loved this feeling, he hated the fact that his glasses kept bumping your face. He quickly moved back, looking you in the eye as he took his glasses off and tossed them to the other side of the couch. Then kissed you with fervor, his hands finally pulling you closer, fingertips skimming the fabric of your shirt, feeling the heat radiating between you both. The kiss was no longer just tentative—it was hungry, urgent, but still delicate, like you both needed this as much as you needed air. Jay’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer, as if afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t anchor you to him.

You responded, lips parting slightly as your hands roamed up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. There was a quiet desperation in the way you kissed him, as if you'd been waiting for this moment forever, yet had never truly realized it until now.

The sound of the movie, still playing in the background, felt miles away. The air between you was thick with everything you hadn’t said yet, with all the things you hadn’t dared to feel. But at that moment, none of that mattered. It was just you and Jay. And this.

He slowly lowered you down onto the couch, the tension in your back simmering as your back hit the plush material. He hovered over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His affection left your lips and traveled to your cheek, then your jaw, then finally fell to your neck. Swirling his tongue along the sensitive area and sucking gently. This eliciting a gasp from you, your hands caught in his hair. 

The heat between you both only intensified as his lips moved over your skin, each kiss sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You could feel his breath hot against your neck, the weight of his body hovering over you, but still, he was cautious—attentive to every little movement you made. His hands, though still uncertain, were exploring more boldly now, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

You arched your back slightly, pressing yourself closer to him, eager to feel more of him, to close that last inch of space that still remained between you. His lips left your neck and found yours again, this time with a fervor that matched the rhythm of your heart. He was all warmth, all hands, and you were lost in the sensation of him.

His hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, fingertips skimming the softness of your skin, and you gasped at the feeling. The sensations were overwhelming in the best way, and you couldn't help but want more, just a little more. The urgency, the heat, the way he kissed you like he'd been starving for it—it was intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with desire, breath shaky. “I think we should stop.”

His forehead rested on yours as you smiled, stroking his cheek with your fingers. “I think so, too.”

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. The room, the air, the buzzing of the movie still playing in the background—it all faded away as you both shared that quiet, intimate moment. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, still so close, his hands resting on the curve of your waist, but not pulling you any further.

He nodded urgently, pulling you up with him. “Yeah, yeah of course.” You both sat up with smiles, but he playfully yanked you close to him by the leg. Resting it by the outside of his hip, locking him between the couch and you. “Do you still hate me?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension between you two melting into something much lighter. His playful tug had pulled you into his space, your leg draped over his, and for the first time in a while, everything felt easy. You met his gaze, eyes softening as you considered his question. “Hate you?” You shook your head, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t hate you.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh really?” He leaned in, his voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Then what would you call all those times you wanted to strangle me?”

You snorted, swatting at his arm as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth next to you. “Definitely not hate. More like... intense dislike.” You grinned, enjoying the lighthearted banter that felt so familiar, so right.

His laughter filled the space between you, the sound genuine and unguarded. “I’ll take that. I deserve it, though,” he said with a shrug, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly as he adjusted his position. “But I’m glad. Glad you don’t hate me.”

You smiled softly, a small, almost shy laugh escaping you. “Yeah...glad, too.” Your fingers traced a pattern across his chest, the easy rhythm of the moment making your heart settle. “But I’m still mad at you, just so you know.”

Jay’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What? I can’t be perfect?”

You snorted again. “No one’s perfect.”

“True.” He nodded sagely, then nudged you playfully. “So, can I redeem myself?”

You met his gaze again, eyes locking for a brief moment. The playful energy between you both was undeniable, but beneath it, there was something deeper that had shifted. You nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “You’ve already started.”

Jay’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent way. “Good. I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’ll have me.”

For a beat, you both just looked at each other, the playful teasing giving way to something a little more real, a little more fragile, but also more promising than either of you had expected. And maybe that was enough for now. The rest, the future—everything else could come in time.

And for tonight, you were okay with that.

You got a 94 on that project.

-

Copyright: © zorange13. 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

[jayblackpanther]

Sweet Like Sin

Obsessive!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

WARNING: Obsession, Power play, Dark Romance, Toxic Love, Semi-Stalker!Rafe, Possessive Behavior, Praise.

You always knew Rafe Cameron was trouble.

You’d seen him around the Island, all swagger and jawline, with that dead-eyed look that made girls curious and terrified at the same time. You weren’t one of them. You were smarter. Safer. You had boundaries.

Until one night, those boundaries vanished like smoke.

It started at a party.

You shouldn’t have gone. The house was crawling with Pogues and Kooks and every flavor of trouble in between. But your friend dragged you there, and you made a deal with yourself: one drink, one hour, then home.

You hadn’t even finished your White Claw when you felt him watching you.

He leaned against the wall across the room like a storm in a linen shirt, cigarette hanging from his lips, blue eyes cutting through every distraction. You looked away. Then back. And that was your first mistake.

The second was going upstairs to use the bathroom—alone.

Because when you opened the door to leave, Rafe was there. Blocking the hallway. Looking at you like he already owned you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, dangerous.

“I was just leaving.”

He smirked. “No, you weren’t.”

He backed you into the wall without touching you, that twisted calm simmering under his skin.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said, eyes roaming your body. “You always act so good. So clean. Like you’re better than this place.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’m not—”

“But you are,” he interrupted. “You’re better. Softer. Sweeter.” He leaned in until your chests almost touched. “And I want a taste.”

You should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve said no. But something in your chest cracked open, and you whispered the worst thing you could:

“Then take it.”

And he did.

Now, it’s been two months. Two months of hiding bruises beneath your blouse. Two months of keeping secrets from your friends. Two months of letting Rafe Cameron ruin you.

He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. He calls you his.

He doesn’t take you on dates. He shows up at your apartment unannounced, demanding your attention, your body, your soul.

And tonight? He’s worse than usual.

“You been ignoring me,” he growls, tossing your phone across the room as he slams the front door shut. “Why the fuck haven’t you been answering?”

You tremble, backing away. “I—I was busy. With work.”

“Bullshit.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I’ve seen you. Out with your friends. Laughing. Flirting. Acting like you’re not mine.”

You whimper, thighs clenching. “I am yours…”

“That’s right,” he says darkly. “You’re mine. And you forgot what happens when you make me jealous.”

He shoves you against the wall and kisses you hard—teeth, tongue, punishment. His hands are everywhere, rough and greedy, dragging your dress over your head, tearing your panties off like paper.

“You think they can fuck you like I do?” he spits, dropping to his knees. “Think they can make you scream?”

He devours you like a man starved. One hand pressing your hips to the wall while the other snakes around your throat, controlling every gasp you make. His mouth is hot, filthy, focused, sucking on your clit until your legs shake.

“You gonna cum, angel?” he murmurs. “Gonna make a mess for Daddy?”

Your moan is the only answer he needs.

He stands, cock already out, dragging your leg up around his waist before slamming into you. No prep. No softness. Just raw, unfiltered ownership.

The stretch burns, but you crave it.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, pounding into you like you belong to him—because you do.

Your head hits the wall. Your hands clutch his shoulders. He fucks you through your orgasm, doesn’t stop when you cry, doesn’t slow down when your nails rake down his back.

“Who do you belong to?” he snarls, breath hot against your cheek.

“You—fuck—you, Rafe—!”

He slaps your ass, hard. “Say it right.”

“Daddy— I’m yours, Daddy—please!”

He finishes with a guttural moan, cock buried deep, his cum spilling inside you as his teeth graze your neck.

But he doesn’t pull out.

He kisses you softly now, tongue soothing over your skin.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs. “Sweet like fuckin’ sin. I’d kill for you, baby.”

You know he’s not lying. And that should scare you. But it doesn’t.

It turns you on.

Later, he lights a cigarette and watches you from bed, your legs still twitching, his cum dripping down your thighs.

“I should keep you locked up,” he says, smirking. “Might put a collar on you next time.”

You smile, fucked-out and floating.

“Only if it’s pink.”

He chuckles darkly. “Whatever my baby wants.”

Because no matter how dirty, dark, or dangerous…

Rafe always gives you what you want.

Even if it destroys you.

[whyshedisappeared]

you know what pisses me off? when dog owners of bully breeds go out of their way to train their dogs and give them everything they need so they don't develop dangerous habits bc they know how dangerous they can be if they aren't trained right, meanwhile my aunt's Maltese mix is more dangerous than they are bc he hasn't been trained a day in his life and bit both my dog and my uncle's as well as tried to bite us but he's small so it's fine. that dog drew blood from me multiple times, he is not fine. he's so tiny his teeth are really fucking sharp and not training him is dangerous but my aunt just waves everyone off when we tell them they have to train their dog bc it will end badly. and then my uncle's hyper active dog who they went out of their way to train bc it was getting dangerous how he was reacting when he got too excited and because the sweetest most gentle dog ever now that they know how to help him is deemed the problem

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.

[cursedsails]

just about catching his breath, dorian laughed as the last few coughs tore through his chest. "you know they always said to never trust a pretty face, but i could never help myself." his tongue wet his lips, gaze raking up rhett's body as he lounged in his chair with his feet up. there would be no question of who owned the place, not when he carried himself as such.

his eyes settled on his face, the dim light casting a handsome shadow over him, and dorian made no effort to hide the desire in his eyes. it was always there, more so with some than others, but he was an opportunist at heart. "that does make me a fortunate man." his fingers stroked the bone dice on the table, gently rolling them between his digits.

"you know me well." he chuckled, tilting his head to look at him with narrowed eyes. "but i come back for your delightful company, despite your attempts to poison me. i so rarely see you in my own home that you have to drag me out to yours. why is that, hm? you aren't running a secret brothel from here, are you darling?"

rhett  didn’t  move  at  first.

just  sat  there,  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  watching  dorian  fight  the  bottle  like  a  man  drowning  slow—and  liking  it  too  much  to  throw  him  a  rope.

he  let  out  a  low,  rough  laugh,  warm  and  mean  all  at  once.  “shouldn’t  have  trusted  it,”  he  said,  grinning  wide,  lazy  as  hell.  he  caught  the  bottle  when  dorian  shoved  it  back  across  the  table,  fingers  tapping  once  against  the  glass  before  setting  it  down  like  he  had  no  plans  to  touch  it  again.

“don’t  look  at  me  like  that,”  rhett  drawled,  blue  eyes  glinting  in  the  firelight.  “you  walked  right  into  it,  sweetheart.  i  just  held  the  door.”  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  boots  kicking  up  onto  the  edge  of  the  table  like  he  owned  the  whole  damn  room—which  he  did.

his  grin  stayed  sharp,  fond,  dangerous  “you’re  lucky  i  like  you,”  he  said,  voice  dropping  low  and  rough.  “otherwise  i’d  be  pourin’  you  another  just  to  see  if  you  survive  it.”

rhett  tipped  his  head  slightly,  studying  dorian  with  that  slow,  amused  look  that  said  he  was  already  thinking  of the  next  way  to  wreck  him  just  for  the  hell  of  it.

“but  you  always  did  love  the  pain,  didn’t  you?”  he  added,  “guess  that’s  why  you  keep  comin’  back.”

[daxisyzz]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”