#and regardless of what you think of me. remember to be kind to yourself.

[herbofgraceandpeace]

I steal a few breaths from the world for a minute,

and then I’ll be nothing forever—

and all of my memories and all of the things I have seen

will be gone, with my eyes, with my body, with me.

But me and my husband! We’re doing better!

it’s always been just him and me! together!

so I bet all I have on that furrowed brow!

and! at least in this lifetime! we’re sticking together!

[snekdood]

personally, i dont see the fundamental difference between deleting your account and making a new one and deleting all your old posts, if we're talking about "running from ones past", then what are you tryna hide there, bud?

[kenyummy]

✰ 05. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 05. your closed-off heart.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: avoidant attachment damian is canon to me okay. it's canon to me... </3 also pretty long chap idk how many words but it's a bunch

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

The sky has fallen to an ashen black by the time you've all settled down and watched a fun game show together; so different from the ones back home.

After those hours of catching up—you've made sure to be careful with your words and not mention anything about any alternate universes. You can't—not with that lingering stare behind you, after all.

Whether they realised your avoidance of the topic or simply didn't think to bring it up—you were glad the rest of your friends never even hinted at it once, either.

Now you were back, sitting on the couch under a low, flickering light and cuddled up beside Johnny and Franklin.

"Franklin..." Your voice is low. Said boy is cooped up to your side, snoring softly as he drools onto you. You avert your gaze toward Sue and Reed. "How's his... mutation going? It's pretty rough being so strong so young."

Johnny glowers at the sight of Franklin so attached to your left arm—even though he's just as close, if not closer to you than his nephew is. If he were sunken any farther into you, he'd practically be in your lap.

Sue sighs, pressing her palm against her face with an exasperated look. "After that whole incident with Annihilus, his power has been developing so drastically, we aren't sure on what may occur next. He's so... he is so strong. We asked the Professor about it, and his only advice was for when we believe we cannot properly help him develop, to send him to his school."

Reed slinks his hand into his wives', gripping tightly. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Franklin... is a good kid. I don't believe he will ever lost control of himself, not like the Professor is afraid he will. Regardless—he's doing fine, and that was the reason we took him with us."

The mood is sunken, a little bit quieter as you rake your nails over Frankin' scalp—gently. Such a power so young—you remember the first time you were told this young boy was creating pocket universes under his bed at three. Two years later, and he's developed the abilities comparable to that of a god.

To be so incredible is a blessing—but for a child like Franklin, it can feel like a curse often times. You would know, you think solemnly, palm falling over his cheek.

Ben sinks into the dented couch, leaning back with a knee crossed over his leg. He breaks the silence with ease and that lovely Yancy Street accent, "That, and we didn't wanna let Tony babysit again."

"Oh yeah," Johnny grimaces. "Last time he was left alone with Frankie, he made him a suit and he flew all the way to the Carribean!"

You slap a hand over your mouth, turning to Johnny and laughing, "I heard about that! Didn't you nearly get sunk by Namor and his Atlanteans?"

Johnny hisses and looks to the side—the tips of his ears alighting with a flicker. You reach up and pat out the flame, brushing his hair back as he hides his face from your view.

Judging by the smug, knowing look Sue shoots her younger brother, you assume he was pretty annoyed by your pampering.

Despite this, the mood has become lighter. You aren't worried about what may happen in the future, or what could possibly go wrong with the young child beside you.

"Don't even mention him, or any bad guy—" Johnny slumps down, head reeking back dramatically. "I'm going stir-crazy not being able to get out and fight 'em."

Ben gives him a pointed look, "brows" furrowing, "Yer sounding less stir-crazy and more batshit mental. Ya gotta get out more."

"Tell that to him!" The blonde juts his thumb towards Reed, who simply averts his eyes. "He's the one who said we can't be seen in this unknown place."

"Yeah, it's a shame, isn't it?" You cross your arms. "While you're all resting here, I have to go out and fight crime all day. Lucky me."

Johnny raises his hands in defence, "Yeah, you are lucky. I'd kill to get out and get some action. I'm tired of being cooped up in here all day like the world doesn't need me."

"Don't go getting a big head, Johnny." Sue frowns. "This world has survived fine without you. I'm sure it'll live even without you, as well."

Johnny and Sue start to bicker in the traditional sibling fashion—shooting the other glares and mocks, all the while Reed seems to be deep in thought. (And as always, Ben is simply enjoying the scene in front of him).

"Actually..." Reed speaks up—catching the attention of everybody in the room with ease. "Perhaps... it could be a good thing to go public. It would give us an easy way to collect materials we need if we could go out and use our powers freely."

"... Reed? You can't be serious—" Sue blinks in shock.

Ben slams his two rocky fists together, "Hell yeah! It's been a minute since I said my favourite line—"

"—It's clobberin' time, we know." Johnny shakes his head. Ben simply shoots the matchstick a glare.

"That aside; it'll help us make that..." Reed hums, glancing at you for a moment, "That very intricate device we'd been needing to create. The last one was created by the combined nature of me, Tony, and Hank—so making it alone may provide more difficult, but absolutely not impossible. Not much tech to work with, either... this might take a while..."

Sue places a hand on her husbands shoulder, and he seems to break out of the strange mumble he reduced his voice to. "Thank you, Susan. But yes—given we collect the right resources and I have time to work on this, we should be able to remake it."

"That's great!" You smile, grin brightening. You could go home! You could actually go home! Not sure when—but soon couldn't come soon enough. "You guys can fight alongside me, and now this! This is great news!"

"Eh ... I already told you Reed was making some of that crazy tech stuff, didn't I?" Johnny shrugs, resting his head to the side. "Besides—It's Reed. Why wouldn't be tinkering with some weird invention?"

"... Thank you for the vote of confidence, Johnny." Reed murmurs, eyes falling to the side. "If we want to make something as intricate as... that, from scratch, we'll definitely need the most brilliant minds helping."

"Ah... yeah. Too bad Tony isn't here, huh? Hank, too. They'd be a real help." You smile sadly, looking to the side.

"Actually, [name], I'd rather like you to look over some of the teleporters with me. Give your opinion on what I should do with what I have."

"R... really?" You look up at him with sparkly eyes. "You really...?"

He nods, smiling. You bite down on the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning madly—instead, you opt to rushing over and wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping up and down.

"Thank you! Yeah, I'd be—" You pull back, coughing with a flushed face. "I'd be totally honoured. Yeah. Um—I promise to not get any webs on them this time!"

"I'll take your word for it," Reed chuckles. Happiness practically bursts out of your chest at the recognition from the smartest man in the world.

Perhaps you were more than you gave yourself credit for—and way more than what that family gave you credit for.

You sit back down and Franklin crawls back into your lap, snoring softly. Johnny attaches himself to your side and keeps a warm arm snug around your shoulder, smiling down at you.

The warm fuzzy feeling pools down at the bottom of your stomach and each time you laugh, you feel your heart grow fonder.

You had never felt so at home in this strange place. These four—these five—this was your family, and you'd never feel otherwise.

Damien feels a tug in his chest. More than a tug, actually—it's like a rope has tied a noose around his ribs and is rattling them repeatedly.

He's biting down so hard on his lips and the inside of your cheek that blood seeps from between chapped lips. He chews them raw—not even noticing the pain.

He hadn't even realised when he pulled his katana out from its holster on his back. He hadn't realised when he gripped it so taut his knuckles turned a milky white. He hadn't even realised when his eyes zeroed in on the sight of you cuddling up with that dark-haired boy.

Allowing him close to you—clinging to your arm so pathetically and pressing his face against your stomach as if he'd done it a hundred times over and acting like you're his older sibling or something stupid like that—

Damian steadies his erratic breathing. Unscrunching his face, but he cannot seem to stop glaring daggers. Even when he makes eye contact with that man—Reed, he believes you referred to him as—he does not tear his sharp gaze away.

You stare so tenderly at the young boy (younger than Damian is. By a few years or so, most likely). You cradle his cheek in your hand with such love it makes your actual brother, your blood brother, feel sick to his stomach.

Raking your fingers through his hair like you'd never done with your siblings before. Holding him close like you wished to protect him from the world and all the horrors within it.

How could you possibly hope to protect this... Frankie, when you cannot even protect yourself? The scarring left from the bullet still lay on your shoulder, a ghostly reminder of how you became victim to the evil this city holds.

A reminder to Damian on how he must protect you now. As his duty.

In this cruel world, you have lost to it—and yet, you choose to coddle others? You choose to keep others safe and close to your heart, but never your family?

His heart is lit aflame with rage. His jaw is taut and clenched tightly—feeling his teeth grit beneath his tongue and his mind fizzle with boiling anger. He hadn't felt this irrational in so long. Not until...

He doesn't remember ever seeing you in a such a light. He doesn't remember seeing you.

But now he does—and now, he feels so much fuming ferocity. Watching you send the softest of smiles to him and allowing him to feel your soft, untainted touch.

(A touch not tainted by years of relentless crime fighting—a silky grasp that could only be given by that kind of regularity Damian had never known).

Much earlier, he had realised you were that vigilante he met so long ago. That spider-like fiend who seemed to have those never-endingly sticky webs.

This is why you'd been skipping classes so often, and why he never saw you around. That's why he hadn't seen those pitiful eyes be directed toward his two, barely there elder brothers, after each and every violent patrol.

That is why you have become so distant. So far away—Drake had described it. Damian didn't bother to listen because he didn't care enough to.

That doesn't matter. In the end, none of it matters. Not to him. It didn't change his image of you.

He hadn't known you long enough for it to shift in any way—nor had he ever tried to. Despite this, he is content. If this new version of you is all he will ever know, then so be it. This will be his you—the sincerity in your touch and the love in your eyes.

(Yet, never seen toward him).

He has little time to ponder and brood. Before he knows it—the glass door is sliding open and, on that balcony, he is no longer alone.

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Damian?"

He blinks. He is not used to hearing his name from your mouth in anything but a furious tone. Yet, despite this—it is anything bur the saccharine way you told that Franklin he's your favourite—

"Damian. Why did you follow me?" You demand, voice more firm than your question-like tone before.

You stand before him, arms crossed under your chest and a hard expression on your face. Stern. Like a real older sibling. He had never seen you make that kind of face before.

(For whatever odd reason, he feels small again. Like lowering his head and apologising for something he had not even done—you've never had that sort of effect before).

... And yet, despite all he's acted like in the past; in this present moment, he doesn't know what to say to you. Very uncharacteristical.

(For that Franklin, it came so easy. Like running up to you with those stupid googly eyes was the most regular thing to him. Damian doesn't believe he will ever be able to feel as normal as that).

Fortunately, he manages to scrounge up some words to say like it was a board game. "I... happened to catch you swinging here. In that ridiculous costume and to your even more ridiculous friends."

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his words. He notices it so wholly that it strikes deep into his chest. Why are you so dissatisfied with him? Why does it make him so unfathomably upset?

"One, my costume is cool. Two, my friends aren't ridiculous. Don't talk about them like that." Your tone is upset.

All these strong emotions hit him like a freight train and suddenly he doesn't know how to speak properly. Don't look at him like that. Why are you so kind to that other child, but you are so cruel toward him? It's unfair. Absolutely unfair.

He must've been quiet longer than he realised. Clutching the bottom of his cape tight into his blood-bathed grip, practically shaking. He must look so utterly pathetic for you to offer him menial pity.

(Just like you used to—except now it feels like a wave crashing against the shore, covering the burning lava stones in a cool tide).

"So, you know, then?" You glance downward at Damian after pinching your temple. He breaks his eye contact with the concrete and looks back to you. "That I'm that spider hero."

...

"Yes. After seeing your school bag webbed up, it was far too obvious."

You glance downwards once more. To the strap wrapped around his shoulder, connected to your bag. He tries to shuffle it discreetly behind him, but he knows you've spotted it when a smile crawls onto your lips.

Gritting his teeth—yet this time he does not feel that same blaring anger as before—he decides that hiding it was useless and opts to shove it into your arms roughly, before he can even think.

"The leather is crumpled. You need a new bag," He says, matter-of-factly. You grasp onto the leather with wide eyes; gaze shifting from it to him.

"... I know. It's been like this..." You aren't exactly sure on how long, exactly—but you're sure it's been... "For a while. I'm used to it."

Damian pauses, eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a sneer. He's practically offering, and yet you still deny? You pretend everything is fine and you are strong.

...

You lean down the slightest. "... Still. Thanks for considering me."

You almost can't believe you're thanking this younger brother for the bare minimum—but from what you've seen, that bare minimum isn't seen much in your household. (Especially towards you).

Despite this... you have always had a soft spot for kids. You ruffle his dark hair and he practically squawks, slapping your hands away like it burnt.

He recoils back, hissing, "Who do you think you are?! Don't patronise me!"

You chuckle and move back, brushing off your hands. He watches that action like a hawk. "... Are you going to tell them?"

"TT. About your little side hobby playing dress up?"

You want to point out how he does the exact same thing. But you don't, because you know it will lead to nothing good.

Damian sneers, turning his head to the side, "I don't care for what you do in your spare time. As long as I do not have to be there to save you every time."

"Fair enough. This can be our little secret, then." You nod. "... You can go now. I'm just going to suit up and sneak back in."

"Is that what you have been doing for the past several weeks?"

"Guilty as charged," you shrug, pressing on the necklace pendant sitting comfortably between your collarbones. "If nobody notices, then I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean—"

He watches in fascination as the minuscule robots crawl over your body and form into the familiar Spidey suit.

You tuck your hair in as the mask forms. "—Most of them are barely home to begin with, and it's not like Bruce has spare time to be worrying about this."

... "Don't you mean father?"

You stare at him weird. "What?"

"You called father Bruce." His eyes narrow furthur.

"Oh. Right." You must've become accustomed to not saying father. Uncle Ben was the only father you'd ever had, and it wasn't like you were going around calling him that, since you know—he was your uncle. "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Damien doesn't reply this time. He throws on the hood of his costume, turning his back toward your costumed form.

You walk back inside into the dimly-lit room, engulfing those people in warm hugs you'd never spared any of them before.

He leaps off the roof and swings away into the night, face unreadable; mind consumed with little crime and more thoughts of you.

Perhaps he was... wrong about you. Less helpless, but still just as weak. And a lot more confusing. Unfair. So much confliction.

Though, he feels his chest beat strangely warm when he tousles his hair back to its regular style.

Swinging in through the window in your room and with one click on your necklace, you land flat on your heels.

Peering around, you hum at your empty, dark room and change into a pair of pyjamas.

It's been a day or two since you'd eaten here. Usually you'd go around as Spidey and picking up some takeout as you swing back home, or go to Harry's house for some dinner (since Norman had taken a strong, un-evil liking to you in this world).

But today, you'd been too wrapped up to even think about dinner. You'd missed the familiarity of Sue's warm cooking but you hadn't even thought to ask while you were there. Damn.

It's way too late to go out and get something now. Crap. You really got ahead of yourself, didn't you?

You put on your pair of fuzzy slippers, and swing open your door. It's late, so most of them should be out on patrol.

You'll probably only run into Alfred, at best. You can live with those kinds of odds.

You walk down the stairway and towards the kitchen (it took you a bit—learning the ropes of this place was harder than it looked). Your steps sluggishly drawl across the floor as you yawn.

Being Spidey sure was tiring. Post-patrol naps were always the highlight of your week, but you could never do it on an empty stomach.

As quietly as possible, you begin to rummage around in the larger-than-life fridge. Fruit, condiments, almost all ingredients than actual food.

You groan. You hate rich people. Aunt May always used to just buy a bunch of pre-cooked meals whenever she was away—you'd become so accustomed to it.

Maybe there were leftovers? ... Do rich people even keep leftovers? You slouch down at the thought.

You open a few drawers just to find a pile of spinach of all things. Then fruity flavoured drinks. Some more vegetables. Lots of vegetables. A child's waking nightmare.

"There's a pack of pizza pockets in the third drawer in the second row."

You barely even react, hand already inching for the drawer. You open it, and find it. You hum.

Your sense acts up when you hear footsteps approaching—you glance over your shoulder to see a man you have not previously met before, but have seen.

That blob of red—that figure you saw before everything went black and when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder. It was him.

A white tuft of hair in the middle of his forehead and a jaded expression. A red helmet under his arm and a pizza pocket in the other hand.

It was undoubtedly him.

"Jason..." You try your hardest to not make it sound like a question.

His expression remains unchanged. "[name]. You... your shoulder is all healed up already."

You glance at your exposed shoulder. There is barely any visibly sign of a wound ever being there. Perks to a healing factor—well, you heal. Downsides to a healing factor—people start asking questions.

"It didn't hit me too deep... and Bruce got me the best hospital stuff, too." You put the pizza pockets on a plate then stuff it into the microwave. The beep resounds in the quiet as you lean back on the counter. "Guess I got lucky."

"Didn't feel so lucky when you were bleeding out in my arms, did you?" His eyes narrow and you think you may have said the wrong thing. "What the hell were you even doing out at that hour? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Oh, I was just dropped in from another universe and switched places with Wayne-ie here. No biggie.

Yeah, no way in any of the layers in hell. Facing Galactus head on feels like a safer task than telling him that. You shake your head, trying to formulate a proper excuse.

"I was hanging out with my friends. Lost track of time."

His eyes widen at your sheer audacity to say that—then, his brows furrow and he steps forward, "Don't give me that shit. You never go out past ten. Bruce won't let you. We drilled it into your head you'd die out there. And look—you nearly did. Don't you dare sit here and lie to me, [name], because I swear to God—"

Your jaw clenches and you have to hold your hands behind your body—pressed against hard granite—to stop yourself from pushing him back.

You hiss, low and tense, "What do you know? You'd never stay long enough to find out."

You remember flipping through that diary. The words getting scratchier and the paper getting more crumpled as you went on.

"You'd never stayed longer than a few days. You'd never even looked at me even then."

As you became older, you became hateful.

"You could see Dick. You could hate Tim. And despite everything, you could bring yourself to like him. You even tolerated Damian."

But you also became sad. Increasingly so. So miserable, trapped in that newborn skin you'd never truly seemed to break out of.

"I didn't care that you killed people. I didn't care that you never stayed for long. I didn't care that you hated Bruce."

So lost, so desperate for that touch you'd received so long ago; you never really grown up, had you?

"I didn't care that you'd never stay for him. For Dick. For any of the others."

So bitter. It's no wonder you'd never talked to them. It's no wonder—

"But damn it, Jason—"

"I really thought that you could've stayed for me."

—that he's staring at you in such horror.

None of this came from your heart. This entire speech was scripted on a piece of paper—by a version of you who felt so much pain and hate for those who abandoned you so easily.

But... looking at his expression now—you think it's something he needed to hear. Something that couldn't be left unsaid any longer. All the feelings pent up in them (in you, one could say) and the words they were to afraid to speak aloud. The words you were not afraid to say.

His lips parted, eyes wide as he doesn't reply. How can he? What could he ever, possibly say?

That he was doing this for your own good? That he never wanted you to see the man he had become? To never want to sully that image of that older brother who played tag with you when you were younger?

How does he tell you about the bullet he put through the skull of the Penguin goons with smoking guns he'd found minutes after he saw you bleeding out in a dirty alleyway? He couldn't possibly tell you about that.

How could he ever tell you that this was all for you—when you were hurting so badly?

(Hurting without him? Had you missed him all these years, so terribly? The thought brings some sort of twisted satisfaction. Sick reassurance. That, despite everything, you still loved him).

How could Jason Todd ever show you that he cares without destroying everything he was before? The answer was simple to him—he can't. He thought you knew. He thought—

...

Now, everything doesn't feel so simple. His sunken eyes search all over your face in frantic motions. Your eyes are so blank, and you don't even look to be feeling anything.

Are you tired? Of this? Of him? Just what did that bullet do to you?

The beeping of the microwave catches both of your attention before he has a chance to say something he will likely regret.

You turn your head to the side, and slip away from where he had cornered you against the granite. "Pizza pocket's done."

You glance his way, and he feels pathetic. Absolutley, spectacularly pathetic. "... Want some?"

You sit in incredibly uncomfortable silence, chewing on the food. At least it was good. Familiar.

Clearly there was a lot to discuss between the both of you. ... Jason and this other you, at least.

(Or was it you, the one who was shot? You could never truly tell).

There's so much to say, so little time. Jason could never stay, and definitely not around you. All these years—this world's you thought he hated them. Despised them.

Now, his expression feels like the complete opposite. Longing.

You shove the rest of the pizza pocket into your mouth, wiping off the stray greasy cheese off the corners of your lips.

"I meant what I said earlier." You clarify, as if he needed it. "And I don't appreciate you only getting on my ass after all this time, only when something bad happens. You don't get to do that. That's not how this works."

You gesture between the two of you and his heart feels like its been stabbed with the sharpest of knives.

Then, it twists.

You were always his favourite. The sweetest. The little kid he'd once held so dearly and near his heart. Until that heart stopped and turned into the deepest black, poisoned and compromised.

How could he ever risk poisoning you, too?

He wanted to keep you safe, and somewhere, somehow—he came to the conclusion that the only way you'd br safe is if you were away from him. Kept at a distance. Staying at arm's length.

Now, he isn't sure he was ever thinking of how safe you'd be. Not when he'd seen you, light-headed and bleeding. Not when you were practically dying in his arms and he couldn't do shit except kill those stupid fucking goons; because what is he good for if not revenge?

"I miss the old days," you say. But there's a distinct lack of emotion in your voice. As if it wasn't even you who was saying this. "But to hang onto them forever—when will we ever move on?"

...

He doesn't know. He doesn't think he can. Those are the only memories he has of you. Of himself.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling his heart pound and stomach feeling sick. This sort of uncanny, soul-consuming feeling—it only ever happened whenever he would look at you.

Eyes blurry and vision failing him, he wants to go. To run. But at the same time, he wants to keep you close. Make sure nothing will ever happen again. Make sure you never feel that pain again.

His head is going to split. He doesn't know what to do.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hands sink into his hair, and his jaw is clenched impossibly tight.

"I just..." His voice is quieter than he wanted it to be. Shakier. Almost timid. He feels like a boy again. That same child you'd stare at so reverently. He doesn't know when he was beginning to forget that. "I just wanted to keep you safe. That's all I ever wanted."

You're almost tired of this. Pissed off. Is that all they say? Is that really all they say to tell you why they'd kept you so far away? The distance was all-consuming. You'd noticed it in the first week you lived here. You couldn't even begin to imagine that kind of "love" all your life.

"Then, you were doing it all wrong." You say, simply. It sounds like you know. Like you have experience. Like a wise old wizard who'd "seen it all before". "I'm not incapable (truly, you are not) and my life is my own. Keeping me safe isn't trying to keep everything the same, like it is as it was."

He lifts his head from his hands when your chair pushes behind you, screeching across wooden boards.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like that. But... you don't get it. You don't know..." You swallow. "You don't know enough about me now to judge whether I need protecting or not. You never did."

... You're right. He never did. He still doesn't. Jason never watched you grow up. He never got the chance to see you go through your awkward teen years. Get your first boyfriend. Scare the shit out of him. He didn't get to hang out with you and get ice-cream after school.

He never got the chance to do anything of these things. Not with you. Never with the one most dear to him, and his small, dark heart.

But that could change. Starting now, he could change. He would. He could. He will. For you.

He stares, eyes blankening. Then, they fill with something dark. A nervous shiver runs down your spine and your sense starts tingling in the back of your mind.

He speaks, low and steady. The shakiness is gone and you're not sure what went on in his head—but he sounds so sure now. So certain.

"Then, I will."

It's not a threat or a claim—but a withheld promise. The heaviness of it weighs down on you, and you aren't sure whether you should feel safe or scared.

He gets out of his chair and walks over to you. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, blood running cold as he stalks closer. That huge imposing frame that (probably) used to hold some semblance of comfort toward you; now terrified you to the bone.

His big hand rests atop your head, and ruffles your hair. "Starting now, I'll get to know you again. Then, everything can go back to normal."

... Did he even listen to a word you said?

He sends you a smile as he leaves the top of your head a tangled mess, slipping on his helmet and walking away.

You're left alone, heart pumping wildly in your chest and your brain throbbing with that buzz. Every sense and nerve on full alert—you sink down into that chair and pull your knees to your chest.

You think you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew.

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taglist is closed! sorry!

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Professor Higuruma has entered the chat. I’m sorry this part is a little short, but if I included the next scene in this part, it would be WAY too long.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Part five.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

You’re starting to believe that you dreamt the whole marriage negotiation with Sukuna.

It had been nearly a week since he sat you down in his office, and he’s been radio silence ever since. So, maybe you dreamt it all, or perhaps he decided against the whole marriage thing. If that was the case, you needed to start looking for other jobs.

Your Friday afternoons were reserved for Higuruma’s criminal law class. You sat at your desk, typing away on your computer that your student loan paid for. It was second-hand from a different girl who had just passed her bar exam. Her parents bought her the newest MacBook on the market as a present.

When you passed your bar exam, you’d probably buy yourself a two thousand yen cake from the grocery store. Maybe you’ll even splurge and spend five thousand yen on an ice cream cake.

You halfway hear your professor assign a plethora of readings spanning from case files to different codes of law.

"It's a good thing C's get degrees, huh?" a sheepish playful voice whispers from beside you. Your eyes glance over towards the guy next to you. You're able to immediately recognize him as Yuji Itadori.

Before Sukuna, you only took notice of Yuji since he tried to make friends with everyone, regardless of social status. Even if you've barely spoken with him, you feel a sort of kinship with him.

Now, your eyes immediately fix on his soft pink hair. While Sukuna's felt more like a dusty rose color. Yuji's was brighter -- untainted from crime.

"Is a C going to help you pass your bar exam though?" you whisper back softly, giving him a smile.

"You're so cruel~" Yuji softly whines as he dramatically slumps back into his chair. You quietly laugh from his theatric display. "And here I thought you'd be so kind and offer to help me study..."

You glance back towards him before scanning everyone else in the lecture. The majority of the other students were dutifully taking notes.

"Uh... why me?" You ask, cocking your eyebrow at the male before you realized how rude that probably sounded. "I mean, why would you ask me for that? Wouldn't you be better off asking the top performers in our class?"

"One of those pretentious jerks? Give me a break," Yuji rolls his eyes as he leans towards you. He's not too close to make you uncomfortable, just close enough to whisper without disturbing anyone. "Besides, you seem nice. Also, we sit beside each other everyday. Aren't those good enough reasons?"

Before you could even think to reply, Higuruma addressed the entire class. It was the end of the lecture period.

“Alright everyone, please remember to have a safe weekend and to stay out of trouble,” Professor Higuruma says from the forefront of the class. Students immediately begin to gather their belongings and shuffle out of the lecture hall.

"Let me know what you decide next week!" Yuji said as he rushed out of the door like he couldn't get away from the academic setting fast enough.

You finish up a few quick edits on your notes before saving them and promptly sliding your laptop into your bag. You thought about checking your phone to see if Sukuna had left you any cryptic messages, but you decided against it. It’s not like you were desperate or anything.

“Ah, Y/n, do you mind staying for a bit? I would like a word with you,” Higuruma’s voice spoke up. He wasn’t nearly as loud as he could be while lecturing.

Your body tenses as you slowly pull your messenger bag over your shoulder. “Sure…” you respond hesitantly.

He knows. He knows that you’re practically engaged to a yakuza lord. He knows that you’ve been dancing dangerously close to sin at Malevolent Mass. He’s going to report you to student affairs. He’s—

Your mind swirls with all of your thoughts Your brain was running so fast you could barely keep up.

The last student leaves the lecture hall, and you can hear the soft sounds of the second hand ticking from the clock mounted to the wall.

Your steps are slow and calculated. Higuruma was at his desk, collecting papers into his bag. He then looked up at you and gave you a calm, fond smile.

You try to ease your weary heart, telling yourself that he’d look much less happy if he had caught onto you.

"I apologize. I'm sure you must be busy," he starts out as he finishes packing up his bag. He straightened his posture, having to look down at you now that he wasn't hunched over. "I wanted to just touch base with you about your paper."

"Oh okay," you inwardly let out a huge sigh of relief, but your curiosity soon resurfaced. "What about my paper?"

"Don't worry. It was a great paper, y/n. I have read summations from licensed attorneys that pale in comparison to your paper." You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a gnawing sensation of anxiety sink in.

"But..?" you prompt.

Higuruma gives a knowing smile, appreciative of your inquisitive nature. "But I was wondering what made you write about spousal privilege... The last I checked you were looking to be civil litigation attorney -- not a criminal defense attorney. So, why would you want to research something like spousal privilege?"

You swallow thickly. You had found interest in spousal privilege due to your arrangement with Sukuna. Spousal privilege allowed for wives and husbands to refuse to testify against their spouse if it would indict their spouse on any crime. There were specifications on this law, and there were certain instances were spousal privilege couldn't be upheld. Overall, Japan looked to uphold the sanctity of marriage, and you looked to uphold your image by not being called to testify against your husband one day.

"Oh... I just found it to be interesting. I think it's good for all attorneys to be well-rounded, right?" you finally respond, giving your best attempt at bluffing the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma.

"You're most certainly right." He places his messenger bag on his shoulder. "I was just looking forward to you switching majors. It'd be a pleasure to steal one of Kento Nanami's best proteges."

You feel your face warm from his overzealous compliment. You were definitely not one of Nanami's best students. Still, you enjoyed the praise.

"I'm sorry to disappoint," you give a small laugh, consciously making an effort to joke with him naturally.

“Disappoint? No, no, you impress me.” His eyes meet yours, and for the first time since starting school, you see him for who he is. He had been nothing but kind, patient, and nurturing. He cared a lot about the subject he taught, and he tried his hardest to help his students learn.

Criminal defense attorneys get a bad wrap for being arrogant and pretentious to a degree, and that’s not exactly a lie either. You’ve seen Higuruma in court before. You know his persona can overwhelm a courtroom easily with his confidence.

“I really appreciate that, Mr. Higuruma.” You drop his gaze, letting your eyes rest upon the floor as a small smile curled up on your lips.

“You can call me Hiromi when we’re not in class,” Higuruma said as he walked towards the door. He held his hand out for you to follow him. “Well, if you ever have any doubts about civil law, please let me be the first to know. I’d love to have you on the criminal law side.”

You follow beside him closely, and you feel a warmth rush your cheeks as Hiromi hovers his hand over the small of your back. He wasn’t exactly touching you, but you could feel him there — guiding you.

“I promise I’ll come to you first if I ever want to betray Mr. Nanami,” you laugh softly, but your mind is racing, wondering where he was guiding you.

Coincidentally enough, a tall muscular figure with blonde hair was walking towards you two in the hall. “Who’s betraying me?” Nanami asked as he walked closer towards you and Hiromi.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between Nanami, Hiromi, and the girl who was standing beside Nanami. You took a moment, trying to place her here as a student, but you came up short.

“Stop trying to steal my students away from me,” Nanami lightheartedly scolded Hiromi with an eye roll.

“It’s not stealing if she decides to leave civil law on her own volition. I’m simply showing her the good side to law,” Hiromi responded. You feel your back arch a bit underneath his touch as his hand rested against your back now with more casualty.

“Ah yes, the good side. Also known as the side who gets troublemakers off the hook. Don’t forget, y/n. Civil law is all about holding people accountable. Criminal law is about being the least accountable,” Nanami said with a calm smile. Your eyes wandered towards Nanami’s hand, noticing it was also placed on the young woman’s back. What was going on here?

“Alright. That’s enough from you,” Hiromi warmly laughed. It was a laugh that put your nerves at ease. Still, your skin crawled where his hand was placed. Your mind flashed back to the club, remembering how it felt when Sukuna had his hand in that exact spot, guiding you to his office.

Sukuna’s touch oddly felt like a warm security blanket, while Hiromi’s touch felt like static electricity building. You knew you were about to get shocked.

“Miss Nanami, it’s always good to see you.” Hiromi bowed slightly with respect. You feel the weight of realization set in on you. That was Nanami’s wife who he was touching like that.

“You as well,” Nanami’s wife responded fondly.

“Alright. Let’s go, Destinee, before Hiromi also tries to indoctrinate you into some sort of criminal law degree.”

Hiromi merely laughed before guiding you away from Nanami and his wife. You felt your heart start to thud in your chest. Where was he leading you?

“You don’t have any other classes today, do you?” Hiromi asked as he looked to his side. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at you thanks to the size difference.

You bit your lip slightly out of nervous habit, wondering if you should lie to him. His hand felt heavy on your back, and a weird sensation of guilt was pooling in your stomach. You weren’t even exactly committed to Sukuna yet since you hadn’t signed whatever contract, but you two have a verbal agreement.

You had already begun to feel some sort of loyalty to the yakuza lord, and maybe that was because you knew he wouldn’t take seeing Hiromi’s hand on you lightly.

Still, you reminded yourself that your professor hadn’t done anything wrong yet. The hand on your back could be seen as a supportive touch. Perhaps he didn’t know how he was coming off right now.

“No, I was going to use the rest of today to write a paper for my economics class,” you say finally after a beat of silence.

“Aren’t you such a good student? Are you struggling in any of your classes?” he asked as he reached out and opened up the door for you. Your eyes blinked as you had to adjust to the afternoon sun beating down.

Maybe he was just walking with you out towards the parking lot. You quirked an eyebrow as you realized this was the staff parking lot though. Your dorm was in the complete opposite direction.

“Uh.. well, not really..” you replied sheepishly, trying to soothe your nerves. This just kept getting worse and worse by the second. “My lowest grade this semester is copyright law.”

“Mmph, yeah, that one is unnecessary tedious. You’ll rarely work on cases of copyright infringement,” Hiromi nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, I know it’s easy to get caught up with being a law student, so I was wanting to know if you wanted to grab a bite to eat together. We can chat about whatever you want whether it be about school or—“

A loud roar of an engine and tires squealing into the parking lot completely cut Hiromi off. You instinctively jumped back a little out of fear that the car was going to ram right into you.

A car that didn’t even look like it belonged on regular civilian streets came to halt right in front of where you and Hiromi were standing. The engine purred lowly as it sat idly in the parking lot.

Hiromi furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the car. No professor had the money to afford a Maserati GT2 Stradale.

Your eyes admired the car in front of you. In all of your time of living, you had never had the luxury of seeing such a car. It was completely blacked out, but in the direct sun, a subtle deep red tint shined through. It was flip painted. It was your saving grace — your prince charming. The license plate on the front read, R. SUKUNA.

The butterfly car door opened upwards, and you held your breath. You had never been more happy to see Sukuna in your life, yet you also felt confused. How did he get into the staff parking lot..? It was guarded by security.

Slowly, your future husband stepped out of the car, rolling up the sleeves to his black button-up top. Even while you were outside, Sukuna’s dominating presence filled the air.

“Can I help you, sir?” Higuruma asked, his face hardening at Sukuna. You wondered what he must be thinking about all this. Did Hiromi know about Sukuna’s status? He is a defense attorney, so it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility.

“No, but she can,” Sukuna gave a feline grin as he held out his hand and curled his finger towards himself, beckoning for you to come with him.

You took a deep breath, knowing that you really couldn’t refuse Sukuna. Also, you didn’t want to know what getting dinner with Hiromi would lead to.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Maybe a rain check?” you said as you gave a polite smile up towards your professor. His eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly agape as he looked down at you.

As soon as you went to peel yourself from his side, Higuruma suddenly grasped your arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was firm enough to stop you dead in your tracks.

“You can tell me if you don’t feel safe with him. You can give me some sort of nonverbal cue..” his voice was low enough for only you to hear. You were briefly taken aback by Hiromi’s kindness, but you also found it ironic how you felt less safe when it was just you and him.

“I’m fine.”

Sukuna watched interaction, and he cocked an eyebrow. He felt an unfamiliar tight feeling in his chest. The thought of him untucking his gun from where it was concealed in his waistband crossed his mind briefly, but he decided against it quickly. It would cause too much of a scene. Too many variables.

“Hiromi Higuruma, is it?” Sukuna asked, but he already knew the answer. “The famous criminal defense attorney who spends his free time teaching other future aspiring attorneys. How kind of you.”

“That’s me. I’ll ask again. Can I help you?” Hiromi’s hand hadn’t unwrapped from your arm yet. His jaw was tight as his dark eyes looked at Sukuna with suspicion.

“You can start by letting go of my wife.” Sukuna said as he took a step closer. His hands were shoved in his pockets, giving off a confident display. You could see the curvature of his muscles bulging through his shirt as if he didn’t already look big enough.

Hiromi’s eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you. All of the admiration and praise had melted from his gaze. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. It was as if you had disappointed him in some form or capacity.

He silently let go of your arm, conceding in the battle with Sukuna over you. “Nonverbal cue,” he muttered to you, still cautious that you’re maybe being forced to do this.

Little does he know, you’re the one who proposed marriage to Sukuna.

You walked straight towards Sukuna, not daring to look back at Hiromi as you didn’t think you could handle the look on his face.

Sukuna immediately enveloped your smaller body in his arms, giving you a hug that could only be described as a hug that a husband gives his wife. He had to lean down to fully hold onto you. You shivered as his nose and lips just barely brushed against the crook of your neck.

Your arms could barely wrap around him, hugging him back to fulfill the facade of being a happy wife. Your face was tucked into his chest, and his cologne assaulted your nose. His scent was deep and heavy with notes of cedar wood, leather, and tobacco.

Despite this being a facade, it felt safe and secure. Nothing could touch you right now.

In all of his time of working with accused criminals, Hiromi had never felt true fear until Sukuna’s eyes met his while he looked over your shoulder. He could practically see the red hues of Sukuna’s eyes darken as he stared him down. Hiromi could feel Sukuna marking you as his territory. It felt like time stood still for everyone.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. I have reservations for us,” Sukuna’s dark gravely voice broke the silence, and Hiromi watched as Sukuna placed his hand on your hip, guiding you over to the passenger side seat. He opened the door for you and made sure you were settled before shutting you in.

Sukuna shot one last glare in Hiromi’s direction before he got into the driver’s side and sped off.

Hiromi let out a deep sigh. How did such a pretty young student like you get caught up in this? His fingers came up, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled out his cellphone. He had to report this, even if it put you as risk.

It took several rings for the phone to pick up. “Yeah?”

“Gojo? Sukuna was just at the school. He was heading north.”

The other end of the line promptly went dead.

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[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!���💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[dolcecherub]

safe with you •°. *࿐

✭ pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

✭ tags: best friends' brother, Hattie Piastri!, pining, slight harassment, club and drinking activities, late-night chats, Oscar's hands. (that's it lol), long winded confession

✭ yap: honestly was in a bit of a slump but then I ended up finishing this tonight so enjoy babies!!! let me know any suggestions or anything - also slight bonus content at the end from hattie's pov lol, also not super proofread so i apologize for any mistakes enjoy mwah♡

✭ word count: 6.4k

You had met Oscar when you were 15, the awkward new girl sitting at the Piastri family kitchen table with your knees tucked under yourself as you sat next to Hattie, who seemingly chatted away about a new song from some group.

You had become inseparable from Hattie that year, and she insisted you come over after school whenever you could. 

You remember it vividly. 

Oscar had wandered in, sweaty from training, and grabbed a glass of water, eyes brushing over you curiously before they fluttered towards Hattie. 

“That’s Oscar, he’s all gross from karting.” Hattie introduced, her nose scrunching at the sight of his sweat-damp hair matting to his forehead, his face flushed. 

“Hey,” He nodded his head at you, a boyish grin plastered to his face. “I’m right here, Hattie, c’mon.” He teased, walking past her far too close for her liking, as she whined out in disgust. 

Your heart tripped over itself at the sight of him, and you shook your head slightly. You smiled back at him with a small smile, your cheeks surely flushing pink.

He let out a chuckle before walking away and up the stairs as you tried to remember how to take proper breaths. 

That was only the start of it. The moment, tame and forgettable to frankly anyone else, was the subtle beginning of something that would follow you for years. 

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

 By the time you were eighteen, you knew it wasn’t just a crush. 

You noticed everything about him. 

The way his laugh changed when he was genuinely amused, low and breathless, something that rattled deep inside you. The way he’d reach for his phone with his thumb, regardless of whether the screen had lit up. The way he so sweetly made time for his family, even during the chaos of race weekends and karting events. 

And what always stood out the most was the way he treated you.

When you had tripped and torn your knee open trying to learn how to roller skate with Hattie, Oscar had been the one to bring the first aid kit and clean you up. Or when Hattie had accidentally forgotten your birthday one year (she profusely made up for it with food and an expenses-paid shopping spree), Oscar was the one who dropped off your favourite chocolate and candies with a quiet, “She’s hopeless sometimes.” 

Regardless of it all, you didn’t let yourself hope. Not seriously. He was nearly two years older, Hattie’s brother at that. He was focused on his career, surely not worried about his younger sister’s friend. 

And yet still, you felt it. The tension in the little things. His arm brushing yours when you both reach for something on the counter. The way his eyes lingered a few seconds too long when you wore a new dress. The way his texts stopped solely pertaining to Hattie, rather often asking if you were coming over that day. 

You told yourself it was wishful thinking, that you’d grow out of it.

You never did.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

The feelings only sharpened as you got older. You were in your twenties now, grown, confident, and self-assured on most days. And still, Oscar could unravel you with a simple glance. 

He had come home for the off-season, and you’d end up around the same dinner tables and the same kitchen counters, a familiar rhythm settling in. 

The house was quiet this night, the kind of stillness that only settled in after everyone else had gone to bed, and perhaps even some animals were settling in for the night. 

It was particularly hot, your mouth unnecessarily dry as you tossed in bed next to Hattie. It was one of your many sleepovers with her, her breathing steady as you slowly slipped out of bed. You silently tiptoed downstairs, bare feet cold against the tiles, a loose t-shirt hanging off your body.

Flicking on the kitchen lights, you grabbed a glass, filling it as quietly as possible before chugging it and refilling it. You leaned against the counter, body letting out a slight shiver as you watched the darkness outside. 

Oscar appeared in the doorway before you could even hear his footsteps. He was quiet, hair tousled from a restless sleep. Sweatpants and a plain black shirt spanned his chest, built from all the training. He had grown into himself well, muscles defined, a boyish smile still a constant on his face. He rubbed a hand on his jaw as he blinked sleep from his eyes. 

You straightened up, your heartbeat skipping before you could stop it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He murmured, voice scratchy from sleep.

You shook your head, smiling faintly, your hand gripping the glass a little tighter. “No, just needed a minute.” You said, looking away and stepping aside slightly to give him more room.

He nodded like he understood that far too well, stepping past you and brushing a hand through his hair, ruffling it. He reaches up into the cabinet and grabs a glass. 

“Didn’t think anyone else would be up,” He admitted, eyes sweeping over your body, lingering on your shirt a second too long. 

“Got thirsty, Hattie finished all the water we had upstairs.” You spoke quietly, your heart beating so loudly you were convinced Oscar could hear it too. He lets out a chuckle, running a shiver down your spine. 

He filled his glass with cold water and took a long drink, head tilting back slightly. His throat moved with each swallow, your eyes drawn to the sight. You found yourself watching the line of his jaw, subconsciously running your tongue over your bottom lip before you looked away quickly, cheeks flushing. He filled it up again, taking another quick sip before he nursed it, similarly to you. The condensation on the glass dripped around his fingers, veins trailing across the back of his hand, as you caught yourself staring, Oscar’s eyes intently watching you. You felt shameful for staring at his hands in such a way. 

For a brief moment, the only sounds were the clock ticking in the living room and the slight hum of the fridge. Everything else seemed to have quieted down for the two of you. 

However, the silence never felt empty. It was tense, filled with years of soft glances you hadn’t dared to acknowledge. “I didn’t think you’d be home this long,” You admitted quietly, swirling your glass to avoid making eye contact with him, “Thought maybe you’d be back in Monaco by now.”

He glanced at you, expression reserved, eyes dark. “Didn’t think I’d want to be home this long.” He said softly. Something in your chest fluttered. You didn’t answer. His eyes trailed down your body again before looking away, but you had caught it regardless. 

He stepped forward towards the sink, popping his glass in on one side, before reaching a hand out for yours. You stuttered for a second before handing it to him, fingers brushing against his momentarily as your heart fluttered. He placed it in the sink before running a hand through his hair and walking back towards the hallway and the stairs. 

“Thank you,” You called out softly as he turned his head back to look at you. He smiled, his handsome boyish grin, front two teeth slightly more prominent than the others. The smile that had your heart pounding in your ears and made your head spin. 

“Goodnight,” He rasped, eyes locking onto yours as you smiled back. “Nice shirt, by the way.” He remarked before turning the corner and slipping back upstairs. You caught a slight reflection of your shirt in the window and read the bright white letters beginning ‘PIA’ with the curves of an ‘8’ clearly settled below, and your heart skipped a beat. 

Fuck.

You hadn’t noticed it was his when Hattie had given it to you. You felt your cheeks flush impossibly darker. You walked out of the kitchen and back upstairs, heart thrumming melodically in your chest.

Sliding back under the covers, you couldn’t help but recall his hand brushing yours, or his eyes roaming over you, simply wishing it meant something to him as much as it did to you. 

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

You leaned forward towards the bathroom mirror, smoking out black kohl on your waterline as Hattie stood behind you, slightly curling her hair as you both listened to a throwback playlist, getting into the mood for the night you had planned. 

It was Hattie’s birthday, and she insisted you all go out clubbing, going all out and making the most of the night. Clubbing, dresses, and music so loud it buzzed through your bones. The kind of night that left mascara smudged all over and half–blurry photos where you can’t remember the story behind them. 

As you finished getting ready, you slipped on a pair of Hattie’s black heels to complement the black mini dress that adorned your body. You had gone for a darker makeup look, with much encouragement from Hattie saying it would, “Look so hot on you.” So she said, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit more confident than usual. 

Hattie adjusted her glittery top in the mirror before grabbing her phone and snapping some quick pictures of you two before calling an Uber to meet up with a few more friends. 

The club pulsed like a living thing, crowded, hot, everything saturated in movement and alcohol. Bodies pressed close and wantonly. Laughter and bass cut through the air like broken glass. 

You stuck with Hattie and your friends, shoulder to shoulder or constantly up against her, shouting lyrics into each other’s ears, giggling through sticky shots and chasing them with another nursed drink. You closed your eyes, hips swaying subconsciously to the beats booming around you. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth song, so you thought, the crowd had shifted. You found yourself away from Hattie as you scanned around trying to find them. 

You sent a few texts, but no replies came through, unfortunately. 

A hand slinked itself around your waist from the back as your body jolted in fear. You turned around quickly, taking a step back. A white shirt, far too tight on his chest and far too many buttons undone, adorned the man. Tall and expensively cologned as he looked down at you, a sickening smirk rising on him. 

“Hey, pretty,” He spoke ruggedly, attempting to be flirty yet just sounding sick. You took another step back, pushing him away slightly as you tried to find Hattie again. “I’m not interested, sorry.” You spoke loudly, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Oh come on,” He rolled his eyes, “It’s not like you're here with others, I could give you some company.” He insisted, trying to pull you closer as you struggled to slip out of his grip, his hand now coming up to grab your wrist instead. 

Your stomach churned at his persistence. “I’m not- I- Look, I’m not interested, I’m just looking for my friends.” You spoke firmly, attempting to shake your hand from his grip. 

“Just have some fun for fuck’s sake, don’t be so stuck up,” He complained, stepping closer and leaning down, his head finding it’s way to the crook of your neck. “I could show you a good time.” He rasped out, hot breath hitting your neck as you shivered uncomfortably. Your heart pounded loudly, nearly competing with the bass that reverberated through your body as tears brimmed your eyes. 

You took a quick step back, finally releasing your hand from him, “Don’t touch me,” you yelled, turning to walk away, hoping to escape him. He grabbed your shoulder, spinning you around, “C’mon, don’t be a bitch it’s just a dance,” He complained yet again, a sour expression crossing his face. 

“I said no, I’m not interested,” you paused for a second, watching his eyes darken at your further rejection. “I have a boyfriend.” The lie slid out faster than you could process it. His eyebrows shot up. “Doesn’t seem like he’s around, so what’s it matter for?” He scowled out, stepping closer. 

You needed to get him off your back for even a second, quickly thinking, you stepped closer, standing on your tippy toes to reach his ear. He leaned down, eyes glowing with victory, or so he thought. “How ‘bout I go get another drink and then I come back and we can dance, he doesn’t have to know, okay?” You spoke, your tone sultry, yet completely a lie. 

He smiled down at you, nodding his head as you took a step back. “There ya go, babe. That’s it.” His eyes focused on you in a way that made your chest pinch. You turned around, pretending to walk to the bar as he lightly tapped your ass, your heart pounding in your chest. You quickly made your way closer to the washroom, rummaging through your purse for your phone, tears once again brimming in your eyes. You had still seen no signs of Hattie or the others, your stomach churning nervously. 

Pulling it out, you called the only person you could think of.

It rang once, then twice, cutting off before the third ring could occur. 

“Hey-”

“Oscar, I- will you come get me?” You whispered out, voice breaking through threatened tears. “Please.” A plea, embarrassment far covered by fear. 

He sucked in a breath, everything in him snapping into attention. “Where are you?”

“The club downtown, the one we always go to, some guy won’t leave me alone he-he’s grabbing me and I,” you sucked in a breath, chest aching with anxiety. “I didn’t know what to do, I tried to tell him I have a boyfriend so maybe he’d back off, but he wouldn’t, and I-I don’t know what to do, I can’t find Hattie or a-anyone, Oscar, please.” You rambled, voice wavering with worry. 

You heard him rustling around, keys jingling, as you heard a door open. “Oscar…?” You mumbled quietly, heart racing with fear as girls filtered in and out of the washroom, the bass still reverberating through you.

“I’m on my way, okay? Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be there.” He says reassuringly, yet his tone is a little brief. You hear a car engine rev lightly, signalling that he was, in fact, on his way, your mind easing a little. 

You heard the click of the line ending as he shared an eta with you. You felt your hands shake violently, eyes scanning the room for Hattie, or subconsciously ensuring the man was still far away. A tear dropped down your cheek as you brushed it away. 

You stood almost statue-like, eyes glued to the entrance, waiting for Oscar. It felt like hours had passed when you saw him walk through the club entrance. A hoodie masked him slightly as he glanced around the room, searching for you. You walked slightly in his direction before an arm bruisingly grabbed yours. Your head spun in that direction, heart racing in your chest, the disgustingly familiar cologne fogging your senses. 

“You came back, eh?” He said, voice raspy as he leaned down to mumble in your ear, your eyes finally catching Oscar’s over the man’s shoulder. The man snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you watched Oscar storm towards you. His eyes were dark, his face nearly emotionless, the only giveaway being his clenched jaw. 

You had never seen him so angry. 

The man’s face came back up, level with yours as a cocky smirk sat on his face, body pressing against yours uncomfortably. 

The man opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. “Get off of her.” The man turned to face Oscar, slightly taller, but you knew it wouldn’t matter. Your heart skipped a beat, both in relief and at the sight of Oscar. His jaw twitched, a vein in his neck bulging. 

“Who the fuck are you, mate?” He asked, arm still wrapped around you as you tried to walk closer to Oscar. 

“Her boyfriend,” He spoke, the lie slipping off his tongue as if it were the truth. Although it was sorely not the right time, you couldn’t help but blush slightly at the idea of Oscar being so. “Now get off of her, she said she wasn’t interested.” Oscar’s voice was low, tone filled with anger and malice, something you hadn’t ever seen. He pushed a hand against the man’s chest, effectively pushing him off of you as he stepped closer and in front of you. Your eyes settled on Oscar’s back as the man rolled his eyes. 

“Slut anyway, didn’t fuckin’ want her.” He said sourly, walking towards the bar, clicking his tongue in disgust. You let out a breath, finally feeling relief at the fact that he was gone, tears brimming again, alongside his words. 

Oscar turned around, quickly facing you as he ran his eyes up and down, scanning for any injuries. He placed a hand on your elbow, eyes softening slightly, jaw still ticking. 

“You okay? Did he hurt you?” He asked, leading you towards the exit with a soft hand on your back, trailing slightly behind you. “I-no, not really, maybe a bruise or two.” You said offhandedly, suddenly feeling far too shy and embarrassed. 

He led you to his car, opening the passenger seat door and helping you in before closing the door and making way to the driver’s side. As he got in, you glanced at him, his fist momentarily clenched before landing on the wheel. 

“What about Hattie and them?” You asked, still concerned for them. “She can call if she needs me, if not, I’ll order her an Uber, she’ll be fine.” He said, and frankly, he was right, somehow, Hattie was always okay. 

Silence settled comfortably between the two of you as he turned the car on, starting the drive back to the Piastri home. Oscar seemed tense, his body not relaxed like it usually was when he drove, hands gripping the steering wheel harshly. His jaw no longer clenched, but his brows furrowed. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled quietly, tangling your fingers together distractedly as you looked away. He turned to look at you, scanning your face. “I’m sorry I made you come all this way. I just,” you paused, sighing shakily. “I wasn’t sure who else to call.” Your voice broke at the end, looking out the window to ensure he didn’t notice the tear trailing down your face. 

“Hey,” his tone softened from its previous raspiness. “I’m not mad at you, darling. I’m happy you called me, not for the reason you had to, but I’m glad you called.” He spoke reassuringly. You sniffled slightly, hands still fidgeting nervously, unsure of what to say next. 

You feel his hand grab yours, pulling your fingers apart and intertwining with them instead. You clutched onto his hand harder, wrapping the other around his wrist, thriving in the comfort the small action brought.  

His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a quiet rhythm, the weight of unsaid words hanging between you two like a dense fog. He didn’t let go, not once, not through red lights or left turns, his hands remained on yours. 

He pulled into the driveway, the porch light flickering with a warm buzz, softly painting the front steps. He turned the engine off, but turned towards you instead. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” He said softly, his other hand coming up to fix a part of your hair. His face was half-lit by the dashboard lights, his eyes protective and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

The house was quiet, you figured his mum and dad had gone out for the evening as well, perhaps visiting friends. You finally felt as though you could breathe. Toeing off your heels, you placed your purse on the edge of the sofa, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you trailed behind Oscar into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass, filling it with water before handing it to you and guiding you back to the living room and settling next to you on the couch. 

You sat quietly on the edge of the bed, still feeling bad that you had disturbed his night simply because you hadn’t kept a better eye on Hattie. The material of your dress suddenly felt suffocating and uncomfortable as you shuffled around nervously on the couch, taking a few sips before setting the glass down on the coffee table. Oscar sat quietly, watching you. 

“Do you have anything to change into?” He asked, noticing your shuffling, pulling down his hood and ruffling his hair. You thought for a moment before shaking your head. “I was wearing a pair of Hattie’s pyjamas, I was just gonna grab her pants when we got back so…” You answered, never embarrassed to share clothes with her. 

He stood up, offering his hand to you. “Let’s get you out of that dress then,” he said subconsciously, not fully computing the insinuation he had made. You felt your cheeks flush as you lightly placed your hand in his, getting up from the couch and following him up the stairs. 

“Grab a pair of pants,” he instructed, tone a little stern as your heart sped up. You walked into Hattie’s room, rustling to find the pair you were wearing previously, as you heard Oscar walk away. Surely he was going to settle in for the night. You slid on the pants, shuffling the dress up before searching for a t-shirt to pop on. 

Oscar came back, a McLaren t-shirt neatly folded in his hand. He extended it towards you. “Here, toss this on and then come back to me. Need to see if you’ve got anything on you.” He explained, tossing the shirt to you before turning away. Quickly slipping off the dress, you slide on his t-shirt, revelling in the smell of him lingering on it, now surrounding you. You walk back towards Oscar, the shirt falling past your thighs, sleeves nearly hitting your elbows. He walked towards his room, expecting you to follow as he opened the door and beckoned you to sit on the edge of the bed. 

He stands in front of you, grabbing your wrists lightly as he inspects you. Your heart races at the contact, feeling slightly nervous. You weren’t sure what to say; you should thank him, of course, but the words caught in your throat. Your wrists were red, but not enough to bruise, you thought. 

“I thought something happened to you,” he said finally, voice low and gravelly. 

Your head snapped up to him, eyes meeting his viciously. 

“I was halfway to the club before I even realized I hadn’t put my shoes on right.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “I nearly ran a red light. You’d think I was racing for a championship the way I was going.”

“Oscar…” You mumbled breathlessly as he let go of your wrists, hands coming up to rub across his face as he took a step back. 

“I couldn’t breathe.” His voice wavered, something raw surfacing as he spoke. “I’ve never heard you like that, scared and just-” he took a breath, “crying. I wasn’t there when I should have been. I wasn’t even thinking straight, just that I had to get to you.” 

He looked back at you, brows furrowed and jaw clenched, but not with anger at you but rather for you. “I was so worried I would be too late, that he’d hurt you worse if I wasn’t there immediately. What if you’d called someone else?” His voice dropped even quieter, “What if you hadn’t called me at all?”

“I didn’t know who else to call,” you whispered quietly, almost ashamed at how much that meant to you and how much you relied on him.. “I wasn’t thinking, I just- you were the only person I thought would come.” You swallowed, a tight ache forming at the back of your throat.

“I’m not mad, I promise, no part of me is mad, I just-” He reassured, voice softening as he stepped closer to you. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to pretend like this is nothing. That you’re just my friend, Hattie’s friend. Just someone I look out for. But tonight? When I saw him touching you like that…” 

He stopped, jaw clenching briefly as he exhaled a bitter laugh through his nose, gaze flickering away. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled quietly. 

“Don’t.” He said, sharper than you expected. “Don’t ever apologize for needing me.” 

He took a breath, continuing. “I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t kill me to be close to you and still not have you. 

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing at his confession. 

“I keep telling myself it’s okay. That it’s enough just to see you when you come over for dinner, or when you have a sleepover with Hattie, or texting you now and then.” He laughed softly. “But it’s not, it’s not enough.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest.

“And when you called me your boyfriend?” He laughed, eyes alight with joy, before he sighed. “Even if it was a lie, god I fucking wished it was true.”

You felt as though the air had been knocked straight out of your body. 

“Hell, I’ve been in love with you probably since I cleaned your scrapes when you tried rollerblading that one time.” He confessed, letting out a breathy laugh before running a hand over his face. “Loved how you would come to me when you couldn’t open a jar in the house. I’ve tried so fucking hard to bury it, ignore it, burn the feeling, and somehow every time I see you it hits me harder than before.” 

His words burned through you as you watched him ramble, your heart clenching at the confession. Before you could even think, a laugh bubbled out of you, Oscar’s head snapping in your direction. 

You held your face in your hands, a giggle coming out as you processed his words. “You wanna know something, Oscar?” You asked, leaning up to look at him, his arms crossing across his chest, biceps bulging within his hoodie. His silence inviting you to continue. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was 15, and I saw you after karting. I think my heart nearly stopped.” Your voice shook a little as Oscar froze, eyes meeting yours wantingly. 

“You never said anything.” He spoke, wondering and confused as he stepped closer. 

“You were always so focused on karting and races. And then you got that call-up for McLaren, and it felt…wrong to tell you then. You were so driven and determined, I didn’t want to be the one who distracted you from things you were chasing.” Your voice wavered with the confessions, words coming out a mile a minute. “And, I guess I always just assumed you never looked at me that way.”

“I’ve been looking at you that way for years. I can’t remember the last time I thought of you as ‘Hattie’s friend’, you’ve always just been you.” 

Your heart felt as if it were beating in your throat, crawling up. 

“I noticed, you know? I noticed the way you looked at me, but I never wanted to believe it. Just figured you’d outgrow me,” He admitted. “That you’d fall for someone else, someone who was around more.” 

“You’re an idiot,” You whispered, huffing out a laugh. “You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like this.” 

Oscar let out a laugh at the name, kneeling in front of you now, your faces now nearly level, his eyes capturing yours intently. “Tried so hard to convince myself that being close-just close to you, was enough.” He mumbled.

Your gaze didn’t waver. “Was it?” 

He shook his head slowly. “Not even close, never.” He admitted. “So many nights, I just lay awake thinking about you, what it’d be like if you were next to me instead of down the hall with Hattie. So many times, I wondered if you felt it too.”

As if exhausted, he sat back a little, his forehead falling to rest upon your knees. Your breath hitched at the action, body heating. 

He continued, voice softer than ever. “Every time I made you laugh, or you leaned into me without thinking…it felt like I had won the world. Tried so hard to figure out if I was making it all up in my head.” He mumbled, the confession feeling like a warm blanket encompassing you. 

You reached a hand up, brushing it into his hair slightly as you scratched his scalp, Oscar letting out a groan. “It wasn’t in your head.” You reassured, the weight of his head bringing comfort to you. 

“I know that now,” He said, almost like a breath of relief. “But I think part of me still can’t believe that this is real.” 

You swallowed, lips parting to say something, yet instead you brought both hands to his jaw, pulling his face up from your knees. Leaning forward, you place your lips on his, heart pounding in your chest. You feel him freeze for a second before he reacts. 

His mouth moved against yours, slow and desperate, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he was too rough. His one hand gently grabbed your calf, the other snaking up your thigh as your hand moved into his hair. His tongue flicked out, teeth nipping your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. You gasped as his hand squeezed your thigh, his tongue slipping in and sliding against your own as you whined. You tugged Oscar’s hair, eliciting a groan from him as he shuffled slightly. 

He pulled his face away from your hands, standing up, hands lightly trailing up your body as you came eye level with his torso. Your cheeks flushed impossibly red, looking up at him, his eyes dark with want and adoration. 

“Jesus,” he murmured, voice low and full of awe. “I’m never going to want to stop doing that.” He spoke softly, smiling down at you. He leaned down, hands grabbing your waist as he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“C’mon, let’s take off your makeup then we can go to bed.” He said softly, pulling you up and leading you towards the washroom, your heart clenching at the way he was taking care of you. You hadn’t realized how late it was, clock ticking near 2am. 

He pulled out a few cotton pads and a small bottle of cleanser. You raised a brow at him, smiling as he handed it to you.

“I have three sisters, I have to be stocked up.” He explained shyly handing you the things to take off your makeup. “I’m gonna go change okay?” He said, leaving a light kiss on your cheek.

He walked out of the bathroom towards his closet as you began taking off your makeup and washing your face. You dabbed away the last bits of mascara that lay under your eyes, the cotton pads becoming slightly gray. You couldn't help but smile at the fact that Oscar had them on hand. Of course he did. The thought of him silently stocking up on essentials just in case someone he loved needed them made your heart warm. 

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes looking slightly tired and a little puffy, clearer than before and less red. Steadier, it was strange how safety and content could show so easily. 

You patted your face dry before stepping back into his bedroom to find Oscar standing near the edge of his bed, tugging on a white t-shirt. His back muscles flexed as he tugged it over his head, your heart beating faster at the sight. 

He turned to look at you, hair a little messy from changing. His face adorning the boyish smile that left you breathless. He tilted his head, taking you in as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Feel better?”

You nodded, crossing the room towards, lightly tiptoeing around his messy room. 

He held his hand out, and without thinking, you took it. He pulled you gently between his legs, resting his hands on your hips as you stood in front of him. There was something so steady in the way he touched, no rush, no assumptions, just pure reassurance. 

His eyes searched yours, momentarily dropping down to the soft curve of your lip before coming back up again. “I know tonight wasn’t ideal, but I’m glad you’re safe.” He mumbled.

Your fingers came up to lightly brush through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for showing up Oscar, I-I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“Always, I’m always going to show up for you.” He assured, thumbs rubbing soft circles onto your hips. He let out a quiet breath, tugging you forward gently to settle onto his lap. Nothing inherently sexual about it, simply comforting. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder, Oscar holding you as if you had always belonged there. 

“Y’know,” he mumbled into your hair, voice low and raspy, “I’ve imagined you here like this before. Just…not like this” He laughed breathlessly. 

You leaned back slightly to look at him, nose nearly touching his. 

“Like how?” You asked curiously, a small smile crossing your face.

He mirrored your smile, “Like…after some date, I finally got the guts to ask you on. After I finally told you I was in love with you, not just looking after you like some worried idiot.”

Your heart fluttered, soft and deep as his words settled, the idea of him taking you out making your heart clench. “We sort of skipped all that, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, hand sliding up your back comfortingly. “Somehow it still feels right.” He spoke, a content smile on his face. “But I promise I’ll do it right. I’ll take you out for dinner okay darling?” He assured, eyes locking with yours. 

You nodded shyly, heart racing at the idea, cheeks flushing at the pet name. You leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, a thank you if not a promise. 

Wrapping his arms around you a little tighter, Oscar stood up, carrying you with him as if it were nothing, your body flushing at his strength. One hand still on you, he grabbed the blankets, moving them out of the way before mumbling to you. “C’mon, get into bed before we fall asleep standing up.” 

You laughed, the sound soft and sleepy as he gently dumped you onto the bed letting you climb under the covers. He flicked off the main light, navigating his way to the bed. Oscar climbed into bed next to you, arms immediately wrapped themselves around your body. 

You settled into his arms, draping a leg over his hips, his fingers resting just below the hem of your shirt (technically his). The room was quiet now, dim except for the streetlight filtering through the curtains. His fingers traced slow circles on your back as your breathing slowed, syncing to his. 

You felt yourself slipping into sleep, a question popping vividly into your mind.

“Does this mean it’s true now?” You asked sleepily into the crook of Oscar’s neck. 

He hummed curiously, not quite understanding what you meant.

“Does that mean you’re my boyfriend now?” You asked, leaning back to look at him. Oscar’s face slightly lit by the filtered light, shadows carving him so beautifully your breath hitched. 

He exhaled a quiet laugh, not mocking but rather something warm and a little awestruck. 

“Been waiting so long to hear you say that.” He admitted, one of many from the night. “Yeah I’m your boyfriend, darling.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You grinned at his words, the action filling your body with warmth. He pressed another kiss to your forehead before leaning down slightly to place one on the tip of your nose. You giggled at him, his eyes filled with adoration, sleepy and completely smitten with you, your chest aching at the sight. 

You placed a soft kiss to his lips before tucking yourself back into his neck, fatigue overtaking your body. He wrapped his arms a little tighter pulling you closer, burying his face in your hair as you listened to the calming sound of his heartbeat. 

You could feel his fingertips gently graze the curve of your spine, his breathing deepening as sleep began to settle over him. A small smile tugged your lips, your eyes closing too. 

You pressed a quiet kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, his heartbeat speeding up as you curled in tighter to him. 

The silence felt comfortable, no longer tarnished by unspoken words. Instead it held something whole. 

No more lingering glances, no more what if’s, no more dancing around each other. 

Just this, your body against his, the steady beat of his heart a soothing noise to you, and the warmth of his hand on your back tracing soft mindless patterns as if he didn’t know how to stop touching you now that he finally could. 

Everything finally felt right.

Like it was enough.

Like it was safe.

You fell asleep comfortably knowing Oscar would be there in the morning, still holding you intently close, and that was all you would ever need.

☆。bonus *。☆。

Hattie had gotten a text from Oscar telling her you were safe, she let out a breath of relief, planning to end her night soon anyway. 

The next morning she eagerly sought you out, wanting to apologize for the night before. Considering you weren’t answering your phone, she decided it would be best to ask Oscar where you might have gone. 

Walking down the hall, she knocked on his door twice, not really waiting for him to answer before opening the door.

“Oscar, do you kno-” Hattie began, words fumbling to an end as she took in the sight in front of her. 

“Oh my god.” She mumbled, a hand coming up to her mouth before she took a quiet step back, watching both of you sleep tangled up with each other. She internally squealed, it had been about time you two had gotten together. 

Shutting the door, she ran back to her room grabbing her phone to call mama Piastri, immediately having to let her know about you two. 

Maybe the night wasn’t so bad, Hattie thought, not a bad birthday present at least.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ pink noise.

wnba!paige bueckers x influencer!azzi fudd. men & minors dni.

synopsis: paige bueckers is fed up and empty, burnt out and crushed by the pressure of her dallas debut. enter azzi fudd, a retired figure skater and niche influencer who might just be saving paige's life.

cw: implied mental health issues, mentions of injury, fluff, strangers to friends to lovers.

notes: i was really struggling and debating about posting this. i've gone back and forth, endlessly. this is the first thing in a while that i've written that i'm proud of, but i also understand the turbulence that comes with rpf and anything that associates with it. i truly just think these girls would be beautiful together, and i respect them regardless of the outcome of their lives.

before continuing, i want to give a heartfelt thank you to the following: @pbaz7 @azzibuckets who have literally been such an inspiration. you guys are incredible and i have so much love for you. hope you're taking care of yourself. x

my inbox is always open. don't be afraid to let me know what you think, or to just say hello.

alright, here we go.

"hello," she says, "and welcome back."

azzi's face blossoms over the screen, her cheeks rounded with the force of her smile. paige curls further into herself from where she lays in bed, her overhead headphones blocking all sound except azzi's soft, summer voice.

"today, i'm in berlin for a skaters' conference."

she's a figure skater, paige remembers, or at least she was. then her knee shattered, and she spun out. paige has watched her performances, seen her bend and curve her way into countless gold medals. she thinks of azzi's hollywood smile as she waves at the crowd, her curls tucked back from her face and her dimples dipping into the plush skin of her cheeks. she was almost intolerably beautiful at times. venus with dimples, a journalist had called her.

and now, she was just (@)azzi35 with her slightly shaky camera angles, earnest smiles, and breathy laughs.

"i'm here for their mentor program. my mom thinks it would be good for me. i don't know what i think yet."

she's so sweet, so honest. her lips are caught between her teeth, and when they slide out, they leave a berry pink stain beneath her two front teeth, the squares prominent like an american girl doll's. paige wants to lick it off.

azzi is bare-faced minus her brown mascara and pink lip mixed with a softened outline of her lip liner—shade name 'brownie'. the camera shakes slightly as she tries to show the world outside her uber window. paige finds her gaze settling on her subscriber count: 5,304. she hopes it never gets bigger, only to have azzi all to herself.

but azzi fudd is a wonderland. it's only a matter of time before the world finds her and rediscovers their venus with her gentle voice and kind eyes. but right now, in this space, with paige's midnight blue airpods max on and her chin tucked to her chest, azzi feels like only her girl. the vlogs are so lyrical, so soft that it feels like visual voicemails azzi's left for her to get to later.

paige resists the urge to comment, if only to keep the attention away. her fans will zero in on the activity like vultures in sight of meat.

"i got this new camera that all the girls say makes your filming really good. i'm a bit chronically offline, so i don't keep up with all of that, but i wish i did. learning how to work this thing is so confusing, and i feel like my content is a bit shit already."

azzi laughs after that statement, and paige thinks the uber driver does, too. she watches as azzi presses her powder pink acrylics to her bottom lip; she imagines them pressing into her instead.

"mario is my uber driver. he's been so accommodating of my rambling. well, i have to go for now. reached the hotel, and i should not be showing you where i'm staying."

azzi comes in close to the camera, her eyes like two pools of light. paige finds herself leaning in as if she's right there in the car with her. subconsciously, paige knows azzi is talking to five thousand of them, but she can't help but have the fantasy of being the only one to receive this message.

"we'll chat later, okay?"

okay, paige thinks.

azzi grins as if she's heard her, and the screen goes black. then, a thin line of white text appears. i forgot to keep filming! sorry!

paige laughs, but her headphones make it sound faraway. she's sleepy now, and the world is dusky outside as the morning comes in.

the video ends, but paige plays it again.

✺

that's the last sense of peace she gets for a while.

azzi posts on her instagram account—paige has a hunch that she either has a social media manager or forces her brothers to help her out—and paige lingers in the bathroom while she scrolls through the carousel. she strokes a thumb over the soft curve of azzi's cheek, its fullness pressed against a fan's as she smiles shyly.

she looks at the comments. the people's princess!, someone has said. she likes it before she thinks too much of it. an external pounding, different from the one in her head, breaks her out of the bubble. someone is yelling for her. maybe her coach, maybe a teammate. since joining the wnba, so many people seem to want her. paige closes her eyes and resists the urge to hug herself.

she should stay inside, stay here.

she goes out and plays.

paige walks through the park, hood up against the morning chill, headphones firmly in place. she's supposed to be on her way to an early team meeting, but she's deliberately taking the long route. she needs this—these fifteen minutes with azzi's voice in her ears, a buffer between last night's crushing defeat and whatever analysis is waiting for her at practice.

"so i went back to the rink yesterday," azzi's voice says, slightly tinny through her headphones. it’s the wired ones today. paige wants to feel more like herself, less jaded and more real. someone could simply pull the wire. she sort of hopes they do. "not to skate, just to… be there, i guess? my physical therapist said it might help with the mental block."

paige finds herself nodding as if azzi can see her. she knows about mental blocks. three missed free throws in the final quarter. twitter hasn't let her forget it.

"it smelled the same. that's what got me. like cold and rubber and—i don't know—possibility? is that weird to say?"

paige smiles. it's not weird. she gets it. the squeak of sneakers, the hollow echo of a basketball hitting hardwood. home sounds.

"it reminded me of this perfume a friend got me for christmas last year. it's a very icy smell. it's been discontinued, but she's so good at sourcing on ebay. it should be her full-time job. the notes say iris and vodka, which is so funny to me because i don't smell that at all. it just smells like home. like snow." paige wishes she would say what the perfume was, if only to see if she could find it, too. "anyway, so i'm at the rink…”

she's so caught up in azzi's voice that she doesn't notice the uneven sidewalk. her foot catches, and as she stumbles, her phone slips from her pocket, clattering to the ground. the headphones yank from her ears, suddenly filling the morning air with azzi's voice.

"…standing there like an idiot, honestly, but then my old coach—"

paige lunges for the phone, but another hand gets there first.

"was i saying anything interesting?" says a voice, exactly as the podcast continues, "—told me i didn't need to rush back into anything."

the surreal echo of the same voice, one from the device and one from above her, creates a strange doubling effect that makes paige freeze. the podcast keeps playing—“that maybe i needed to find my own path”—while the real azzi reaches down to silence it.

paige looks up, still half-crouched, and finds herself staring into azzi fudd's smiling face.

the same dimples. the same brown eyes. the same berry-pink lips from her videos, but now they're curved into an amused smile just for her and seem to be a shade darker. she's wearing a dior bodysuit, intricate diamond patterns tracing across it with strategic cutouts that reveal glimpses of warm, brown skin, paired with an asymmetrical gauzy lace skirt that floats around her legs, catching the morning light. it's elegant and ethereal, reminiscent of her skating days but with a modern edge.

paige's brain short-circuits. “you're—”

"azzi," she says, holding out the phone. "and based on what i just heard, you already know that."

heat floods paige's face. "i—yeah. i watch your videos. they're…" she struggles for a word that isn't pathetically revealing. "calming."

azzi's laugh is exactly how it sounds in her videos, but louder, tangible. "calming? that's a first. most people tell me i talk too fast."

"you do," paige says, finding her voice as she takes the phone. "but in a good way." she hesitates, then adds, "i'm paige."

azzi's eyes crinkle as she smiles, and her next words are a livewire. "i know. bueckers, right? i thought you looked familiar. i watched your game last night."

now paige wants to disappear. of course, azzi saw that disaster. she must be so red right now.

( azzi is only thinking of how blue her eyes are. )

azzi just shakes her head admiringly. "that three-pointer in the second quarter? with the defender right in your face? that was unreal."

paige blinks, surprised. most people only remember the misses. "thanks."

"i miss that feeling," azzi says, almost to herself, one hand absently smoothing the flowing material of her skirt. then she brightens. "anyway, i didn't mean to interrupt your… well, me." she gestures at the phone, and that laugh spills out again.

paige can't help it—she laughs too, a real version that loosens something tight in her chest. "it's not weird, i promise."

"no, it's definitely weird," azzi counters, still smiling. "but kind of cool. i didn't think wnba stars had time to watch my terrible travel vlogs."

"i make time," paige says, more honestly than she means to. “and they’re not terrible. you—you’re just doing what you love. i respect it.”

they stand there for a moment, the morning bustle of the park continuing around them. the breeze catches the edge of azzi's skirt, making it dance around her legs.

"well, i was just heading to get coffee," azzi says finally. "if you're not busy…"

paige thinks about practice, about the team meeting, about the inevitably grim analysis of last night's game. she feels her body lock up, feels her brain scramble. she knows what the right decision is. she makes the “wrong” one.

"i could use some coffee," she says.

✺

paige is learning just how much she's underestimated her need for somebody.

she never knew; she just assumed that she was doing alright. but coffee with azzi has led to friendship with azzi, which has led to her finding a hole inside of herself. she's only found the hole because it's beginning to fill.

it fills when azzi texts her absentmindedly about something she saw that she thought paige would like. it fills when she says good luck before a game. it fills when she calls, and paige purposefully lets it ring, only to hear the voicemail she leaves after. the filling is slow and endless, and it transmits into everything.

outside, the city hums with late-night traffic, horns blurring into the distant echo of sirens. paige should sleep—her body aches from the weight of practice, the constant push of competition—but instead, she scrolls. watches another video. then another.

azzi in a café, stirring sugar into her espresso. azzi trying on plum-colored lipstick in the reflection of a subway window, only to scrunch her face in distaste. azzi wandering through an open market, nose pink from the cold, laughing when she almost drops her phone.

paige presses the side of her fist against her mouth. there's something so unbearably soft about it, the way azzi lets the world see her like this. no stadium lights, no roaring crowds—just her, tucked away in quiet corners, existing in a way that feels small. still existing, despite the crumbling of her original path. paige wonders if azzi likes it that way. if she wants to be forgotten.

(she won't be. paige won't let her.)

she wonders if azzi understands just how much she's saved her life.

another game occurs. paige is better, though an outsider would call her phenomenal. she's not the best at being kind to herself.

twitter talks less. paige finds a way to leave herself alone. the hole is filling.

her teammates are gossiping, the usual buzz after a big win. someone mentions a player from a rival team who's been trying to get paige's attention all season. paige shrugs, a half-hearted smirk playing at the edge of her lips as she wipes her sweat-soaked face with a towel.

"i don't know, girl. she seems fun," paige says, eyes flicking toward her phone.

her teammates roll their eyes, but paige doesn't notice. she taps the screen, and the slight furrow in her brow softens when the name azzi lights up. she seems fun, paige thinks, but she's got nothing on her. she swipes to answer, her voice dropping to a tone that's so soft and easy it might not even be the same paige they all know.

"hey, az. miss me?" she says into the phone, the edge disappearing completely as she leans back against the locker, smiling like it's just the two of them alone in the world.

"hi, p," azzi says, her soft voice filtering through the speaker. paige almost closes her eyes, pictures summer rain. "i'm only calling for a few minutes. i have to get to this concert, but i think i'm lost."

paige feels a bolt of anxiety at the thought of azzi on her own in a new city. she asks her to hold a minute and checks her location. she's in a town called trogir. paige zooms out further. she's in croatia. she hops back onto the call.

"what are you doing in croatia?"

"you're such a little creep," azzi says fondly, her smile evident despite paige being unable to see her. "last-minute girls' trip with my mom. she says 'hi' by the way."

"hi, katie," paige says dutifully, and there's a faint whisper of someone saying hello in return.

"look, i'm getting distracted. i called to tell you something and—" there's the blare of a horn, and paige's heart jumps again.

"az?"

"i'm here. i'm fine. someone just almost got hit, jesus." azzi takes a deep breath, and paige wishes she was there to hold her hand. "um, okay. sorry! i called to say that i'm coming to dallas."

the world drains away, and suddenly paige can only hear the twin pumps of their hearts. her face warms with joy, and she feels the heat of a full-body blush. she's smiling like a loon, and most of her teammates have gone by now, but the ones who have stayed are watching her with amusement.

"are you being for real right now?"

azzi says yes through a sharp giggle, and paige spins in place. she sits down, suddenly dizzy, and squeezes her eyes shut until the black behind them is swimming with grains of white and pinpricks of light. she laughs.

"when will you be here? i can—i can pick you up. i will, if you want. which airport? can you just send me—"

"i will," azzi says, cutting through gently. "i promise. i'll send you everything, okay? i gotta go, but i promise."

paige clutches the phone with both hands, suddenly feeling like a child. she shifts in place and then says,

"azzi?"

"mmm?"

"will you…will you stay with me?" and it doesn't come out the way it's supposed to. it's only intended to be an offer of accommodation, but the words are swollen and filled with something else. she's asking for two things at once, and it embarrasses her.

"where else would i be?" azzi responds, and paige has nothing to say.

she goes to speak again, goes to expel the three little words sitting deep inside of her chest, but she swallows them down. she's such a child. she's a school girl with a crush.

"az?"

"yes?"

"i just—i can't wait to see you."

the background quiets. paige doesn't know where she is.

"me too, p. i miss you more than anything."

they end the call. the locker room has emptied now. it's only her. paige places her head in her hands. she grasps at her face, slides her hands over her mouth, and screams.

✺

the week of azzi's arrival comes so close, so quickly, like a flame.

paige barges into her coaches' office with so much force that it blindsides them, just enough for them to let out a startled 'sure' when she requests a couple of days off. she smiles with all of her teeth at the affirmative and gets on the road while she's still riding the high.

she arrives at the airport two hours early, as if punctuality could somehow make time move faster. she parks in short-term, ignoring the exorbitant fee. money doesn't matter today; only azzi does.

the arrivals hall is a mess of bodies and noise. families reuniting, frazzled pets held tightly, passengers searching hopelessly for their ubers. paige finds herself pacing, checking her phone, the overhead screens, her phone again. she's wearing a baseball cap pulled low, but she doesn't think anyone would recognize her anyway—not with her face this soft, this open with anticipation.

a text from azzi: landed. heading to baggage claim. see you soon x

the ‘x’ makes paige's heart stutter. she types back can't wait and deletes three different emojis before sending it plain.

when people start streaming through the arrivals gate, paige stands on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd. her height should be an advantage, but the nervous energy makes her feel small. she sees families, couples, businesspeople, then—

azzi.

she's wearing low-waisted jeans that reveal her belly piercing and a baby blue spaghetti-strap tank underneath a white bolero sweater that’s slipping off of one shoulder. her curls are gathered in a loose bun on top of her head, a few strands framing her face. she looks tired but luminous, dragging a carry-on behind her, eyes searching the crowd.

their gazes lock.

the moment stretches between them like taffy, sweet and pulling. then azzi's face breaks into a smile so bright it could power the entire terminal, and she's moving, weaving through the crowd with sudden purpose.

paige doesn't remember deciding to move, but suddenly, she's striding forward too. they meet somewhere in the middle, and paige doesn't know what to do with her hands. a hug? a wave? she hesitates, awkward and aching.

azzi has no such reservations. she drops her bag and throws her arms around paige's neck, her body warm and solid and real. she smells like airplane air and something sweet—vanilla maybe, or honey. paige's arms wrap around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground. she presses her face into azzi's neck and breathes.

"hi," azzi whispers, her breath warm against paige's ear.

"hey," paige says back, and it comes out embarrassingly rough. she clears her throat and tries again. "welcome to dallas."

when they pull apart, they're both smiling like idiots. azzi's eyes are wet, but she wipes at them quickly, laughing. "sorry, i'm just—it's been a long flight."

"no, i get it," paige says, even though she doesn't cry after flights. she gets it because she feels it too—this overwhelming something that makes her chest feel too small for her heart.

azzi reaches up and tugs the brim of paige's cap. "nice disguise, superstar. almost didn’t recognize you."

"shut up," paige laughs, taking azzi's bag before she can protest. "come on, i'm parked this way."

as they walk toward the exit, their hands brush once, twice. on the third time, paige hooks her pinky around azzi's, the smallest point of contact. she doesn't look over, but she feels azzi smile beside her.

in the car, azzi talks about her flight, about the book she read, about the baby two rows back who cried for four straight hours. pretty impressive actually, she says with a light smile. paige listens, stealing glances whenever traffic slows. the late afternoon sun catches in azzi's hair, turning the edges golden. paige grips the steering wheel tighter.

"you're staring," azzi says without looking over.

"you're beautiful," paige replies, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

the car falls silent. paige keeps her eyes fixed on the road, her face burning. she's blown it. she's made it weird. she's—

"so are you," azzi says softly. her hand finds paige's on the gearshift, her thumb tracing circles on paige's knuckles. "i really love your eyes."

the traffic moves forward. they do, too.

✺

the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. it's late afternoon, the world outside bustling, but here, there's warmth and stillness. paige is sitting on the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her, and azzi is curled up against her, head resting on paige's lap.

azzi's breathing is slow, even, and paige runs her fingers gently through the soft curls resting on her thigh. she's been like this for hours, scrolling through her phone aimlessly, but there's nothing that can pull her attention away now. she doesn't even notice how still she's become, how careful she is with every movement, how much she's trying to keep quiet so azzi doesn't stir.

azzi shifts slightly, her cheek pressing deeper into the fabric of paige's shorts, and paige freezes, holding her breath as if moving too much would ruin it. the sight of azzi so peaceful, so vulnerable in her arms, is enough to make paige's chest tighten. she hasn't felt this attached in months. but here she is, with the lines between her and azzi a little too blurry, and paige doesn't mind. she's unafraid.

azzi's eyelids flutter for a second, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and paige smiles to herself. there's a part of her that wants to get up, stretch her legs, maybe go grab a drink. but she can't—won't. not with azzi here, warm and trusting in her lap.

she watches the rise and fall of azzi's chest, her fingers gently tracing patterns along azzi's arm. if she moves now, she knows she'll ruin it, disturb the quiet. and for once, paige doesn't care about anything else. she doesn't care about the press or the noise or her next game. she just wants to stay like this, with azzi in her arms, forever. she wants to film this, make her own vlog to watch back when the world is crushing her.

time passes without her noticing. outside, cars begin to slow in the height of rush hour. it's perfect; it's just the two of them. azzi stays asleep, her head tucked into the curve of paige's body, and paige lets her be, letting the moment stretch on until she doesn't even know how long it's been.

eventually, paige's phone vibrates on the table beside them, but she doesn't move to answer it. instead, she looks down at azzi, resting her chin on top of her head, a soft whisper of "i got you" escaping from her lips.

it's a promise, even if neither of them has said the real words yet.

after another hour, azzi stirs slowly, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. she stretches, cat-like, still half-under, before realizing her head is resting on something warm. someone. paige.

“what time is it?” she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

paige shifts slightly, her hand still tangled in azzi's curls. "almost seven," she says softly. "you were out for a while."

azzi sits up, blinking in the dim light of early evening. she rubs her eyes, embarrassed. "why didn't you wake me up?"

"you looked like you needed it," paige says, and then adds with a grin, "plus, i liked watching you sleep. you make these little noises—"

"i do not," azzi cuts in, laughing as she pushes at paige's shoulder.

it's then that azzi notices the coffee table. it's covered in takeout containers—at least a dozen of them, all neatly arranged. she blinks, confused.

"i got food," paige explains, suddenly looking sheepish. "i didn't know what you'd want, so i just got you everything."

azzi leans forward, opening one of the containers. quinoa salad with roasted vegetables. another one reveals a green smoothie bowl topped with chia seeds. a third has some kind of grain bowl with avocado and sprouts.

"i thought you hated ‘healthy-healthy’ food," azzi says, looking up at paige with wonder.

paige shrugs, averting her eyes. "yeah, but you don't. and i thought you might be hungry when you woke up, so…"

there's a moment of silence, and then azzi is moving, closing the distance between them. she reaches up, curling her fingers around the back of paige's neck, and pulls her down until their foreheads touch.

"you're something else, p," she whispers, and before paige can respond, azzi presses her lips to hers.

it's soft, sleepy, a barely-there touch that feels like the most natural thing in the world. then it deepens.

paige clutches at the base of her neck and tries to swallow her, biting at her bottom lip until azzi gives her enough room to slip in her tongue. azzi makes a high noise, something like a whimper, and paige squeezes her waist with her free hand. she kisses her harder, her fingers trailing gently over the cool gem of her belly button piercing. when they pull apart, paige's eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed.

"was that okay?" azzi asks, suddenly unsure.

paige nods, a smile spreading across her face like a slow sunrise. "okay? fuck, az. that was more than okay." it was all i've ever wanted, is what she holds back.

azzi smiles back, her cheeks bunched high with the force of it, and then gestures to the food. "we should probably eat before it gets cold."

paige laughs, reaching for a container. "i think some of it's supposed to be cold, babe."

"will you shut up?" azzi says, but she's smiling far too hard for it to have any bite. they don't say anything about the pet name.

they eat cross-legged on the floor, containers spread between them, talking about nothing and everything. it feels like they've been doing this forever, like they've known each other all their lives. like, this is exactly where they're supposed to be.

at least, paige knew this was where she was supposed to be. and if it felt miles better than being on the court, that’s her perfect secret.

✺

the press room is buzzing with the usual chatter. paige's post-game routine is the same—answer the same questions, give the same responses. she's had enough of it by now, the lights, the cameras, the questions she's been asked a thousand times before.

"paige, great game tonight! you really pulled through in the second half," one reporter begins, the usual pleasantries. "but we have to ask—can you tell us about your friendship with azzi fudd? we've seen you two together a lot recently, and you two are a little bit of an unlikely duo."

paige's shoulders tense, her jaw tightening slightly. she can feel the eyes of every reporter in the room, all waiting for her to answer in the same carefully scripted way. she's never been one for this media circus, and she certainly doesn't enjoy being poked and prodded about her personal life. but something shifts in her. the question lingers, more intimate than the usual “game analysis” ones.

she leans back in her chair, trying to act casual, but her eyes flicker down to her phone hidden in her lap. the screen lights up with a text, and her lockscreen flashes. it’s a picture of her and azzi, their faces haloed by the dallas sun. paige isn’t even looking into the camera; she can’t be bothered to look at anything that isn’t her. azzi is laughing, open-mouthed and pleased.

this is her girl, the way the world once saw her, the way paige always sees her: aphrodite with the world at her feet.

"um, well," paige starts, her voice surprisingly steady, "azzi… she's everything. i mean, look, she's always been special to me. she found me at a time in life when i needed her. she's been through more than people know, and i respect the hell out of her for that. she's my best friend, my person.”

paige stops herself, eyes narrowing as if considering whether to backtrack or not. instead, she continues, the words coming out before she can hold them back.

"azzi's a queen, man," she says, a lightness in her voice that's unmistakable. "she deserves to be loved for more than just her talent, you know? what she used to be. people see her as this little ice princess frozen in time, but she's so much more than that. she's smart, funny, kind. i'm lucky to have her in my life. i wish i’d had her earlier.”

the room goes quiet for a moment. paige can't help but glance at the reporters in front of her, their pens moving quickly, capturing every word.

she doesn't care. not this time. the clip goes viral within minutes, the headline flashing across social media—paige bueckers opens up about friendship with azzi fudd: "she deserves to be loved."

✺

paige is in bed, the lights dim, but her face is illuminated by the glow of her phone. her ponytail is messy and dark with sweat from a long day of practice, but she doesn't care. azzi's facetime rings in, and her heart skips a beat.

"hey, princess," she greets, already in a lighter mood. azzi's there, scrunching her nose at the camera, dressed in a cozy hoodie and no makeup, just her.

"am i keeping you up?" azzi teases softly.

paige leans back against her pillow, trying to act nonchalant, but there's a softness in her voice that betrays her. "i was just waiting for you to call." she traces her finger along the edge of the screen. "couldn't sleep without hearing your voice."

and she sees it in azzi's face: that warm affirmation that she saw what paige said during press today. they don't talk about it. instead, azzi says,

"i love you. so much."

paige's chest tightens. she nods, tries to say i love you too, i love you more— but struggles against the lump in her throat. azzi hears her anyway. she always seems to understand.

"um, tell me about your day," paige finally pushes out.

"sure, baby.”

azzi begins to talk. paige puts her airpods in. blocks out any other noise. she falls asleep like that.

© hcneymooners.

[xoxochb]

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“where’re you going?”

percy tugs you back by your waist. you groan and throw your head back to face him. “to clean up? shower?”

“what if I like you like this?” he presses a spider-man kiss to your lips.

you grimace. “you’re weird. I’m leaving.”

“I prefer the word charming.”

percy’s opposite arm wraps around your waist also, tugging you farther away from the edge of the bed. the sheets grow far more tangled around your legs at the simple action.

“well I prefer the word weird.”

“and I prefer you stay in bed with me.” his mouth finds your love-bitten neck, adding onto it.

with the palm of your right hand, you find his bare chest to steady yourself. your other hand finds his shoulder. “I’m going to get up in the next ten minutes regardless.”

“five minutes.”

the things you do for this boy.

you sigh. “fine. but five’s all you get.”

you feel percy’s smile against your neck before he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “atta girl.”

you roll your eyes and untangle yourself from the mess of sheets and blankets. you begin with sitting up properly, then flattening out the first blanket. once comfortable, you re-intertwine yourself against percy.

he drops his nose to your hair, inhaling it deeply. “I want ice cream.”

“you’re proving my point.”

“well I’m hungry. I’m sorry for feeling basic human needs, sweet girl, I’ll remember that for next time.”

“you were literally just inside— you know what, that’s fine.”

you drop your head into his shoulder in defeat. his hand rubs your side to soothe you. “I’m trying to earn you a win-win. I get to have ice cream and you get to shower.”

“a shower to myself? that is a win.” you nod acceptingly, stifling a laugh.

percy pinches your waist. “I think you’re forgetting that I can make it the worst shower of your life.”

once, after twenty minutes of begging him to rinse, he had reluctantly let you go. this also came with a frigid shower and awful water pressure.

“fine,” you sigh. “you can join me.”

“you’re so kind, sweet girl.”

“you just blackmailed me.”

“the sweetest girl…”

“you’re changing the subject.”

“… an angel.”

“shut the—” you stop yourself. “hell up.”

“say fuck,” percy encourages.

“‘only those who cannot express themselves intelligently—”

he drops his mouth to your cheek for a swift kiss. “I know you want to.”

you so do.

you sit up and grab his hand, tugging him off the bed with you. “you’re fucking annoying. now let’s shower before I change my mind about a round two.”

[sanjisblackasswife]

𝕊𝕖𝕩 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞 (Geto and Gojo)

Ft. Geto and Gojo (Separate)

Blk!Fem Reader in Mind

CW: TWT LINKS,Not just SEX, but making love, kissing, touching, oral, established relationships, Gojo is warning of himself, Dom(?)Reader

Bad Summary: My opinion, I try not to include any FANON versions of them either. I want them both bad what can I say.

Gojo

It’s hesitant yet, intense.

A man like Gojo isn’t an easy person to be vulnerable with, but Satoru is different .

He makes light jokes to mask his internal feelings.

“Touchy, huh? You must have wanted me soooo bad.”

However your touches on his arms make his breath Hasen.

He’s a flirt, but somehow you managed to catch him at his quietest when you rub your fingers against his undercut, kissing his earlobe so gently and light he almost thought he had on infinity.

Satoru doesn’t have sex consistently. He can’t even remember the last time he had a moment of pleasure like this, so he’s eager, but catches himself not able to move the way he wants since his body betrays him every-time you land your lips on his.

Sex with Satoru is unbearable in the best way. Probably a night you’ll never forget, due to his ability of being talented in every aspect you can think of. His tongue knows exactly where to land. He has a slight obsession over your little clit as well. Soft and cold pink lips capturing it to suckle. If you mask your own moans for a second you can hear his moans of approval and smacks against your lower lips to taste more of you.

His noises are pornographic. Shameless as he pushes your knees to hit your chest while his huge warm hands to cup under your ass and use his thumbs to spread your lips apart and push his mouth further inside you.

He has an oral fixation only you (and candy) can accommodate so sex with him can be relentless. He doesn’t apologize for it either, regardless of the “M’sorry, baby.” He tend to mutter against your panting mouth once you’ve came twice.

Sex with Satoru is needy and close. Satoru has an additive personality. If he likes something he wears it out completely. He doesn’t know when to quit. Overstimulating himself and you in the process, without a care in the world, because he always gets what he wants. And if you’re what he wants. He’s going to keep you under him until he can’t anymore. It’s all about you for him right now and he needs you to know that while he’s speaking to you in your ear

Sex with Satoru is funny. Once he gets comfortable enough he uses his slick mouth not just to make you cum, but you make you giggle and blush . A few jokes about how much of a mess he made on your new sheets because you tasted too good. How your tits shake so cutely when you’re orgasming. He is just so vulgar.

He praises you. Almost to the point you want to tell him to shut the fuck up but you can’t get yourself to do so because that moment where he moans out your name when you clench down on him, sounds like music to your ears. It’s rasped and dragged out. He is so loud you can barely hear the bed creaking below you both.

His eye contact is intense. Satoru can’t stop himself from looking at you, and he doesn’t wanna creep you out by saying look at me so he keeps his eyes on your mouth and eyes until you realize what he is non verbally asking for while he is on top and inside you.

His slow kisses are what gets you yearning for more. The way how silky slick and smooth his tongue collides with yours, make you whimper every once in a while, and the beautiful noises go straight to his dick (un)fortunately.

Sex with him ends with you both in the bath giggling and smacking on something sweet while he hand feeds you. You feel a few kisses on your forehead and a couple “Felt so good.” Under his breath. Hes stroking your ego without even realizing it.

Sex ends with you holding him. It kind of occurs when he places you on the bed (naked) and fake yawns to lay all over your body, saying he’s your blanket for the night.

You could complain but why would you? He looked finally at peace laid in between you breast.

Geto

Sex with Suguru is memorable and exciting.

He is so careful with his touches, he tends to laugh when you scoff to rush him to move faster, but it’s all apart of his plan to break you down (lovingly ofc)

Foreplay with Suguru isn’t just that night. It’s in the morning when he kisses you slow and caresses your ass against the kitchen counter before he heads out

It’s in the afternoon when he sends you post workout pictures with his pants DANGEROUSLY low to his hips.

It’s that evening when he cooks for you with sweats and his hair down just how you like. Licking his lips as you taste test the food he made on his finger.

Sex with Suguru is full of embarrassment. The man is very big. His cocky smirk looking down at you while he pinches your nipples. Pointing out how hard they’ve gotten after just kissing them.

Sex with Suguru is, overwhelming, his natural scent is intoxicating, his silky hair dragging all over your torso while he licks you down from your neck to your clit makes your spine shiver. He always manages to savor and take his time with you. Fingering you with straight eye contact and words of affirmation of how well you’re behaving for him before he sucks on your pussy.

Suguru knows what he’s doing, he knows what makes you needy, irritable, and even more horny to his liking and silly you, don’t even have a clue(?).

His whole body is so surprisingly soft and yet hard. His chest so squeezable that when you take the chance to actually suck his nipple he lets out the prettiest noise you ever heard. Who knew he was so sensitive there?

Sex with Suguru is messy. The spit, sweat, and cum sprayed all over your both. You don’t even bat an eye after he cums inside you just to go back down on you to taste himself between your legs. All you’re doing is admiring how pretty he is. Cheeks pink, eyes low lidded. You bite your lips when he catches you staring and winks at you while he holds your legs back

Kisses kisses and more kisses. All you need to do in the bed with Suguru is lay back, moan his name, and kiss him. Even if you’re breathless he will be the one to take the wind away from your lungs if needed be.

Sex with Suguru is reassuring.He doesn’t allow you to ever feel anything, but loved and secured that he only and ever wants you. Not just in sex, but his life. His purple eyes stare you lovingly when you cum for him. You’re the most beautiful being in the world and he’ll remind you of it every chance he gets.

Sex with Suguru is so teasing. Allowing all that pressure build up just for him to stop and wonder his attention to another part of your body. About to cum on his finger? Can’t. He wants to suck on your breast. About to cum on his dick? Well now he wants to slow down and give you a kiss knowing he can just do both. Little do you know he’s edging himself more than you.

After sex with Suguru is like a slip of the switch. Brushing ur hair back and telling you to match his breathing style to calm down.

“There you go baby just like that breathe in and out..good girl.”

After Sex with Suguru leads to more pleasure for you. He just can’t quit. He isn’t sorry for it either. Just lay on your belly and let him do what he calls “cleaning you up.

After sex with him is like being turned into a princess. A carry to the toilet while he wipes your face with a cool damp towel. You don’t need to lift a finger and if you don’t tell him no already he’d wipe your ass for you.

After a shared shower He holds you in bed while giving your back a small rub. You feels so safe in his large arms. Hearing his heart beat in your ear was its own white noise that lead you to fall asleep. And you can, because he isn’t going anywhere in the morning.

[swiftjay23]

SINCEEEEE you’re taking requests…

You’re in luck that the only thing I like about the finale was Jun-ho becoming the baby’s guardian SO I was hoping you’d do a fic where he gets overwhelmed with trying to care for the baby he calls for the readers help.

Ofc, love your request. I hope you enjoy the fic! <3

Title: The Quiet Between Cries

Pairing: Jun-ho x Reader Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, soft domesticity, emotional tension, unresolved feelings Warnings: Past abandonment, mentions of depression and exhaustion, parenting struggles, bittersweet undertones

A/N: Idk if Gi-hun ever told Jun-ho about Sang-woo and Sae-byeok, but for the sake of this storyline, we'll pretend he did. P.S. I went through several reddit articles to confirm, and find out what Sae-byeok meant, and if it was a pretty sounding name to native korean ears.

Regardless, I'm still using it because Sae-byeok was a queen.

--xx--

The phone rings at 12:41 AM.

You're halfway through microwaving soup, arms folded as the machine hums, when your screen lights up with a name you swore you’d buried: Jun-ho. It hits you like a thrown stone. Blunt. Unexpected. Bleeding.

You haven’t spoken in years. Not since he vanished into smoke and silence. Not since you left voicemails thick with tears, telling him to lose your number before you lost yourself. But your thumb moves before your brain can stop it.

“Hello?” you ask, voice quiet. There's static. Then, “I… I don’t know what I’m doing.” A pause. His voice is hoarse, thinner than you remember, stretched over something raw. “She won’t stop crying. I think she hates me.” A shaky breath. “Can you come?”

You don’t say yes. You don’t ask who “she” is, or why he thought of you, of all people. You just hang up, grab your keys, and go.

The microwave beeps behind you. You don’t look back.

The apartment is dim, lit only by a flickering hallway lamp. The kind of quiet that presses down on your shoulders, funeral quiet. Only the sharp, aching sound of a baby’s cries slices through the stillness.

You don’t knock. Jun-ho doesn’t flinch when the door opens. He’s standing next to the crib like a man who’s already lost. Pale. Wrung out. His shirt is stained with old formula, his eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded. A bottle lies tipped on its side near the bassinet, still leaking onto the floor.

His arms hang limp at his sides. Like he doesn't know how to be useful anymore. The baby, tiny, red-faced, furious, screams like she’s declaring war.

You don’t ask questions. You don’t look at him. You cross the room, place a hand gently on his arm. He steps back without resistance.

And you lift her. She stills in your arms like it’s instinct, like you’re instinct. Her fists remain curled, but the rage in her face softens. She burrows against your collarbone like she was always meant to live there.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you whisper, rocking gently. “It’s alright. I’m here.” A hum rises from your throat, soft, unbidden. A lullaby you don’t fully remember. Or maybe just the sound of calm, something steady in a world gone sideways.

Behind you, Jun-ho’s breath catches. “She just needed a little love,” you murmur, not looking at him. And when you do finally turn, he looks like he might cry. Not from relief. From shame.

He insists it’s temporary. That he can handle it. You tell him to shut up. You lie on the couch with the baby nestled on your chest. Her cheek rests against your heart, her lashes fluttering with each breath. You drape your jacket over her, rub gentle circles into her back.

Jun-ho doesn’t go far. He lowers himself against the bookshelf with the stiffness of someone twice his age. His legs stretch out, his hands tremble. His gaze never leaves you.

He watches like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

The light above the stove buzzes faintly. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.

But here, it’s just the three of you. Breathing. Existing. In the dark, he whispers, “Thank you.” You say nothing. But your hand tightens around the baby. She grunts in her sleep. And that silence? It says everything: I missed you, too.

Morning finds you cooking eggs one-handed, the baby seated in a laundry basket on the floor, gleefully kicking her socks off and squealing every time the pan sizzles.

Jun-ho leans in the doorway. He says nothing. Just watches.

Watches you like it hurts to look, and more to look away.

The days become stitches. Folding onesies in silence. One pink. One yellow. One impossibly small, and you laugh despite yourself. You both reach for the same one. His hand brushes yours.

Neither of you pulls away.

You pour tea at 3AM.

He wanders in, bleary-eyed, murmuring your name like he forgot it could still exist in his mouth.

You don’t turn. He doesn’t leave.

One night, you find him asleep in the rocking chair, arms crossed tightly, chin tilted down. The baby sleeps beside him, barely visible in the dim light. You kneel, brush hair from his forehead, whisper his name. He doesn’t wake. But he exhales.

Like he knows you’re here.

It rains. Softly. The baby sleeps in your lap, curled like a comma. Breathing into the cotton of your shirt. Your hand cradles her spine. You don’t remember when it became second nature.

Jun-ho stands on a stool, trying to fix the curtain rod. His fingers tremble around the screwdriver. The screws clatter to the floor.

He pauses, hand braced against the wall. And says, without turning, “When I saw her laugh for the first time…” You glance up. He still isn’t facing you. “…I thought, ‘God, I wish she were yours instead.’”

The silence that follows isn’t cruel. It’s just too heavy for sound. He turns slightly. Just enough to let you see the outline of his jaw, the downturn of his mouth.

“Because then I’d get to keep you, too.” The rain ticks harder against the window. The room feels too small, too breakable.

You pull the baby closer. Kiss the soft curve of her skull. You don’t speak.

Because if you open your mouth, your voice will crack open the quiet. You’ll shatter. You’ll run to him. Or worse, he’ll run to you.

And you both know how that ended last time. So you stay. You stay, and you hold what remains like it’s glass.

Because it already broke once. And none of you, not one of you, could survive that again.

“Sae-byeok,” he says, softly. So softly, you almost miss it beneath the hush of the rain.

You look up. “What?”

His eyes meet yours. Steady, but aching. That same quiet steel you remember—years ago, when he still wore a badge, when he still believed in justice more than ghosts.

“I… We—We should call her Sae-byeok.” The name cracks open the room like thunder. Your breath catches. He swallows hard.

“Gi-hun told me about her,” he says, voice thinning. “Before he—” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. Before he went back. Before he died. Before the world decided it had punished him enough.

The silence turns somber. Reverent. You look down at the sleeping baby in your arms. Her tiny fists, her fluttering lashes. Her warm cheek resting against your chest. You don't know whose child she really is. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe she's all that's left of anything good.

“Sae-byeok,” you whisper. You taste the name on your tongue like a prayer. Morning star. Hope. The girl who should’ve lived. You press your lips to the baby's forehead. She sighs in her sleep.

“It fits,” you murmur. Jun-ho exhales. Like a breath he’s been holding for years. Like something unclenched.

You don’t know if you’ll stay. If this quiet spell will break tomorrow, or next week, or when the ghosts finally catch up to you both.

But for now, you rock the baby in your arms while Jun-ho steps down from the stool, crosses the room with slow, careful steps, and sits beside you. His shoulder touches yours.

You don’t move away. The rain softens. The world holds its breath.

And in this apartment, this halfway place between grief and forgiveness, a new name is spoken aloud. Not a goodbye. Not a beginning. Just Sae-byeok.

You turn to him, expression unreadable, but your eyes glinting like stars caught in the rain. There’s something ancient in your gaze. Something new.

You lean in, voice a whisper so soft it barely stirs the air. “Hwang Sae-byeok.” A pause. “Has a nice ring to it.”

A small smile pulls at the corner of your lips. And that does it.

Jun-ho looks at you like you’ve just hung his entire universe in one sentence. Like, for the first time in years, he’s breathing air that doesn’t hurt. He reaches out, slow but certain, his fingers finding your jaw like he’s memorizing the shape of something he thought he’d never touch again.

And then he kisses you.

Desperately. Hungrily. Like he’s trying to make up for every year he spent without you. Like he’s afraid this is a dream and if he doesn’t kiss you now, he’ll lose his chance forever.

You gasp, just a little, just enough. In your arms, Sae-byeok lets out a soft giggle in her sleep, small and unbothered.

Jun-ho pulls back, breathless, lips barely parted, and smiles. Not the tight, tired smile you’d gotten used to. Noses brushing against each other.

But something real. Something warmer than grief. Lighter than guilt. Something like hope. And in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe in second chances.

The End.

🗂🕯️ Permanent Taglist:

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie, ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful, ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @queenvash, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @trashlord-007, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw, ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy, ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001 ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq, ⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar, ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3, ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee, ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry, ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard, ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation, ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito, ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj, ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi, ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo, ⟡ @oldeubois-blog

⚠ !WARNING! ⚠ TAGLIST CLOSES AFTER 70 USERNAMES. CURRENT COUNT: 68

Only 2 spots left. If you want in, this is your shot. After 70, the gates lock.

[makingsenseofwhathappened]

Stop Gaslighting Yourself

Hey Tumblerz, I wanted to open up a classic topic today that I find myself thinking about a lot: good old Self-Blame. Especially the kind that shows up after someone crosses a line.

To start off, I hope you have a couple minutes to check out this short sketch, a hilarious comedian's take on the subject: If A Robbery Report Was Treated Like A Rape Report.

I found Cynthia Kao's take here brilliantly cutting and hilarious (admittedly a bit disturbing, too). I think it nails the kind of absurdity that can send us into what I sometimes think of as 'self-gaslight' mode. Which is really, really, really common.

This state of mind makes sense because we do live in a world, a quietly coercive system, often designed to make the "blame game" of justice go flip mode on us.

If you're like me, you might find yourself thinking things like:

“Did I give the wrong impression?” “Maybe I shouldn’t have smiled.” “Was that... actually harassment?” “Am I just making a big deal out of nothing?”

If any of this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. And there’s a reason.

Blaming yourself can weirdly feel safer than facing how badly you were treated. The thinking goes: if it was your fault, then maybe you’re still in control after all - you can do better or fix it next time - and you aren't powerless to stop it from happening again.

That's comforting psychology. A mindset I've sunk into myself many times. But here’s the thing you have to remember: you simply were not the problem, you just weren't - you weren’t the one with the power in that situation.

Sadly, a lot of people who’ve been harassed don’t even recognize it as harassment at first. Work and pop culture train us to smooth things over, give the benefit of the doubt regardless of context, be chill, act “professional," on and on.

What I'm trying to say is, your reaction to self-gaslight makes sense. But that doesn’t mean you deserved what happened. And you don’t have to carry the guilt just because the system made it easier to blame yourself than to hold someone else accountable.

By the way, I have to say here that it’s okay if you’re still untangling how it made you feel. That’s not weakness, it’s actually your wisdom in progress.

Just know you’re not crazy or overreacting. You’re just living in a world that doesn’t always want to believe you. But some of us do. And we’re not going anywhere.

That went longer than I expected 🤓 ☺️. Thank you for reading.

Much love.

[httpdwaekki]

skinship | s.c

summary: you thought changbin hated you, but that all changed one day when you showed on his doorstep, moments away from an anxiety attack.

wc: 1.8k

warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack

a/n: happy binnie month! i'm so happy to be doing this not only for one of my favorite boy but with one of my favorite people @straykeedz ! please don't forget to check out bee and her half of binnie month! i hope you enjoy! remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

(p.s. if u get the reference ily <3)

my library | bee's vers. | binnie month

please consider donating to this fundraiser!

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

you didn’t think changbin hated you per say, however you did notice his hesitancy towards you, so that definitely didn’t make you think he liked you either.

you noticed he’d keep his distance when you would hang out with the boys and forget about skinship, he avoided you like the plague. you were a very touchy person, similar to felix, you tended to cling to your friends. so you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt your feelings even a little bit, especially because of how he clings to your other friends.

you brushed it off though, you know not everyone was going to like you but it stung a bit coming from changbin. truth be told you had a lil crush on him when you first met him but you had given up a while ago.

this changes one day however, you found yourself outside of the 3racha+hyune dorm, seconds away from an anxiety attack. you don’t remember how you made it to the building but you knock regardless hoping anyone but changbin would open the door.

luck was not on your side as the rapper opens the door, coming face to face with your panicked expression. “h-hi-“ quickly wiping your tears, attempting to plaster a small smile on your face. “sorry- is chan home?” you were fiddling with the hem of your shirt, attempting to calm yourself long enough to get to your best friend.

“no he’s at the studio- are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. “yeah! sorry to bother you, i’ll just go to the studio, sorry again!” you say quickly, turning around to make a quick exit.

“hey wait, are you okay?” he steps out, grabbing your wrist, stopping you.

you pause, attempting to collect yourself, “yeah, i just need to find chan.” you go to leave again, his grip tightens slightly. “please let me go.” you whisper, a lump forming in your throat, as you focus on the concrete below your shoes.

“y/n, what’s wrong?” he starts panicking, never had he seen you so distraught. you were usually a ray of sunshine, kind-hearted and smiley, but this- this sent a shock to his core and he knows he can’t let you leave.

he moves in front of you, going to grab your other arm when your head whips up as his hand makes contact with your skin. your eyes are wide and full of panic, unshed tears line them as the panic took over your body.

your reaction has him dropping your wrists immediately. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry, i just want to help.” his voice soft, as if he were speaking to a scared animal.

“can i help you? please, i don’t want you driving like this, it’s not safe.” he explains gently, holding out his hand, trying not to let his panic show. “no- it’s okay, i’m sorry to bother you.” you plaster a fake smile on your face as you stumble backwards, changbin catching you before you could fall. he wraps his arms around your middle before pulling your back to him.

“i’m sorry, i’m just gonna go.” you attempt to free yourself from his arms, feeling the anxiety building in your chest, weighing down on you with each passing second.

“y/n.” his voice stern as he tightens his hold, keeping you in your place. you freeze, locking eyes with the floor, refusing to look at him.

“please,” he begs softly, “let me help you.”

your facade breaks. your knees weaken as sobs wreck your body, changbin tightens his grip, pulling you closer to him. once you regain your footing, he circles around you pulling you into him once more.

you become inconsolable as your arms wrap tightly around him, shoving your face into his neck. “i’m sorry-” he cuts you off with a gentle shush. “don’t apologize. you’re okay.” he rubs soothing strokes on your back as you calm down. 

once your breathing was semi-normal he pulls away, almost missing the pain that flashes in your eyes. almost. “come on, let’s get you inside.” he grabs your hand, carefully pulling you into the home.

he leads you to the couch, “sit.” you didn’t know what came over you but as he pulled away your gripped on his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

your eyes wide, gasping softly, “i’m sorry!” quickly releasing his hand. “oh my god, i’m so sorry, i don’t know why i did that.” you suddenly realize the reality of the situation, it washes over you like a wave of cold water. you get up and make your way to the door. “i-i’m so sorry changbin-” you feel your chest tighten, the grips of your anxiety tighten with each passing second.

all you could focus on was getting out of here as quick as possible. but changbin wasn’t letting that happen.

he panics and all he can think about is calming you down, so he did the one thing he can think of. he grabs your wrist once again, turning you to him placing his lips on yours. you freeze before melting into him, placing your hand on his hip, him placing his free hand to your cheek.

once he felt you relax he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. both of you taking a moment to catch your breath.

“why did you do that?” you whispered, still not moving. “uh, i read somewhere that if you hold your breath, you could stop a panic attack.” he pauses, taking a breath. “so when i kissed you, you held your breath.” you nod, pulling away slightly, still processing the fact that he just kissed you.

“oh, that’s really smart.” he nods with a shy smile. you quickly realize you’re still holding on to him, pulling away quickly, “oh!” you backed away slightly. “sorry-” you clear your throat, “thank you,” you make a circle motion between the two of you, “for that.” you smile shyly.

“uh yeah, anytime.” your cheeks warm as a light pink brushes his. you both stand there for a bit before you speak. “can i ask you something?” you ask suddenly, causing him to look to you.

“yeah anything.” he says, prompting you to continue. you hesitate, “do i make you uncomfortable?” you ask quietly, fiddling with your shirt once more. you glance towards him, catching the confusion on his face.

“no not at all,” he furrows his brows, “why would you think that?” he wants to move towards you but he hesitates. 

“i’ve just noticed, you just always seem,” you pause, trying to find the right words, “i guess, closed off? like you’re really open with everyone else but with me you always seem to avoid me a bit.” you can see him processing the information but the lack of response was making you panic a bit.

“well! i guess not avoid but like kinda closed off? which would make sense because you’ve known everyone a lot longer than me but you just always hug everyone and then kinda just avoid me, which is fine! totally okay! i just-” he cuts you off with a kiss.

while your rambling was super cute, he couldn’t watch the panic again. his hands on your cheeks once more, he waits for you to relax into him before he pulls away.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers out of breath, “you’re just so cute when you ramble.” you let out a breath as you smile. you place your hands on his wrists, keeping his hands on your skin, basking in the closeness of each other.

a few moments of silence pass before he moves to kiss your forehead, bringing you into him. he wraps his arms around you before he speaks, “you don’t make me uncomfortable, and i certainly wasn’t avoiding you on purpose.” he pauses as you wrap your arms around him.

“i’m so sorry i made you feel that way, i just didn’t know how to approach you.” you tighten your arms around him as he speaks. “i now see i had nothing to worry about huh?” you giggle, shaking your head before pulling away.

“i don’t know if you could tell but i like you, i have for a while but i thought i made you uncomfortable so i kept my distance.” you say looking into his eyes, his coming up to rest on your soft cheek once more.

“not at all, i’m sorry i made you feel this way.” he says, eyes sorrowful. you give him a shy smile, “it’s okay, i’m glad i know why now.” you place a quick peck to his lips, as if it was a seal of confirmation.

he gives you one in return but that quickly became many more… all over your face. you squeal as he continues his attacks, “bin! okay okay, mercy mercy!” he giggles stopping his targeted attacks before quickly picking you up, pulling a noise of surprise from you.

you quickly wrap your arms around him, “where are you taking me?” you giggle as he walks through the dorm, taking you along for the ride. “i’m taking my girlfriend to my room to cuddle because she was having a rough day.” he states proudly, planting a big kiss to your kiss as he enters his room.

“your girlfriend huh? not even gonna ask me?” you tease as he lays you on his bed. “i figured the two passionate kisses and the other kiss attack was enough to solidify that.” he shrugs, looking down at you.

you take a moment to ‘think’. “yeah that’s pretty fair.” you nod, giving him a cheeky smile. he gives you a big kiss before deciding to lay on top of you. “oof!” you giggle as he settles his weight on you.

you look down to find his boba eyes staring back at you, big grin plastered on his face. “move up more, what are you doing all the way down there?” you give him a teasing smile, as he realizes what you meant.

“yah! you’re not allowed to tease me any more.” he whines as he moves up, closer to you. “oh no?” you wrap your arms around him and he lays down once more. “says who?” he nuzzles his head into your neck before relaxing. “says me.” you can’t see his face but you know he’s pouting regardless.

“okay, i’m sorry bub.” you giggle placing a kiss to his hair. what you don’t see is the light blush that dusts his soft cheeks at the pet name. another moment of silence passes, “i’m glad you answered the door.” you say softly. 

he lifts his head to look at you, small smile on his face. “me too.” he places one more kiss to your lips before melting back into you where you both fell asleep, smile gracing both of your lips.

this doesn’t last long before hyunjin and han both wake you up with their surprised screams when they find you two.

[matchpointfaist]

we need another part to stanford!art x camgirl!reader :)))

i would do whatever you wanted, we don’t have to leave the apartment!

stanford! art x camgirl! reader part two (or the one where they make a movie)

tw for smut, being on camera, kinda dom/sub vibes, use of pet names (baby, angel, princess) and slight degradation (use of whore/slut briefly) and use of daddy only twice!!!. this is so horny idk. size kink

art was strangely nervous for someone who’d already seen you naked countless times, his hands shaking as he buttoned up his shirt. he checked his appearance six times in the mirror before leaving his dorm, then once more for good measure in the mirror of his jeep. he’d insisted on being a gentleman, walking to your door with a bouquet of tulips in his hand, his heart in his throat as he knocked. you opened it moments later, haphazardly sliding an earring into your ear, smiling up at him like he wasn’t about to faint at your doorstep. his breath caught. you were a vision in a short white dress and black boots just high enough to bring you a hair closer to eye level. “hi,” you grinned, eyes falling to the flowers, “for me?” “of course,” he forced himself to focus, “tulips are your favorite, right? i remember your parents brought some to a match once,” your eyes softened, a pout on your lips, “oh, art. you’re so sweet,” you took them, then wrapped one hand around his forearm, pulling him just inside, “stay here, i’ll go put them in a vase. then i’m ready,” he obeyed, watching you go, glancing around your dorm curiously. it was so you- photos of you and your family and teammates littering the walls, small trinkets on bookcases, a special shelf just for your racket bag to hang from. his chest warmed, suddenly aching at the very thought of being with you. you returned moments later, satisfied, “ready?” “yeah, ready,” he nodded, his hand on the small of your back as he led you back down to his jeep. your perfume filled his senses, rendered him weak as he drove, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

he was everything his grandmother had taught him to be at dinner; patient, doting, attentive, kind. he held the door, pulled out your chair, let you order first. the two of you talked the entire date, laughing between sips of your drinks, sharing stories like you’d known each other all your lives. finally, he worked up some courage, tentative and careful. “so, why’d you start streaming?” you took the question in stride like you’d been expecting it all evening. “my scholarship pays for school and my dorm, but anything extra i want, it’s out of pocket,” you told him, seeming genuinely at ease, “i use the tips and things to pay for any extra tennis gear, or just shopping trips. my parents don’t really make enough to send me money, and i don’t want them to worry,” “why not just get a job off campus?” he hoped it didn’t come across insensitive, “i mean, if it’s just the money?” “i can film for an hour and make $300,” you shrugged, stirring your drink absentmindedly, “i know some people think it’s demeaning, but i don’t really see it that way. if people are going to objectify me regardless, why not capitalize off of it?” he nodded, mulling your words over carefully. “yeah, that makes sense,” he met your eyes across the table, “i’m sorry you have to deal with that, though,”

you waved a dismissive hand, smiling, “promise it’s fine, art. i know it’s not good, but i’m used to it for the most part. desensitized, i guess,” “do you feel like this gives you the power back?” he asked, genuinely curious, “like you’re reclaiming yourself?” you looked up at that, one brow raised in surprise, “yeah, actually. that’s a big part of it,” he hesitated before slowly placing his hand on yours across the table, playing with the bracelets on your wrist, “i’ll never make you feel like i’m taking that away from you,” he murmured, “i think you’re incredible. and what you’re doing, too. you shouldn’t ever feel ashamed,” you shifted in your seat, face warm, “let’s get out of here, yeah?” he picked up the bill like he’d done it a thousand times, swiped a silver amex with the easy air of a man who knew he’d have expendable income of his own someday. when you got back to his jeep, he hovered on your side of the car, leaned against the door as he brushed hair from your face, “you look unbelievably beautiful tonight,”

you kissed him, finally, standing on your tiptoes and pulling him down. his hands found your waist, skin warm through your dress as he kissed you slow and steady, smiling against your lips like he was lovedrunk, like he hadn’t already been inside of you days prior. “stream with me tonight,” you mumbled against his mouth, pulling away just enough, “would you like that?” he’d known it was coming, knew what he was agreeing to the very first time, but still took in a surprised breath. “tonight?” “if you’re in the mood,” your fingers trailed down, brushing his bulge through his slacks, “it’s all up to you, art,” “oh, fuck,” he groaned, leaning into your touch despite the crowded parking lot, “yes, we can, of course,” “mm,” you hummed, satisfied, and pressed a brief kiss to his lips, “you okay to drive?” he rolled his eyes, grinning, “i’m fine, thank you very much,”

when you arrived back at your dorm, he was already grabbing you, pinning you against the door and kissing you like he was drowning. “beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his lips down your neck, “can’t wait to be inside you again, thought about it all week,” you pulled at his hair just enough to get his attention, kissing his jawline softly, “bedroom,” he nodded, like he’d been snapped back into reality, and let you lead him to your room, stumbling between kisses. “our faces have to be out of frame,” you were half breathless already, buzzing all over as he undressed you, eyes wild, “and you can’t say my name,” “mm, okay,” he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh as he pushed you onto the bed, pulling off your heeled boots carefully, “you sound so pretty moaning my name, though,” you sucked in a breath as he pressed a kiss to your covered core, your hands flying to his hair, “god, art,” “mhm, just like that,” he licked a stripe over the cotton, groaning softly, “what can i call you then, hm? baby?” another kiss to your covered skin, “maybe angel? princess?” he bit at the skin of your thigh gently, “maybe i should call you my little whore, since you’re so desperate for it,” a mixture of surprise and arousal curled in your stomach at the sudden change in demeanor from him, “call me whatever you want,” he laughed, soft and deep, kissing your hip lightly, “and what’ll you call me, then?” you pulled him down to the bed, pulling off his shirt, “i have a couple ideas,”

you managed to pull away long enough to open your laptop, giggling as he kissed all over your hips up to your chest, his breath tickling your warm skin. “can’t believe i get to fuck you in front of all these people,” he murmured, nipping lightly at your skin, “they all get to watch, but i’m the only one that gets to have you,” you opened the cam site just as he shed his boxers, letting them drop to the floor, sucking in a breath as the cool air made contact with his flushed skin. “lay down,” you instructed, biting your bottom lip as your eyes ran over his bare skin, “i’ll make sure your face is covered,” you clicked the timer to start the stream, climbing into his lap, pressing your lips to his as you settled into his arms. he groaned against your lips as your slick cunt slid against him, his hips jerking at the contact. “you ready for me?” he asked, lips just a breath from yours, “god, this is so fucking hot,” “yeah, ready for you,” you nodded, trembling and eager. the electronic chime of tips rolling in filled your ears as he slid inside you, his hands on your ass, holding you tight. “god, fuck,” he groaned, eyes rolled back, “never gonna get used to this. best pussy in the world,” “god, m so full,” you squeezed around him, rolling your hips enough to make a show for the camera, “feel how deep you are?” you took one of his hands, placing it just below your belly button. “oh my god,” he buried his face in your chest, thrusting up into you, “such a good girl,”

you pressed your hands against his chest, pushing him back as far as you could without revealing his face as you rode him, circling your hips and eliciting desperate moans from his swollen lips. he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, watching your chest as you bounced, the hand on your ass digging his nails in just enough to have you whining. “good girl,” he panted, his eyes heavy, “yeah, there ya go,” “god, you’re so big,” you whined, moving your hands to his shoulders, exaggerating the movements of your hips, “can barely take it,” “taking it like a slut,” he slapped your ass, the skin warm beneath his touch, “you like that?” you pulsed around him, once again surprised by his dominance, “yeah, like that so much,” you leaned into his neck, careful to keep him concealed, “flip me over, face down,” he groaned quietly, nodding before slowly pulling you off his drenched cock, pressing your face into the mattress just in front of the laptop. he was on his knees behind you, his face just above the cameras sight, only displaying his shoulders and collarbones. he pulled your thighs apart, swearing underneath his breath as he spread you open, “prettiest pussy, swear to god,” he slowly trailed the tip of his cock over your clit, hissing out a breath, “you want it, baby?” you nodded, voice too muffled by the bed to be heard. “say it,” he pulled your head up just enough, “tell me how bad you want it,” “want you so bad, daddy, stuff me full,” “oh, fuck,” he groaned, low and deep, before pushing into you in one fluid motion, filling you to the hilt.

“god, even better like this,” he moaned, placing a hand on your lower back, “look so fuckin pretty, sweet girl,” you whined into the comforter as he thrusted slowly, “taking me so good, my little slut,” you rocked back against him, the sound of skin on skin filling the otherwise quiet room. he grabbed your hips, yanking you back onto his cock, pulling hoarse moans from your throat. “gonna fill you up,” he panted, thrusts getting more erratic, “is that okay?” “yes,” you said without thinking, “god, please,” “cmon, cum for daddy,” he groaned, fingers leaving your hips to circle your clit, “give it to me, baby,” you came with a shudder from the added stimulation, moaning into the drool soaked blanket, clenching around him. “yeah, good fuckin girl,” he murmured, hips jerking, “god, i’m cumming-“ he filled you, warm inside you, his thrusts slowing as he rode out his high. he slowly pulled out, leaving you with shaky legs, still face down into the mattress before you slowly pulled yourself up, covering your face as you shifted. you angled the laptop down, spreading your thighs and revealing the mess he’d left, his cum spilling out of you onto the bed. he watched with dilated pupils, heart racing. “goodnight,” you waved to the camera with two fingers, giggling before closing the stream.

an hour later, the two of you were cleaned up and half dressed, art’s fingers tracing circles onto your back as you laid on his chest. “got $700,” you said softly, looking up at him, half in awe, “can you believe that?” “you deserve it,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “put on such a pretty show,” “hey, what’s this?” you sat up, brows knit as the comment caught your attention, the user ‘pattycake’ blinking on your screen. ‘wait, is that fucking art donaldson?’ “let me see that,” he grabbed your laptop, “what the fuck?” “did you show your face?” he ran a hand through his hair, stressed, “i don’t know- i didn’t mean to, i didn’t think i did-“ “art, hey, it’s okay,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, taking his hand, “it’ll die down, okay? it’s happened to me before too. they can’t prove it,” “god,” he laid back down, pulling you back into his side, “my first scandal and i’m not even out of fucking college,” “mm, what a bad boy,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his chest, “we’ll be alright,” “if you say so,” he yawned quietly, “i’ll worry in the morning. too tired to think now,” “mm. night, love,” “night, pretty girl,”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 2 ] || [ Chapter 4 ]

Pairing: Ghost x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: some sexual jokes/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 3: Simon

After doing the dishes, you moved yourself over to the living room and turned on the TV. Some rerun of an older season of Law and Order was playing.

You started watching but you found your eyes drifting back to your phone… 

Against your better judgement, you clicked on the Tinder app icon again. Maybe, maybe you should swipe just a little more.

And so you did. 

Today you said ‘Fuck you, Beyoncé’ and always went to the Right, to the Right. 

Just as you were pondering another profile, the screen darkened with a ‘It’s a Match!’ notification, making you jump a bit, as usual.

You clicked the profile and your brow scrunched. 

You didn’t remember liking this one… Though you obviously did, after all, you were liking everyone.

The only picture wasn’t even anything. It was dark and grainy and the man was wearing a black disposable face mask. If that even was him. Could just be a random picture off-Google, picked by someone who wanted to be anonymous. Not quite a catfish but close enough…

“Simon.” You said softly and dragged your finger through the screen to read his bio. For a moment you couldn’t help but smirk a little. He was sarcastic, a bit strange, but charismatic in his own way.

“Bad jokes, Bourbon, Discreet…” You mused while scanning his profile. “Tall enough.” You read aloud and couldn’t help but laugh at it. That made you feel like he was short.

Against your better judgement for the second time, you decided to send him a DM instead of waiting for him to. Something told you he wouldn’t.

you: tall enough - does that mean you’re below 6ft? Simon: No. Simon: Means that I have inches to spare. you: was that a dick joke? Simon: No. Simon: Unless you wanted it to be.

You snorted softly under your breath. Of course he was a smart ass too…

you: ambiguous, i like it. you: so how tall are you then? Simon: Does it matter? you: no. just curious. Simon: 6ft4. you: that feels like a lie. Simon: I avoided putting it for a reason. you: worried people would call you a liar? Simon: No use. Going to be called it regardless. you: that’s fair ig. you: what’s a traveling consultant? Simon: Similar to a contractor. Get brought in to help businesses all over the world. you: what kind of businesses? Simon: That’s need-to-know. you: you type so formally and professionally jeez. you: will i ever get to know? Simon: Force of habit. Don’t text a lot. Simon: Not if I can help it. you: somehow i can tell. you: what are you doing here then? Simon: Curiosity mostly. you: trying to see if you attract any fish? 👀 Simon: Something like that. A friend is on here. Wanted to see what all the fuss is about. you: i see. you: got anything yet? Simon: No. But only created this 12 minutes ago. you: am i your first then? Simon: Not my first in anything, love.

Your eyes widened a bit and for some reason you found yourself getting a bit flustered, your face warming up just a bit.

you: does that mean you’ve hooked up with people through a dating app before? Simon: Something of the sorts. you: aw, im really not going to be your first. Simon: That’s alright. You can come see me either way. Simon: I’m sure you’ll find some other thing to be the first at.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you started sputtering. That came out of left field! He had gone from professional and mild-mannered to… flirty so quickly! Gulping, you tried to answer him with something coherent and funny.

you: idk what if you murder me? Simon: I promise I won’t. you: is that meant to be enough to convince me? 🤨 Simon: I’ll leave all my guns at home. you: the fact you have more than one is not reassuring the way you think it is. Simon: If it makes it any better, I wouldn’t need a gun to kill you.

Even though you don’t know this man, you can imagine that he’s laughing to himself behind his phone screen, all smug, thinking he’s funny. And, the worst part, is that he is.

you: reassuring. thanks. Simon: Glad to be of service. you: i think what makes it worse is that uve not got a pic of ur face. Simon: Wouldn’t hook up with a bloke with his face covered? you: no? are u trying to get me axe murdered? bc thats how u get axe murdered simon Simon: LOL. Simon: No. you: u sure? a masked face with a mysterious job and a suspicious amount of guns… sounds like the upgraded version of ghostface… except online rather than over the phone. Simon: I’ll take that as a compliment. Simon: You’re funny.  Simon: I like that. you: thanks.  Simon: Wondering if you’re that funny in real life or if you’d get all shy on me. you: probably a mix of both. Simon: How about we confirm that then?  Simon: Meet up with me for drinks. No pressure on time or place. You can even postpone if it comes down to it. My job is unpredictable enough so I might have to postpone too.

Your eyes widened. The first attempt at flirting from him, of inviting you for a shag, had been clearly sarcastic… But this one is genuine.

you: ill get back to u on that, is that okay? Simon: No sweat. Simon: And if you’re just being polite and not actually going to text me again then: This was fun. Enjoyed myself. Take care.

You bit your lip to suppress a smile when you saw his polite goodbye. He was… sweet, weirdly enough.

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

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Rosemary's Baby (1968)

Pairing: Yandere!Ieiri Shoko x Reader (JJK).

Runtime: 3.2k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con (False Pretenses), Mentions of Pregnancy, Cheating (Reader is in an Established Relationship With Gojo), Fingering, Medical Malpractice, Manipulation, and Overstimulation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

The examination table was cold as ice against your back.

She’d been nice enough to put down a sheet of sterilizing parchment, but not much more. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt as you waited, too nervous to check your phone and risk seeing the newest addition to Satoru’s never-ending barrage of texts, too obedient to do anything other than stay where you were and stare blankly at the chipped, white tiles of her ceiling. That was what she told you to do – or, at least, what you thought she’d told you to do. It’d been difficult to understand her through her surgical mask, only pulled down slightly to accommodate the cigarette she was holding up to her lips, and come to think if it, she might’ve just meant to wait near the table, not strictly on—

The door opened, creating a break in the silence just long enough for you to pull yourself back together, and you bolted upright before your thoughts could start to slip, again – the stiff parchment crackling in protest underneath you. Your eyes found Shoko just as she slipped inside, letting the door fall shut on its own behind her.

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Shoko had always been your favorite. There was obviously the gender bias (you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t have gravitated towards any woman in Satoru’s overall civil, but absolutely male-dominated social sphere), but even if that hadn’t been the case, you liked to think that you would’ve gotten along with Shoko, regardless. She was always so calm, always so level-headed, rarely smiling but slow to lose her temper, too. Being around her made you feel a little less like the awkward, oblivious non-sorcerer who’d stumbled into a world you still didn’t completely understand and a little more like someone who knew what they’d gotten into and who to rely on, when your own limited abilities fell short. You trusted Shoko, even if you’d only talked to her alone a handful of times. If you didn’t, you never would’ve come to her for something like this.

She stopped at the nearest counter, retrieving a pair of latex gloves from a nearly empty container, before coming to stand next to your table. You knew she’d been smoking, but the heavy scent of disinfect and rubbing alcohol smothered any traces of lingering smoke there might’ve been. You were thankful. You’d been sick with nerves for the better part of the past week, and you didn’t need another reason to feel like you were on the verge of throwing up.

(In the back of your skull, something cruel and vile whispered that there might be another explanation for your sudden bouts of nausea – something less ignorable than pure, ungrounded anxiety. You drowned it out before it could reach your conscious mind.)

Shoko broke the silence without prompting. You were grateful for that, too – you really didn’t have the courage to speak up first. “So,” she started, leaning on the edge of your metal slab. “You wanted to see me because of a… late period?”

Her mask hid most her expression, but you could make out the faint hint of a chuckle underneath her bedside manner. Your eyes fell into your lap. “A missed period,” you corrected. “I haven’t gotten it this month, either.”

She hummed, but didn’t respond. You sighed. Shoko was grounded, but she wasn’t kind. You should’ve known she wouldn’t make this easy for you.

“I’m worried I might be pregnant.”

To her credit, if she was surprised, it was impossible to tell. “Have you been taking your birth control?”

“Yeah, obviously, but I’m terrible about remembering condoms and Satoru never manages to pull out.” It felt strange to describe your sex life to your boyfriend’s closest friend, but you soldiered on. She was a medical professional, a doctor. Your preferred methods of protection (or lack thereof) couldn’t have been the worst thing she’d heard that day. “I’ve already taken a test, but I just want to make sure. Cursed energy is already so complicated, and I know Satoru exceeds a lot of expectations. I don’t know if he, like, has—”

This time, she cut you off with an airy, but blatant laugh. “You think he’s got magic sperm?”

“He fights invisible monsters and teleports,” you snapped, your anxiety turning into irritation in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think ‘magic sperm’ is that unrealistic!”

For a moment, she seemed to regard you – her dark eyes boring into your wrinkled clothes, your disheveled hair, the bags under your eyes nearly deep enough to match her own. Even if she didn’t understand why you were worried, she’d have to recognize that you were, in fact, worried. And, if she really was your friend, she’d at least offer to help.

You held your breath until finally, she cracked, straightening her back with and audible sigh. “And why, exactly, couldn’t you go to a standard obstetrician about this?”

“Because you’re the best doctor I know and I’d trust you with my life?”

“Try again.”

“Because I can’t afford the co-pay and if I use Satoru’s card, he’ll find out.” You deflated after finishing, crossing your arms over your chest. “I… I really just want to know. If it turns out I did have a reason to worry, I’ll figure out what to do next, but—” This time, your voice cut out all on its own. You forced yourself to swallow before going on. “I just want to know, first. Satoru doesn’t have to be involved.”

It was an awful position to put her in, you knew. For as much as you trusted her, she’d known Satoru for years. She had every right to go to him about this, even if you really, really wished she wouldn’t. She didn’t owe you anything, much less her help. Much less her silence.

But there was a reason you trusted Shoko, that you felt as unreasonable close to her as you did. Above her mask, you saw her eyes soften before they flickered away from you, landing on the counter she’d already visited. “Lay down and take off what you need to,” she said, her gruff professionalism back in full force. “It might not be conclusive, but the most I can do is a physical examination. It’s not much, but if you don’t trust a real test, it’s the best thing I can offer you.”

You couldn’t help yourself – nearly falling off the table as you pulled her into a bone-crushing, lung-flattening hug. “Ieiri, you’re the best,” you nearly shouted, your voice bouncing off the blank walls of her office. You moved to thank her again, and again, and again, but she pried you off of her before you had the chance, muttering a curt ‘you’re welcome’ before turning away to make her preparations and escape your unwanted gratitude. You managed to stop yourself from chasing after her, and yet, you were still smiling as you settled back onto the table.

Still, embarrassment quickly dampened the brighter edges of your relief as Shoko glanced over her shoulder. “Are you comfortable with undressing here, or would you rather leave the room?”

You blanched, and Shoko was kind enough not to laugh before going on. “You did know you were basically coming to be for a gynecological exam, right?”

“I mean, yes, but—” You hadn’t, but then again, you weren’t sure what else you’d expected. This made sense, even if it was leagues beyond anything you thought to brace yourself for. If Shoko thought it would help, then it’d help. “Do I get a gown, or…?”

Her eyes fell to your skirt, long enough to fall just an inch or so above your knee. “That won’t be necessary. Take off your panties and lay down – I’ll be over in a second.”

Your face burnt, but you nodded, and she turned away. Biting your inner cheek, you swung your legs over the side of the table and kicked off your shoes. Shoko pretended to be preoccupied while you shrugged your panties down your legs and, with no other option, stuffed them into the pocket of your jacket. It was awkward – lying down and spreading your legs with Shoko less than a full ten feet away. It was one thing to ask your acquaintance for medical advice, and another to let your boyfriend’s friend act as your pro-bono gynecologist.

You heard a few tools clatter onto a metal tray, the padded feet of a stool scrape across the tiled floor, and wordlessly, Shoko positioned herself at the foot of the examination table. “This should only take a few minutes,” she said, as her gloved fingers skirted along the inside of your knee, then your thigh, before reaching your pussy. Your labia, you corrected, internally. If she could be a professional about this, so could you. “Let me know if you feel any pain.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes focused intently on the ceiling above you. Even if you had looked down, your skirt would’ve blocked most of your view, which was how you preferred it. You couldn’t see Shoko, and hopefully, she couldn’t see the way you flinched as she spread a cold, pricking sort of lubricant over your entrance, as she eased two fingers into your otherwise dry cunt. You’d assumed she would use a tool, but then again, you couldn’t imagine what kind. And besides, you really shouldn’t have been questioning a doctor.

Shoko’s voice was gruff, distracted. “How’s that?”

“F-Fine,” you squeaked. “Please, do whatever you need to.”

“Satoru’s got you that worn down, huh?” She let out a breath of a laugh, but leaned in, easing her digits into until she was knuckle deep. Her fingers were thin, but long and graceful in a way that made them difficult to ignore when paired with the strange tactility of her gloves. Her free hand curled around your ankle, as if to hold you in place. “I’m going start the test. It might feel a little strange, so try not to move.”

She gave you a moment to brace yourself before spreading her fingers apart, inadvertently pressing against the sensitive walls of your pussy. On reflex, you snapped your thighs shut, but Shoko caught you by the knee before you could attempt to break her arm. “Easy there.” And then, as her thumb pushed slow circles into your skin, “Think you can hold these open for me?”

You didn’t try to say anything, but with more than a little effort, you spread your legs – planting your feet more firmly on either corner of the table. “Thatta girl,” Shoko muttered, seemingly more used to comforting scared pets than nervous patients. “Remember – we’re here because you wanted to be. If you want to back out, just say the word.”

You shook your head furiously, instinctually. You’d never do that to Shoko, and she seemed to know that – not waiting for verbal confirmation before starting to move. She seemed to need to stretch you open, judging by the repetitive, scissor-like motions of her fingers, the way she huffed in irritation as she slipped yet another digit inside of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but it would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from heating up, from squirming, from dampening around her in a way that you couldn’t entirely separate from arousal. You kept your hips still and dug your teeth into your bottom lip with enough force to break the skin (you would’ve rather died than moaned during a medical exam), but your cunt wasn’t as easily reigned in. It wasn’t long before a sickeningly slick clicking-type noise accompanied every little movement of her fingers. Hopefully, she’d just assume she’d used more lube than she’d meant to. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself, if she didn’t.

“Like I said – it’s a quick procedure, not a comfortable one. Most patients have a difficult time staying still.” It was humiliating – how steady her voice was while you were falling apart, fighting just to keep yourself from bucking into a medical professional’s hand. It took everything you had not to whimper when the scissoring slowed, then stopped altogether, only to be immediately replaced by the awful, terrible, embarrassingly wonderful feeling of her fingers curling inside of you, grinding against the most vulnerable part of your cunt. “It’s important to be thorough, though. I’m sure you understand why this is necessary.”

She couldn’t have done it on purpose. Nothing about this could’ve ever been intentional, and yet, when her wrist slipped, the heel of her palm seemed to land perfectly onto your neglected clit. It wasn’t much, just the hint of stimulation, but it was enough for you to seize-up – your nails scrambling helplessly over smooth titanium as you came, silently, around her fingers. Shoko, ever the professional, didn’t so much as slow down.

She only hummed, keeping her hand where it was – her palm now grinding broad, harsh patterns into your clit. “Are you usually this easily stimulated?”

You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to choke out was a single, jagged whimper. Shoko clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased that in a way you’d understand.” And then, as she spread her fingers apart cruelly, “Do you normally cum in less than a minute with Satoru?”

This time, a strangled cry was as much of an answer as you could’ve possibly given. You weren’t sure why she was asking, but… this wasn’t normal for you, was it? And now that she mentioned it, you did feel more stimulated than you should’ve during anything remotely medical. Your skin felt hotter, more sensitive where it’d come into contact with her lubricant, and it was getting hard to think, hard to justify not grinding into her hand as she curled and twisted her fingers inside of you. God. You knew you’d been a wreck, lately, but you never would’ve thought that it gotten this bad.

The nails of Shoko’s free hand bit into your ankle, and too strung-out to stop yourself, you let out a whine by way of protest. She chuckled, and suddenly, you were empty, left bucking your hips into vacant air as she drew back. “Poor thing,” she muttered, her sympathy tinged with a sardonic sort of condescension. “I’ve got one last test. Think you can bear with me?”

“Ye—Yes,” you chirped. At that point, it was meaningless – you would’ve agreed to anything so long as she was the one suggesting it. You’d shut your eyes at some point, but you could still hear Shoko’s footsteps, feel her standing above you as she positioned herself at your side. One gloved hand cupped your cheek while the other pressed something blunt and thick against your cunt and, with no warning other than a mumbled reminder to ‘breathe, pretty girl, breathe’, thrust it inside of you.

Her reminder, sadly, proved useless. The air hitched in your lungs as a ribbed shaft filled your overeager pussy, the object curved in a way that made it feel like it was pressing into every fucking part of you at the exact same fucking time. Your hands shot to Shoko’s wrist, searching for something more forgiving than cold metal to ground yourself with. You tried to pull yourself together, and you might’ve been able to if two distinct, silicone-wrapped prongs hadn’t slotted against your clit or, even more damningly, if whatever tool Shoko was using hadn’t started to shake.

Saying you came embarrassingly quickly would’ve been an understatement. There was no pretense of dignity, this time; just grit teeth and twitching legs and one long, miserable sob. Shoko nursed you through it, rocking her vibrating tool inside of you gently until your climax had died into total limpness and the occasional, unsteady gasp. The tool was drawn back, but Shoko’s hand lingered, her thumb tracing patterns into your cheek. “Such a good girl,” she mumbled, and you melted into her touch. “Feeling a little tired?”

It was sickeningly guilt-inducing, just how nice she was being to you after you’d done nothing but humiliate yourself in front of her. “A little,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly. Shoko smiled back. You couldn’t remember when she’d taken off her mask.

“Close your eyes and catch your breath. I’ll finish up while you get a little rest.”

It was all you could do to nod before slumping into yourself, your body going slack despite your best attempts to hold yourself up. Her reassurance was nice, but unnecessary.

In less than a full second, you were out like a light.

~

In Shoko’s defense, she did actually take the time to check. After you passed out, as delicate as Satoru had always bragged you were, she tested the blood sample taken prior to your “exam”. It took a total of three minutes, and left her with good news and bad news to deliver when you woke up.

The good news was, predictably, that you’d been right. You were pregnant. About a month along, in fact. Congratulations, mazel tov, etc.

The bad news was, of course, that you were pregnant, and that Satoru had finally managed to knock you up. Thoughts and prayers, get well soon, etc.

 From her make-shift desk on the far side of the room, she spared a glance to where you were still sleeping on her autopsy table. You’d rolled onto your side since she last checked on you, your pleated shirt bunching at your waist as you used your arms as a rudimentary pillow. It’d be a lie to say she didn’t understand why Satoru had gone so crazy about you so quickly. What you were – an ordinary human with enough cursed energy to see, but not act – was rare, your continuous ability to gloss over the uglier parts of their world in favor of perpetual, delusional optimism even more so. It’d be impressive, if she didn’t know it was going to get you fucked over eventually.

You were cute. It’s surprised her when she first met you in-person, when she first realized that.

It’d surprised her a little less when she realized that you even cuter mumbling gibberish as you came around her fingers.

Her eyes fell back to the phone in her hand. Her messages with Satoru were already open, what she’d been deliberating on telling him already typed out. She sighed, checked the picture she’d taken of you sprawled out on her table, three of her fingers buried in your cunt, and hit send.

[1 attachment]

your girlfriend has something to tell you.

sending a bill for my time btw.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling that Satoru was typing a response, before disappearing just as quickly. He tried calling her a second later, and she muted her phone before tossing it half-heartedly in the nearest drawer and turning back to you. Judging by your durability (or lack thereof), she’d have a few more minutes before you woke up, and another half an hour before the aphrodisiac gel she’d used on you started to wear off. You’d likely want to rush home to Satoru, when you finally got your hard-earned results.

Again, Shoko sighed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

It’d just be a waste not to have a little fun while she could, right?