#anymore it's exhausting and like she's always been there for me waiting for MONTHS

[beasangel]

if you’re gonna sin

⤷ rick grimes x fem!reader

💭“But you’re not going to go, are you?” you said, voice soft now, velvet over glass. “No, you’re going to stay right here..... with me”

after rick finds out the truth about lori, he shows up at yours looking for what he can't have. you call him out... and then you ruin him.

rick masterlist main masterlist

warnings: smut, cheating, age gap (reader is around 21), reader is a little shit i love it, my man needs a break, no lori hate!!! she did nothing wrong and i stand by that

The tent flap rustled like a secret. Soft. Hesitant. Like even he wasn’t sure he should be here.

You didn’t look up at first. You’d felt him coming, the way you always did, like the air changed around him, grew heavier, warmer. He carried something with him, a storm that lived just beneath his skin, always threatening to spill out.

There was something about Rick Grimes that always made you quiet when he entered a room.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he’d been stitched together with duty and grit and a kind of pain most people couldn’t name. Maybe it was the way he looked at people, like he was measuring their soul, not just their words.

Or maybe it was the way you looked at him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the quiet.

Rick didn’t answer.

He stepped inside, boots heavy on the ground, and closed the flap zip shut behind him like a line being drawn in the sand.

You didn’t speak for a long while after that. Just watched him from the corner of your eye as he stood there, hat hanging from his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore. The lantern cast gold across his face, caught in the dark scruff on his jaw, the lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there even a month ago.

He looked exhausted. Like he’d aged five years since the sun went down.

“You saw her." you said quietly. Not a question. Just fact.

That got you a flicker of something. A muscle ticking in his jaw. His fingers twitching.

You sat up a little straighter, legs tucked beneath you, blanket pooling in your lap. “You asked about Shane.”

Still nothing.

“It’s his kid, isn’t it?”

That did it, a fracture.

Just a small one, but it cracked right through him. His shoulders tensed, lips parting like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t summon the lie.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said. But his voice didn’t sound convinced.

You leaned your head back against the tent and sighed. “You do. You just hate that I’m saying it out loud.”

He turned then, finally looked at you, and the heat in his gaze wasn’t gentle. It was wounded. Torn between wanting to be touched and wanting to burn the world down.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” he muttered. “Think you’ve got me all figured out.”

“I don’t,” you said, calm. “But I know what grief looks like. And I know what denial sounds like.”

Rick’s brow furrowed. “You think I came here to be judged by you?”

“No,” you said, voice low. “I think you came here because I’m the only person who doesn’t ask you to lie.”

That silenced him. Again.

And maybe that was what your connection had always been, not loud or dramatic or obvious. Just real.

You were younger, sure, but you weren’t naïve. You saw through him in ways that scared him. That tempted him. Like some siren in the woods, he kept telling himself not to follow but always ended up chasing anyway.

You just… watched. And waited. And when Rick was too tired to sleep, too tense to breathe, you were there. Not demanding anything. Just existing. And somehow, that made it worse.

Because you were young. Untouched by the life that had hardened everyone else. And every time you looked at him, it made something inside him ache.

You never said it, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

The way you lingered a second too long when you brushed past him. The way you’d lean in close when he was cleaning a weapon and ask him questions you already knew the answers to, just to hear him talk, just to feel the heat roll off his skin.

“You can fix this y’know, she’ll choose you.” You stood slowly, eyes never leaving him. “You’re not a man people just move on from.”

Something flickered behind his eyes.

You know that weren’t supposed to be important to him. Just another person in the group. Just another girl with a fast mouth and too much sarcasm.

You’d seen the way Lori looked at you, not like a threat, but like a warning sign. Something reckless wrapped in lip gloss.

But Rick… Rick looked at you like he was trying not to.

You noticed it before he did even realised what he was doing.

The way his eyes lingered when you leaned against a fencepost. The way his voice got quieter when he talked to you, as if it was dangerous to speak too loud.

And yeah, you wore short shorts when the sun baked down and tied your shirt too high when you went to wash up, but you weren’t doing it for him. Well, not at first.

It just became harder to pretend you didn’t know what you were doing.

And now here he was, sitting in your tent like he wasn’t quite sure what was about to happen.

He took a step closer.

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you didn’t move. Not away.

“But you’re not going to go, are you?” you said, voice soft now, velvet over glass. “No, you’re going to stay right here..... with me”

You stopped just in front of him, and the tent felt smaller, warmer. Like the space between you had started to hum.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at you, something breaking behind his eyes. You could see it now, the guilt, the craving, the tug-of-war between what he wanted and what he shouldn’t have.

“You think you’re temptation incarnate,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “And maybe you are. But that doesn’t make it right.”

You leaned in then, just enough for your breath to brush his cheek. “But it doesn’t make it wrong, either.”

“I ain’t stupid,” he said low, voice like gravel. “I know what you’re doing. God.” he said “I shouldn’t even be here.”

His eyes clenched shut as if he’s trying to burn the words into his brain.

“But you are,” you breathed, eyes never leaving his. “You always are.”

That landed like a punch.

He looked at you, really looked, and you saw it: the grief, the betrayal, the anger, the guilt. All of it, tangled up and fraying.

“Because I’m not her,” you whispered. “I won’t lie to you. I won’t make you feel small. I won’t punish you for needing something.”

“I don’t need you,” he growled, but it came out broken. Hollow.

You tilted your head. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

His breath hitched, and suddenly he was kissing you, his hands solid against your cheeks.

It wasn’t gentle, but it was slow, just as if he was testing the waters, pressing against your lips like a confession, a sin, a prayer.

You tried to kiss him back harder, mouth parting, hands threading into the collar of his shirt, but his hand knotted into your hair pulling you back, a hiss leaving your mouth.

“You think this is a game?” he murmured against your neck.

He kissed down your collarbone, slow and reverent now, like he was asking for forgiveness with every press of his mouth. His hands explored your waist, your ribs, slipping under the thin fabric like he wanted to memorize the way your skin felt.

You smiled, slow, a little wicked. “No, Rick. I think it’s the end of one.”

And then his mouth was on yours, all teeth and heat and desperation. Like he was trying to forget everything else. Like he was trying to remember how it felt to want something that wanted him back.

You felt his body lower over yours, pushing down, the bedroll rustling beneath you both, and your legs fell open instinctively, welcoming him between them. His hands slid beneath your shirt like he’d been dreaming of this moment but didn’t know if he was allowed to touch, and now that he could, he wasn’t going to stop.

You didn’t want him to.

You’d waited long enough.

You gasped against his lips, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “Fuck, Rick-”

He growled low in his throat, shoving you on your back, him right behind you, weight pinning you like he needed to own you.

“Think I haven’t wanted this?” he muttered against your jaw, dragging his mouth down your neck, biting just hard enough to make you whimper. “Every time you smart off. Every time you look at me like you know what I need.”

Your shirt was gone in seconds. So were your shorts, tossed to the floor, your panties with them.

He knelt back on his haunches to look at you, fully bare, flushed, panting. You watched his gaze drag over every inch of you, jaw clenched like he was trying not to break you in half.

“Touch me,” you breathed. “Or I swear I’ll scream loud enough to bring the whole damn farm runnin’.”

The smirk that touched his lips was wicked. “That so?”

He dropped his hand between your legs, and you cried out, hips jerking as his fingers slid through the slickness there, rough and unrelenting, the pad of his thumb grinding into your clit while two thick fingers curled inside you, slow and deep.

“Christ,” he muttered, watching the way your body arched. “You’re soaking.”

“Because I’ve been waiting for this, Rick,” you hissed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He leaned down, biting your bottom lip. “Oh god.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

Rick flipped you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up as he knelt behind you. You could feel his cock, thick and throbbing, nudging against your entrance. He didn’t tease, didn’t ease in slow.

He slammed into you.

You cried out, fingers digging into the blankets, back arching as he bottomed out inside you, big hands gripping your hips so tight it bordered on cruel.

“Say it,” he grunted, thrusting deep. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasped. “You, Rick.... fuck-!”

He thrust harder, punishing. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the tent. His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so your mouth opened in a moan, eyes rolling.

“Lori never let you own her like this did she,” you spat out against the mat. “Never begged. Never gave in.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he panted. “you slut.”

He growled, low and feral, as he fucked you harder, faster, each thrust brutal and perfect, hitting something deep and electric inside you that made your thighs tremble.

Then his hand reached under to wrap around your throat.

Not tight, just enough to make your pulse jump, to send fire racing to every nerve ending.

“You gonna let me come inside you, sweetheart,” he whispered darkly, though not stated as a question. “stuff you so full you feel me for days.”

Your body snapped.

You came hard, clenching around him, your whole body shaking as you cried out his name, your orgasm tearing through you like a live wire.

Rick cursed under his breath; voice strained. “Fuck, you feel so good-”

He slammed in deep one final time, holding you there as he spilled inside you, hot and thick and endless. His breath stuttered against your shoulder, his hand still around your throat like a brand.

You collapsed together, tangled, sweaty, wrecked.

His mouth found your shoulder, soft now, his body finally quiet.

“Told you,” You turned your head just enough to look at him, smirking through your breathless haze. “you needed it.”

At that he just lets out a low and quiet laugh of disbelief.

[loveridden1999]

i will sob omg

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

WAITING AIN’T EASY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: after 6 gruelling months of long distance with drew, y/n decides to surprise him on set. listen to ‘waiting ain’t easy’ — Evan Honer!!

based on this ask !! i really hope you enjoy my lovely :) amazing ask as always !! i made a little twist on it though, and added some angsty goodness to make it more emotional <3

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, fighting, crying, mentions of breaking up, long distance relationship, like one (?) curse word, brief mention of cheating rumours (made by the media) and i think that’s it? (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N stared out at the crashing waves outside her beachfront rental in Australia, the sun dipping low in a painted sky of reds and golds. Normally, she would've snapped a picture to send Drew, knowing how much he loved sunsets. But tonight, her phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter, vibrating occasionally with notifications she couldn't bring herself to check.

It had been nearly six months since she'd left for Australia to film her new movie, a dream opportunity that she'd accepted with boundless enthusiasm. Drew had been so supportive at first, kissing her forehead and promising her they'd figure it out. "Eight months will fly by," he'd said. "We'll make it work." And for a while, they had.

The first few months had been manageable—late-night FaceTime calls, text messages scattered throughout the day, photos exchanged to make each other smile. But as the weeks turned into months, the strain started to show. The time difference, their conflicting schedules, and the exhaustion from their respective work had turned their once-effortless connection into something fragmented and brittle.

And then there were the rumors.

The first article had popped up about a month ago, with pictures of Y/N and her co-star, Paul Mescal, leaving a restaurant. They'd been with a group of castmates, but the tabloids didn't care about context. The angle made it look intimate, as if the two of them had been alone. Headlines screamed: "New Flame on Set?" and "Trouble in Paradise for Drew Starkey and Y/N?"

Drew hadn't believed the rumors—not really. He knew how tabloids worked. But the seed of doubt had been planted. Their conversations became laced with tension. "Why didn't you tell me you were going out?" Drew had asked one night, his voice tight.

"I didn't think I had to give you a play-by-play of my day," she'd snapped, the exhaustion from a grueling shoot making her sharper than she intended.

"I'm not asking for a play-by-play, Y/N. I just want to know what's going on in your life. Is that too much to ask?"

The fight spiraled from there, unresolved, and left a bitter taste that lingered.

Tonight, their most recent argument had pushed them to a breaking point.

She answered the phone after his third call, her voice strained. "Hey."

"Hey," Drew replied, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the silence that followed.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier," she began, trying to preempt his frustration. "I got caught up on set, and—"

"Y/N, you always get caught up on set," Drew interrupted, his tone clipped. "I'm starting to feel like I'm not a priority anymore."

Her heart sank. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Because it feels like I'm the only one trying here."

"Trying?" she repeated, her voice rising. "Drew, do you know how hard this has been for me too? I miss you every single day, but I can't just drop everything to cater to your insecurities."

"Insecurities?" he echoed, incredulous. "You're calling me insecure because I want to spend more than five minutes talking to my girlfriend? Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm the last thing on your mind?"

"Don't do this," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Don't twist this into something it's not."

"Then tell me what it is, Y/N," he shot back. "Because right now, it feels like we're falling apart."

Her throat tightened. "Maybe we are," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Drew exhaled shakily on the other end of the line. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know what I believe anymore," she admitted, tears streaming down her face. "This... this isn't what I thought it would be. I didn't think it would hurt this much."

"You think I don't hurt too?" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "You think I don't lie awake every night wishing you were here? That I don't feel like I'm losing my mind wondering if this is worth it anymore?"

Her chest tightened painfully, but she couldn't find the words to soothe him. To soothe herself. The weight of their love—their pain—pressed down on her like a crushing wave.

"I can't do this right now," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Drew said bitterly, "of course you can't."

And then the line went dead.

Y/N stared at the screen, her hand trembling as the call ended. She wanted to call him back, to take it all back, but the words hung in the air between them, too heavy to ignore.

Halfway across the world in Charleston, Drew sat in his apartment, his phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the empty screen, the echo of their fight replaying in his mind. The silence in the room was deafening, the loneliness suffocating.

They were both alone, yet they'd never felt further apart.

—

Drew sat on set, legs stretched out as he leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. The day had been slow, and while he loved working on Outer Banks, his mind wasn't fully there. It hadn't been for weeks. The weight of his argument with Y/N lingered, the harsh words and silence that followed gnawing at him.

He sighed, locking his phone and tossing it onto the nearby table. The OBX cast was scattered around the set, some chatting, others grabbing snacks. Madelyn, Madison and Carlacia were huddled together near the craft services table, giggling about something. Their sudden burst of laughter caught Drew's attention.

"What's so funny?" he called out, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing!" Madison replied quickly, a little too quickly. She nudged Carlacia, who bit her lip to stifle another laugh.

Suspicious, Drew tilted his head but didn't press further. He wasn't in the mood for their antics today. As much as he loved his friends, all he really wanted was Y/N. Six months apart felt like an eternity, and knowing they still had two more months to go made the ache in his chest worse.

What he didn't know was that Y/N was only minutes away.

Y/N stepped off the plane, her heart pounding as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. She had managed to keep the wrap of her film a secret from Drew, wanting to surprise him in the best way possible. It hadn't been easy; she'd had to bite her tongue during their rare phone calls and carefully avoid social media posts that might tip him off.

Madelyn, Madison and Carlacia had been the first people she told about her plan, and they had been more than happy to help. When she landed, they were waiting for her, practically vibrating with excitement.

"You ready to blow his mind?" Madelyn asked, grinning as she pulled Y/N into a hug.

"I've never been more ready," Y/N said, her nerves and excitement warring within her.

Carlacia held up her phone, ready to document everything. "Okay, we've got this all planned. He's sitting in the main lounge area. You just walk in, and we'll follow behind you."

Y/N nodded, exhaling shakily. "Let's do this."

Back on set, Drew was oblivious. The girls had disappeared somewhere, but he didn't think much of it. They were always running off to do their own thing. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face as exhaustion crept in.

The sound of footsteps approaching barely registered until he heard a familiar voice, soft and hesitant.

"Hey, Starkey."

Drew's head whipped around so fast that his chair tipped backward, clattering to the floor. He stumbled to his feet, his heart racing as his eyes locked on her.

"Y/N?" His voice cracked, disbelief written all over his face.

Before she could say another word, Drew launched himself toward her, nearly tripping over his fallen chair in his haste. He reached her in seconds, his arms wrapping tightly around her as he lifted her off the ground.

"Y/N," he choked out, his voice breaking as he buried his face in her shoulder.

She clung to him just as tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Hi, baby," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Drew pulled back just enough to look at her, his face streaked with tears. "You're here? How are you here? I thought—"

"My shoot wrapped early," she interrupted, laughing through her tears. "I wanted to surprise you."

Drew didn't hesitate. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss so full of love and longing that it made Y/N's knees weak. Around them, the cast erupted in exaggerated groans and laughter.

"Get a room!" Rudy teased, shielding his eyes dramatically.

"Y'all are gonna make me cry," Carlacia joked, still filming the entire moment.

When Drew finally pulled away, his forehead rested against Y/N's, his tears falling freely now. "God, I missed you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I missed you so fucking much."

"I missed you too," Y/N said, her hands cupping his face as she brushed away his tears. "I'm so sorry, Drew. For everything. For the fight, for the silence. I hated it. I hated being apart from you."

"Me too," Drew admitted, his voice cracking again. "I was so scared, Y/N. Scared I was losing you."

"Never," she said firmly. "I was scared too, but I never stopped loving you. Not for a second."

Drew let out a shaky laugh, his arms tightening around her as if he were afraid she might disappear. "Waiting ain't easy," he said softly, his eyes searching hers, "but it's worth it for you. Always."

Y/N felt fresh tears well up as she kissed him again, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance she had into it. When they finally broke apart, the cast was clapping and cheering, much to Drew's embarrassment.

"Alright, alright, show's over," Drew said, his cheeks flushed as he waved them off. But he couldn't stop smiling, and his hand never left Y/N's.

Carlacia walked up, showing them the video she had taken. "You two are gonna want this later. It's a tearjerker."

Drew chuckled, pulling Y/N closer. "Thanks, Laci."

As the cast gave them some space, Drew turned to Y/N, his eyes still glistening. "You're really here," he said again, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"I'm here," she confirmed, her smile soft. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Drew's expression softened, his love for her radiating in his gaze. "Good. Because I don't ever want to do this without you again."

They spent the rest of the day glued to each other, catching up, apologising, and soaking in every second of finally being together again.

For the first time in six months, everything felt right.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such an adorable one to write :’) i love writing hurt/comfort, it’s just my absolute fave genre of ff !! i really hope you enjoy this @xoxosblogsblog <3

[linoxpudding]

Second Chances - Han Jisung

summary: when your husband fails to show up for your family, you bring up divorce — only then does he wake up

pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 1318 words

a/n: remember the twins in jisung's part of this fic? here's a little years later scenario where they have a younger brother now

-

The Kids: Twin Girls (Jisoo, Minsoo - 7 years old) and Son (Jihoon - 5 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted.

Physically, emotionally, mentally—every part of you was stretched thin, fraying at the edges. The weight of everything threatened to crush you, and tonight, it finally broke you.

One of your twin daughters, Minsoo, had her first-ever ballet recital at school today. The one she had spent months practicing for. The one where she had asked, with those wide, hopeful eyes, “Will Appa come this time?”

You had smiled, smoothed down her tutu, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Of course, baby. He promised.”

But promises didn’t mean much anymore. Not when they came from Han Jisung.

Because when the curtains lifted, and Minsoo stood on stage, her little eyes scanning the audience with anticipation, her smile slowly faltered. Her twirls lost confidence. And when she finally spotted you, sitting alone, her lips wobbled.

And your heart shattered.

Just like it had last month when Jisung missed Jisoo’s science fair. And the time before that, when he forgot about Jihoon’s first-award ceremony at school, where your youngest won an award for being 'most creative' in his class.

How many times were you supposed to make excuses for him? How many times were you supposed to be both parents while he drowned himself in work, in schedules, in music, in everything but the family he promised to cherish?

Not anymore. You reached your breaking point.

Jisung felt it the moment he stepped into the house.

Something was wrong.

The lights were dim, the air heavy. His bag slipped from his shoulder, and he rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted from a long day in the studio.

“Baby, I’m home,” he called out, toeing off his shoes. He glanced at the clock. 12:37 AM.

Late. Again.

The guilt gnawed at his chest, but he pushed it down. He had deadlines, commitments—he was doing all of this for you and the kids, wasn’t he?

Still, when you stepped out of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes void of warmth, his stomach twisted.

“We need to talk.”

He sighed. “Babe, can it wait? It’s been a long—”

“No.” Your voice was firm. “It can’t.”

Something in your tone made him look up. Really look. And for the first time in a long time, he saw something that terrified him.

You weren’t just mad. You were done.

“Baby—” he started

“Let's go to our bedroom,” you cut him off, “the kids are sleeping, i dont want to wake them up.”

He followed you quietly, and as soon as he shut the bedroom door behind him, you said it.

“I want a divorce.”

The words left your lips like venom. You had imagined saying them before, but you never thought you’d actually do it.

Jisung blinked. Like he didn’t hear you. Like his brain refused to process the words.

“W-What?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I want a divorce, Jisung.”

His bag hit the floor. His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, laughing weakly, like this was some cruel joke. “You’re just mad. We fight, we argue, but we always—”

“I’m tired, Jisung.” Your voice cracked. “I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of raising our kids alone. I’m tired of watching them get disappointed over and over again.”

His jaw tightened. “I provide for them—”

“I don’t care about money!” You snapped, voice breaking. “I care about our kids growing up with a father who actually shows up! You keep missing everything, Jisung! Do you even know how much it hurts them? How much does it hurt me?”

Jisung’s breath came out uneven. “I—”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes stinging. “You know what’s funny? If we get divorced, maybe then they’ll actually get to see you. Because at least then, you’ll be forced to make time.”

Jisung’s lips parted, but no words came out. He looked at you like you had just stabbed him.

Then, suddenly—

Thump.

He dropped to his knees. He felt the world tilted. His ears rang.

Jisung’s knees hit the floor before he even realized what was happening. His hands shot out, grasping at your legs, your hands, anything he could hold on to.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Please, don’t do this.”

You flinched, stepping back slightly, but he held onto your legs tightly.

“I know I messed up,” he choked out. “I know I’ve been the worst husband, the worst dad, but please—please don’t leave me.” His fingers curled around your waist, his grip desperate. “I’ll fix this. I’ll be better. Just… don’t give up on me.”

Your face crumpled, and you teared up and gently you pulled away from him.

“Jisung… it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” he pleaded, voice trembling. “It is to me. I’ll do anything. I’ll quit music—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “You love music, Jisung. I would never take that from you.” Your voice wavered. “I just need you to love us just as much.”

He let out a sob, his chest shaking. “I do.” His voice cracked. “I do, I do, I do. I love you. I love our kids. You’re my whole world, please don’t leave.”

Jisung, the man who once stood on sold-out stages with a mic in hand, now knelt before you, crying.

And it broke him.

The memories hit him all at once.

The way Jisoo had tugged at his sleeve last week, asking if he could just stay home for one day.

The way Jihoon had slowly stopped telling him about his day, because he knew Appa was busy.

The way Minsoo had once whispered to him, “Appa, do you love me?” Even though he reassured her, he knew this question shouldn't even have crossed her little mind in the first place.

His heart clenched so painfully he thought he might die from it.

You exhaled shakily. “Jisung, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His breath hitched. He looked broken.

His face was crumpled, his hands shaking, his entire body trembling as he knelt before you. And you hated it.

You hated that even after all this, after all the pain and loneliness, you still loved him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You let out a deep breath. “Jisung, I—”

“Then let me prove it,” he whispered. “Give me one last chance. Let me fight for you, for our family.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, you reluctantly said, “…one last chance.”

Jisung let out a broken sob, he quickly got up and pressed his forehead against yours, then cupped your face before whispering, “I won't let you down ever again.”

He then pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurt.

But deep down, a part of you wondered.

Would things really change?

Or were you just delaying the inevitable heartbreak?

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

The next few months felt… different. Not perfect, not magically healed overnight, but different.

Jisung started coming home earlier—first by an hour, then two. At first, the kids were hesitant, unsure if this was temporary, but slowly, their walls began to lower. Jihoon started showing him his drawings again. Jisoo asked him to help with her homework. Minsoo hesitated before ballet practice, glancing at him nervously.

“I’ll be there,” Jisung promised.

And this time, he was.

He still made mistakes—forgot to pack Jihoon’s lunch one morning, burned dinner when he tried to help. But instead of brushing it off or making excuses, he tried again. He listened more. He asked questions. He showed up.

And you?

You watched. You waited. You guarded your heart, afraid to believe in him again. But every night, when he reached for your hand—just a small touch, a silent reassurance—you found yourself hesitating less and less.

Maybe love wasn’t enough to fix everything. But effort? Effort could.

And for the first time in a long time, Jisung was finally trying.

[r3starttt]

KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT

PAIRING: Act 1. Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

SUMMARY: Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut. You're just one of her toys.

CW: Mean Cait. Slapping. Oral. Fingering. Spitting. Cum eating.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona

The body armor that once weighed on your chest now rested on the seat beside you. The vest's sturdy stood out against the soft fabric of the seat—a strange contrast, like the life you lived and the one you longed for.

The rest of your enforcer uniform clung to you, a reminder of duty yet unfinished.

That day, Caitlyn—ever the composed commander—had begun to offer quiet gratitude for your unwavering support.

You, along with Vi, had stood as her pillars, the only ones to truly understand her relentless pursuit—not for justice, but for an end to the cruel theater of war.

Your edge had always been the things left unsaid: the secret resolve you gleaned from stolen glances and murmured words between Caitlyn and the flame-haired recently announced as enforcer. A silent agreement lingered—Jinx had to fall, no matter the cost. Yet Caitlyn’s resolve was tempered by her steadfast refusal to risk innocent lives.

You’d stayed behind that day, waiting to close the chapter for her, to ensure the mission was marked as complete, and to witness her return to a world where the war was finally over.

But the war wasn’t over.

When Caitlyn returned, it was with a storm at her heels. Her uniform hit the floor with an uncharacteristic force, and the soft light of the room betrayed the scratches on her face and the glassy sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. Words felt unnecessary; they always had between the two of you.

Your place wasn’t to pry but to steady her.

As her anger and exhaustion hung heavy in the air, you reached for her. With practiced tenderness, you cleaned the cuts on her face, folded her discarded uniform, and whispered a quiet apology—not for yourself, but for the weight she carried.

Maybe it was in the way your gaze softened when it met hers, or the steadiness of your touch where others faltered, but in those moments, something shifted.

Now, months later, the quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, its red glow painting your skin in gentle warmth. You sat with your legs crossed, wrapped in a cocoon of tranquility, the stillness of the Kiramman house a sharp contrast to the chaos that had once consumed you both.

Yet there were nights—nights when the weight became too much—when Caitlyn would seek you out.

On those nights, she would find you, her command unspoken but clear. Her bed became your world, the green sheets wrapping around you like ivy as her lips left marks on your skin—marks meant for no one else. Her hands traced the edges of your being with a reverence that bordered on desperate. Only her name left your lips, whispered like a prayer.

She never asked you to stay outright, but you had made yourself at home in her world, entwined in her life. You followed her, among the enforcers who now joked that you were just another one of her loyal dogs.

Caitlyn never denied it, not anymore. But it was in the quiet hours, when the rest of the world faded away, that she sought you—she didn’t need to speak her desires aloud; they were etched in every glance, every movement.

And you stayed because you knew you were needed, because she had carved a place for you in her life without words.

But distance crept in, inevitable and suffocating. It didn’t take long for the whispers to prove true—there was no room in her world for many. Caitlyn had always been honest in her way, thanking you with a sincerity that almost hurt, reminding you that your unwavering devotion, your strength, your unyielding support, was a rare gift she’d craved all her life. She wanted someone who didn’t just desire her but believed in her, who stood firm at her side without faltering. And yet, as much as she needed you, she resented it.

Caitlyn couldn’t control you, not as easily as she wanted. It frustrated her. She loved the way your hands felt against her skin, the way your fingers brushed her cheek as she confided in you, the sound of your voice filling the lonely silence of her room. But she didn’t love you—not fully, not in the way you hoped. You were a balm to her restlessness, a constant she could lean on when the world pushed too hard, but never enough to tether her.

You’d learned how to navigate her moods, how to bend without breaking. Like now, slipping into her office before she arrived, knowing she’d storm in after another grueling encounter with Ambessa—a woman who saw her as nothing more than a pawn to mold and exploit.

You knew how to disarm her. Hands resting on her shoulders, soft words murmured close enough to be mistaken for affection. Kisses trailing down the curve of her neck, slow and deliberate, as you whispered what she wanted to hear. It worked every time. Your hands found their way to her uniform, fingers deftly untying it, sliding beneath to stroke her skin. A touch on her stomach, a gentle caress, until she let her head fall back against your shoulder, surrendering once again.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe this could be something real—something more than the empty transactions of power and need. But Caitlyn tore that hope from you as swiftly as it bloomed. Her hand shot out, closing around your wrist like a shackle, firm and unyielding.

“Enough,” she said, her voice a blade cutting through the fragile warmth you’d dared to nurture. The command carried no affection, only the sharp edge of authority. She stepped back, retreating out of your reach, leaving you hollow. Stunned, you stayed frozen as her words shaped the air between you into walls you couldn’t scale.

She had trained you well, hadn’t she? To obey without question, to absorb the sharpness of her words without flinching.

You’d mastered it: nodding, listening, falling in line. But this time, you couldn’t help the silent plea that escaped your gaze as you looked at her, your heart hanging on the edge of one unspoken question: Why?

Her posture stiffened, her body a fortress against you, and though her face betrayed no anger, what you saw there was worse—something colder, crueler. Her boots struck the floor in a rhythm that mocked the silence between you, an unyielding percussion that quickened the ache in your chest.

“Do you really think I don’t- see through you?” she hissed, her voice low but serrated, each word an incision that bled you dry.

You opened your mouth, desperate to explain, to justify, to reach her. “I thought you wanted me to help—”

She didn’t let you finish. With an almost lazy disdain, she perched on the armrest of the chair you’d just been resting in, claiming the space as her own, as if to erase your presence from it entirely. “Is that what you think this is? Help?” Her eyes locked onto yours, her gaze unrelenting and merciless. “You think you’re different, but you’re not.”

The words landed like a physical blow, robbing you of air. Your chest tightened, but no anger rose to meet her cruelty—only the dull, familiar ache of resignation.

"Caitlyn,” you whispered, but Caitlyn was quick to silence you with a hand raised in command.

“Stop,” she said, her voice softening, but only to the point of condescension. “You don’t get to make this about you. You knew what this was. What this is.”

You wanted to fight, to push back, but the weight of her words was suffocating, a reminder of your place beneath her. “You’re useful,” she continued, her tone almost clinical now. “But don’t mistake that for being necessary.”

Her cruelty was a scalpel, carving away any illusions you’d held onto. And still, you couldn’t muster defiance. Your head bowed, your gaze falling to the floor as her power washed over you, cold and relentless. You should have walked away. You should have demanded more. But instead, you let her words seep into your bones, leaving you hollow and malleable.

“I should’ve been focusing on the job,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, undoing her bun with a frustrated tug. “You were just a distraction.”

The admission sliced through you, but instead of anger, you felt a strange, masochistic sense of purpose ignite. She was pushing you away, yes—but even in her rejection, she gave you a role to play, a way to exist in her world. And you were too far gone to reject it.

“If that’s all I am,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice trembling but resolute, “then let me be it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in her eyes—something human. Regret? Guilt? But it was gone too quickly to grasp.

She reached for you, her hand pulling you close with the same commanding force that had always bound you to her. Grasping at your hair with painful force, one you ached for.

Her touch burned, not with warmth but with possession, and you let yourself fall into her. You would let her define you, break you, shape you, because belonging to her—even like this—was the only place you felt whole.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as her breath brushed your ear. “You’re exactly what you let yourself be,” she said, her tone both damning and tender, sealing your fate. "But you need this, don’t you?”

Her lips brushed against yours—soft, fleeting, a cruel promise of something more—you realized you would always let her pull you back in. Even if it destroyed you.

"Get on your knees." It was your last chance, one you weren't doubting on using even if it meant getting kicked out the second she was satisfied.

The floor coldness- It's stiffness and fancy pattern, digging into your skin. You looked up at her just to meet her eyes, entirely locked on yours.

Something about the way she felt beneath your hands, even with her uniform still on- half of it, at least. You wanted to prove your worth.

You'd stay here for hours If that's what she needed, if that's what she wanted.

Her hands came to cup at your cheeks, holding your head in place. The tip of your fingers fidgeted with her belt, forcing it open before you slid her uniform pants down, taking her underwear too with a desperate whimper.

"What're you staring at?" Her hand comes closer to your chin again, leaning her pelvis towards you. Yet your absence of words maddened her.

Beneath her eyes- you, on your knees for her. With those shiny orbs and long lashes, the drool on your lips- yet, unable to do anything. "Cait..." You were just as pathetic as any other woman she's ever dragged into her room.

Her hand pressed agasint your cheek, smacking at it. "Address me with respect." The couple of muffled moans- whines, were quickly shushed by her. “And keep your mouth shut, understand?,” tears threatened to fall from your eyes before you pressed a gentle kiss over her clit.

Her head tilted back Inmediatelly, holding yours in place.

You sticked out your tongue, lapping at her folds while your nose brushed her clit.

Caitlyn could be mean, she couldn't care less about you, she could hurt you and manipulate you, but even so she was as pathetic as you were for her. Wet just by the mere thought of having you at her mercy, opening her legs for you to sink in between her thighs and slurp with obscenety at her pussy.

"Good girl" her tone comes quiet but firm, mockingly even. Shes got her lips slightly parted, her teeth peeking enough for you to catch a glimpse of how they sink on the flesh of her bottom lip.

She's still mad at you and it shows with how much she's digging her nails into your scalp. How tight she's got you between her legs.

You begin bobbing your head on your own. Her clutch on your hair firmly enough to lead you, as she always does. Your fingers tease on her hole, making small circles around her arousal while your tongue threatens to fill her inside.

You feel your lips growing wetter, a mix of the drool that will soon run down your chin and her juices. Her skin tender with each caress, each kiss on her clit or between her wet folds, her hole clenching at the emptiness, aching for your fingers to ease the ache. But you don't do anything until the burning of her nails digging on your wrist catch you off guard.

Only there your eyes open again, your saliva connecting your lips to her clit as you pull back enough to look up at her. "Do it right or leave."

Her fingers pulled your hair, forcing your head back. The furrow on her eyebrows gently faded into a mocking laugh at your aroused face, and eventually curved eyebrows. "What are you waiting for? mhm?"

Her hips adjusted forward, legs wide open for you to see and touch yet not savor any soon.

You thrusted your fingers with ease, growing wet at the obscene sound that came with it, at how her smile grew just enough to give you the satisfaction- you got the job done as she wanted.

The back of your head burned at the strength with which she held you in place. Forcing you to stare up at her, admire her blue strands of hair cascading on each side of her face, drool at the sight of her nipples beneath her messy blouse. You needed to touch, to put her breasts on your mouth and kiss each piece of skin you could, savour her whole and leave marks on her skin even if it meant her words hurting you lately.

"Please?" the whispers tone was ignored by her selfish pleasure. Only looking back at you with curved eyebrows and her pretty lips opened, whining at how good your fingers felt inside her. Caitlyn was practically riding on them at this point, only giving you the pleasure of looking at her like this, a desperate mess.

It wast only when you felt her tightening around your fingers. Only when your wrist got wet enough- her grasp on your hair forced you close to her pussy again. "Clean it." her breathless command was obeyed in a matter of seconds, with your tongue all over her wet, slurping and kissing and lapping and savoring everything of her while your fingers thrusts slowed down.

Caitlyn loved your devotion, loved seeing your face covered in her wet, your fingers swallowed by her, how you opened your mouth for her to spit on your tongue and how you swallowed it all. She adored the gagging when her fingers dove too deep into your mouth, loved that drool that connected your tongue to her lips or your tongue to her pussy whenever you got to eager.

But you could never be enough for her.

And so, after all these months of helping her, working for her, making her cum and being her toy. You realized you've fallen for it just like everyone else.

Next time she got stressed and her body was aching with all the tension gathered in the last week, it wasn't you on her office but Officer Nolan, sitting on the same desk she'd got you leg wide open for the first time.

[bweeeb]

PUPPY EYES

Synopsis: When Pedro doesn't take you to the awards ceremony for his new movie, your relationship starts to go downhill with the thought that maybe you're too young to give him everything he needs.

Warnings: nothing major, angst, couple with problems, Pedro and you are 26 years apart.

Career, projects, new movies, memories, and that topic that always left you unsure—was it negative or positive anticipation when people brought up relationships?

It wasn’t news to anyone that five months ago, when you and Pedro made it official that you’d been secretly seeing each other for a year, people started digging into every little detail. And a few months ago, the age difference between you two didn’t bother anyone in your social circle. Both of you were adults who knew exactly what you were doing with your lives.

Even your parents, who had initially been surprised by the man 26 years older than you, eventually came to accept your choice. So it shouldn’t bother you or anyone else anymore.

"So, I don’t think you’ve ever openly talked about your relationship with Pedro Pascal after making it official. Is it okay if we discuss it?"

The podcast host smiled at you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh, shrugging.

"Why not?"

"How did you two meet?"

"We worked on the same movie, so we were constantly together on set. One thing led to another."

"And you never thought, like, ‘Wow, he’s way too old for me,’ since there’s a significant age gap?"

"Twenty-six years, isn’t it?" Another host interrupted.

"Didn’t he say in an interview that he wouldn’t date anyone with more than a 20-year age difference? Doesn’t that make you curious about what changed?"

"Well, when we met, I didn’t think much about it, and I don’t think he did either. Yes, he mentioned that he wouldn’t date someone with a 20-year age gap. But I’ve always had a thing for DILFs, and he’s definitely one. One thing led to another, without either of us realizing it."

Your cheeks flushed as you spoke honestly, your eyes briefly catching your publicist’s approving thumbs-up from behind the glass.

"I think it’s much more about connection than anything tangible, you know? Our age difference is almost unnoticeable in our day-to-day life now."

"Pedro is, what, around 50 years old? Let’s not pretend it’s entirely unnoticeable." One of them chuckled, and you narrowed your eyes, frustrated at how your words were twisted.

"You’re young, clearly with the body of a 23-year-old, while he’s middle-aged. I think people are just curious about what made you stay." The other one chimed in, leaning toward the mic. You smiled politely, glancing between the camera and the hosts.

"Maybe the real question is what makes him stay. He had a firm opinion, and suddenly, it changed. Pedro has the purest and most beautiful soul in the world. He laughs at his own dad jokes, he shows me things I’d never imagined because he’s from 1975, and he’s a man with a capital M who treats me like the last rose petal in the universe. So, honestly, if he ever agrees to do an interview with you, maybe you should ask him what makes him stay.

"After the podcast aired, what you thought would be a calm discussion turned into a social media battleground. People twisted your words and intentions.

"A man taking care of a child—what nonsense."

"Really, ask him why he stays because she’s unbearable."

"Did she call his jokes ‘dad jokes’? Who does that to their boyfriend? RUN, PEDRO!"

"She’s just after his money."

"The most boring woman in the world is with the hottest man alive. How does that even happen?"

"She has nothing to offer him. Relax, ladies, it won’t last three more months."

"Dakota Johnson seemed interested in him; I wouldn’t be surprised if he ditches this corn husk for her."

"If I knew he was into younger women, I’d have listed a hundred better options than Y/N."

"Wait, guys—he didn’t even take her to the Gladiator premiere. How serious do you think this is?"

It was exhausting. Even though you avoided reading the comments, they popped up everywhere, and all the therapy you’d done to maintain a stable mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. But Pedro couldn’t know, so you plastered on a sweet smile whenever you saw him, even as doubts began to creep in.

Maybe you really were the worst option for him. Maybe someone older, with similar experiences, would be better. Someone more mature, less bubbly and silly.Sitting in the car, you stared blankly out the window as Pedro talked about the Gladiator premiere—the one you hadn’t attended because you weren’t invited.

"Hey, are you okay?" It wasn’t that you weren’t listening. You just didn’t have much to say, so you let him keep talking.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Go on."

Your smile didn’t falter, and you silently thanked yourself for being a good actress.

"No, you’re not fine. What’s wrong?"

"Of course I am. It must’ve been surreal, babe. Even Dakota Johnson was there, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s wrong with you?" His eyes left the road momentarily to glance at you. You shook your head.

"Nothing. You’re just imagining things." You leaned over, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed a kiss to his lips before pulling away.

"Eyes on the road, old man."

"Okay, but I thought I was your daddy."

He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as if offended. You loved that about him—the way he was so expressive and dramatic, some might call it embarrassing, but you found it endlessly entertaining.

"You know when you’re my daddy," you said with a mischievous smile, swallowing the rising bitterness in your throat. That night was the last time you slept at his place. Over the following days, you insisted on being dropped off at home, and Pedro didn’t argue. He simply observed your strange behavior.

At first, he thought you might be pregnant and unsure about what to do. But then he remembered you weren’t the type to hide something like that. He considered that maybe you were overwhelmed with your new projects, but you usually loved talking about them. And then, his thoughts landed on your relationship. Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t pinpoint anything.

Five days later, the two of you were at a dinner with friends. Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

"Hey, Y/N, why didn’t I see you at the premiere? I thought I’d catch a glimpse of you in a glorious dress," Lux, Pedro’s sister, asked.

Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced with nervous discomfort. Were you supposed to admit you hadn’t been invited? No. Your mom had taught you better than that.

"I…" A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t dare look at Pedro beside you, though you could feel his guilty puppy-dog eyes on you. You wouldn’t give in.

"I had some things tied up with the script for the movie. It was a hectic week."

In reality, the script had been finalized, and even if the writer had faced complications, you’d have found time to support your boyfriend and contribute new ideas to the director.

"Ah, really? What a shame. I hope everything’s okay now," Lux said.

"Oh, it’s all sorted," you replied, forcing a smile.Your smile faltered briefly when Pedro’s hand tried to find yours under the table. Clearing your throat, you stood up, announcing that you needed to use the restroom.When you returned, Pedro was chatting with one of his friends, and you were grateful he was too preoccupied to bring up the earlier conversation.

"Wow, did you do something with your hair? It looks blonder, or is it just me?" Hazel, one of Pedro’s friends’ girlfriends, asked politely.

"Yeah, I did. Amelia’s amazing," you replied.

"Oh my gosh, give me her number, please. I need something this stunning."

"Of course, I’ll even book you an appointment if you want."

"It’s impressive how an older man managed to snag someone as beautiful and sweet as you," Lux teased. Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, but everything felt different that night. You chuckled falsely, smiling as you’d been doing all week.

"Oh, come on, stop that," Pedro said, sounding uneasy. He could sense your odd mood.Of course, you were acting strange.

Everything had been strange lately.

Later, in the car, your gaze rested on your hands in your lap while you felt Pedro’s eyes boring into the side of your face.

"Honey—"

"If we could not talk about this now, I’d be much happier. Can you just take me home?"

"You know I want to—"

"Pedro."You turned to him, tired of pretending. Your voice was tense, and he immediately understood how serious it was. You never called him by his name. "Stop." Your tone wasn’t angry or annoyed, just lifeless. That terrified him. Women didn’t usually scare him. At nearly 50 years old, he thought he’d learned to handle these situations.

"I’m sorry, okay."

His gaze returned to the road, while you looked out the window, waiting to get home.

As you were arriving, you realized he wasn't taking you to your house but to his instead. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh and covered your face with both hands.

"What are you doing?" The words came out muffled as you felt him slow down.

"Going home."

"This is the way to your house."

"My house is your house, darling."

"You know what I mean," you whispered, exhausted.

"I thought you didn’t want to go. That it would be too much pressure for you, that... that you wouldn’t want people talking."

You heard him lament, and biting your lip, you sniffled. You tried hard not to act childish in the situation, looking up and taking a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let the tears fall.

"I know," was all you managed to reply before your voice broke.

"I... I just need to think for a bit."

"Think... right. Think about what?"

"Can you please take me home?" Pedro nodded at that and drove to your building. For the first time, he felt a strange haze between the two of you.

"Thank you." Even in the awkwardness, there you were, sweet as ever. Pedro could never deny how much he appreciated that about you—the way you always thanked everyone for everything. You were so pure. "Anytime." You opened the car door and stepped out, but before you entered the building, Pedro got out and called after you.

"I'm sorry. And I love you." That’s what he said before you turned to look at him with sad eyes—the same expression you wore when you thought he had forgotten to pick you up for a date, only to find out he was planning a surprise trip to Chile.That night, Pedro went home with his tail between his legs. When Lux called him in the morning, he couldn’t have felt worse.

"You look like one of the infected from The Last of Us. Gross."Lux teased as Pedro rubbed his face with his left hand."What do you want?"

"Wow. Rude."

"Sorry, I didn’t sleep. Just tell me why you’re calling me at six in the morning."

"I was thinking about how you said Y/N was acting strange, and I agree. Last night, she was quieter than usual. Pero luego empecé a preguntarme: ¿la invitaste al estreno? Porque se puso muy rara después de que lo mencioné y estaba revisando los comentarios..." ( But then I started wondering—did you invite her to the premiere? Because she got all weird after I brought it up, and I was checking the comments...)

"Ya te dije que no revises los comentarios. La gente está loca". (I already told you not to check the comments. People are insane.)

Pedro rolled his eyes, sighed, and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. You and Pedro had talked about ignoring online negativity countless times. Neither of you usually cared about it. You weren’t starting now, were you?

"Lo sé, lo sé, pero se están portando fatal con ella. Y al no invitarla, la gente pensó que la estaban dejando de lado". ( I know, I know, but they’re being awful to her. And not inviting her made people think you were sidelining her.)

Lux sounded worried, almost angry.

"Eso es ridículo. Yo nunca haría algo así. Ella lo sabe. "(That’s ridiculous. I’d never do that—she knows that.)

"La compararon con Dakota Johnson. No es justo, son completamente diferentes. Dijeron que te cansarías de la 'niña'. Sabemos que es más madura que la mayoría de las mujeres, pero aún es joven". ( They compared her to Dakota Johnson. It’s not even fair—they’re completely different. They said you’ll get tired of the ‘kid.’ We know she’s more mature than most women, but she’s still young. )

Pedro propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. You had never acted immaturely. You never made rash decisions or threw tantrums over small things. You never picked fights or complained about work or friends. People didn’t know anything about your relationship��how could they?

"¿Crees que está preocupada? "(Do you think she’s worried)

"La mujer está intentando mantener la compostura y alejarse antes de que la abandones, como todos han estado diciendo". (The woman’s trying to hold herself together and pulling away before you ditch her like everyone’s been saying.)

Lux sighed and continued,

"Deberías haber escuchado cómo habló de ti en ese podcast. Nadie más sería así, no como ella. Haz algo. ( You should’ve heard how she talked about you on that podcast. No one else would be like that—not like her. Do something. )

Fuck. Pedro thought. He’d be stuck working all day, knowing you were likely asleep now. As the day went on, you ignored his missed calls. Not as an act of immaturity but because you needed personal space. You planned to talk to him eventually, but your phone felt like a weight you couldn’t bear. Instead, you threw yourself into work, ensuring every detail was perfect.Later, your group decided to go out for dinner, and you joined to keep your mind occupied. You loved them all but remained mostly a listener. Exhausted from a sleepless night, you struggled to follow the conversation, though you smiled at their stories.After dinner, you excused yourself to the restroom. As you washed your hands, you overheard two women talking in mocking tones.

"Do you think it’s a PR stunt?"

You frowned, listening as the other responded,

"It must be. I mean, it’s all over the news, and she’s playing the sad little girl role."

"Yeah, right? He used to call someone 25 a kid, and now he’s with a 23-year-old? Ridiculous."

"Did you see the photo of him with Dakota at the bar?"

"What? When?"

"Today, about an hour ago. She was kissing his cheek, and even if it’s for the movie, I doubt it. They weren’t even working."

"Think he’ll trade her in?"

"She won’t last ten days."

You grabbed your phone and opened Twitter. The first thing you saw was the photo of him and Dakota. He had that drunken smile on his face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. You weren’t the jealous type, fully aware of how PR worked in Hollywood, but it still stung.You washed your hands, turned to face them, and said,

"At least I’m more than a nameless extra without a single line. The only roles your venomous tongues will land you are in adult films, and not the Pearl kind—cheap, disgusting ones. Have a good night.

"With that, you left, hailed a cab, and went home. Fighting back tears, you repeated to yourself, Don’t cry. It’s just a picture. You ignored him all day, so stop acting like this.But for the first time, you cried over something like this.

Your head ached, and with the tip of your nose red, you picked up the phone and called him—without thinking too much, without wrestling with your thoughts. You just did what you felt needed to be done.The first call went straight to voicemail, and even though the thought of not wanting to humiliate yourself for him crossed your mind, you ignored it, knowing you were the one who had lost ground first. On the second call, your phone was answered, and the muffled sound made you swallow hard—he was out of the house.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out low, and you heard some murmurs on the other side, blending with loud conversation.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice called from the other side, and you grimaced. “Uh, hi. Is Pedro there?”

“Uh, he’s kind of busy right now,” she said.

“Busy…” you repeated softly. “Who are you?”

“Carly.”

Carly? Who the hell is Carly? you thought immediately.

“Then tell him I called, Carly.”

“And you are…?” The mocking tone in her voice irritated you, and your expression was far from pleasant.

“A friend. Tell him a friend called.”

“Great.” She hung up without saying anything else, and you wrapped yourself in your own cocoon of blankets that didn’t warm you like Pedro did.Suits was playing on TV while you avoided going to bed, eventually falling asleep without even realizing it. Around 3 a.m., frantic knocks on your door startled you awake, making you look warily down the hallway. The doormen usually informed you of anyone coming to your floor.

Cautiously, you peeked through the peephole and saw him there, rubbing his face with his two hands, five times bigger than yours. You stopped, stepped back from the door, and sighed before opening it. Once you unlocked the door’s security latch, you looked at him and almost closed it again upon seeing your reflection, still wearing his shirt.

“It’s late. What are you doing here?” Your voice came out softly, and you saw Pedro stammer as he raised his hand in a nervous tic.

“A friend?”

“What?”

“Why did you say you were just a friend, sweetheart?” Pedro asked, stepping forward. You didn’t step back, only shrugged and gave a disheartened smile

.“She said you were busy. I thought it would be more… convenient than saying something else.”

“You’re something else. You’re my girlfriend. And my fiancée. And my wife. And I don’t care if you want to be the mother of my kids when I’m a hundred years old.”

He’s so drunk, you thought.

“How much tequila did you drink, Pedro?”

“The whole bottle.” He laughed, moving closer and gently touching your face. He’d always been gentle; being drunk didn’t change that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re breaking up with me.”

“I won’t say anything to you while you reek of cheap booze and cheap women.” You closed the door behind him and stepped away, heading to the hallway and your closet to grab a towel and clean clothes for him.

“Take a shower. If you sober up, we’ll talk.”

Pedro knew what you were thinking—that he’d gotten mad, drunk with his friends, and gone out with women named Carly. But he hadn’t done anything other than stare at the karaoke machine, hating every second he wasn’t there to mock what he was hearing.

“Everything’s cheap,” he laughed, following you.

“You know what isn’t cheap, Pedro? My patience. I haven’t slept well in over a week, and now it’s almost four in the morning, which means it’s been twenty minutes since you showed up at my door, and I don’t know why the hell you’re not naked yet.”

Your words left your mouth, and Pedro smiled at you.

“One day without you, and I forget how hot you are when you’re bossy and sleepy,” he slurred, making you laugh softly as you turned on the shower and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Don’t fall in there, please.”

Fifteen minutes after you pushed him inside, your eyes were heavy, and the strange way your body associated his presence with a different kind of rest annoyed you. Without realizing it, you fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in your blanket. It was as if your body said":

— Oh, it’s okay; Pedro’s home, so we’re safe,— but was your heart safe?When he saw you asleep there, the tequila had only left him dizzy—nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix. He approached and carried you to your room without thinking twice, whispering as he looked at your face:

“I’m so sorry, my preatty little thing.”

He laid you on the bed, and as he was about to leave, he heard you murmur:

“Stay. Please.”

Without hesitation, he lay beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both in a cocoon where it was just the two of you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you?” you murmured, burying your head in his neck and feeling his hands trail up your back.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I’m not the right person for you, sweetheart?” he emphasized, and you sighed.

“I’m scared of losing you when you realize I’m too young, too naïve, and haven’t even experienced half of what you have.”

“I don’t even know why you’re thinking that. I’m the one who’s old. You’re perfect, intelligent, hot, and extremely talented—a young woman who fell into the arms of an old man like me.”

“Yeah, but I think maybe one day you’ll want someone your own age, someone like Sarah or any of your exes. I think it’s okay if you get bored of me, start feeling ashamed, and—”

“Stop. Stop that.” Pedro cupped your face, pulling it from his neck and making you look into his eyes. Your hands rested on his chest as you stared at him, and with a disheartened smile, Pedro caressed your face, clearly upset. When had your relationship reached such a fragile state?

“I didn’t take you to the premiere because the press is cruel. They’d talk about you, probably reinforce the rumors, and talk about me—call me a disgusting creep. I was going to take you, but all of our advisors told me not to risk exposing you in a bad light. I… I would never feel ashamed of you, for God’s sake. Look at you. A woman of any age wouldn’t hold a candle to you in a million years.”

Sniffling, you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Pedro sat on the bed, hugging you back, his hand resting gently on your waist.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever was written about you was a lie. God, I don’t think I even know how to live without you by my side anymore.”

You laughed, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You don’t need to worry either. Other men lost their appeal the moment you wanted me.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

His hand traveled to the back of your neck, his large fingers running through your hair.

“And who was Carly?”

“A friend of the group.”

" And why did she have your cell phone?"

" It stayed on the table because I focused on looking at it for five to five minutes waiting for you to send me a message. "

“And the photo?”

He knew what you were referring to, and when he took it, he hadn’t expected it to reach you before you two made up—if you made up.

“It was to promote the movie, sweetheart. Dakota’s engaged.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Hmm, alright.” You looked at him, tracing your fingers from his hair to his beard until they stopped at his mustache.

“Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. It makes you irresistible.”

“Like this?”

He did it again, and you laughed, kissing his lips immediately after.

“Mm-hmm, like that.”

You murmured against his lips as he smiled at you, and you whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you more, sweetheart. Just you.”

Pedro pulled you close, laying you back against the soft mattress, kissing you as if it were the last moment of your lives. At least, that’s what both of you hoped.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

I apologize if there are any mistakes in this writing. I didn't proofread it with the best eyes.

Requests are open

[pixiexdusts-world]

Lifting more than weights

Joaquin Torres x gym buddy!reader

Summary: Joaquin realizes he’s falling for his gym buddy, but before he can confess, she beats him to it—teasing him for taking so long to catch up.

Word count: 1303

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Joaquin Torres had always loved the gym. It was his way of unwinding, staying sharp, and keeping up with the demands of his job. But lately, working out had become a lot more distracting.

And the reason? You.

You had been his gym buddy for months now, ever since you called him out for hogging the pull-up bar one day. What started as friendly competition quickly turned into a routine—early morning workouts, spotting each other, and plenty of playful teasing.

But somewhere along the way, Joaquin realized he wasn’t just looking forward to the workouts. He was looking forward to you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Torres, quit staring at yourself and spot me.”

Joaquin snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he had been staring—but not at himself. You were already lying on the bench, gripping the barbell above you, waiting for him to focus.

He cleared his throat and moved into position. “I wasn’t staring at myself.”

You smirked up at him. “Oh? Were you checking me out, then?”

Joaquin scoffed, hoping you didn’t notice the way his ears turned red. “You wish.”

With a laugh, you started your reps, and Joaquin kept his hands ready just in case. He was usually good at keeping his focus during workouts, but with you? That was getting harder by the day.

He wasn’t sure when it had changed. Maybe it was the way you always challenged him, never letting him slack off. Or maybe it was how good you looked in gym gear—not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

Either way, Joaquin had a problem. A big one.

He liked you. And he had no idea what to do about it.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

After finishing your set, you hopped up, stretching your arms. “Alright, time for the real workout—who can do more pull-ups?”

Joaquin groaned. “Why do we always do this?”

“Because you hate losing to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate it.”

“Oh? Then you admit I’m better?”

“Absolutely not.”

You grinned. “Then get up there, Torres.”

Shaking his head, Joaquin grabbed the pull-up bar, knocking out a set with ease. When he dropped down, he shot you a smirk. “Beat that.”

You cracked your knuckles. “Gladly.”

Joaquin stepped back, watching as you pulled yourself up effortlessly, your arms flexing, your form perfect.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Half an hour later, you were both sitting on the gym floor, sweaty and exhausted.

“Admit it,” you panted, grinning. “I won.”

Joaquin leaned back on his elbows, looking at you. “Fine. You’re a beast.”

You smirked. “Damn right.”

There was a pause, the usual playful energy between you shifting into something quieter. You turned your head to look at him, your expression softer now. “You okay?”

Joaquin hesitated. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know, right?”

You nudged his arm. “What’s up?”

Joaquin exhaled, his heart pounding for a different reason now. He had spent weeks ignoring this feeling, but sitting here, looking at you, he realized something.

He didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

So, before he could overthink it, he said, “I like you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Like… like-like?”

Joaquin chuckled. “Yeah. Like-like.”

You stared at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across your lips. “Took you long enough.”

Joaquin’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You knew?”

“I had a feeling,” you teased. “Just waiting for you to catch up.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re the worst.”

You nudged him again. “But you like me.”

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

You grinned. “Good. Because I like you too.”

Joaquin’s heart soared, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Guess that means I finally won something today.”

You laughed. “Oh, don’t get cocky, Torres.”

But when he leaned in, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to your cheek, you didn’t pull away.

Maybe he really had won after all.

[caitified]

more of paige bueckers family series pleaaaase i beg u 🥺😭

FIRST MONTHS

PAIGE BUECKERS X FAMILY

warnings:none. sorry for the wait, this is my most requested series so more to come.

the first few months with your daughter weren’t what you’d call smooth. you and paige knew having a baby would turn your world upside down, but knowing it and living it were two entirely different things. your once semi-organized life had turned into a constant balancing act of feedings, diaper changes, and figuring out how to make it through the day on three hours of sleep.

but somehow, amidst the chaos, you found a rhythm. it wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t always pretty, but it was yours.

at first, neither of you knew what you were doing. the first night home from the hospital, you and paige had stared at each other in panic when the baby started crying at two in the morning.

“what does she want?” paige whispered, holding the baby awkwardly in her arms like she might break.

“i don’t know. food? a diaper change? emotional support?” you whispered back, equally clueless.

“great. so, all of the above,” paige muttered, already heading toward the changing table.

over the next few weeks, the two of you learned quickly—or at least, you learned to fake it. paige became the diaper-changing expert, able to handle even the most catastrophic blowouts with an efficiency that made you jealous. you, on the other hand, mastered the art of the middle-of-the-night feeding, figuring out how to balance a bottle in one hand and keep yourself awake with the other.

“we’re basically superheroes now,” paige said one morning after you both managed to get the baby down for a nap.

“superheroes who need coffee,” you replied, already heading toward the kitchen.

you quickly realized that sleep wasn’t something you could count on anymore. at best, you’d catch a few hours here and there, usually in shifts. there were nights when you’d both be awake at the same time, passing the baby back and forth as she cried like she’d been personally offended by the universe.

“this is payback,” paige said one night, her voice barely audible over the baby’s wails.

“for what?” you asked, half-asleep as you tried to rock her back and forth.

“for all the times we said, ‘how hard could it be?’”

you both laughed, though it quickly turned into groaning when the baby’s cries only got louder.

despite the exhaustion, there were moments that made it all worth it. like the first time she smiled which made you and paige almost cry.

“she likes me!” paige had said triumphantly, holding her up like a trophy.

“don’t get cocky,” you teased, though you couldn’t stop grinning either.

then there were the quiet mornings, when the baby would fall asleep on paige’s chest while you sat beside them on the couch. paige would be half-watching something on tv, one hand resting protectively on your daughter’s back, her face soft in a way that made your chest tighten.

“she’s obsessed with you,” you said one morning, watching the way your daughter’s tiny hand clung to paige’s hoodie.

“she has good taste,” paige replied with a smirk, though her eyes stayed focused on the baby.

and, of course, there were milestones that felt bigger than they probably were: the first time she rolled over, the first bath she didn’t scream through, the first time she actually slept for four whole hours straight.

“is this what winning the lottery feels like?” paige asked that morning, blinking at the clock as if it might be lying.

“better,” you said, though you’d never been so happy to sleep through an alarm.

the days were long, and the nights were longer, but you got through them together. paige took over baby carrier duty, insisting on wearing her whenever you went on walks, even if the baby drooled all over her hoodie. you were in charge of documenting everything, snapping pictures of every milestone and filling your phone with blurry shots of paige making faces at the baby to get her to laugh.

“don’t post that one,” paige said one day, glancing at your screen as you scrolled through photos.

“too late,” you replied, already uploading it.

“you’re lucky i love you,” she muttered, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile.

by the time the three-month mark rolled around, you’d started to feel like you had a handle on things—or as much of a handle as two sleep-deprived people could have. your daughter was growing more every day, her personality starting to peek through in the way she laughed when paige tickled her or the way she stared at you like you were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

“we’re doing okay, right?” paige asked one night as you both lay on the couch, the baby finally asleep in her bassinet.

“we’re doing better than okay,” you said, resting your head on her shoulder.

she kissed the top of your head, her arm wrapping around you as she relaxed for the first time all day. “yeah. we’ve got this.”

and even if you didn’t, you were figuring it out together, one day at a time.

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part 6]

a/n: sorry for the delay..i kept this in my drafts hoping i’d get inspiration for something more creative but it never came so i waited like a month for nothing 😔

main masterlist | sweet masterlist

Paige really is trying to be happy.

But it’s incredibly fucking difficult to do when Azzi is laughing in somebody’s arms that’s not hers.

“Chill, P,” KK’s voice pipes up from beside her. “I think everyone in this room can feel how hard you’re staring at her.”

Paige doesn’t say anything, scoffing as she forces herself to turn around. She’s felt jealous before - but nothing like this, where her stomach is turning and she feels physically sick. “You need to get laid.” KK suggests, poking her arm. “Flirt with some pretty girls. Make her jealous.”

“Nah, bro.” Paige rubs her temples. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days, and her body never seems to feel 100% with all the conditioning and the intensity of their practices. Frankly, she’s physically and mentally exhausted, and the little energy she has left isn’t nowhere close to enough to deal with all this. “I’m done. I don’t wanna keep doing this back and forth shit.”

“So you’re gonna give up?” KK asks incredulously, eyes widening.

“She’s the one who gave up on us before we even started.” Paige toes the ground. “It doesn’t even fucking matter anymore. I told her how I felt and she doesn’t want to date me.” Her jaw tightens. “I just don’t get how she can forgive Micaela so easily and not me.”

“I don’t think it’s about forgiveness, Paige,” KK says slowly, her demeanor serious. “I think she’s scared, and rightfully so.”

“I know she is,” the blonde groans. “But goddamn, isn’t it worth it? I think about her and I get fucking giddy thinking about being able to take her on dates and shit.”

KK falls silent, worry pooling in her eyes for the girl that’s been like an older sister to her. She’s not used to this, being the one to give Paige advice. “You keep saying you’re okay,” she says finally. “But you don’t have to be.”

“I’m not,” Paige admits. “But I will be.”

•••

Paige curses, kicking at the chair before flopping down on it. Jana and Ice exchange looks behind her back as she aggressively grabs a Gatorade bottle and squirts water into her mouth.

“None of my shots are fucking falling,” she rants, eyes quickly tracking the movement on the court. “How many turnovers have I had?” she asks, turning to one of the team managers on the bench.

The manager checks her iPad, looking back up at Paige sympathetically. “Four.”

“Fuck.” Paige slams the Gatorade bottle down on her thigh. “I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me.”

The team is up by twenty five points, and Paige doesn’t see the court for the rest of the game. As soon as the buzzer sounds, she’s out of her seat, rushing through the handshake line to go to the locker room. She knows Geno likes giving the fourth quarter to the bench to help them get more experience, but she can’t help but be annoyed that she hadn’t been allowed to go back in and redeem herself against a shitty team that couldn’t even shoot. She’d turned the ball more over than had assists, for fuck’s sake.

“Paige, you coming?” The team is huddled around the door, on their way out for team dinner.

Paige is still next to her locker, head bowed down as she rummages through her duffel. “You guys go ahead,” she responds. “I think I’m done for the night.”

She hears her teammates hesitate, murmuring softly to each other before they decide to leave her be. As she hears the last of the footsteps, she turns around to make her own exit, making eye contact with big brown eyes as Azzi happens to look back at the same time.

Stay. Her eyes communicate everything she’s not brave enough to say out loud. Stay with me, she begs. I don’t want to be alone.

And Azzi, her best friend, who’s always been able to read Paige’s mind, who knows what Paige is feeling before she herself can ever put a name on it, who’s always there before Paige even has to ask, hesitates, her steps faltering, eyes rounding. But then her eyebrows dip, as if she’s remembering their last conversation, the hurt they’d made each other feel.

Azzi bites her bottom lip and turns back around, pace quickening to catch up with the rest of the team.

Paige slams her locker shut.

She was a fool for ever believing Azzi would still care about her after everything she’d done.

•••

“Don’t beat yourself up, Paige,” her dad says. His voice is distorted over the speaker, but still comforting from thousands of miles away. “What would you say if one of your teammates had an off performance like this? You need to learn to give yourself grace too.”

“I know, I just-” Paige looks up at the ceiling, studying the ugly floral patterns glaring back down at her. “I just can’t help but feel like I’m letting them down.” She pulls the blanket tighter over herself. “I’m supposed to be their voice on the court, and today I was doing jack shit.”

“That’s what makes you a good leader. Recognizing the mistakes you’ve made, moving on from them and becoming better after.”

Paige sighs. She appreciates her dad’s efforts to comfort her, but right now nice words are doing nothing to alleviate the hollowness in her heart.

“This isn’t helping, is it?” her dad, ever so honest, realizes.

Paige winces. “Not really. But I appreciate it.”

He chuckles softly. “I could tell. Azzi was the only one who could get through to you when you were like this back in high school. Where is she?”

“She’s, uh, out right now. With the team.” Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they haven’t talked much at all in the last month. Her dad has always had a soft spot for Azzi, their more shy and introverted personalities making them get along.

“Well, when she comes back, have a talk with her, okay? I don’t want you sitting alone with your feelings. It’s not good for you.”

Paige swallows hard. “I will,” she lies. The mere mention of Azzi only intensifies the headache she’s already having. “Listen, I’m pretty tired, so I’m prolly gonna crash now.”

“Yeah, get some rest.” Her dad pauses. “I love you, Paige. Don’t forget that.”

“I know. Love you too.”

The call disconnects, and sitting in her bed in the dark room, the whirring air conditioning the only sound in the room besides her heavy breathing, Paige misses home more than ever. She misses her parents, and Drew. She misses being with people she hasn’t hurt over and over again with stupid mistakes.

“Paige?”

Paige looks up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, and she’s more confused to see Azzi standing there uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot, cheeks pretty and rosy from the cold outside.

“Az? How’d you get in?”

“Aubrey gave me the key card.” Azzi drops said key card on the table. “Everyone’s really worried, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap.” Paige buries her face back into the pillows, not wanting another lecture on how bad she played. “I’m sorry I fucking blew it.”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is soft, and Paige realizes just now how much she’s missed the way her name sounds coming from Azzi’s mouth. “They’re not worried about the way you played. They’re worried about how you reacted to it. They’re worried about you.”

The younger girl sits down tentatively at the edge of the bed. “You always take care of the team,” she says quietly. “But you don’t have to carry the weight of that alone. Sometimes you need to put yourself first.”

Paige almost throws herself into Azzi’s arms, catching the dark haired girl off guard for a moment before she gently hugs her back. As if on instinct, her hands go up to start undoing her ponytail, like she used to always do after games. Azzi combs through her hair, gently twisting off the hair tie and murmuring into her ear.

Shoulders shaking, Paige sinks into Azzi’s chest as she finally allows herself to cry. “It’s okay, baby,” Azzi whispers, lips grazing her ear. “I got you.”

It seems like hours that Azzi holds Paige. Eventually, the blonde’s breathing evens out, her sniffling stopping as her breaths become deeper. She thinks Paige is asleep until the older girl turns her head slightly. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Azzi slings an arm across her waist, breathing her in. The ends of Paige’s hair tickle her cheek, but she doesn’t move. “Do you want me to be?”

Paige’s voice comes out, barely in a whisper. “Yes.”

Azzi drops her head, lips skimming across the older girl’s neck. Paige’s skin is warm, her pulse fluttering under her touch. Azzi tightens her grip on her waist, thumb dipping under her shirt to stroke soft circles on her hipbone. Paige shifts closer. “Then I’ll be here.”

•••

Paige wakes up to tangled sheets and warm hands on her face. She blinks sleepily as her vision sharpens to see Azzi propped over her on one elbow. “How you feeling?” Azzi asks softly, her morning voice scratchy.

Paige reaches up, fingers trailing over Azzi’s hand cupping her cheek. “Better,” she breathes out. She looks over at the alarm clock, groaning. “We still have half an hour.”

Paige flips over onto her belly, resting her head on Azzi’s chest. Azzi grabs her waist, adjusting her so that the older girl is fully on top of her. Her hands go up to stroke Paige’s back, scratching up and down her bare skin with her fingernails. Closing her eyes, Paige listens to the steady beat of Azzi’s heart. “You always smell so good,” she murmurs.

Azzi hums, rubbing her socked foot against Paige’s ankle. Paige has almost drifted off again when fingers gently brush hair out of her face. “We gotta be at breakfast in 10.”

“Don’t wanna get up.” She groans when Azzi takes her hands out from under her shirt, pushing Paige off her softly. Azzi starts to get ready, grabbing clothes to wear from Paige’s duffel without even asking.

Paige sits at the edge of the bed, watching Azzi move around the room. She can almost imagine that they’re back to normal again, going to bed together and waking up together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re the only one that makes me feel like this.”

Azzi pauses for a moment before choosing not to respond. She disappears into the bathroom, reemerging a few seconds later with two toothbrushes. She hands one to Paige. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

Paige grabs the toothbrush and stares at her. “What? It’s true.”

“It’s not gonna help either of us move on,” Azzi says pointedly.

“What if I don’t want to move on?” Paige challenges, following Azzi back to the bathroom.

“There’s no future for us, Paige,” Azzi says harshly, turning around to put a warning hand against Paige’s chest. She closes the door between the two of them as if to reaffirm their boundaries.

“So you’re just gonna come to my hotel room and hold me through the night then get pissed at me for still having feelings for you?” Paige laughs humorlessly, slumping down to sit against the door. “Real classy, Azzi.”

“You needed someone. I couldn’t sit in my room knowing you were suffering.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you’re making it worse by all this coming and leaving?” Paige blinks back tears. “God, you finally just look at me again and I go fucking crazy.” She scrambles to her feet once she hears the door unlock, and Azzi comes out, her eyes slightly red. “I can’t have just some of you. I need to have all of you or - or none of you.”

The younger girl jerks towards her. “You’re a fucking liar, you know? You said no matter what decision I chose, you would be happy,” she shoots back, voice shaky with anger.

Paige’s eyes cloud over. “How do you know that?”

Azzi hesitated. “The letter you write me- I found it. In the guest room.” As if on instinct, her hands reach for her purse, but she stops herself. It certainly wouldn’t help her case if Paige knew she carried that note with her everywhere she went.

Cursing under her breath, Paige runs a hand through her hair. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Yeah, well.” Azzi takes a deep breath, trying to recollect her thoughts. “I’m asking you to be happy for me, okay? I know it’s a lot. But you’re my best friend. I need you to do this for me.”

“You’re not being fair to me.” Paige’s words catch in her throat. “You know how this makes me feel.”

“I know.” Azzi leans her forehead against Paige’s. Her thumb finds the tears coating the older girl’s lashes, the dampness of her cheeks, trying to brush them away, trying to brush all their mistakes and their sins and their pain away. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Paige dips her head down, burrowing it into her shoulder, fingers digging into Azzi’s waist as if holding onto her any tighter will keep her from slipping away from her life. “Okay.” Her voice cracks. Just ten minutes ago, she’d been firmly resolute in her ultimatum - seeing Azzi with other people had hurt too fucking much for her to stand. But now? Paige has always been a people pleaser. Recently she’s been learning to stand her ground, to be okay with letting others be upset. But when it comes to her best friend, who’s pleading with her, eyes wet with grief and hope and a million words unsaid, Paige knows that she doesn’t have it in her to say no. That learning to get over her pain will somehow be doable if it means that it’ll take away just a little bit of Azzi’s . “Okay.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

JJK men with a big-chested reader

Pairings: Nanami x reader; Geto x reader (nsfw); Yuji/Sukuna x reader; Gojo x reader

Word Count: 4,4k (she's big)

Warnings: THIS IS A FIC WITH A BIG-CHESTED READER! so if this triggers you, don't read it (especially in Sukuna's part, you might get triggered when having smaller boobs so just do me a favor and don't read it instead of leaving a sassy comment), boob play in Geto's part so nsfw, in general harassment but big old fluff from your faves, not proofread bc I have my final exam tomorrow - hope you enjoy! 🤍

Special thanks to one of my moots for letting me turn her cleavage into a cover for this fic - you look STUNNING + thank you to everyone who sent me their experiences for this!

Since I'm not big-chested myself, I'm calling all my big boobie girlies to leave me a lil review about this fic - it would literally help me so much 😭

Click here to get to the small-chested version

Nanami Kento

You sigh to yourself, too exhausted to even stand up straight anymore. Today was like a trip to hell and back. All those fucking curses, the death, the horror. You rub your tired eyes, the stinging pain in your back reminding you more than urgently that you have been up for way too long.

“You look tired, darling. Go change and get into bed with me.”

Oh, that deep voice behind you, the voice you learned to love to the moon and back. How did it even happen that a man like Nanami Kento was seeking interest in you? What was it that made a man like him even look your way? You’ve known each other for quite some time, seeing each other on missions from time to time. But when you began to work at Jujutsu High, everything changed so fast that you couldn’t keep up. And now you’re sitting here in his bedroom, watching in awe as he crawls into bed with nothing but his boxer shorts on.

You would love to get out of your uniform right now, But most importantly, you urge to take off that soaking wet bra that has been bugging you since afternoon. You have no choice, though. With a large chest like yours, it simply isn’t possible to leave the house for missions without extra support. You glance at him while he reads in his book, your gaze falling to your chest.

This isn’t exclusively about missions and you know it. Even though you’ve been together for a few months now, you were never brave enough to show Kento your breasts. Not without a bra, let alone completely naked. Just the thought of him seeing how your big breasts fall down when they slip out of their bra shells, the look on his face when he realizes that you don’t look like those large-chested models with their boobs standing like mountains. Yours definitely don’t. And you fucking hate it.

“I know that look on your face. You are uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

His soft voice rips you out of your pondering immediately. Fuck, he caught you again.

“No…I mean…Yes, kinda…”

You can’t lie into his gorgeous face, not even when the truth makes you feel so uncomfortable. Oh, how much you wished you look the way he deserves it with delicious female curves that suit his flawless appearance. But as soon as you look down, you just know how awful your boobs will look when set free. So you’ll do what you do every night: wait until Kento is asleep to finally take off your bra only to set an alarm in the morning to get up before him and put it back on.

“I always wondered why you are waiting until I sleep to take off your bra and put it back on before my alarm goes off.”

You can’t help but stare at him, mind racing while your palms start to get sweaty. Fuck, how did he even notice? No, why did you ever think he wouldn’t? Kento cares about you like none other, never pushed you to take off your shirt, never failed to ask you how you’re feeling.

“Listen, darling.”

He gets off the bed and kneels down in front of the chair you are sitting on, gently taking your hand into his.

“I just want to make sure you feel comfortable around me. Am I the reason that you don’t want to take your bra off? I can see clearly how uncomfortable it makes you feel.”

“No!”, you blurt out immediately.

Calm down your tingling nerves, this is ridiculous. You stare blankly at your hands intertwined with his.

“I mean…It has nothing to do with you, it’s me.”

“How is this about you, love? There is no reason for you to feel uncomfort-“

“I’m afraid.”

You swallow hard. Are you oversharing? Will he laugh at you for something so ridiculous? But what if he sees you naked at some point, his gaze dropping to your chest only to be greeted by your large hanging chest? You can imagine the look of disgust on his face, how he turns away from you, how-

“Hey, look at me darling. Look at me and tell me what’s wrong”

He cups your cheek gently, forces your haunted eyes to look at him, to stare into his orbs filled with sincerity. There is no way out of this, you can’t lie into his gorgeous face.

“When I take my bra of my breasts just…hang. It’s even visible through my t-shirt…”, you mumble, cheeks redder than the devil.

Thick silence hangs between both of you, his gaze still as soft as before. What is going on inside his head? Is he secretly laughing at you, does he even care about what you have to say?

“Let me make a few things clear.”

He lifts himself off the ground and pulls you up. You squint your eyes, mind racing over why on earth he made you stand up. Is he going to leave, to laugh?

“First of all: I love you just the way you are. I love your gorgeous smile, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you carry yourself. And I love your breasts-“

“You didn’t even see them yet.”

“I don’t have to in order to know that”, he continues.

“Nothing makes me sadder than seeing you uncomfortable each and every night before going to bed. Of course, I don’t know for sure, but I imagine it to be really painful after some time. Isn’t it digging into your skin?”

Oh, you think about the countless times the sweat underneath your bra made you almost go insane, the red streaks that visibly show where the wire cut into your skin all day.

“It kinda is…”, you confirm with low voice.

“Don’t do this to yourself. I adore you just the way you are and I am dying to see you laying comfortably in your t-shirt next to me. So please, would you allow me to take it off for you?”

Your eyes widen in pure shock. Is this a bad joke, is he just teasing you? No, this is Nanami Kento. And the way he gazes at you with nothing but affection gleaming in his eyes tells you that he’s telling the true, that this is what he wants right now. But are you ready to expose yourself like this? What if he’s still disgusted after saying all those nice words?

You let your head fall against his chest, breathe in his delicious scent. A voice deep inside you tells you to stop, to just relax inside his arms. This is the man who chose you out of all people, who stood by your side no matter what. Kento proved more than once that he loves you dearly, never made you feel the slightest bit bad about yourself.

“Go ahead…”, you mutter against his chest.

His hands wander up your back gently, make shivers run down your spine until he reaches the clasp of your bra. Your heart simply stops when he unclips it through the fabric of your shirt. You fade into darkness as soon as his hands wander up to your shoulders, slide down the thick straps and pull down your bra until he finally lands on the floor.

Slowly, he takes a step back and picks it off the ground.

“You will never have to wear this again when you are home with me, okay? Not when it makes you feel so uncomfortable”, he gently speaks out.

You stare in awe while he carefully places your big bra over the chair and returns in an instant to pull you close against his chest.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

“Yeah”, you mumble, body slowly but surely getting flooded by warmth.

“Going to bed sounds good…”

Geto Suguru

You feel hot but at the same time cold, turned on but at the same time scared. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for. At this very moment, none other than Suguru Geto is laying on top of you, kissing you so passionately that you forget how to breathe.

What an overwhelming feeling it is to call him your boyfriend for a few months now. Such a kind and loving man, always looking out for you, giving you the time you needed for this to finally happen. You couldn’t believe your own ears when whimpering that you want him, that you are ready.

But are you really ready for showing him that part of your body? The part that began too grow way too early in your life, the part you’ve always got picked on by all the other girls.

“Look, there she is! She looks like a cow ready to milk!”

“That cleavage…She’s literally begging for it, what a bitch.”

“Ew, are those pimples on your tits?”

You know you are better than that, that your big breasts just belong to you and that you should love yourself just the way you are. But with none other than Suguru laying on top of you, his hands slowly but surely coming dangerously close to your breasts…

“Wait”, you breathe out, haunted eyes making Suguru stop in his tracks in an instant.

“Did I do something wrong? If you don’t want to, we don’t-“

“No, this is great. I- … I waited so long for this. But I just wanted to let you know that…”

You swallow hard. Are you acting ridiculous, destroying the moment with your behaviour? Suguru’s chocolate brown orbs don’t show a hint of annoyance. Instead, he gently strokes your hair while waiting for you to move on.

He deserves to know it

“I might not have the nicest boobs. They are big, but not well formed like the ones of those models. I tend to sweat a lot underneath them, my skin breaks out from time to time and my nipples might be-“

“Stop that right now, (y/n).”, Suguru gently interrupts you with a grin.

But it doesn’t look like the grin of the girls who picked on you for years. No, this grin is filled with warmth and loves, fills you with what feels like confidence. After all, he said that he loves you just the way you are over and over, right? Still, he didn’t even see your boobs. What if he changes his mind?

“There is absolutely nothing, and I mean NOTHING about you that isn’t ‘nice’. I don’t care about what the chest of random models looks like, to be honest I don’t care about anyone but you. And you are everything I want, you are everything I see, you are everything I love.”

His words make you tear up in an instant, send your whole body into space. As long as you can remember, no one ever said really nice things about your breasts and therefore you. You were either insulted or sexualized. But that force of a man on top of you…He just looks into your eyes that are filled with nothing but warmth. This man means every word he says.

“Well, that’s cool”, you mutter without even thinking about your words, lost in the sheer sight of his sincere eyes.

There is no one in the world you want to show your boobs more. Like in trance, you pull up the hem of your shirt and let it fall to the floor mindlessly.

“Are you okay with me touching them?”, he purrs against your ear.

A silent whimper escapes your lips while you simply nod, whole body on fire where it touches his. Painfully slow, he lets his hands wander down your hair onto your shoulders, trace the line of your collarbones until he reaches…

Your breasts.

What an unknown feeling. But oh, what a sensation as well. You arch your back out of instinct while he massages your breasts, the feeling of his fingertips against your still skin alone simply driving you insane.

God, who would have thought you’d ever hear Geto Suguru moan against your ear by just looking, touching, squeezing your boobs? His eyes are darkened by lust, the way his heart pounds against his ribcage echoes through your very own body.

“You look absolutely gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at you, (y/n).”

You feel like flying, fainting, losing your balance. There is no doubt in the fact that this man adores you the way you are, that your constant fear of him not liking your large chest was more than unfounded.

“So…you don’t mind the way my breasts look?”, you whimper underneath his bittersweet touch.

“More than that, I adore you”, he replies in an instant. “And now, let me see you in your full glory.”

Yuji/Sukuna

You’re back feels like it might break every minute, shirt dripping in sweat in the sheer heat of the summer sun. You just want to get out of here, away from those disgusting people, back into your dorm. How stupid it was to leave Jujutsu High on your own for a little stroll through the city. Without the protection of Maki or Nobara, without any good friend who shields you from all the unwanted looks your large chest attracts. While most people think it must be a blessing, it definitely is a curse to you 80% of the time.

Just like right now.

“Come on, I just asked for one grab!”, a guy shouts after you.

Out of instinct, you pick up your pace, not even daring to turn around. What did you even do to catch his attention? You gaze down at your breasts that uncomfortably bounce up and down in the way too tight bra you are wearing today. No, you did absolutely nothing wrong. It’s just these disgusting people who seem to see nothing but the size of your chest.

“Why would you want to touch her? She looks like a cow”, the girl next to him comments along with an ugly laugh, making your heart sting in an instant.

“What a slut”, another voice mutters.

“Oh, I didn’t know you are out today! How are you, (y/n)?”

Your heart almost stops inside of your chest, hands beginning to tremble in an instant. No, not him. Not right here when these people are chasing you. If there’s someone you don’t want to hear those things about you, it’s Yuji Itadori.

“J-just…l-leave”, you stutter.

“Huh? But I just met you! Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

“Look, the cow brought her friends!”

“Do you think he’ll get in her pants today?”

“What a lucky bastard, I’d love to touch them just once…”

Yuji’s face drops in an instant when realizing their words are directed towards you.

“Hey, there’s no need to be rude”, he begins but gets stopped by uncontrollable laughter immediately.

You want to die right here on the spot, disappear from the surface of earth. As if being treated like this wasn’t enough, why does it have to be Yuji who witnesses it all?

“Step aside, loser. Let me handle that.”

Sukuna leans forward in his throne, thick anger rising inside of his chest. You, the one who caught his eye when he first saw you. You, with the immense powers. You, with a dangerous mind that could end wars. Who are these people to talk to you in this manner?

“Are you crazy? I definitely won’t let you out right now”, Yuji replies in an instant.

“You aren’t able to help her brat, now get lost!”

“I won’t let you-“

Enough.

“Now who exactly do you losers think you are, huh?”

That voice, that aura? Your mouth feels dry like the desert in an instant, eyes widen in pure shock. No, this is impossible, Yuji is in control over his body, this can’t be-

“With tits like yours, I would be jealous of someone gorgeous like her as well”, he spits at one of the girls following you.

“And you.”

With a swift motion, he grabs on of the guy’s wrists roughly. Just a little more pressure and it will snap.

“P-please. Don’t!”, you shout after him.

Urgh, why does your begging voice make his grip loosen in an instant, what is it about you that made him switch with this brat anyway?

“Were you really just trying to touch her chest? Thinking just because she has a big chest, you are allowed to touch her, to sexualize her, huh? You humans disgust me with your simple desires”, Sukuna continues.

“If it wasn’t for her unshakable character, I would kill every single one of you right on the spot. But for now-“

In the matter of seconds, all their arms hang in unhealthy directions, visibly broken by the sheer force of none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

You want to scream at him, want to run away, want to get away from this place. But on the other hand, a warmth fills your chest. Did the king of curses just stand up for you, protect you from their rude comments?

“Get going”, he barks at you.

“This was unnecessary”, you mumble.

“And give Yuji back.”

“You should be thankful, (y/n). They will worship you for the rest of your life.”

“No, they will be scared of you for the rest of their lives”, you clarify, hands still trembling.

“So what? Nobody gets away with insulting you over your perfect body. Especially not over the size of your chest. How ridiculous…”

You can’t believe your ears, eyes darting towards him in an instant while you turn redder than a tomato. Did he just say that you are…perfect?

“You didn’t mean that”, you breathe out.

“Oh god I’m so sorry (y/n). Did he hurt you?”, the familiar voice of Yuji cries out.

Calm down your tingling nerves, your pounding heart. Sukuna’s gone. Sukuna…stood up for you. Sukuna said you have a perfect body.

What?

“N-No”, you stumble.

How are you supposed to get over this?

Gojo Satoru

Finally. You sit in front of the bar, excited by the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume that hangs in the air. After working your ass off for what felt like an eternity, you decided to use your day off right. You put on the dress that fits you best, packed your purse and went into the first bar you’ve seen.

Damn, when was the last time you were out on your own? With all your friends being out of town for vacation, this definitely is new.

“Not bad”, you mutter to yourself, eyes roaming around people making out, heartfelt laughter and a group of women sipping on their cocktails.

A cocktail, exactly what you need today.

“Hey, I’d love to order something”, you speak out when the waiter finally comes cross you.

What a lucky day, they even have your favourite cocktail in store. You’re usually not the type of girl to go out on yourself, but these last months, you truly learnt how enjoyable time can be with yourself as your only company. You smile to yourself. Yeah, this is definitely something you could get used to.

“There you go”, the friendly male announces and places the glass filled with joy in front of your hungry eyes.

You gift him the sweetest smile you have before taking a sip. Oh, this tastes absolutely amazing.

“I’ve never seen a woman like you alone in a place like this.”

Your heart drops to the floor in an instant, hands holding onto your glass tightly. Ew, a man is certainly the last thing you want to hear right now with the bartender being the only exception. Instead of even looking his way, you just take another sip of your well-mixed cocktail, the music blasting out of the boxes might make him think you can’t hear him and leave.

Honestly, there aren’t many things that creep you out more than men approaching you. Since you’ve reached puberty and your breasts starting to grow bigger and bigger, it almost felt as if you weren’t a person anymore. With rare exceptions here and there, most of them only talked to you because of one thing:

Your boobs.

Is the man sitting next to you one of them?

“Hey, I’m talking to you, gorgeous.”

Your whole body tenses up in an instant, eyes darting towards him by the sound of his harsh voice.

“Excuse me, I’m not up for a talk”, you bite back.

While you did meet genuinely nice men and have some male friends, the one sitting next to you certainly is one of the other categories. God, how much you hate it, being looked down at and reduced to the size of your breasts. You can’t even count how many times you’ve got commented on them, how many men and women just shamelessly stared at your bust instead of your face while talking to you. It’s safe to say you have enough of all of this.

“A woman who presents what she has like that is up for a talk and far more than that. Why would you come here dressed like a slut if you don’t want me to talk to you?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, all thoughts vanish into thick air. This disgusting guy with his beard filled with crumbs and breath stinking like the cheapest beer is definitely up for no good. You, dressed like a slut? You wear a basic black dress, the only one your boobs didn’t fall out when trying it on. What the hell is this creep talking about?

“Just because my boobs are big doesn’t mean I’m a slut. Watch how you talk to me”, you bite back.

“I talk however I want to a bitch like you. Are you up to go somewhere more…private?”

The scene that lays itself out in front of Gojo’s eyes is hard to bear. He doesn’t even know the woman in the black dress sitting in front of the bar, let alone the guy sitting next to her. But just one look into your disgusted face is enough to know that something isn’t right. How you cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes filled with horror, the way you scoop backwards with every word this man says. Are you okay? He shouldn’t let other people’s business bother him. Fuck, wasn’t he here to get his mind off saving everyone all the time? Nah, he should enjoy his evening, drink that new whiskey they offer, just relax and-

You aren’t even able to comprehend what is happening next to you. He stretches out his hand, ready to touch your breasts without consent when another pair of hands stops him mid-air.

“I think the lady said no. Don’t ya think it’s a little over the top to go into a bar and touch a woman’s boobs?”

His voice might sound playful, but your blood freezes inside of your veins by the power he radiates. Just one glance into his face tells you he is like no men you’ve ever met.

“I…She…She said she wanted it to!”, the crumble beard tries to defend himself.

“I said what? Are you out of your fucking mind!? I told you to leave me alone and you harassed me!”, you clarify in harsh tone.

Oh, how much you’d love to break his nose right now, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But the white-haired man seems to have the same plans.

“A guy like you wouldn’t end up with her anyway. That lady has class. And you, my friend, are just a disgusting pervert. Are you touching other women too without consent? Isn’t your first time, huh?”

With a swift motion, he begins to twist the man’s hand around itself. He whines out in pain in an instant, face twisted just like yours before when he talked you down.

“Let me go!”, he cries out in visible discomfort.

“This is what you get for treating a lady so badly. You can be glad she even looked your way.”

When he gifts you a sly grin, you can’t help but blush. What is it about this man that feels so different, so damn inviting? He seems like no other men you’ve met before. And the fact that he just called you lady…Why do your knees suddenly feel weak?

“Now repeat after me: I.am.sorry.for.disrespecting.you.”

“I will not apologize to a girl who’s dressed like a slut!”

A loud crack makes the already muted room go completely silent, the violent scream coming out of this man’s mouth when his wrist breaks like spaghetti echoing through the room.

“Wrong answer”, the white-haired man purrs.

“Hey, would you mind just taking the trash out?”, the barkeeper questions.

“Did you hear that, dirty boy? Let me show you the way!”

“Are you alright? I didn’t even notice he was harassing you. I’m so sorry”, the bartender speaks out towards you.

“Oh, it’s okay.”

You aren’t even able to give him a real answer, eyes glued on the white-haired man who carries your harasser out like trash.

Like in trance you get back on your feet and follow him out into the cool air of the night.

“Have a nice evening!”, he friendly shouts after the man who sprints down the streets like a coward, as fast away as possible.

“You definitely scared the shit out of him”, you comment.

“He definitely deserved it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m used to shit like that”, you reply with a huff.

“But normally, they aren’t this disgusting.”

“I hate to hear that. You seem like a genuinely badass and nice person. You didn’t deserve his words.”

“Not as nice as my knight in shining armour who stopped him from touching my boobs.”

He lets out a heartfelt laughter, bright blue orbs set on you.

“Hey, what about me escorting you back home? I’m totally in the mood to beat up any other men who gets in your way.”

“Only if you let me join, though”, you challenge him.

“Definitely a deal. Hey, what’s your name?”

“(y/n)”

“(y/n), huh? Cool name, suits you right? My name’s Gojo Satoru. Nice to meet you.”

He stretches out his hand in front of you, inviting you to take it. You can’t help but smile at his sheer excitement. No, you just have to take his warm hand into yours and shake it.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @maya-maya-56 @jinririz @getou0309 @ieathairs

Dividers by @saradika 🤍

[overadores]

˗ˏˋ do you love me? ˎˊ˗ ★ daniela avanvini

"But I'm lettin' go"

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x reader

about.ᐟ distance makes the heart grow fonder—at least, that’s what you told yourself every night before bed, clutching your phone like a lifeline. you trusted daniela with everything, never doubting her love for you, but trust is a fragile thing, and it shatters the moment you see a familiar name pop up in her messages.

genre.ᐟ heavy angst.

cw.ᐟ backburner, toxicity, manipulation, cheating

wc.ᐟ 1657 words

a/n.ᐟ idk what song to put cuz tbh been listening to niki's album nicole and billie's album on repeat sooo and yes i broke my own heart while writing this--just a little bit 🤏. (okay maybe listen to wildflower by billie eilish)

"I guess this is where we say goodbye"

Long distance was never your thing.

You had commitment issues, trust issues—the kind that made you second-guess everything, overanalyze every silence, every delayed reply. You always needed reassurance, needed to hear that your partner still cared, still loved you, still wanted you the same way they did in the beginning. It was never easy.

You tried it once. At first, it was everything. She messaged you constantly, called whenever you over thought things, reminded you over and over that she would never get tired of you, that she would love you endlessly. But it all fell apart a week before Christmas. The messages slowed, the calls stopped, the little 'I love you’s faded into nothing. You told yourself she was just busy. You kept up the routine—texting, calling, watching movies together, saying good mornings and goodnights—even when it felt like you were the only one trying. And then one night, you just… stopped. You got tired of waiting. Tired of hoping. Tired of being nothing more than a placeholder. And after that, you swore you’d never do it again.

Then Daniela happened.

Daniela was different.

She was everything you didn’t believe in anymore—steady, warm, patient. She took her time with you, learned every scar and every unhealed wound, held you like something fragile, something worth keeping. With Daniela, it wasn’t a question of if you could trust her. You just did. It felt like you had known her forever. Five weeks in, and you already saw your future with her. It was stupid, maybe, reckless even, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting her in ways you had never wanted anyone else.

In a month and a half, the two of you did everything—dates, road trips, late-night conversations, stolen kisses that felt like confessions; neither of you had the courage to speak aloud. And then, like some cruel joke, reality struck. Daniela had to go back to LA. Her mom needed her.

You couldn't ask her to stay. It wasn’t fair.

So you drove her to the airport, carried her suitcase to the terminal, and tried to pretend like your heart wasn’t breaking. When they called her flight, Daniela turned to you, cupped your face in her hands, wiped away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“Darling, I’ll always call you. I’ll always message you.”

You nodded, swallowing back the fear clawing its way up your throat. You hugged her like it was the last time. It felt too soon to say the words that had been weighing on your tongue, but you needed her to know something, anything.

“I’ll miss you, my lover.”

It had been two weeks since she left, and at first, Daniela kept her promise. She called you every chance she got, texted even when she was exhausted, made you feel like you still mattered. But as time passed, the gaps between messages grew longer, the calls became shorter. You told yourself she was just busy. You trusted her. But the thoughts still crept in, whispering that maybe she had someone else, that maybe you were just a second option, something convenient for when she was lonely.

You wanted to tell her how you felt. You wanted to say that you were scared, that you didn’t feel like enough, that you hated how easy it was for her to forget you. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to be a burden. So instead, you let it fester, let it consume you until the weight of it pressed down on your chest every night.

Then, just as you were beginning to believe the distance would break you, Daniela told you she was coming back.

You met her at the airport, flowers in hand, heart in your throat. The second she saw you, she ran, arms wrapping around you, lips pressing against every inch of your face.

“I missed you so much, mi amor.”

God, how could you have ever doubted her?

That night, you took her to your first date spot, listened to her ramble about school, watched the way she smiled like she wasn’t carrying the weight of your world in her hands. And before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“I love you.”

Daniela froze.

You panicked. “You don’t have to say it back, I just—I needed you to know.”

But she smiled, reached for your hand. “I love you too, mi amor.”

It should have been enough.

For a while, it was.

Then a moment your phone buzzed, the world cracked in half.

It was late—too late. Daniela had left hours ago, her perfume still lingering in the sheets, the ghost of her touch still pressed against your skin. You weren’t expecting a call, let alone from a number that, deep down, you already recognized.

You shouldn’t have picked up.

But you did.

And there it was. A voice you didn’t know, but words that felt like a knife to the ribs. A lazy chuckle, tinged with smugness. "Hey, is Daniela still there? She said she’d be home by now."

The air in your lungs turned to glass. "Who the fuck is this?"

A pause. Then, a slow realization from the other end. "Oh. You must be—well. I guess she didn’t tell you."

The call ended before you could demand more, before you could make sense of the hurricane tearing through your chest. Your hands were shaking, but you weren’t sure if it was from rage or the sheer weight of betrayal crashing down on you.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, staring at the wall like it held the answers. Your head was screaming at you to let it go—to wait, to be rational—but your body was already moving, already reaching for your keys. The road blurred past, your heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted out. By the time you reached her place, your knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

Daniela opened the door with that same easy smirk that used to unravel you. But tonight, it felt like poison.

"Babe," she purred, stepping closer. "What are you doing here?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you held up your phone, the call log glaring between you like a death sentence.

Her gaze flickered, just for a second, just enough for you to see the calculation. And then—

"Oh my god, are you seriously stalking my calls now? Jesus, you are so fucking insecure."

The dam inside you cracked wide open. "Don’t. Don’t fucking do that. Don’t turn this around on me. Who was he?"

She rolled her eyes, arms folding over her chest like she was the one exhausted. Like she was the one breaking. "It’s not what you think."

"Not what I think?" Your voice broke, raw and ugly. "Then tell me. Tell me why some random guy thinks you’re coming home to him. Explain it to me, Daniela. Make it make sense."

Her jaw clenched, but there it was—the flicker of something beneath the surface. Not guilt. Never guilt. Just irritation at being caught.

"Look, I was going to tell you," she sighed, running a hand through her hair like this was just another inconvenience. "But I knew you’d overreact. Just like this."

Something inside you shattered. "Overreact? Are you fucking kidding me? You were with him. You lied to me. You—"

"I didn’t lie," she snapped, voice sharp enough to slice skin. "I just didn’t tell you everything. There’s a difference."

The breath punched out of you. "That’s not—fuck, that’s not how this works."

Her lips curled, a cruel sort of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, so now you’re the expert on relationships? Please. You suffocate me, you know that? Always needing reassurance, always assuming the worst."

Your hands clenched at your sides. "I needed reassurance because you gave me reasons not to trust you. And I was right."

She laughed. Actually laughed. Like this was all some sick joke. "God, you’re exhausting. No wonder—"

She stopped. But it was too late.

No wonder, what?

No wonder he was an option?

No wonder she kept looking for something else?

No wonder she never really loved you the way you loved her?

Your breath came in sharp, ragged gulps, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy. "You know what? Fuck you, Daniela. I gave you everything. I loved you even when it hurt. Even when you made me feel like I was never enough. And this? This is how you repay me?"

For the first time, she hesitated. Just for a second. Just enough to give you hope, before she crushed it beneath her heel.

"Maybe you were never enough."

The words slammed into you like a bullet to the chest. And the worst part? She didn’t even say it with cruelty. Just indifference. Like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Like she had known it all along.

You stepped back, every part of you screaming, begging to fight for her. To make her see, to make her stay. But what was left to fight for? She wasn’t sorry. She wasn’t even sad.

She had never been yours to lose.

So you turned. Walked away, even as she called your name, even as your heart begged you to look back.

Because this time, you knew.

If you looked back, you’d never leave.

The silence you left behind is deafening.

And still, it’s not enough to drown out the sound of your heart breaking.

When the door closed behind you, the weight of it all crushed you.

You never answered her messages after that.

You never trusted love after that.

Maybe that’s why you don’t do long-distance relationships.

The trust was broken. The walls you spent years rebuilding had crumbled again. The heart you tried to mend had been torn apart once more.

Maybe you were meant to lose things.

Meant to watch people walk away.

Meant to feel the ache of being left behind.

Over and over again.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 27

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: medical procedures; blood;

One month.

That’s how long it had been since they’ve been “Together”, though neither of them ever said the word out loud. It felt like a quiet understanding—sealed in the curve of a back pressed against warm sheets, in fingertips brushing over coffee cups, in the way you now left some of your clothes in Robby’s apartment like you had a drawer waiting to happen.

And at work, they had found their rhythm.

For the most part.

Until today, that is.

The ER was packed. One of the residents had called out. Radiology was down two techs. And a multi-vehicle accident was being wheeled in with three red tags and no mercy.

You were already at the head of Trauma Room one, barking orders, adrenaline sharp in your voice. Robby was across the room, focused on the second patient, a chest wound with labored breathing. Their backs to each other, but tethered still, always working in tandem.

Until they didn’t.

“She needs a chest tube now,” You called across the two trauma rooms, without looking.

“I’m already doing one over here,” Robby replied, curt. “You’ve got Ambrose.”

“I don’t trust Ambrose to do it on her own,” You snapped, too loud, too public.

Heads turned. A nurse froze mid-draw. Robby looked up, expression unreadable.

You could’ve heard a scalpel drop.

“Then teach her,” Robby said, voice low but pointed, like it was taking effort to stay even. “You’re not a resident anymore, Y/N.”

She turned, blood on her gloves and something sharp in her eyes.

“And you’re not the only attending in this ER.”

The words landed harder than she meant. Maybe.

He stared at her for a beat too long, then turned back to his patient. “Get me the 28 French,” he said to the nurse beside him, as if the rest of the room had gone quiet.

Later, when the patients were stable and the rooms had been cleared, you caught a glance from Dana at the desk.

“You two good?” Dana asked, worried.

You kept your voice light. “Just a long shift.”

Dana’s brow arched. “Uh-huh.”

The rest of the shift unfolded in silence between them.

No shared glances. No teasing. Just two parallel storms—professional, effective, and utterly detached.

She could feel the eyes on them.

It wasn’t that they weren’t speaking. It was how they were speaking—deliberate, careful, like strangers who used to be friends. The quiet between them felt loud. Too loud. Their usual rhythm—the seamless passing of instruments, the shared glances, the unspoken sync—it had vanished.

Even the nurses noticed.

Mohan, one of the residents, leaned over as you pulled gloves from the dispenser. “Trouble in paradise?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You and Dr. Robby. You’re usually so… couple-y. Today you’re like awkward co-parents.”

Your ears burned. “We’re fine. Just… busy.”

“Uh-huh,” Mohan said, the way Dana had, and returned to her patient. By hour seven of the shift, you were exhausted.

It wasn’t until after sign-out, when you were changing in the lockers, that you heard the door open behind you.

You didn’t turn.

“Are we really doing this?” Robby asked, voice quieter now.

You shut your locker harder than necessary. “Doing what?”

“Freezing each other out. In front of the team.”

You turned, then, arms crossed, a flush still riding high on your cheeks. “You undermined me.”

“You called me out in front of two interns and three nurses.”

“Because you left me hanging.”

“I was handling another patient!”

“I know,” you snapped, before softening, just slightly. “But I needed you. And you didn’t even look at me.”

The room fell still.

Robby let out a slow breath and ran a hand down his face. “You needed me… or you needed me to back you up without question?”

You looked away, throat tight.

“Sometimes you lead, Y/N. Sometimes I do. That’s how this works.”

You swallowed. “I’m still figuring it out.”

“I know.” His voice softened again, stepping towards you. “And I’m trying to give you space to grow. But if you want me to treat you like an equal, you’ve got to stop expecting me to read your mind.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy but defiant. “I just hate feeling like I’m still proving myself.”

“You’re not,” he said, gently now. “Not to me.”

That was the truth of it. You believed him. But the weight of years—of always having to be sharp, precise, excellent—made it hard to unclench.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I let the pressure get to me.”

Robby stepped closer, brushing a hand over your arm. “I didn’t mean to make you feel alone out there.”

“You didn’t.” You hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Just... maybe next time remind me I’m not Superwoman?”

He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours.

“You’re something better,” he said. “You’re real.”

You chuckled softly. “That’s not very romantic.”

“No,” he said. “But it’s true.”

A knock sounded on the door. Dana’s voice followed: “Tell me I’m not walking in on some post-shift makeout.”

You groaned. Robby grinned and stepped back, the spell broken—but the fracture sealed.

“Back to being professionals tomorrow?” you asked, gathering your bag.

Robby held the door open for you. “Professionals who occasionally make out in elevators.”

You rolled your eyes. “Occasionally?”

He smirked. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

[inkskinned]

i'm used to it, and how bad it is, and how often it's so bad that it rings like a bell inside of me, drowning out everything around me. and the truth is that i get frustrated with myself about it - again? we're like this still? again? it's not that i feel weak, precisely. it's just this sense almost like - i've already been pushing against this thing for years now, shouldn't i have gained more ground?

i get frustrated because i'm sick of picking up the loose ends every six months. i get frustrated because it's always this same shit, same problem - i lose myself in a matter of months; spiral out of control, lose touch with friends and loved ones. i stop taking care of myself and therapy gets hard and i let everything around me wilt and shrivel and fall off; start somehow both sleeping too much and not-enough. i panic-attack and cry in my car in a target parking lot, pulling my hair out and hurting my ribs from sobbing so hard - and later, when i'm better, i'm embarrassed because how could i let it get that far?

it feels like - i already have done this so many times. isn't there a way out of it? isn't there a point where i've just... won? that it never happens again, that i just get to be done? maybe this is weakness, i guess - that i still (so often!) succumb.

i am used to it, so i forget exactly how hard it gets. do you even know how many times i've laid in bed, exhausted, blank and numb and listless and said - i can't anymore. i just can't. i'm not even really upset. it's okay. i've been here long enough. so much of my life was beautiful.... i'm just... done.

do you know how many times i woke up and i said - i can't and put my feet on the floor and said i can't, i don't want to and took a shower and walked the dog and bought myself fresh bread and put a nice playlist on and said i really can't, there's no end to this and i went to work and i called a friend and i made myself cookies even if food tasted like ashes and decided that i really should wait for the new album from that artist i love and i thought i can't, it's not worth it and then i washed my hands and cut my hair and drank more water and wrote a poem and signed up for an art class at the local community college and said i can't, i can't, i won't do this again, and i paid my rent and let the dishes rot in the sink but still made myself eat anything fresh even if it meant overdrawing my account on a stupid bag of plums just because they looked delicious and do you know how often i closed my eyes and thought this is it i really fucking can't, something has to give and i have nothing left that it can take and then i went to bed and i got up and i fucking survived anyway

yesterday the local ice cream place opened up for the first time this season and they were giving out tiny samples of their new dairy-free options and i tried a mango sorbet. three months ago i was positive that februrary was going to be my last month on the planet. i am teaching my dog a new trick and i just discovered a new band i love. i got a plant from the clearance aisle and repotted her and she's been perking up. i made salmon for alison and we ate it in her new house with her new beautiful baby girl. my manager told me he keeps recommending my work to others just because i always include a stupid number of puns. tomorrow i'm trying a new dance class. tomorrow i'm maybe going to buy more plums.

i forget, you know? it's not some bone-deep strength or some magical power. it's that some part of me knows - i need to stay. in all of this; out of all of this - i just want to choose love.

[httpsdana]

Hiiii!!! can you write a jamal story with promt 107 where they're having an argument (he's at fault 🤭) with like HEAVY angst where jamal is lowkey being a meanie and not trying to understand readers side but ends in the cutest fluff tho (cuz can't accept sad endings 😭)

Btw FREAKING INLOVEE WITH UR WRITING UR LITERALLY SAVING THE JAMAL GIRLIES I SWEAR!!! 🙏🏻🙏🏻💗💗

Also thank you in advance!!!!! 😽🩷🤍

Lost In Translation~Jamal Musiala

THANK YOU SM FOR UR SWEET MESSAGE. i hope u enjoy this one 😙🫶🏻

request from here

master list

players/drivers I write for

107-"please stop. you're scaring me."

She felt it from the start of the season. Jamal had said he was going to give his best this season and push himself to his limits. He promised to avoid any distractions and focus solely on football, fully committing himself. What she didn’t expect was for him to avoid her too. It made her feel like she was the distraction, rather than the support he needed.

y/n woke up every morning without Jamal by her side. Every day, she rushed to the kitchen, hoping to see him and wish him a good day.

All she wanted was to hear those three words she felt like she hadn’t heard in forever. But every morning, she was disappointed to find that he had already left without even a "good morning."

When she returned from work, Jamal still wouldn’t be home. She knew his training sessions were intense, but she also knew he couldn’t possibly be training from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.

She made him dinner every night, hoping they could share a moment together when he came home exhausted from practice. Instead, he’d arrive late at night, claiming he had been at the gym after training.

He no longer wrapped his arms around her at night. He hadn’t touched or kissed her in over two months. It felt like she was invisible to him, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She had to tell him how she felt, or she would have no choice but to let him go.

y/n sat in their living room, waiting for Jamal to come home. It was 10 p.m. After what felt like 100 episodes of her show, she finally heard his keys and the door opening. She remained seated on the couch, waiting for him. He walked into the living room, seeing her sitting there, watching TV.

“Hey,” he mumbled, dropping his bag on the couch and sitting down, keeping his distance from her.

She wanted to ask him about his day. She wanted to ask how he was feeling about the start of the season, especially given his incredible performance. But she didn’t. She just wanted to know what was going on and why he was avoiding her.

“We need to talk,” she said, looking at him intently, her voice blank and direct.

Jamal sighed, running his hands over his face, exhaustion clear in his features. “y/n, I’m tired. I just want to shower and go to sleep,” he said, already standing up to leave the room.

That’s what he always did, avoiding any conversation with her.

“No, Jamal. You’re not running away this time. We need to have a serious conversation, and you need to listen to me for once,” she said, standing up too, her voice tense with all the frustration she had been holding inside for so long.

He turned around, surprised by her outburst but clearly annoyed that he was going to have to talk. “What is it now?” he said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice weak and hurt.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? You’re the one who said we need to talk, and now you’re asking me what’s wrong?” he snapped, his voice getting louder with each word.

“What’s wrong with us? What happened? Did I do something to upset you? Why are you avoiding me and acting like I don’t even exist in this house?” she said, her voice trembling as she fought back tears.

“Oh my god. You’re always so needy, constantly craving attention. I can’t have you clinging onto me all day, y/n. I come home every night exhausted, and all I want is to sleep. But you’re there, nagging me because you can’t survive without attention. What am I supposed to do?” he shouted bitterly, stepping closer to her.

“I’m not asking for anything crazy! Just acknowledge me. Say good morning, make me coffee before you leave, tell me you love me at least!” she yelled back, her hands dropping to her sides in defeat.

Jamal was fuming, his face red with anger. She had never seen him like this before, and it scared her. He paced around the room, his steps heavy, before kicking a vase, shattering it to pieces. y/n flinched at the sound, stepping back slightly as Jamal moved closer.

“Please stop. You’re scaring me” she whispered as he stood in front of her, his face inches from hers. It was the closest he had been to her in weeks. She could feel the heat radiating from him, but his cold expression sent chills down her spine.

Jamal didn’t seem to hear her or care. Instead, he continued hurling hurtful words.

“I come home to rest. I don’t need anyone ruining my mood before I leave for training. I don’t need anyone distracting me from having my best season. So stop with the attention-seeking and deal with it. It’s not like I’m treating you as if you’re dead,” he spat, his words cutting deep into Y/N’s heart like knives.

She fought back the tears that threatened to fall, refusing to let him see her break.

“But you are, Jamal! You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t remember anything. You’ve forgotten our date nights, and we haven’t had a Sunday date in weeks. Sunday is your rest day, but instead of spending it with me, you choose to hang out with your friends, friends you see every day at training. Why can’t you acknowledge your girlfriend, who’s doing her best to stay calm and deal with the consequences of dating a footballer?” she cried, finally letting out all the words she had been holding inside for months.

“For fuck’s sake. You just don’t get it, do you? I’m going to shower and then go to sleep. I better not hear about this childish problem you’ve made up in your head again,” he said coldly, leaving the room and heading to their bedroom.

y/n collapsed on the couch, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free. She pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed into them, her heart aching.

She didn’t understand how Jamal had changed so much, why he had become like this. They had been dating for years, and every year he wanted to have a great season, but this was the first time he had acted this way. She felt their relationship slipping through her fingers, and she didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

After crying for a while, exhaustion overtook her, and she wanted to sleep. But she couldn’t bring herself to sleep next to Jamal after the hurtful things he had said. She began walking to the guest room when she heard his voice behind her.

“Where are you going?” he asked, making her turn to look at him. He stood there shirtless, fresh from the shower, his hair still wet and dressed in the shorts he always wore to bed.

“To sleep in the guest room,” she replied, turning away.

“Fine, be like that,” he scoffed, and she heard the bedroom door slam behind her.

She sighed and entered the cold, empty guest room, with only a bed in the middle. Lying down, she felt as though she were on a rock.

She closed her eyes, hoping for some rest, but after tossing and turning for hours, she gave up. She sat up, running a hand over her face, wondering if Jamal was struggling to sleep too.

A part of her hoped he was awake, thinking about her, just as she was about him. But she knew he was probably fast asleep, after using "needing sleep" as an excuse to avoid their argument.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. She looked up and saw Jamal peeking his head in to see if she was asleep. When he saw her sitting up, he entered the room slowly, standing awkwardly by the door.

“Can I... sleep next to you?” he asked nervously, avoiding her gaze and looking at the floor. When she didn’t reply, he looked up, seeing the hesitation in her eyes.

“I won’t touch you or anything. I’ll stay as far as I can,” he pleaded, his eyes begging for some rest.

y/n thought about it. She couldn’t sleep without him next to her either. “Please,” he said softly, and she finally gave in, nodding her head and moving to the far side of the bed, turning her back to him.

She felt the bed dip as Jamal lay down next to her. Even with the distance, she could feel the warmth of his body close to hers. y/n closed her eyes, hoping to finally get some sleep. As she drifted off, she felt his arm drape over her body, a small smile forming on her lips as she welcomed his warmth. She knew they would need to talk about their fight in the morning, but for now, they could rest.

Next morning, y/n had woken up by the sun that was shining in the guest room. She turned around, hoping Jamal was still next to her, but as usual, he had already left the room.

She let out a sigh, knowing he probably left to training too. She hoped he would stay and explain his hurtful words, but it seemed as if nothing happen to him last night. y/n entered the bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth, before going to the kitchen.

She was surprised when she saw Jamal there, his shirtless back to her as he was making breakfast. When he noticed her, he smiled at her, making her more confused. "good morning darling. I made you coffee" he pointed to the cup of coffee that was next to the coffee machine.

Jamal moves quietly around the kitchen, the sound of eggs sizzling and toast popping up from the toaster filling the silence. y/n sat on the counter, the cup of coffee next to her, arms folded, watching him, her heart heavy with the weight of the argument that’s still fresh in her mind.

He seems to be gathering his thoughts, carefully plating the breakfast before he turns to her, his expression soft but full of regret.

“I’m really sorry,” he starts, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking about everything, and I know I shouldn’t be trying to explain why I acted the way I did, because none of it excuses what I said or how I treated you. It was wrong, and I wasn’t supposed to do any of that.” He takes a deep breath, looking down at the floor before meeting your eyes again.

“But with the new coach and the new season, there’s been so much pressure. The coach has been really strict about us not getting distracted, and I... I let that get into my head.” he said, his voice weak and unstable.

y/n doesn’t respond right away, waiting for him to continue, her gaze steady as she takes in his words.

"I thought that maybe you were a distraction," he says, shaking his head at himself.

"But that was so wrong of me. All you’ve ever done is support me. You’ve been there through everything, my ups and downs, every game, every challenge, and instead of seeing that, I pushed you away. I don’t even know why I said the things I did... I just... I took my stress out on you, and I’m so sorry for that. I know it hurt you, and I regret it more than I can say.” he stuttered, seeming nervous

Her chest tightens, emotions swirling inside her as she thinks back to how hurt she felt. But she remains silent, waiting for him to finish.

“I shouldn’t have acted like football was more important than you," he continues, stepping closer.

"Because it’s not. You’re so important to me. Honestly, most of my success, it’s because of you. You keep me grounded, and your support means everything. It’s not just my talent that’s gotten me where I am, it’s you. And I was stupid for not seeing that." he said confidently, stepping closer to her

He looks at her, his eyes full of sincerity, waiting for some kind of response. She hesitates, his words slowly sinking in.

"You really hurt me, Jamal," she says softly. "It wasn’t just about football. It was about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I was in the way." she said, her voice filled with pain.

He nods, a look of guilt flashing across his face.

"I know, and I’m going to spend every day trying to make up for it. I want to fix this. I don’t want you to ever feel that way again." he said honestly

There’s a pause before he speaks again, his voice even softer.

"I took the day off today. I thought maybe we could go for a walk, spend some time together, and get some ice cream, if you want? I just... I want to make it up to you." he hesitated, waiting for her to speak

She tries to hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

"You got me with the ice cream. I can’t say no to free ice cream." she jokes

He chuckles, though there’s still a seriousness in his gaze.

"I really am sorry. I swear to you, nothing like that will ever happen again. Football’s important, but so are you. More than that, you’re more important." he said, grabbing her hands in his

"i believe you Jamal. I hope you don't break your promise this time" she said, giving him a small smile.

He smiled back, squeezing her hands in his.

"you won't regret it i promise" he said

After breakfast, they walk side by side, hand in hand, talking and catching up on everything that’s happened since the argument.

Slowly, the tension between them begins to ease. As they sit on a park bench, ice creams in hand, y/n leans her head on his shoulder, the warmth of the moment filling the space between them.

"I missed this," she says softly, closing her eyes as she let the comfort of his presence wash over her.

"I missed it too," he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on her head before resting his against hers.

Everything was fine now.

[masorciereviolette]

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a Regina Mills x reader smut, like Regina needs to be taken care of after a long day at the office. ( Reader is Dom, If possible)

I'm asking because there are almost no new fics about Regina anymore or lanfear

A Safe Place To Land

Minors DNI 18+ Only

Pairing: Regina Mills x Reader

Warnings: Comfort, Domestic Moments, Dom Reader, Sub Regina, Kissing, Explicit, Graphic Descriptions of Sexual Content, Possessive Behavior, Mommy kink,Teasing, Praise Kink, Strap usage, Reassurance, Happy Endings.

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: I completely agree our queen deserves more love and i truly hope this is up to your standards!!! :)))))

Link To Masterlist

The door clicks softly, but you hear it. You always do. A quiet part of you trained to notice the second Regina steps through the threshold, even before she speaks. You glance up from the couch just as she walks in, the familiar silhouette of her blazer-sheathed shoulders hunched in the way that tells you everything. It’s been a long day.

Her heels echo against the hardwood as she sets her bag down on the console table by the door, then unbuttons her coat with a practiced flick of her fingers. You don’t call out. You wait. You let her have this moment to exhale—this sanctuary you’ve helped build with her over the past year.

When she finally looks up, your eyes meet. There’s a tired softness to hers, hidden behind the remnants of her “Madame Mayor” façade. But tonight, it doesn’t hold the same power. Not here. Not with you.

“You’re home,” you say gently, setting the book in your lap aside.

She nods, her voice quieter than usual. “Barely.” You’re already standing when she steps into the living room. Her movements are slower than they should be—shoulders tight, brow drawn. You meet her halfway, your hands rising instinctively to brush the sides of her arms. “Tough day?” you murmur.

Regina leans into your touch before she even answers, eyes falling shut for a brief second like she’s allowing herself to sink beneath the surface. “Everything felt like a fire I couldn’t put out,” she admits, her voice rawer than she means it to be.

You smile softly and brush a hand over her cheek, tilting her face up. “Then it’s a good thing you’re home.”

Home. It still makes her flinch sometimes, even now—two months after you moved in. The word feels too permanent, too fragile, too full of promises that once turned to ash in her hands. But she hasn’t told you to stop saying it. You kiss her forehead and press your palms gently to her back. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

A breath catches in her throat, something unspoken flashing in her eyes. You’ve learned to read her—learned the difference between the walls she puts up and the ones that crumble when she’s too exhausted to pretend they’re not there. She nods once, barely a movement, but it’s enough.

“Go change,” you tell her. “I’ll draw a bath.” She doesn’t argue. She never does when you use that tone—firm, gentle, loving. The kind of care she never thought she was allowed to need.

You pad toward the master bathroom while she heads upstairs to the bedroom, and the mansion falls into the kind of silence that hums with warmth rather than emptiness. You twist the handles on the clawfoot tub, letting the hot water pour in, the rising steam curling in the air like a promise. Lavender oil, just a few drops. You remember her mentioning once—quietly, offhand—that it helped settle her chest on nights when it felt too tight to breathe.

You leave her favorite towel on the hook and light the vanilla candle beside the tub. You’ve never believed in magic in the traditional sense—despite living in Storybrooke—but this? Creating soft places for Regina to fall apart? It feels like the closest thing to it.

By the time she comes back down , she’s wrapped in a silk robe , her makeup wiped clean and her hair pulled back with one of your elastics. She looks younger without the armor. And so tired it aches to see. You meet her in the doorway and take her hand, interlacing your fingers. “Come on,” you whisper. “Just relax.”

The bathroom is still warm when you guide her in. She pauses at the door, blinking at the candles, the steam, the little details. Her eyes flick to you, and something flickers there—something softer than gratitude. Something close to awe. “You did all this for me?” she asks quietly.

You grin, stepping behind her and placing your hands on her shoulders. “You deserve to be taken care of. Let me do that.”

She doesn’t protest as you slowly peel the robe off her shoulders, helping her slip out with care. The bruises aren’t physical, but you treat her like she’s been scraped raw anyway—because some days, she has. Some days the world tries to take more from Regina Mills than it ever should have, and you’ve made it your mission to be the one thing that gives back.

She steps into the tub with a low exhale, sinking into the heat until it cradles her. Her head tips back against the porcelain, eyes fluttering shut as the scent of lavender surrounds her. You kneel beside the tub and dip a hand into the water, brushing her arm. “Want me to stay?”

Regina’s eyes open just a sliver. “Always.” So you stay. You sit there, quietly washing the day from her shoulders, fingers ghosting over the tension that refuses to ease. She doesn’t speak much—just listens to your voice, to the sound of the water, to the softness of being wanted without condition.

By the time the bath cools, her hands are pruned and her posture has shifted. Lighter. Looser. She lets you towel her off, lets you guide her back into the robe, lets you kiss the space behind her ear as she leans into your chest. “Come to bed,” you whisper leading her out of the bathroom.

The room is quiet, lit only by the flicker of the fireplace and the soft spill of moonlight across the sheets. Regina’s head rests on your chest, her breath steady now, her fingers still trailing lazy patterns just beneath your collarbone. But there’s a tension lingering under the calm—something she hasn’t said. Something she’s holding in the hollow of her chest like a bruise.

You can feel it in the way her body hasn’t fully released, even tucked against you. You turn slightly, guiding her gently to lie on her back. Her eyes open, but she doesn’t resist—just watches you in that quiet, searching way that she does when she isn’t sure if she deserves what comes next. Your fingers sweep over her cheek, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to hold it all together right now.”

She closes her eyes like that’s the first real permission she’s been given all day. You lean in and kiss her slowly—not with heat, not yet, but with reverence. The kind that says I see you. I know how hard you’ve fought today. Let me carry the rest now.

When you pull back, you brush your thumb over the soft skin beneath her eye. “You’re so strong gina. I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but I see it every time I look at you.” Her throat bobs with a swallow, and her lips part like she might say something—but the words don’t come. That’s okay. They don’t need to.

You press your mouth to the corner of hers, feather-light. Then to the other side. Down to her jaw, her throat, the curve of her collarbone. She exhales shakily when you slide the robe open, revealing her skin to the cool air. Your hands follow your mouth—slow, deliberate, reverent.

“You carried the whole damn town on your shoulders today, didn’t you?” you murmur, lips brushing against the hollow of her throat. “Put out every fire. Took every complaint. Smiled when you didn’t want to.”

A small, broken sound leaves her lips. That’s all the confirmation you need. You shift over her, one knee braced between her legs, your fingers tracing down the dip between her ribs. “You don’t have to be that version of yourself here love. Not with me. Not in this bed.”

Her eyes flutter open, and there’s that look again—that vulnerable ache of a woman who’s been told too many times that her worth is in her control, her perfection, her power. You can see how tired she is of holding herself upright. “I just wanted one person to say I did okay,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Just once.”

Your heart fractures. You lean in, hands cradling her face, and press your lips to hers again—longer this time. Deeper. She melts beneath it, breath catching as she clutches your wrist, grounding herself.

“You did more than okay,” you whisper into her mouth. “You were extraordinary.” Her breath hitches, and you feel her body start to soften beneath you. You kiss along her throat again, your hands reverent as they travel over her hips, her waist, worshipping every inch of her like she’s something sacred. Because to you, she is.

“You are brilliant,” you whisper against her skin. “And brave. And so, so good.” She gasps softly, her hand curling in the back of your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she doesn’t hold you in place. “I’m so proud of you baby.”

That’s what breaks her. Her body arches into yours, not out of desperation—but because the weight of those words finally gives her permission to need. To want. To let go. You let your hands roam slowly—no rush, no pressure. Just devotion. Just healing. You kiss every spot you know she likes, murmur praise into every inch of skin you can reach “You’re beautiful,” you breathe as you trail your mouth down her chest. “You’re enough. You’ve always been enough.”

“Please…” she breathes, barely audible, and it’s not a plea for more—it’s a plea to keep going. To not stop saying those things no one else ever bothered to. You slide your hands down her thighs, then back up to cradle her face as you kiss her again, slower this time, deeper—like you could press every word of love and reverence into her body through your touch.

“You are not the worst parts of your past,” you whisper. “You are the best damn thing this town has. And I love you.” Regina pulls you close—fully now. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, her legs twined with yours.

Her body speaks what her voice hasn’t found yet: I need this. I need you. And so you give her all of it. You trail reverent kisses down Regina's neck and collarbone as you slowly ease her slip off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. Your fingers follow the path your mouth has taken, grazing the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. You take your time, savoring each new inch of smooth skin revealed to you.

"Mmmm, you're so beautiful, baby," you murmur, nuzzling into the hollow of her throat. "Such a strong, capable, incredible woman." You pepper soft kisses across her chest, feeling her breath hitch and her heartbeat quicken under your lips.

Regina's fingers tangle in your hair, holding you close. "I love you," she breathes, a tremor in her voice. "I love you so much."

Smiling softly, you look up to meet her eyes, now darkened with desire and emotion. "I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything." Slowly, deliberately, you tug the slip fully off, letting it drop to the floor. You take a moment to simply admire her naked form splayed out beneath you, the moonlight casting shadows and highlights across her curves.

"Do you have any idea how amazing you are?" you ask softly, running a hand along the dip of her waist to the flare of her hip. "How much this town needs you? How much I need you?"

You settle yourself back between her thighs, feeling the heat of her through your shirt. Leaning down, you press a long, slow kiss to her lips—pouring all your love and devotion into it. Your hands roam slowly over her body, worshipping every dip and curve as if committing them to memory.

"Just relax, baby," you murmur against her mouth. "Let me take care of you tonight. You've earned it." Sliding a hand up her inner thigh, you cup her center, feeling the slick arousal already gathering there. "You deserve this." You capture her lips again as your fingers begin to work slow circles against her clit, giving her pleasure and nurturing her all at once. Tonight is all about her. Tonight, she gets to just receive. And you'll make sure of it.

You groan softly as your fingers glisten with Regina's arousal, her essence coating your skin. Bringing them to your lips, you suck them clean, savoring her tangy-sweet essence with a moan of appreciation. "Fuck, you taste divine," you murmur, holding your clean fingers up for her to see. "Sweet as honey and twice as addictive."

Regina's breath catches, her cheeks flushing at the vulgar display. She bites her lower lip, hazel eyes smoldering as she watches you. "You're insatiable," she accuses, but there's no real disdain behind the words. Just a heady mix of lust and affection.

"Mmm, can you blame me?" you ask with a wicked grin, tapping your sticky fingers against her lips. "When you taste this good?" You slip your fingers past the seam of her mouth before she can protest, brushing the pads against her tongue.

A soft moan escapes Regina as her tongue darts out to taste herself, to taste you. "That's quite dirty," she mutters softly, already sucking the arousal from your fingers eagerly, shamelessly. Dirty, but you know she loves it. Know her body responds to your filthy mouth and wicked touches like a flower to sunlight. "Dirty just means we're doing it right," you murmur, your other hand still trailing sensual patterns on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Leaning in close, you nuzzle behind her ear, your chest brushing her naked breasts Regina shivers, her nipples pebbling beneath you. "I want to eat this pretty pussy until you scream," you rasp, nipping at her earlobe. "Until this sexy body of yours remembers every filthy, beautiful thing I want to do to it. With it."

You punctuate your promise by suckling your fingers clean a second time, drawing out her unique flavor, her exquisite essence. Your touch drifts up to cup her breast, your thumb grazing over a stiff nipple. A breathy keen whispers past her parted lips, eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck baby, the noises you make... the way you respond to me..." Leaning down, you take her nipple into your mouth, suckling greedily as you wedge a thigh between her legs, pressing against her core. Your hands map every dip and curve of her torso, committing every line and plane to memory as you worship your lover with lips and hands and the filthy words spilling from your mouth in a stream of lust and admiration.

Gripping Regina's hips softly but firmly, you guide her movements as she grinds slowly against your knee, her slick arousal coating your skin. "Mmmm, listen to you," you murmur, your lips brushing against the racing heartbeat in her neck between grinding thrusts. "So desperate and needy...such a greedy girl, aren't you baby?"

Your hands slipped around squeezing the flesh of her ass, kneading it almost roughly as you hold her in place against your kneading thigh. Filthy things spill from your lips as you rut into her, your voice husky and low. "Tell me what you want, sweetness. I know my naughty girl has a choice."

She gasps and whimpers with every press and circle of your knee grinding mercilessly against her aching sex, her thighs trembling around your hand, her skin flushed and dewy. "Is it this..." you rumble, rolling your hips and pressing harder...faster. "Ooor..." you lean closer to whisper slowly, teasingly “do you need mommy’s cock tonight?”

Regina moaned pathetically grinding down harder, a wicked chuckle escaped your lips “Oh that’s what we need is it?” You taunted, stilling her hips you pulled out of her hold much to her detest. Quickly walking over to the dresser you opened the top drawer

Regina whimpers desperately as you deny her the friction, her hips still rocking into empty air. "Aww, no...please..." she pleads breathlessly, eyes hooded and wild as they watch you stalk away.

But you just smirk wickedly, rifling through the top dresser drawer until your fingers close around a familiar shape. "Patience sweetheart" you taunt, already slipping off your underwear, buckling the strap-on around your hips. "Mommy knows just what you need" By the time you turn around, the girthy toy is nestled snugly against your pelvis. The toy is a good size, not as big as you’ve used before, but more than enough to fill and stretch your lover. Just the sight of it has Regina squirming on the bed, anticipation coiling tight in her belly.

"Aww, look at you..." you coo mockingly, stalking towards her like a predator. "So desperate you can't even keep still." You crawl onto the foot of the bed, slowly, deliberately, settling between her splayed thighs. "You want mommy's cock?" you ask, reaching out to thumb her wet slit teasingly. "Want mommy to give this greedy cunt what it needs?"

She's trembling now, her chest heaving as she stares at the straining erection bobbing mere inches from her dripping sex. Her teeth dig into her lower lip, a whimper catching in her throat. You grin, loving how utterly wrecked she already is, and you've only just begun.

"Beg for it, sweetheart," you encourage, trailing your fingers up her belly to her breasts, circling a nipple. You pinch it, rolling the hardened nub between your fingertips until she cries out. "Beg for mommy's cock like a good girl...and maybe I'll give you what you need."

"Please..." Regina whimpers, voice breaking on the plea. Her back arches off the bed, nipples straining toward your teasing touch. "Please, Mommy...I ne- I need it. I need your cock. Please fuck me... ruin me...split me open until I can't think straight anymore." She's panting now, eyes glazed with lust, face flushed with humiliation...and fuck, if the shameless begging isn't the hottest thing you've ever heard.

You palm the generous swell of the strap-on, giving it a few slow pumps lest she forget what she's begging for. Her gaze drops to follow the erotic motion, tongue lolling out to wet her kiss-swollen lips. "So eager," you chuckle darkly. "So desperate to be split open on mommy's cock." A wicked grin spreads across your face as you crawl up her trembling body until the flared head of the toy nudges insistently at her entrance. "Such a filthy girl, drenched and throbbing for it already..."

You dip forward, capturing her lips in a filthy, plundering kiss, your tongue fucking her mouth the way you're about to fuck her cunt next. She keens into it, hips canting up to chase the teasing pressure against her weeping slit, nipping cruelly at her lip. "I'm going to destroy this greedy pussy until you can't remember your own fucking name."

You grip the base of the toy, dragging it slowly up and down Regina's dripping slit, the thick head parting her folds and gathering her slick arousal. Her body jerks and twitches with each pass, a symphony of breathy moans and desperate whimpers spilling from her kiss-swollen lips. You can feel the heat of her, the way her hungry cunt clenches and flutters around the intrusion, already trying to suck you in.

"Look at you, so fucking wet for me," you taunt, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs with the tip. Her hips buck up, seeking more friction, more pressure, but you deny her, keeping the touch maddeningly light. "Greedy little thing, aren't you? Practically drooling for it like a bitch in heat."

You lean down, your breath hot and heavy against her ear as you continue your torturous teasing, painting her clit with her own juices. "You want mommy's cock? Fuck you so hard, you’d be sore for days?" Each filthy word makes her shiver, her stomach clenching and thighs tremble

You push the tip of the toy just barely into her fluttering, soaked entrance, teasing her with the promise of more. "Oh f-fuck..." Regina gasps, head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as her body clenches around the intrusion. Her fingers fist in the sheets, knuckles turning white as she fights the urge to just impale herself on the straining length. But she resists, trusting you to take control, to give her what she needs.

As you lean down lips claiming Regina's in a deep, hungry kiss, you roll your hips forward with deliberate, purposeful intent. The toy sinking into her hot, slick depths, stretching her open as you bury yourself to the hilt in one long, smooth thrust. A throaty moan vibrates against her mouth as you feel her silken walls clench and quiver around the invading length, her body instinctively trying to adjust to the sudden fullness.

"Ungh! F-Fuck..." Regina whimpers into the kiss, back arching as her nails dig into your shoulders. You swallow her cry, tongue delving deep to tangle with hers, the kiss turning filthy and possesses as you begin to move within her.

"Mmmm, you feel fucking incredible baby," you rasp, dragging your hips back until just the tip remains nested inside her, before surging forward again, filling her utterly. "Such a perfect girl."

You set a steady, relentless rhythm, each deliberate thrust striking that spongey spot deep in her core that makes her see stars. The obscene sound of wet skin slapping against sweat-slicked skin fills the room, punctuated by the wrecked cries and whimpers spilling unchecked from Regina's lips. You can feel her body beginning to tremble, her climax building as you take her hard and deep and exactly the way she needs.

You drop your head to nip roughly at the tender flesh of Regina's neck, sharp teeth sinking into her pulse point cruelty. "That's it baby," you growl, hips pounding relentlessly into her, driving the toy deeper and harder with every thrust. "Come for me. I want to feel this greedy cunt squeeze my cock as you scream my name."

One hand slides up her side to palm her breast, kneading the pliant flesh greedily as your thumb and forefinger pluck at her nipple. The other hand delves between your sweat-slicked bodies to find her swollen clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Come on, sweetheart..." you rasp hotly against her neck, hips never faltering in their punishing rhythm. "Show mommy how badly you needed this. Drench me and scream my fucking name."

You can feel her body tensing, her silken walls starting to flutter erratically around your pistoning length. She's right on the razor's edge, teetering between control and sweet, sweet surrender. "Let go, baby. Come for mommy," you demand, grazing your teeth over her racing pulse before soothing it with a kitten lick. "I want to feel you fucking shatter."

You feel Regina's body stiffen beneath you, her nails digging into the flesh of your hips as a shrill scream of ecstasy tears from her throat. "OH FUCK—Yes, fuck, I'm...I'm coming!" Her voice cracks, breaking on a ragged moan as her climax crashes over her in intense waves.

Her slick, velvet walls clamp down around the stroking length relentlessly battering her depths, rippling and fluttering as her orgasm rips through, you continue your relentless thrusts, each drive of your hips prolonging her climax.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" she wails, back arching clean off the bed as sensation whites out her mind. Pleasure, raw and electric, zings through every nerve ending, setting her body alight. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, fanning out like a fallen angel against her skin.

You slowed hips to a languid thrust before carefully pulling out of her tender flesh, letting her feel every inch of the toy dragging along her sensitive walls. Once you were free. You unfastened the toy, tossing it away before pulling Regina close. Her lithe form curling into yours as the aftershocks of her climax slowly ebb away. She's trembling faintly, skin slick with sweat and flushed a rosy hue that speaks of sated passion.

You brush damp tendrils of hair back from her face, tucking them gently behind her ear as you drink in the sight of her—that devastating, exquisite beauty still tinged with the elegance of pleasure's aftermath.

"Shhh, I've got you," you murmur soothingly, cradling her against your chest. One hand trails tenderly up and down the curve of her spine, while the other cups her cheek, tilting her face up to meet your gaze. What you find makes your breath hitch—a turbulent sea of hazel that reflects the riot of emotions swirling inside her.

"Thank you," she whispers, voice hoarse from screaming, raw in the intimate stillness of the room. A single tear slips from the corner of her eye, trailing down the elegant line of her jaw to be absorbed by your fingertips. "For...for everything. For knowing I needed this."

You press your forehead to hers, noses brushing, breath mingling. "Sweetheart, it's my absolute pleasure," you breathe, the declaration heartfelt and earnest. "My only joy and purpose is in loving you, in supporting you, in giving you everything you need to be the remarkable woman you are."

Unable to resist, you close the scant distance between your mouths, capturing her lips in a slow, sensual kiss. It's a kiss ripe with adoration and worship, with devotion and dedication. You pour every ounce of your love into that single point of contact, willing your lips to convey the inexpressible, the unforgivable depths of your feelings.

"You're incredible," you rasp against her mouth, heart aching with the condensation of what you mean to say. "I am so in awe of you, so proud to be by your side. And I will spend the rest of our lives showing you just how fucking amazing you are."

Holding her close, you settle back against the mound of pillows, tucking her head beneath your chin. As her body begins to relax, breath deepening into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep, you continue to stroke her hair, her arm, her side— tracing soothing patterns that ease her into a peaceful slumber.

"Always," you whisper as her eyes drift shut, a soft, content smile curling her kiss-swollen lips. "Sleep now, my love. Tomorrow will take care of itself." For tonight, she is home. Tonight, she is yours. And in this moment, nothing else exists. Only the two of you, tangled in the aftermath of passion and the promise of forever.

Sunlight slips through the sheer curtains, spilling gold across the bed like a gentle invitation. The mansion is quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes when the world hasn’t quite woken up yet.

You’re already awake—have been for a while—content to just lie there with Regina curled against you, her breath warm against your collarbone, her legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets. There’s something unshakably peaceful about this moment, the way her body stays relaxed in sleep, her guard completely lowered in a way she allows with no one else.

You don’t move at first. You just watch her. She looks younger like this. Softer. Her face, so often schooled in stern lines and composed restraint, is smooth and unburdened in sleep. There’s something sacred in that. Something you never take for granted.

So you start slow. A kiss to her hair, right near her temple. Then another, just beneath her jaw. Your fingers trace delicate circles along her spine, down the curve of her back, until she stirs with a small hum—low and drowsy. “Mmm…” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing?”

You smile against her skin. “Waking you up properly.” Her lips curl lazily into a smile before she opens her eyes. She blinks once, twice, the haze of sleep giving way to awareness—and then recognition. Of you. Of this. Of the peace.

She exhales contentedly and tilts her head, allowing you better access as you press another kiss to the side of her neck. “Good morning,” you murmur.

Her voice is still scratchy as she responds. “It is now.” You laugh softly, and the sound vibrates through your chest where her hand now rests. She pulls herself closer, burying her face in your neck. You let her stay there for a moment, cradling her, stroking lazy lines up and down her arm.

After a few minutes, she shifts to look up at you. “You’re looking at me like I hung the stars,” she says, eyes half-lidded but teasing.

You lean down and kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose. “No,” you whisper, “like you are one.”

Regina huffs a soft laugh, but her hand slides up to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing across your jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” you murmur, brushing your nose against hers, “you love me.”

“I do,” she says without hesitation, surprising you with how easily it slips out. Her thumb stills on your cheek as she repeats, softer, “I really do.”

You take a breath, let the weight of that truth settle between you. “Well,” you say, voice dipping low with purpose, “this weekend is all about you.”

Her brow lifts in sleepy surprise. “Is it now?”

You nod, brushing her hair behind her ear and trailing your fingers along her collarbone. “No work. No stress. No trying to keep Storybrooke running while half the town forgets basic manners.”

She chuckles again, the sound richer now, clearer. “So what, I just lie here all day and let you spoil me?”

“Yes,” you say without missing a beat. “ And Sunday. And every other weekend if I have anything to say about it.”

She lets her head fall back onto the pillow, her smile widening. “And what exactly does this… pampering entail?”

You lean down again and kiss the hollow of her throat. “A long, slow morning in bed. French toast. Fresh coffee. A bath with more of those bath oils you pretend not to love. And later… maybe a walk by the water.”

Regina sighs in pure contentment, reaching up to run her fingers through your hair. “You really don’t want me to leave this bed, do you?”

You shake your head, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Nope. The mayor has been officially banned from mayoral duties until Monday.”

“Can you do that?” she asks, feigning suspicion.

You grin. “Deputy’s orders.”

Regina arches a brow, clearly amused. “And what happens if I disobey?”

You lean in, your lips ghosting just beside her ear. “Then I’ll have no choice but to punish you… with more affection. Maybe even—brace yourself—cuddles.”

She laughs fully this time, the sound lighting up her face. “You’re dangerous.”

You pretend to consider it. “Or maybe I’m just exactly what you need.” She shifts, rolling you both slightly until she’s half on top of you, straddling your thigh, her hands braced on either side of your head.

She studies you for a long, quiet beat, her expression caught between vulnerability and something fierce—something honest.

“You are,” she says finally, voice low, almost reverent. “Exactly what I need.”

You reach up and cradle her face, thumbing gently over her cheek. “Then stay right here. Let me keep being that. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Regina leans down and kisses you—slow, deep, and grounding. She doesn’t say anything else right away, just lets the kiss linger, lets your hands slip beneath her shirt, lets the warmth of the morning settle into her bones. You kiss her like the day can wait. Because for you, it can.

Regina had fallen back into your arms after that kiss, comfortably pressed against your chest while you whispered soft promises into her hair. You’d stayed like that for a while, trading lazy touches and featherlight kisses, but eventually, you coaxed her into letting you slide out from under the sheets.

“For what purpose exactly?” she asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

You grinned. “To make you breakfast, of course. French toast, remember?” Regina let out a noncommittal hum, stretching out across the bed like a queen lounging in her private palace. You kissed her forehead once, then twice for good measure.

“Stay here. I’m serious,” you said, already halfway into a hoodie. “I want to bring it up to you.”

“Mmm,” she replied in that tone that meant no promises, but you chose to take it as agreement.

You were humming softly as you made your way downstairs, bare feet padding across the cool kitchen floor. The smell of cinnamon was already filling the air as you dipped slices of bread into the custard mix. You moved around the kitchen easily, a dance you’d learned in the months since moving in—where everything had its place, and every morning started with soft touches and stolen sips of coffee.

You were halfway through flipping the second batch when you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. You sighed without turning around. “Regina…”

“I got bored,” she said simply, and you could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “And lonely.”

You turned around to find her leaning casually against the doorway, dressed in your T-shirt and little else, the hem just barely covering the top of her thighs. Her hair was still tousled from sleep, and her grin was entirely too pleased with itself.

“You were supposed to stay in bed,” you said, holding your spatula like it could defend you from her distracting beauty.

“And you were supposed to be upstairs with me,” she replied, slowly making her way across the kitchen like a predator stalking her prey.

“Don’t start—” you warned, already laughing as she reached out, deliberately brushing her fingers along your arm.

Her touch was featherlight, teasing. “I missed you.”

“You missed me for the five minutes I’ve been gone?”

She leaned in, lips just brushing your ear. “Desperately.” That was it. You let out a growl dropping the spatula and grabbed her by the hips before she could slink away. She yelped in surprise as you pulled her flush against you. “Don’t you dare—” Too late.

You tossed her over your shoulder, grinning as she kicked and laughed, her fists tapping against your back in protest. “You wouldn’t,” she gasped, breathless.

“I would,” you said smugly. “And I am.”

You carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing, your hand resting possessively on the back of her thigh to keep her balanced. She was laughing now, breath hitching with each step as she squirmed slightly, but you had her right where you wanted her. “You’re insufferable!” she giggled, smacking your back lightly.

“And you’re dangerously cute when you try to distract me from my tasks.” Once in the bedroom, you stepped to the bed and unceremoniously dropped her onto the mattress. She bounced once with a dramatic oof, before immediately pushing herself up onto her elbows, grinning with delight.

You climbed over her for a moment, just long enough to straddle her and pepper kisses across her face—her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, every inch that made her giggle or squirm. “Stay. In. Bed,” you said between kisses.

She made a show of rolling her eyes, even as her smile refused to fade. “You’re ridiculously bossy for someone who couldn’t even finish a single slice of toast.”

You leaned in one last time, lips brushing her ear. “Because you walked in here looking like that.” Before she could retort, you gave her a swat on the thigh, grinning at her gasp.

“That’s for getting out of bed,” you said, already climbing off the mattress. “Now stay put. If you behave, you might get whipped cream with your breakfast.”

Regina settled back into the pillows, arms crossed behind her head, lips curving in satisfaction. “You better bring coffee, too. Or I might just get up again.”

You shot her a warning look as you backed toward the door. “Try it, and I’ll tie you to the headboard.”

She didn’t flinch. “Promises, promises.”

You let out a groan and turned on your heel, muttering to yourself as you padded back down the stairs. “Gorgeous, brilliant, impossible woman…” But the grin on your face never left. Because there was nowhere else you’d rather be than in this mansion—with her, on a sleepy weekend morning, making breakfast and kissing your girl back into softness.

Thirty minutes later, you nudge the bedroom door open with your foot, balancing a tray in your hands like it’s the Holy Grail. “Madam Mayor,” you announce with a dramatic flair. “Your breakfast has arrived.”

Regina lifts her head lazily from the pillow, eyes narrowing as she takes in the sight of you: hair tousled, sleeves pushed up, an apron (her apron) tied loosely over your hoodie. She sits up slowly, the sheets pooling around her waist, revealing long legs and one dangerously bare shoulder.

“Finally,” she says with a smirk. “I was starting to think you’d abandoned me for the stove.”

You walk over with a grin, setting the tray on her lap and adjusting the pillows behind her back like the attentive partner you are. The tray is perfectly arranged—french toast stacked golden and thick, warm maple syrup, a side of crispy bacon, and a bowl of freshly sliced strawberries dusted with sugar.

There’s also a piping hot mug of coffee (two sugars, dash of cream) placed just within her reach. “I would never abandon you for a stove,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss her temple. “But you make a very convincing distraction.”

Regina picks up the coffee and takes a slow sip, groaning in satisfaction. “God, you’re good.”

“I know,” you reply, sitting beside her and stealing a piece of bacon. “But keep saying it anyway.” She bumps your shoulder with hers, and you settle in close, your leg draped over hers beneath the blanket as you both begin to eat. It’s easy like this—domestic, cozy, the morning sunlight catching the edge of her smile. You offer her a forkful of french toast, and she accepts it with a playful raise of her brow.

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” you tease. “Regina Mills, hand-fed in bed by a small-town deputy.”

She chews slowly, eyes dancing with mischief. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

You grin, picking up a strawberry from the bowl. “You know, this must give you some serious déjà vu.” She cocks her head.

“Come on,” you say, gesturing with the berry. “The queen of the realm, being fed decadent fruit in bed by someone devoted to her every whim?”

Regina scoffs, but the laugh escapes her anyway. “You’re comparing yourself to a royal handmaiden now?”

“Mm, no,” you say, holding the strawberry just out of reach. “I think I’d be your favorite. The bold one. The one who never bowed properly, always got under your skin.”

Her smile sharpens. “Almost cost herself her head.”

You shrug, smug. “Worth it.” Regina leans in then, mouth parting just slightly as if she’s about to take the strawberry—but at the last second, she veers off course. Her hand snakes around the back of your neck and she pulls you in, catching your mouth with hers. The kiss is slow at first—teasing, familiar, a honeyed reward for your efforts. But then it deepens, her fingers tightening just slightly in your hair as she shifts toward you under the sheets, tray forgotten.

You set the strawberry down without breaking the kiss, cupping her face and letting yourself sink into her completely. The way she kisses you is deliberate, claiming—not rushed but full of intent. When she finally pulls back, her breath mingles with yours, lips still brushing.

“Forget the rest of breakfast,” she murmurs, voice low. “I’ve found something much sweeter.”

You laugh softly, your hands resting on her thighs beneath the blanket. “Now who’s insatiable.”

Her fingers trail down your chest, eyes dark and amused. “You made the mistake of feeding me strawberries in bed. You were asking for it.” You kiss her again, unable to help yourself—because how could you not, when she looks at you like that? Like you hung the stars she used to rule under. And honestly you agreeed, breakfast could wait.

[moonstruckme]

could i request Scamander!Reader x Remus Lupin? Maybe they have been going on dates for a few months but turns out she knew he was a werewolf? She just didn't say anything cause she wanted to wait for him to tell her, but after a full moon, Remus got hurt like really really bad so when he wakes up the next morning he is at nursing and the reader is helping with his wounds (cause she's an scamander so she obviously should now how to fix werewolfs wounds fr)

and remus kinda freaks out because she isn't supposed to be there and starts trying to make excuses about his wounds

Thanks for requesting! I'm not a Scamander myself hehe so I had to look up some werewolf stuff but I hope this is alright :)

Remus Lupin x Scamander!reader ♡ 653 words

Remus wakes feeling like he always does after a full moon: exhausted, groggy, and so, so sore. From the brightness against his eyelids and the sounds around him, he knows he's in the infirmary. It's not uncommon, and as humiliating as the whole ordeal can be, he's glad to have Madam Pomfrey to care for him as he heals from the previous night's...events.

But when he opens his eyes, it's not Madam Pomfrey that sits at his bedside, applying some sort of paste to the gouge across his ribcage.

He must inhale or twitch in his surprise, because your attention turns to his face, your hands stilling.

"You're awake," you say, looking at Remus with eyes full of kindness and sympathy. He feels like he might vomit. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he says, too sharply, and hurt flashes across your features. Remus' heart is pounding, but he forces himself to take a breath, muzzling his panic. Still, his voice trembles slightly as he asks, "Y/N, love, what are you doing here?"

You smile softly, and Remus knows he's forgiven. "I knew there was some dittany in the greenhouse, so I thought I'd bring some to help heal you."

"I..." Why weren't you asking more questions? You and Remus had only been dating for a few months, and you'd yet to see him in the aftermath of a transformation. He hadn't had to lie to you yet, to make up excuses for why he missed days of class every month and reappeared with new scars. "I was out with Sirius and James last night, and we got fairly wasted." He forces what he hopes is a sheepish grin, though it doesn't feel very convincing. "I took a tumble down a hill, and well..." he gestures to his torn-up torso, shrugging as if it's just further evidence of he and his friends' foolishness.

"Remus," you say, and the nausea is back, your tone far too knowing for Remus' liking, "honey, it's okay. I wanted you to be able to tell me in your own time, but after last night..." You pause, your face pinching in distress as your eyes run over his wounds, ugly and oozing. "I couldn't just not help anymore. I'm sorry."

Remus' stomach is really roiling now, his entire body caught between fight and flight as he reckons with the shock of your admission and his bafflement at your composure. "You knew?" His voice comes out accusatory, but he can hardly muster the energy to correct it. "For how long?"

"I mean, it took me a couple weeks of getting to know you to figure it out." You shrug, going back to gently pressing the dittany to his wounds. "But really, Remus, it doesn't matter to me. I only care about being able to be there for you, to help."

A couple weeks, it'd taken you to learn his secret. So you'd known for months, while Remus had fretted over hiding his headaches from you and worrying that you'd eventually see him just like this, and now here you were. Remus takes a moment to look at you, the tenderness with which you touch him, careful to avoid hurting him further, the patience in your eyes as you wait for his response.

"You really aren't afraid?" he asks. Despite years of sharing all of himself with James and Sirius, Remus finds himself nearly unable to trust it. "Disgusted? Angry with me?"

The look you give him borders on offence, though there's still that same gentle sympathy in your eyes. "Merlin, Remus, of course not. I know it can't be easy for you, and I wouldn't expect you to tell me before you're ready. It's just...another part of you." You smile a bit, and Remus can't help but return it, bewildered and feeling very much on the precipice of falling in love. "And I like all of you, so there."