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uncuredturkeybacon · 10 hours ago

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𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which she'd always wait for you

Minnesota smells like wet leaves in the fall and frozen basketball nets in the winter. You always liked that about it—the way it feels like it remembers things. People. Moments. Promises.

You were eight the first time you saw her.

Your mom had just dropped you off at the rec center playground, warning you not to get your new sneakers muddy. You promised. They were already muddy by the time you spotted her across the court.

She was loud. Blonde hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, baggy T-shirt too big for her, high socks rolled down like the boys did. She was barking plays like she was coaching a real team—telling two kids where to cut, waving her hands for the ball.

“Hey!” she yelled at a boy who missed the pass. “Eyes up, Ben! Come on!”

You leaned against the fence, half-curious, half-amused. She caught your stare and tilted her head.

“You play?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“That’s a yes,” she said, already tossing the ball your way. “You’re on my team.”

You didn’t even hesitate. That was the thing with her from the beginning—Paige Bueckers said something, and the world tilted to make it true.

You stepped onto the court, pushed your sleeves up, and passed her the ball.

She grinned. “You got a name, or do I have to make one up?”

“...Y/N.”

She repeated it under her breath, then pointed at her chest. “I’m Paige. Let’s win.”

You didn’t. You lost 11–6. But she high-fived you like you’d just won a championship.

And then she said, “Wanna walk home with me?”

You blinked. “I don’t even know you.”

“Exactly. What better way to fix that?”

So you walked home with her. And then again the next day. And the next. Until it just became… a thing. Paige and Y/N. Always together.

By middle school, you were known as her shadow.

You weren’t flashy like her. You didn’t light up every room or make people laugh until their stomachs hurt. But she always turned to you first—at lunch, on the sidelines, before tip-off.

She would find you across a gym packed with screaming fans and point. Just a subtle nod. A silent thing.

That was hers.

You once heard someone whisper, “I don’t know if they’re dating or just soulmates.”

And honestly, you didn’t know either.

You were fourteen. Paige had just scored the game-winner in a weekend tournament, and her dad drove you both home with pizza in the backseat.

She crashed on your living room floor, both of you staring up at the ceiling, still sweaty and laughing.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly quiet.

You turned your head. “Yeah?”

“If we make it big one day,” she said, “like, real big… you’ll still walk me home, right?”

You smiled. “Even if it’s across the country.”

She rolled onto her side to look at you. “Promise?”

You reached out your pinky. “Promise.”

Her finger hooked yours.

And something shifted in the silence.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no single moment where you said this is love.

It just… was.

The way she leaned into you when she was tired. The way you tied her shoes before games. The way she said “I got you” like it meant everything.

It did.

By the time high school rolled around, you were the one she trusted with the things she couldn’t say out loud. Her nerves before scouts came. Her doubts about being good enough. Her fears of leaving Minneapolis.

And she knew your fears, too. That you didn’t want a normal life. That maybe college wasn’t the only way forward.

That you were thinking of joining the military.

She said nothing at first when you told her. Just stared at her hands for a long time.

“Is it because of your dad?” she finally asked.

You nodded.

“And because… you want to do something bigger than this?”

You nodded again.

She reached across the bench and gripped your hand.

“I don’t like it,” she whispered. “But I’m proud of you.”

You didn’t know it yet, but that would be the last version of you she’d get for a long, long time.

High school felt like a countdown—though neither of you said it out loud.

Paige was on fire from the minute she walked into Hopkins. Freshman phenom. Banners with her name. Coaches from every D1 program in the country showing up with clipboards and fake smiles.

But when the gym lights went down, it was always still just you and her. Stretching side by side before practice. Sharing one AirPod on the bus. Eating postgame fries in silence because she was too tired to talk and you already knew what she was thinking anyway.

It wasn’t perfect. Not always.

Sometimes, she’d miss a movie night because she was reviewing film. You didn’t take it personally. Other times, you’d forget to text back because you were three hours deep into a military history rabbit hole and she’d pretend to be mad but she wasn’t, really.

You had this rhythm. A quiet, humming understanding. People mistook it for romance. It wasn’t. Not yet.

But it was close. So close it hurt sometimes.

You never told anyone, but your favorite part of game nights wasn’t when she scored thirty points. It was when she looked for you in the crowd before tip-off, eyes scanning until they landed on you—and then she’d relax. Just a little.

Like you were a lighthouse and she was always, always coming home.

It happened after a big win—regional finals. The gym was loud, the air thick with sweat and confetti and cheerleaders screaming. Everyone was pulling her in every direction.

But you were leaning against the back wall, hoodie up, letting her have her moment.

She found you anyway.

Grinning like she just discovered oxygen. She crashed into your chest and wrapped her arms around your waist, laughing into your hoodie.

You didn’t even think. You just kissed her. Quick, stupid, stunned.

She pulled back, wide-eyed.

And then she laughed again—brighter this time.

“Took you long enough,” she whispered.

And then kissed you back.

You didn’t label it.

You weren’t dating. You weren’t not.

You were her person. She was yours. And that was enough.

The real talk started senior year. She got her UConn letter first. You were there when she opened it—your hands shaking harder than hers. You were the one who screamed first. She tackled you to the floor, the paper crumpling between your bodies.

A week later, you told her your plan.

Military.

Silence.

“Are you sure?” she asked, after a long minute.

“No,” you admitted. “But I think it’s what I’m meant to do.”

She didn’t try to talk you out of it. She just leaned forward and pressed her forehead to yours.

“Then I’ll wait.”

The air was thick with bonfire smoke and the low buzz of future dreams.

She wore your hoodie. You wore her jersey. You both sat on the roof of her car, parked near the lake, legs dangling off the edge of the hood.

“Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“What if we’re different after this?”

She looked up at the stars.

“We will be.”

You turned to her.

She looked right at you.

“But I’ll still know how to find you.”

You didn’t cry. Not then. You just memorized her profile under moonlight and kissed her one more time.

A soft, quiet promise you’d both carry across oceans.

The first goodbye wasn’t really a goodbye. It was an airport hug.

She buried her face in your chest at the airport terminal, fingers fisting the fabric of your shirt like maybe if she held tight enough, you wouldn’t board that plane. You held her just as hard, whispering everything you couldn’t say out loud, “I’ll come back. I’ll be safe. I love you.”

Except you didn’t say that last part. You almost did.

But Paige pulled back first, tears in her eyes but trying to smile. “Text me. Every day. Even if it’s just dumb stuff.”

“Especially the dumb stuff,” you said.

Then they called final boarding.

And you kissed her temple, took one last look, and turned away.

You didn’t look back. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you knew if you did, you might never leave.

Basic training was a blur of sand and shouting. But you wrote her every week.

She didn’t write back at first. She FaceTimed.

“Why are you smiling?” you asked, sweaty and sore and exhausted.

“You look like you lost a fight with a boot camp manual,” she teased, then softened. “I missed your face.”

You missed hers too.

Letters started coming after that—hers were messier, scribbled between film sessions and plane rides. You’d read them under a flashlight, folded up in your bunk, her words the only soft thing in a place built for steel.

We won by 20 tonight. I dropped 34. But I kept looking at the bleachers like an idiot. You weren’t there. I hate that you’re not there.

I’m proud of you. I mean it. But I miss you so bad sometimes I have to put your hoodie on just to breathe.

Please don’t die, okay?

You kept her letters in the inside pocket of your uniform. Right over your heart.

Time moved like molasses and lightning.

She became a national name. Interviews. Awards. Draft projections. ESPN highlights. A household face with a smile everyone wanted a piece of.

But when you spoke on the phone, she was still just Paige. Still the girl who called you “goofball” and asked for updates about your bunkmate’s weird snoring habits. Still the one who asked, softly, “Are you eating enough?” like she was feeding you through the phone.

You sent her a video once—your squad doing push-ups in sync to the beat of one of her game highlight reels. She laughed so hard she cried.

“I’m saving this forever,” she said.

You replied, “Then save a place for me, too.”

She didn’t respond for a full minute.

“Always.”

It was mid-season, year five of your deployment. Things had gone quiet on the basketball front—you knew she was tired, sore, battling injuries. She didn’t want to say it, but you could hear it in her voice.

So you wrote her a long one.

Hey, superstar. Just wanted to say I watched your last game. You looked like you were flying. I know your ankle’s not great, but somehow you still move like you’re being chased by angels.

I think about you all the time. The way you talk when you’re excited, how your hands move when you’re nervous, the way you used to whisper “go get ‘em” before I did anything scary.

Funny how I’m not afraid of anything over here. But sometimes I think about you, and my whole chest hurts. I miss your laugh. I miss home. I miss…

That’s where it ended.

She never got the rest.

The next time Paige tried to call, your number didn’t go through.

Her texts stopped delivering. Your unit’s website stopped posting. Your mom didn’t have answers.

Three weeks passed. Then a month.

Then, the knock on her apartment door.

Your older brother. Pale, shaking.

“They don’t know what happened. Just that the team was separated. And she hasn’t been found.”

Paige didn’t speak. She just crumpled to the floor like her body forgot how to stand.

She read your last letter 103 times. Folded, unfolded. Smoothed out the crease down the middle where the words cut off.

She memorized the final line. The one that haunted her.

“I miss…”

Connecticut never got quieter.

Paige just got better at pretending.

She played through it all—training camp, press conferences, the draft. Cameras followed her like shadows. Her agent told her to smile more. Her coach told her to push harder.

So she did.

But every morning, before she laced up her sneakers, she pressed her fingers to her chest—right where your last letter lived, folded flat in a pouch inside her bag.

She never stopped carrying you.

Even when the world told her she might have to let go.

She was stretching before practice when her phone rang.

Your brother’s name lit up the screen.

“Hello?” she answered, already standing up.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “There’s been… no contact. Three weeks. They’re calling it missing in action.”

Paige stared at the wall. Her heart didn’t beat. Her breath didn’t come.

“Paige?”

“I—I have to go.”

She hung up.

She walked off the court and into the nearest storage room and shut the door. Curled into herself on a pile of Gatorade crates. She didn’t cry.

She shook.

Then, hours later, she emerged, wiped her eyes, and played the best game of her life that night—32 points, 9 assists, 4 steals.

When asked how she did it, she said, “I was playing for someone.”

Paige never told the media. Never posted. She didn’t want your disappearance to be clickbait. Didn't want strangers speaking your name without knowing what it meant.

Only a few people knew. Her family. Her teammates. Geno. Azzi.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted once, quietly, sitting in a dark gym after practice.

Azzi handed her a bottle of water and sat down next to her.

“You don’t have to know,” Azzi said. “You just have to keep waking up.”

Paige nodded. “I feel like if I stop moving, I’ll fall apart.”

“Then keep moving,” Azzi said, her voice soft. “But don’t pretend she wasn’t everything.”

That was the only time Paige cried in front of someone else.

She started wearing your dog tags during games—tied and tucked into her shoelaces.

The team didn’t ask. No one had to.

Sometimes, before tip-off, she’d whisper something to herself that the cameras couldn’t catch.

“Come back to me.”

“I’m not done loving you.”

“Please.”

She was back in Minnesota for the off-season. Alone in her childhood bedroom. Posters still on the walls. Your sweatshirt still folded in her drawer.

She pulled the shoebox of your letters from under her bed. Set them on the floor.

And she started reading.

All of them.

In order.

She read them through the night, until the sun broke through the window. Until the air felt like you’d touched it.

And when she finally reached the last one—the one that ended with I miss…—she didn’t cry.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Me too.”

The world never knew your name.

Paige made sure of that.

To them, she was just growing up. Evolving. Hardening into the face of a franchise, into someone who could carry a team, a league, an entire sport.

But behind closed doors, her story stayed the same.

She was playing for someone they couldn’t see.

She told herself it would only be a few weeks. A month, maybe.

People go missing in combat. It’s chaos. Misinformation.

She watched every news update with a clenched jaw. She memorized the names of other recovered soldiers and felt sick when yours never came up.

She played harder.

She trained until her joints burned, iced until her skin went numb, shot free throws until her hands bled.

Every drop of sweat said your name.

She didn’t need cameras to catch it—she whispered it at the line.

Every game.

Before the buzzer.

Into her wrist.

Y/N.

Your dog tags became her talisman.

Before every game, she would take them out and kiss them once.

“For luck,” she’d tell her teammates.

But they knew better.

She didn’t pray anymore, not really. But this? This was faith.

Not in God. Not in war.

In you.

That somewhere, somehow, you could feel her playing.

That you were still out there.

It was a sold-out home game. National broadcast. Paige dropped 40 and broke the team record.

Everyone expected her to jump on the scorer’s table, to scream, to celebrate.

Instead, she looked up at the rafters, took the tags from her laces, and held them in both hands.

She mouthed something no one could hear. “That one was for you. Did you see it?”

The internet exploded.

“Who is she holding those for?” “Is it a memorial?” “Did she lose someone?”

She didn’t answer any of it.

Some stories weren’t meant for the public.

Some love deserves silence.

A month later, after a brutal loss and a postgame press conference she barely survived, Paige found herself alone on the bus, forehead pressed to the window, fingers curled around your dog tags like they were her last anchor.

Azzi slid into the seat across from her.

“You ever think about letting her go?” she asked gently.

Paige didn’t move.

“She’s been gone almost two years,” Azzi said. “You haven’t even—”

Paige turned, eyes glassy, voice like shattered glass.

“She’s not gone. You don’t get it. I’d know. If she were… if she really was…”

She broke.

Azzi reached across the seat and held her as the sobs finally tore free. The kind you choke on. The kind that only happens when you’ve waited too long to cry.

Paige gripped the dog tags so hard they left bruises on her palms.

To the fans, she was just Paige.

Focused. Unshakable. Laser-eyed and graceful.

They didn’t know that she woke up every morning and checked her phone for a text that never came.

They didn’t know she kept a post-it by her bed with one word on it, Comeback.

They didn’t know she still wrote your name in her journal every night.

She never said you were gone.

Not even once.

She just kept playing.

For you.

The silence wasn’t just quiet. It was a presence. A second shadow. It followed Paige everywhere.

She stopped listening to voicemails. She couldn’t take the static of it. Couldn’t hear your voice in her memory and not know if she’d ever hear it for real again.

Some people said you disappeared. She hated that word.

You weren’t lost.

You were somewhere.

And silence just meant you weren’t ready to come home yet.

Paige never changed it.

The room you stayed in when you visited—back in Minnesota. The navy-blue blanket. The folded hoodie. The photo of the two of you from junior year after her buzzer-beater—your arm slung over her shoulder, her hair half-falling out of a ponytail, your smile barely hiding how in love you were.

She went in there sometimes. Sat on the edge of the bed and just... stayed.

Sometimes with a letter. Sometimes with a memory.

She’d run her fingers along the edge of the desk and whisper your name under her breath.

Once, her mom found her curled up in the corner, clutching your dog tags like they were a lifeline.

“She’s not dead,” Paige said fiercely, even though no one had said a word. “She’s not gone.”

Eventually, Paige started writing you again.

In a tattered notebook, the kind you'd tease her for hoarding.

April 6th – I dreamt you were sitting court side. You had your boots on the seat in front of you like you always do, and I told you off for it, and you just grinned. I woke up crying. I wish you were there to see me win the championship.

April 14th — I got drafted to the Dallas Wings. I wish you were next to me when they called my name up. You were the first arms I wanted to be in.

May 19th – I told Azzi about the first time you kissed me. I think I needed someone else to remember it with me. Someone else besides me.

June 5th – I’m wearing your sweatshirt again. I can still smell you in it. Is that insane? It’s been years. I don’t care. It’s the only place I sleep anymore.

She filled pages. Dozens.

Each ending the same way…

Come home. Please. Just come home.

She started dodging interviews.

Not because she couldn’t answer the usual questions—WNBA schedules, stats, upcoming matchups.

But because no one ever asked the one she was begging for.

“Who are you still waiting for?” “Whose ghost are you loving?” “What did silence take from you?”

One night, Paige stayed after practice, alone in the gym.

She shot free throws in silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

She missed the fifth.

The sixth clanged off the rim. So did the seventh.

She dropped the ball and sat down, right there at the line, heart pounding like it was trying to remind her she was still alive.

And then she screamed.

A sound torn straight from her lungs—raw and shattering and full of every word she never got to say to you.

It echoed off the walls like it didn’t want to leave her, either.

After that, she went home. Took the notebook. The shoebox of your letters.

She lit a candle. Not to mourn you.

To guide you.

And then she wrote one last entry.

If you're still out there... I’ll be here. I’ll wait forever if I have to. I’ll wait until the world ends. I’ll wait until your voice breaks the quiet. Just give me something. Anything. Please.

She tore the page out, folded it, and tucked it into your last letter.

I miss…

It didn’t come with fanfare.

No parade. No advance warning.

Just a short news segment buried under election coverage and early playoff chatter.

“BREAKING: U.S. soldier previously declared MIA has been found alive after two years. Name: Y/N L/N. Location: undisclosed for recovery and debrief.”

That was it.

No footage. No interview. Just a name.

But for Paige Bueckers, it was the only name that mattered.

She’d just drained a corner three when her phone buzzed on the bench.

DiJonai was the one who saw it first—Paige’s mom had texted.

Mom: Turn on CNN right now. Sit down first.

Paige blinked, confused, wiping sweat from her forehead as she unlocked her phone.

She didn’t get past the first sentence.

The world blurred. The gym fell away. Her knees gave out.

She sank to the floor, phone still in hand, your name burning across the screen.

Nai dropped beside her. “Paige. Paige, what—”

Paige choked on a sob so violent it came from somewhere ancient. Something sacred.

“She's alive,” she whispered.

Over and over.

“She's alive.”

Practice ended early that day.

Not because Paige asked. Because the team knew.

Arike sat with her in the locker room, one arm slung around her shoulder while Paige just kept staring into space, as if blinking might make it vanish.

“She’s alive.”

“They found her.”

“She’s really alive.”

And then the silence broke, and the sobs came, and the entire locker room sat with her until her breathing steadied.

Not one person filmed. Not one word leaked.

Some moments deserved to live only in memory.

You trended within the hour.

Your name. Your story. Your face—blurred in old photos, smiling in uniform, standing next to fellow soldiers.

The world wanted to know everything.

Where you were. What happened. How you survived.

But you weren’t ready.

So the military gave you privacy. Gave you time.

You stayed in an undisclosed hospital somewhere quiet, limbs sore, mind fractured but still yours. Alive. You were alive.

But you didn’t want the cameras.

You only wanted her.

Paige didn't know if you'd get it.

Didn't know if they'd even let you see it.

But she sent it anyway.

A photo. The last one you ever took together—her in your lap on her porch swing, eyes closed, smiling.

Below it, just one sentence, “If you’re ready… I never stopped waiting.”

You were given a secure phone.

You unlocked it the second you were allowed.

There were hundreds of missed calls. Dozens of texts. Messages from family, friends, teammates.

But it was hers your eyes searched for.

You opened the photo. Stared at it for five minutes without blinking.

And then you called.

“Hi,” you said. Voice soft, hoarse, barely yourself.

There was a sharp inhale on the other end. Then silence.

“Come home.”

You agreed to it on one condition.

“She can’t know.”

The league had reached out. The team. Even the commissioner.

There were plans, whispers of tributes, military salutes, halftime ceremonies—but you only cared about one thing.

You wanted to surprise her.

You wanted the first time she saw you to feel like it stopped time.

Like no one else existed.

Just her.

Just you.

The game was nationally televised. Her team had home court. Fans were packed into the arena an hour before tip-off, buzzing with playoff energy.

And somewhere backstage, behind security lines and curtained tunnels—you waited.

Fidgeting with the cuffs of your formal uniform, your knees bouncing.

“You nervous?” a Dallas Wings rep asked you.

You didn’t answer.

Because nervous wasn’t the word.

You were holding years in your chest—letters left unfinished, nights unlived, a promise that somehow never broke even when everything else did.

You were about to see her again.

After everything.

She didn’t know.

Not at tip-off.

Not in the first quarter, when she scored ten points with her usual quiet brilliance.

Not during halftime, when she rehydrated on the bench, laughing at something NaLyssa said, her hands still steady, her heart still wrapped in that ache she never gave a name.

She didn’t know.

But she was wearing your dog tags again.

Still tied to her laces.

Like a thread connecting her to something she thought might’ve been a ghost.

End of the fourth quarter.

Something different was happening.

The arena darkened. The jumbotron flickered.

She wiped her face with a towel, confused, glancing around as the crowd fell into a low, electric hush.

The screen began to play.

Images of soldiers.

Of sacrifice.

Of silence.

“Tonight, we honor one of our own…”

She blinked.

Froze.

A childhood photo of you flashed on the screen. Then one of you in uniform. Then another—your face older, weathered, still unmistakably you.

“…who returned home after being declared missing in action for two years.”

Her towel dropped.

So did her hands.

Then came your name.

Loud.

Proud.

Spoken over the speaker system with reverence and awe.

“Please welcome home… Staff Sergeant Y/N L/N.”

From the tunnel. From the shadows.

Into the floodlights.

Your boots hitting the court like thunder. Your breath shaking.

You could barely hear the crowd over your own heartbeat. The sound was deafening—cheers, gasps, cries—but all of it blurred behind the only thing that mattered.

Her.

Paige.

Standing at center court.

Frozen. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

Her whole body trembling.

You saw the exact second her knees gave.

Arike caught her by the elbow, whispering something, but Paige was already moving.

Running.

Not walking.

Running.

Straight at you.

You barely had time to brace before she slammed into your chest—arms around your neck, tears already wetting your collar, her whole body folded into yours like a prayer finally answered.

“You’re here,” she sobbed. “You’re real. You’re—oh my god—”

You held her.

Tighter than ever before.

And whispered back, “I told you I’d come home.”

She pulled back only enough to touch your face.

To study every scar. Every line. Every part of you changed, and unchanged.

“You look like hell,” she whispered.

“You look like heaven,” you whispered back.

And then, in front of thousands—millions watching from home—

She kissed you.

The kind of kiss people write books about. The kind that rewrites history.

You could feel her whole soul in it.

Years of silence. Years of hope. Years of waiting.

All pouring out of her like she never expected to get this chance again.

Neither did you.

Phones were everywhere. The broadcast replayed it in slow motion.

Social media exploded.

“Paige Bueckers reunited with MIA childhood sweetheart—LIVE mid-game.” “She never moved on. And now she doesn’t have to.” “This… is the love story of the decade.”

But none of it mattered.

Because the only headline that lived in your bones was this.

You made it back to her.

The cheers still echoed through the arena.

Your name was still trending. Clips of the kiss were already viral. Your story was being dissected, romanticized, turned into legend by every major outlet.

But you weren’t listening.

Because Paige had your hand in hers, dragging you down a hallway with her heartbeat in her throat and your pulse pressed against her palm.

Not speaking.

Not yet.

Just walking fast.

Until she found a door. Pushed it open. Pulled you through.

And shut the world out.

It was empty.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly. The bench where she usually laced up her shoes sat undisturbed, a towel draped neatly over the backrest. Her jersey still hung in the open cubby, sweat-soaked and clinging to its shape like it knew it had just lived through something historic.

You stood near the wall, unsure if you should sit or speak or breathe.

Until she turned.

Slowly.

Eyes full of everything she'd held back for two years.

She walked straight into you again. But this time, it wasn’t frantic. Or desperate. Or breaking. It was slow. Crushed. Sacred. Her arms slid around your middle. Her head tucked under your chin. And she just… held you.

You stood there in silence, letting her remember what your body felt like. Letting yourself remember how she fit against you like muscle to bone.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

“I was, a little,” you murmured. “Until I remembered I had to find my way back to you.”

She let out a soft sound. A sob half-swallowed by a laugh.

“You’re such a cheeseball.”

“Still worked,” you said.

“Still works.”

Just enough to look at you.

Her hands cupped your face. Her thumbs brushed under your eyes like she couldn’t believe they were still yours.

“What happened?” she asked softly. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I just—”

“It was bad,” you said. “But not enough to make me forget you.”

That did it.

The tears came back.

She sat down on the bench, pulling you with her, your knee brushing hers as you both leaned into the impossible miracle of this moment.

“I kept your letters,” she whispered. “Read them every night. Wrote you some too.”

“I know,” you said.

She looked up, startled. “You read them?”

You nodded.

“They gave them to me once I was stabilized. Your mom saved them all.”

“All of them?”

“Even the one where you threatened to fight God if he didn’t bring me back.”

“Okay,” she muttered, cheeks flushing. “That one was private.”

You smiled. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to forget it.”

“I don’t want you to forget anything,” she said, suddenly serious. “Not a single thing. Even the bad parts. Even the waiting. I just—” Her voice cracked. “I just want you here. For real. To stay.”

You reached for her hand.

Interlocked fingers. One heartbeat.

“I’m here.”

“To stay?”

“If you’ll have me.”

She didn’t answer with words.

She answered by climbing into your lap, wrapping herself around you like she was claiming her missing piece, forehead to yours, lips brushing yours.

“Always.”

You sat together for over an hour. Just talking.

Catching up on nothing and everything. Teammates. Therapy. Her favorite shows. Your favorite food again. How your body still flinched when you heard loud noises. How her nights were filled with dreams of you showing up, just like tonight.

“I always imagined this,” she whispered. “You walking onto the court. Everyone gasping. Me running to you.”

“You looked so good I almost forgot how to walk.”

“You looked like my whole life coming back to me.”

“You are my life.”

She closed her eyes.

You kissed her forehead.

And she didn’t move for a long, long time.

The house you live in now isn’t big.

Paige didn’t want a mansion. You didn’t want a city. You picked a quiet neighborhood outside Dallas, far enough to hear birds instead of traffic. Close enough that her commute to practice isn’t a headache.

There’s a front porch with a swing you built by hand. A tiny backyard garden she insists on overwatering. A fridge full of sticky notes and protein shakes and letters you leave for each other just because.

The walls are painted in warm colors.

The rooms are full of soft things.

The whole place smells like clean laundry and cinnamon candles and home.

You wake up before her.

You always have.

The dog—Bentley, a rescue with floppy ears and too much energy—sleeps curled at the foot of the bed. Paige sleeps tangled in you.

Most mornings she doesn’t speak right away. She just buries her face in your neck and breathes.

“Still here?” she whispers, like she’s checking.

“Still here,” you answer every time.

You kiss her temple. She kisses your scar. It’s a ritual now.

Neither of you say I missed you anymore.

It’s in every touch. Every sigh. Every morning.

You coach youth basketball on the weekends. Paige comes when she can, sunglasses low, hoodie up, cheering louder than any parent.

Once, one of the kids asked if you were married.

You glanced at her across the court and said, “Not yet.”

Paige smiled like she already had the ring.

One Sunday, while cleaning the hall closet, you find it.

Folded between two shoeboxes of old photos and game-day programs.

The letter you never saw.

The one Paige wrote you during the two years you were gone but never sent.

You sit on the floor and unfold it carefully. The ink is smudged. The paper smells like her perfume and heartbreak.

Y/N,

If you ever get this, it means I found a way to speak even when you're not here to hear it.

I don’t know where you are, or if you're breathing, or if you're laughing somewhere with someone who isn’t me. But I hope you’re not in pain. I hope you know that I would’ve waited a hundred years. I still would. I just want you safe. I want you whole.

I want you to come back and walk through my door and kiss me like the world didn’t win.

But even if you don’t, I’ll still be yours.

Love always,

Paige

You sit there for a long time.

Then you find her in the kitchen, lift her onto the counter, and kiss her until she forgets how to stand.

“You did wait,” you whisper.

“You were worth it,” she answers.

It’s the anniversary of your return.

The Wings are playing a home game. You’re in the stands—front row. Paige scans for you before warmups and grins when she finds you.

She taps her chest twice, over her heart.

You do the same.

Still here.

There are fingerprints on every surface of the house.

Sticky juice cups. Crayon murals on the hallway walls. A glitter-covered soccer cleat on the kitchen table.

You used to live for silence.

Now you live for this chaos.

For the soft pitter-patter of feet running down the hall. For squeals of laughter at bath time. For the way your daughter yells, “Watch me, Mama!” every time she throws a ball six inches off the ground.

She’s five. Bright-eyed. Fearless.

Her name is Hope.

Because that’s what she gave you when she was born.

You sit on the couch with Hope in your lap while Paige makes breakfast—messy ponytail, sleepy smile, her old college hoodie falling off her shoulder.

Bentley is older now. Greyer. Still insists on sleeping under the kitchen table.

“I want braids today,” Hope declares, handing you a brush and three elastics.

“Again?” you tease. “You know I only learned how to do those for your mom, right?”

“Then you should be really good at it.”

She’s got her mother’s sass.

You pretend to groan. Paige laughs into her coffee.

“That’s my girl.”

You both retired within two years of each other—Paige with two MVPs, three championships, a career that left the sport different than when she entered it.

You left the military after receiving an award they told you couldn’t be disclosed publicly. But that wasn’t the legacy that mattered to you.

The real one lives in your home.

In the stories you tell Hope about bravery that doesn't always wear medals, about love that outlasts war.

“Did Mama really wait for you for two whole years?” she asks one night while you’re tucking her in.

You nod, heart aching at the memory, now soft around the edges.

“She never let go of me. Even when the world tried to make her.”

Hope stares at you like you’re a myth.

“I want to be brave like Mama one day.”

“Me too,” you say quietly.

That weekend, you all go to a Wings game.

Paige is honored at halftime—her jersey raised to the rafters. The crowd stands for five full minutes.

Hope clutches your hand, eyes wide.

When they call your name too—“for a life of service, for love that defied silence”—you freeze.

Paige squeezes your hand.

“This is your legacy too,” she says.

You step onto the court, Hope between you.

And together, as a family, you stand beneath the jersey that once carried her name alone.

Now it carries all of yours.

That night, Paige posts a photo.

It’s simple.

You, Paige, and Hope in front of the banner. Her arm around your waist. Hope on your hip. Everyone smiling like nothing ever broke.

Some love stories survive silence. Ours learned how to sing through it.

The comments flood in.

“You were always endgame.” “Their daughter is the living proof that love always comes home.” “Crying in a CVS right now, thanks.” “Brb telling my future wife I’d wait for her forever too.”

But none of that matters.

Because later that night, as you lie in bed with Paige curled into your chest, her fingers tracing slow circles over your wedding ring, she whispers, “We made it.”

And you whisper back, “We made forever.”

Dear Paige,

I don’t know when you’ll find this.

Maybe Hope’s off at college. Maybe you’re coming home from a coaching session, your hair pulled back the way you used to wear it when you were 17 and still trying to convince me to play H-O-R-S-E for kisses.

Maybe I’m upstairs taking a nap and you just needed to hold something that felt like us again.

Either way, if you’re reading this… hi, baby.

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while now. Not because anything’s wrong—but because love like this deserves to be documented. Carved into the page. Tucked between grocery lists and bedtime stories and all the normal things that never felt so beautiful until they were ours.

I want you to know something.

You saved me.

Not just the first time, when you waited for me. But every time after.

Every time you looked at me like I was still whole.

Every time you made pancakes in the shape of hearts and called them “accidents” even though we both knew better.

Every time you reached for me in the dark and didn’t flinch when I told you I was afraid.

You never ran.

Even when it would've been easier.

You stayed.

You loved.

And because of that, I learned how to breathe again. How to live. How to dream past the damage.

I used to think I came back for you.

But now I know the truth.

I came back because of you.

Because something in your love refused to let go of me—stretched across time and silence and ocean, stubborn and radiant, like it always knew we'd find our way back.

And we did.

We found forever.

I don’t need fairy tales. I just need you. Bent knee and tired laugh and soft hands in mine.

So when you find this letter—when you reread these words years from now—I hope you remember that there was never a moment I stopped choosing you.

Not once.

Not even when the world tried to pull us apart.

Not even when I disappeared.

I still found my way to you.

Because home was never a place.

It was always your heartbeat.

Still yours.

Forever,

Y/N

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige buckets #paige x reader #paige bueckers fanfic #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #lesbian #wlw #wuh luh wuh #dallas wings

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httpiastri · 2 days ago

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i remember 2023 and 2024, when people laughed at me when i said oscar was going to fight for world championships. i remember feeling a need to "explain" and defend him when people said he "doesn't have the edge to be that good" or that he was too calm to be that good….. and i think that's why all of this feels extra sweet

#f1 has been soooo good to me recently #all of the old skeptics are being proven wrong and i love it #osc + good car = unstoppable #I remember talking to even my dad and being like ‘well oscar is good bcs this and this and that’ and he still went 🤨#look at him now #so proud osco #(cant even imagine how proud i wouldve been if i had loved him since f2 or f3 of before)#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #oscar piastri

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prettydaisygirl · 2 days ago

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If possible can we get a part two of the one bed trope with James?

Maybe a smug Sirius when he finds out his plan worked. Maybe even a month after the cabin.

I love your stories so much. You are so talented!!

AND "Hello my love! I am absolutely obsessed with the one bed trope James potter fic you just posted! It’s so lovely :) I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a part two, just the next day where they have a soft, fluffy morning- you know maybe them being a little awkward at first because they’re not sure what to do, but falling into this comfortable intimacy because of the forced proximity? No worries either way but I love your writing!!"

I got two requests for a part two of the one bed trope fic! I'm so glad to see so many of you enjoyed it, I was really proud of it after I struggled with it for a few days haha! I tried to blend these two requests together, and I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. I hope you all enjoy, thanks for requesting <3

(boy)friend!James Potter x fem!reader who get found out ✿ 1.3k words

cw: fem reader, reader and James don't want to admit that Sirius' plan worked, mentions of smut but nothing detailed, Sirius is so dramatic I love him

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

previous part

This morning was decidedly not going the way you had hoped it would.

It started out good. More than good, you would even say wonderful. You’d woken up with James’ head between your legs, which is quite possibly the best way you can imagine waking up in the morning. You’d cuddled for a while, showered together, and you relished in the feeling of being around your boyfriend. Truthfully, things were new. The two of you have only really been together a few weeks.

But it doesn’t feel new. It feels like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, that were always meant to find one another. Sirius may have pushed you, but there’s a deep knowing in your gut that things would always have turned out this way. A million lifetimes, a million different paths, and you think that you and James Potter would find your way together.

The morning after your first kiss with James, you’d woken up in his arms in the cabin.

Your eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of James Potter’s sleeping face. For a moment, you’re in utter disbelief until you remember the conversation, and the kiss, from the night before. You find your cheeks heating up, and you press yourself closer to him as your heart pounds. His arms wrap tighter around you, like even subconsciously he wants to be closer to you.

You place a gentle kiss on his chin, and he takes in a long breath before his own eyes open. He smiles at you softly, a hand raising to hold your cheek. There’s a moment where both of you just sit comfortably still, looking at each other in the early morning light. Then James lowers his mouth to yours and despite the morning breath it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.

When James finally pulls away, you’re sufficiently dizzy and desperate beneath him. He smirks confidently and climbs off of you, holding out a hand for you to take.

The two of you eat breakfast together, go on a little walk through the woods and enjoy the beauty of nature and solitude. He kisses you again, then, as you slow dance under the trees in the light of the midday sun, and you know you’ll always think of this moment when you hear birds singing.

“We can’t tell Sirius about this,” James whispers to you with a teasing smile on his face. You chuckle, pulling him just a bit closer as the two of you sway.

“No, we cannot.” You agree, your sweet laugh making James’ heart soar.

The rest of the weekend is much the same. You have sex for the first time, with James whispering how beautiful you are and how much he adores you. You cuddle in front of the fireplace and James falls asleep with his head in your lap as you read him a book. It’s beautiful, everything you could have ever wanted. And you’re not going to tell Sirius.

And so far, neither you or James had managed to let it slip to Sirius, or anyone else, that your relationship had changed so significantly. You didn’t want to hear Sirius’ smug teasing, endure Remus’ knowing looks, or even Peter’s intrusive questions. The two of you just wanted to be you two just for a little bit longer.

But, of course, secrets can only stay secret for so long. This morning is when things go wrong.

James washes your hair and then kisses you until the water goes cold. He wraps you in a towel, calls you his ‘angel’, and goes downstairs to make breakfast.

You’ve just finished drying your hair with James’ towel, wearing one of his shirts and your panties, when you hear the front door open and close. You’re not immediately put off, thinking maybe James stepped outside for the paper or something.

“Oi, Prongs! Why is there a pair of ladies shoes by your door?” Sirius.

You freeze, looking down at your lack of clothing, the open bedroom door, the obvious evidence of your nights here scattered around James’ home.

Sirius’ footsteps echo as he moves into the kitchen. You stand, taking the quietest steps you can possibly manage to lean against the bedroom door, listening.

“Pads, mate, you have to text me when you want to come over. It’s not like we share a bedroom anymore, is it?” Your boyfriend’s voice gives you butterflies, but it only increases your anxiety, overwhelmed by the situation. You grasp the wood of the bedroom door tightly.

It’s not really a big deal if Sirius finds out, you know eventually everyone will find out. But you weren’t expecting it. You wanted to tell everyone on your own terms.

“Well, sorry, but I’m here now.” You hear something scrape across the floor, presumably Sirius sitting down at the dining room table. “There’s a pair of women’s shoes by the door, and you’re making pancakes. I’ve interrupted your morning after, haven’t I?” Sirius laughs boisterously and James seems to shush him.

“Sirius, please-” If James says anything else, you don’t hear it. There’s only a moment of quiet before Sirius’ voice says the worst possible thing imaginable.

“Jamsie,” Sirius’ voice is high and sing-songy, and even though you can’t see him, you know there’s a bright grin on his face, “Is she who I think she is? Did my plan work?”

“So you admit it!” There’s another scraping sound, you guess James sits at the table by Sirius. You decide to move across the bedroom, losing out on some of the conversation while you put your jeans on.

Fully clothed now, you tiptoe out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Sirius and James are sitting at the table, as you guessed. You and James meet eyes and he shrugs. Sirius sees this, whipping his head around so fast you think he might injure himself.

“Ah-ha! I knew it!” Sirius stands up, clearly proud of himself and his match-making skills, “You don’t have to thank me, just let me plan your wedding!”

“Sirius!” James’ eyes widen and he looks at you apologetically. But, strangely, you don’t feel upset. In fact, you find yourself starting to laugh, and Sirius does too. James looks between the two of you with a furrowed brow before even he can’t help but join in, chuckling and shaking his head. “You can’t just say that.”

“I can say whatever I want because I was right!” Sirius flips his hair over his shoulder dramatically. “I’m thinking ballroom wedding. Fancy for your parents, Jamsie, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” James shakes his head and you take a seat at the table with two of them. He moves closer, brushing a soothing hand over your knee to apologize for Sirius’ intrusion.

“Really?” You chime in, surprising both of them, “I would imagine you’d want something extravagant, Jamie.”

“I do! Well, I mean- If… If you want something extravagant, then I do too! I want to show you off…” Sirius watches the interaction with a smirk, obviously taking notes to tease the both of you later.

You roll your eyes and smile, lightly shoving at James with your hand, though it doesn’t even move him an inch. “We’ve been together for three weeks, James. I don’t know what kind of wedding I want.”

“Well, you must have some idea-” James’ voice is cut off by the scrape of the chair again, Sirius standing up and putting his hands on his hips. He does a little bow and you roll your eyes again.

“Well, now I have put the idea into your heads. Ponder it,” He smiles giddily, grabs his bag, and begins making his way back to the front door. “I can’t wait to tell Remus about this. He’ll be glad his allergic reaction wasn’t for nothing!”

“Sirius!”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #james potter #boyfriend!james potter #james potter au #james potter fluff #james potter drabble #james potter fic #dividers by saradika-graphics #hp marauders #james potter smut #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x self insert #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #marauders fic #marauders x reader #marauders imagine

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ashmacg · 3 days ago

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Since the last time I came across this post, I've seen analysis posts RE: sns that mention a few different classical Japanese ways of showing deep romantic devotion. One of these is shedding blood or amputating a finger to show utmost devotion to one's lover. This is applied to the whole deal with N & S blasting each other's arms off, because in the Shinobi World, nothing can be done in only a reasonable amount. One of the other, less grievously injurious—actually it's not injurious at all, in the typical sense—has to do with hair, which carries great importance in Japanese culture. The methods of lovers signifying their devotion with hair were to either cut their own, and especially to give a lock of it to their lover, or allow their lover to cut it themself.

For Sakura and Ino, this is interesting for three reasons: 1) the glaringly obvious is that Sakura allowed Ino (who volunteered the gesture) to trim her raggedy self-cut to look better. Granted, this isn't some massive romantic thing in the moment, and the people nearby don't really think much of it. It's kinda just taken as a girls' thing, fashion and style and vanity. But it can be viewed as romantic through the lens of deep Japanese culture. The anime makes sure to punctuate their moment with bickering, but when else do they smile at one another so confidently? It's practically their mutual favorite activity, getting in each other's faces and riling each other up wearing ornery, almost sinister, grins. 2) Y'all remember why Sakura was itching to be adversarial with Ino? Hint: Sasuke was an excuse that turned into an ego-fueling obsession. The big reason Sakura had at the time was to show Ino she didn't need her support, that she could stand on her own two feet. It was at once an attempt to show Ino up and make Ino's investment in her worthwhile by showing character growth and courage. When Sakura hacked off that enormous amount of her hair, easily at least a year or two of growth, part of the reason she did so was to show that she was ready to stand tall as a shinobi—the exact same attitude that drove her to declare her independence from Ino. Notice also in the anime (my current source) the scene in the flashbacks when Sakura declares their status of rivals, and I would expect this to be in the manga as well given the artistic excellence—they sit together on a bench in the shade of a tree, and Sakura gets up to walk out of the shadow. Sakura's decision to cut her hair and her decision to step out of Ino's shadow are thematically welded together.

3) I'll finish this list as I began it, depicting one of my two examples given for the devotional hair actions: we see the [plausibly romantic] gesture of cutting off one's hair (and, in a way, we also see the giving-to-lover part) when during her fight with Sakura, Ino—known for being a vain girl and proud as hell to be (we stan a femininity-positive girl) and as such she cares a heckuva lot about her hair—feigns a meltdown and hacks off a similarly enormous amount, a good 3(ish?) years of growth, and then she...throws. it. at. Sakura. It's like Ino is saying to her "Shut up and take my shorn hair, lover!" Ino practically demonstrates in front of everyone that when it comes to Sakura, sweet mother she literally can't even weave. Another thing to notice: when Ino holds her hair in her hand, shrieking with her extra expression of frustration just before throwing the hair at Sakura, she's holding said hair palm-up. When she hands Sakura's forehead protector (Ino is the guardian warrior of Sakura's forehead, honestly) to her, she's holding it the same way.

And as long as anyone is talking about narrative misogyny RE: Sakura and/or Ino, let's not forget that when Ino tells Sakura how beautifully she's bloomed as a flower, everything that Ino is talking about—her reasons for saying so—and everything relevant to Ino saying that which had transpired between them as friends…passes the Bechdel Test. FWIW, as far as Sasuke is a point of contention for the girls, he is narratively associated very much with Yin and culturally feminine qualities, and is a dead ringer for his mother (so, his captivating beauty as an Academy-age boy may be a result of resembling a woman), and so I personally wonder if it would be more proper to disqualify Sakura's and Ino's discussions of him from being a violation of the test…ergo, if the women discuss a man who gives woman to an inordinate extent, does that still violate the Bechdel Test?

i think about them a lot

#Kishimoto is writing patently queer-coded deep-culture Japanese romance EVERYWHERE in the Naruto IP #and all anyone can see is Badly Written Women™ when these two are literally #passing the Bechdel Test at Mach 3 whenever Sakura isn't spamming sAsUkE as an avoidance tactic #and she uses the avoidance to not have to deal w/ how awkward she feels about Ino being the most important person in the world to her #BTW this episode (32 of pt1) feat's Sakura admitting in internal monologue that her “claim” to be madly in love with Sauce is “empty words"#and back to the both of the girls—subconsc'ly motivated they are literally lezz-rizzing eachother up in a very classically Japanese way #sakuino #inosaku #sakura x ino #ino x sakura #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #ino yamanaka #yamanaka ino #queer #lesbian

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fleuryns · 3 days ago

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SHUT UP AND KISS ME! ୨୧ WHEN YOU SHUT THEM UP WITH A KISS

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛────𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒

❪ 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝑖 ❫ 엔하 & 𝑓 ! 𝗋 99O𝗐𝖼 𓈒 𓈒 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗇-𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗎 ♥︎ 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌

★LIKEREBLOG

HEESEUNG ｡ you are trying to study for an upcoming exam, and heeseung is doing anything but helping. tapping his pencil, humming, poking your cheek, his bored energy in full swing. “babe, do you think a hundred men could beat a gorilla?” he asks for the hundredth time. you look away from your laptop and huff at him, you love him, but… enough.

“think about it, the gorilla is-” you lean in and interrupt his rambling with a kiss. firm, quick, and with zero warning. heeseung instinctively kisses back, his hand coming to rest naturally on your waist, but when you pull back his eyes are wide with surprise.

“did… did you just-” he stutters, lips still puckered from the kiss. “yes” you said, coolly turning back to your notes “because you don’t shut up.” he blinks, then smiles like a dork. “i’m annoying so you kissed me, i see...” he gets quieter after that, but every few minutes he leans closer and whispers: “wanna shut me up again, princess?”

JAY ｡ after dinner, he rants about the absolute disgrace that was a soggy sandwich he had for lunch. you listen, at first, but fifteen minutes in, his arms are flailing, his voice is getting more passionate, and you have completely zoned out.

he gestures dramatically with a fork, saying: “and then it had lettuce, but it was like- wilted, babe, i’m talking a full on dead leaf-” you stand, grab his collar, and kiss him straight-on. he pauses, stares at you, then clears his throat. “did you just kiss me to shut me up?” he says, pretending he's unfazed. “yup” you answer back in a chirp, a proud expression on your face.

“that’s… one way to stop me...” he huffs “now i don’t remember what i was saying...” he grumbles, and you laugh at him “mission accomplished then!” but he's already pulling you in for another kiss: “if this is the punishment for ranting, i might start doing it more just to get what i deserve...”

JAKE ｡ jake’s rambling about his dog again, complete with a reenactment of layla’s dramatic tumble off the couch. it’s cute, but you're so tired today, your head aches, and he hasn’t stopped talking about this for twenty minutes.

“and then she went over to the couch like thi-” you grab his face and kiss him, cutting off the rest of his sentence with a gentle press of your lips. he makes a surprised little noise, muffled against your lips, then goes still. when you pull away, he’s grinning like an idiot.

“oh” he said dumbly, brain buffering “was i talking too much?” you gave him a half-smile, saying: “you were being cute, but yes.” he laughed at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “you know, there are other ways to tell me to shut up… but i like this one a lot.”

SUNGHOON ｡ it's not often that your boyfriend talks a lot, except when it comes to teasing you. and now, he's doing it again, something about how you always lose at board games. he’s smug, grinning like the happiest kid in the world, and he won’t stop.

so you lean in and kiss him, just to shut him up. he stiffens mid-laugh, eyes darting down to your lips, then back up to yours. they're wide open and his mouth is still slightly parted from his earlier rambling. “shut up” you say, resting your forehead against his “please.”

he bites back a grin, but you can see it in his eyes that he'd like to steal one more. “okay, okay. i get it” he pulls you into a hug, nuzzling into your shoulder and letting out a chuckle. “it seems like i have to tease you more if this is what happens...”

SUNOO ｡ he’s dramatically telling a story from school, complete with impressions of the people involved and his own sound effects. you’ve heard it before, twice to be precise, but he’s not done performing. you’ve finally had enough, so you silence him with a kiss.

he stops immediately, eyes wide, frozen like a paused movie. then, when you pull away, he gapes. “excuse me?? ah, i can't believe you...” he stares at you, mock-offended, but his giggle tells just how much he enjoyed it.

“you’re lucky you’re cute” he says in a pout, and you poke his cheek in response. “so are you” you say “even if you're dramatic”. you nuzzle against him, and he just sighs while holding you, still in shock by what you just did.

JUNGWON ｡ jungwon’s being responsible again, reminding you of all the things you have to do tomorrow. “and don’t forget to set your alarm this time. and maybe you should pack your bag now so you don’t–” you gently cup his face and kiss him.

“wh– what was that?” he stutters mid-sentence, eyes blinking in surprise. “an invite to shut up” you say, looking at him cheekily “you were turning into a professor giving a lecture”. he pouts a little, trying not to smile. “i was just trying to help...” he sighs, finally letting his shoulders drop.

“you’re cute when you're worried” you tease him softly and he gets flustered, covering his face. “you’re evil” he mutters under his breath, and then: “can you kiss me again?”

NI-KI ｡ he’s bragging about beating you in a video game, listing off all your mistakes with a playful smirk. he's teasing you about your low score again, and you’ve had enough. you grab his shirt and yank him towards you, smacking your lips against his.

when you pull back, he’s staring at you, not blinking. “eh? what just happened?” he scoffs, trying to regain his composure. “you were being annoying so i shut you up” you raise your eyebrows, now your turn teasing him.

“okay, that’s not allowed unless i can do it too” he suddenly tackles you with a laugh, trying to steal another kiss from you, but you squirm away giggling. he just chases you around the room, desperate for a revenge kiss.

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hwnglx · 18 hours ago

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pick a pile - your favourite things about your fs vs. your fs’ favourite things about you (detailed)

welcome back, dear reader. let's look into your favorite things about your future lover, and your future lover’s favorite things about you. note that this is a general reading, so not everything will resonate with everyone! it also highlights the positive sides of the connection. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and let the rest flow. *ੈ✩‧₊˚

𓂃⭑ pile 1 ⭑𓂃

your favourite things about your fs

your fs has this ability, to give you a push in confidence. to help you believe in yourself more, and see yourself as the queen or king that you are. they will quite literally shower you in sweet words, are amazing at flattering.

there's this major theme of “you are such a badass and you need to know about it” they will have the ability to change the way you look at yourself, due to them cherishing you so much.

like calling you beautiful no matter which state you're in; after you just woke up barefaced in the morning, while you're getting ready, while you're focusing on your studies or work.

one of your favorite things about your fs, is how supportive they are of you, particularly when it comes to your own individual pursuits and goals.

i can especially see this in regards to decision-making; you might be someone who can struggle making a strong choice and standing behind it at times. your fs has the potential to help you be more sure of yourself, and strongly push yourself forward in a way that gives you a lot of personal success.

in a “don't overthink it so much, just go for it.” type of way. you'll love how they can get you out of your head, and open your eyes to the power you hold.

i can see this translating into numerous areas of your life; career-wise, personality-wise, appearance-wise, socially. you're likely the type of person who just glows in a different way, when they're in love. your friends could probably see something about your aura shifting, in a ✨ beautiful ✨ way.

you love that your fs is quite literally your no 1 fan, the person who makes you feel special, encourages you, empowers you.

i can see them being quite open and unapologetic about their support too. your fs is immensely proud of being with someone like you, so it's likely most people will know about it.

they'll quite literally gaze at you with so much sparkle and admiration in their eyes.

you will love how your fs isn't a person who ever puts themselves above you. they're very fair-minded, and balanced in their approach to your connection.

let's say you gifted something to your fs, it's not unlikely you'll see a surprise present as a thank you on your desk after you come home from work. there's this feeling of always wanting to give back what you give them.

they seem quite generous in terms of their finances, like the type to willingly splurge on expensive things for you.

i don't see the connection being one of extremely clingy or obsessive nature, and moreso one where the two of you are each other's main sources of support, the person you can comfortably fall back on if anything ever goes wrong.

your fs will provide you with this feeling that.. “even if i fail everything in life, this person will love me regardless. life can still be beautiful.” this can give you a renewed and stronger sense of courage, to step out of your comfort zone and take the leap of faith you might've put off for a while.

on a deeper note; i can see your future lover also making you realize you're lovable in every way, regardless of the emotional baggage and wounds you can potentially come with.

there might be some reluctance in you when it comes to laying your soul bare to people and making yourself vulnerable; you might worry it could turn them off, or make them see you in a different light.

i heard the chorus of jb's unstable here “i tried to scare you away, showed you the door, you adored me anyway. when i was broken in pieces, you were my peace of mind.”

you'll love, how your fs will embrace your flaws lovingly, accept your mistakes and still cherish you throughout everything. also, they won't force vulnerability. they'll allow it to unfold.

a lot of deep and heartfelt conversation. i see your fs being good at provoding you with emotional safety, and facilitating an environment, where you don't feel ashamed to talk about your deepest, darkest secrets to them.

and sometimes, you don't even have to say anything for your future lover to understand what you're feeling - they just get it. they'll be at a point where they just know you that well.

your bond will continue to grow deeper and more intimate through the two of you, especially you, learning how it's okay to open yourself up emotionally to a person. they still won't love you any less, or see you as any less than you are.

even if there's problems in your relationship, the depth of your connection always remains. the two of you help understand each other in a deeper manner. there is a lot of significant and meaningful life lessons you can learn from each other.

your fs' favourite things about you

for some of you, you might've been the one who pursued your fs. and they loved that about you.

the beginning of the spread suggests that your fs deeply admires the way you go after what, and who, you want. boldly, unapologetically, and with purpose.

what they love even more is how you continue to show up consistently. you're not just passionate in the beginning; you put in the work to keep the connection stable and growing.

it's something that gives them a sense of security in the relationship. knowing that you're always striving, not just for yourself, but for your shared future.

your fs loves how you communicate and talk to them. a lot of them might find the way you text them very endearing, some of you could text in this very animated and playful way.

they love that you're so witty, and the way things rarely get dull when they're with you. you might poke and tease them a lot, unafraid of talking back in a sassy manner. you just keep them on their toes, and bring a lighthearted spark to the relationship that they adore.

they love how you balance your sense of humor and playful energy, with a strong sense of focus and work ethic. you're fun, yes, but also grounded, driven, and committed to bettering yourself. that blend of personality traits is something they find incredibly attractive.

interestingly, i mentioned earlier how they find your focused expression really cute, and that theme seems to be repeating. there's something about the way you concentrate, that they find completely adorable.

i could see you guys being younger in age than your fs, there could be a cute height difference too, which your fs could tease you about (like you having to go on your tippy toes to give them a kiss and them playing with you by pulling away)

the energy between you two is sweet and doting. your fs sees you as the most adorable person they know, someone who capable of making them smile constantly.

the two of you could potentially be a couple of two fire signs. i'm feeling leo and aries strongly. particularly sun or venus. this connection is vibrant, passionate, and full of strong personalities.

you two could also have 5h synastry.

your fs loves how you match, or even challenge, their fiery energy. you might even be the one humbling them with your sass and confidence. they love that you can meet their intensity without ever losing your own shine.

they also love how you allow them to be their own person. how you don't brake your fs from having their individual pursuits in life. you encourage their passions, support their goals, and celebrate their individuality.

also worthy to note, that your fs doesn't only appreciate that animated side in you, but also cherishes the sense of harmony you bring into you dynamic.

there's something about your energy they find to be very comforting, healing and soothing. like you're their comfort person and safe space, basically.

there's a little bit of this.. “you're the most precious gift of my life” type of love they have for you.

the connection never really feels like it settles or goes stale. even once things should've become familiar, once the spark and excitement should've started to quiet down the way it does for some couples.. somehow, it still feels new.

something about the way you love, or the way you show up in the relationship, constantly breathes fresh life into it.

your future lover doesn't just feel lucky to have met you. they feel lucky to keep meeting new sides of you all the time. they're continuously unfolding new reasons to fall in love with you, over and over again.

being around you reminds them that love isn’t only about fire and butterflies. it’s also about feeling safe, seen and treasured.

in addition, your fs admires your resilience. they love how you aren't one to allow life to break you down, but on the contrary, you find ways to rise above. whether it's through personal challenges, heartbreak, or difficult moments.. you don’t just let yourself be defeated. you keep moving forward.

they love that you're eager to use every lesson learned, as fuel to push yourself toward the next chapter.

your fs sees and acknowledges, how you've weathered your storms with grace, and it's not only something they deeply respect, but something that makes them love you, very dearly.

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your feedback on what resonated for you <3

𓂃⭑ pile 2 ⭑𓂃

your favourite things about your fs

so to start off this pile, you give me the energy of an introvert, who's usually more comfortable in their own company. being with people might get tiring for you quickly, which is why you like to retreat into your own space at times.

what you will love about your future lover, is how adaptable they are. they're incredibly accepting, open-minded, and tolerant.

they aren't a person who's pushy, intrusive or stubborn; but a person, who's willing to match themselves to you. they'll be ready to adjust to your pace, your comfort levels, your boundaries, and approach you with a comfortingly understanding presence.

you'll appreciate how they rarely take offense when you need space or time alone. they aren't the type to guilt you for withdrawing, they'll simply leave you room to breathe.

your future lover displays an existence that supports you through your journey of finding your best self. someone who helps you understand yourself better.

there is a huge focus on comfort here. your energy is a little heavy. like someone carrying the weight of past pain.. many of you might've been through a lot.. emotionally, mentally, spiritually. perhaps some wounds from your childhood too.

i heard jungkook's seven “weight of the world on your shoulders, i kiss your waist and ease your mind”

this song is a little heavy.. but i somehow kept being drawn to ghostin' by ariana grande. “i'm a girl with a whole lot of baggage, but i love you”

your fs is someone who can help you let go of the past, that might've been weighing on you for a good while. it's almost like, you've been walking through life with all this emotional baggage on your back, and you just carried it by yourself, because you had to, and you didn't know any else. your future spouse will finally lighten it up for you. you will feel more free.

you'll love how your fs provides you with this beautiful feeling of “i finally found my person.”

they have a deeply empathetic energy, with high emotional intelligence. they're emotionally mature. someone who meets you with patience, not pressure.

even if you enter the connection still holding onto certain wounds or patterns, your future spouse won't run from that. they'll stay. they'll help you face what you've buried, and little by little, they'll walk beside you as you heal and uncover new sides of yourself.

they'll open your eyes to the beauty in the world.. in people, in connection, in joy. they'll show you that genuine souls do exist. that you're not too much. that there are people who simply love being around you for who you are.

they might introduce you to their circle, bringing new, healthy friendships into your life.

spirit gave me this metaphor of.. “you've been on the moon this whole time. i will introduce the sun to you now.” and you will be fascinated by the warmth. maybe because you haven't truly felt it in that way before.

it's likely for both of you to have significant water placements. i'm feeling scorpio and pisces strongly. perhaps you're the pisces, and they're the scorpio. doesn't have to be the sun. ofc you could also have conjunctions, and share placements.

there's also a libran way in which they love and approach the world, so i could see them having a libra rising, or libra venus.

i'm also sensing potential eighth house synastry, due to the transformative nature of your relationship. there's a strong theme of you constantly evolving within this bond, shedding layers and becoming more of who you're meant to be. (if you're a pisces rising, libra could fall into your eighth house.)

this person is likely to be more mature than you, maybe older in age. but with that maturity, there's also this sense of them being more in tune with their emotions, as in, they're more comfortable with their feelings.

while reading, i kept feeling the need to speak in a quieter voice, it was almost like there was a lump in my throat.

some of you might struggle speaking up at times, especially when it comes to how you feel. you may have been made to feel like your emotions were too much, or unworthy of space in the past. you may have gone through situations where your voice was purposely quieted. so over time, it became habitual..

this person's existence is like a warm hug, that'll find you right when you need it the most. your future lover will provide you with a sense of gentle compassion.

this love isn't superficial or based on shallow things; it's a love that goes deep, and loves in its entirety. your fs' love is one, that will embrace you with everything that you come with. even the things you yourself have always seen as unlovable.

this can help you to open up your eyes. it's almost like a butterfly, finally being able to see its own beautiful wings.

this union will feel like two people who were meant to be with each other, finally finding to each other, and beautifully completing each other's worlds.

your fs' favorite things about you

the way the two spreads aligned was so beautiful.. i may have shed a tear or two. (yes i actually did i got emotional lol)

so in the first part of the reading, there was some bittersweetness in terms of your feelings of loneliness, that you've carried within you throughout your life.

what's so sweet is, that your fs sees your independence as one of their favourite things about you. it's this feeling of, them seeing what you might condemn about yourself at times, as something genuinely beautiful from their perspective.

in your fs' eyes, there's just something so admirable, about how you've showed up for yourself till now.

you exude a calm and serene presence, one that makes it hard for others to truly get close. as if you're comfortably wrapped in your own quiet world.

this might've been one of their first impressions of you, and what drew them to you from the start.

the energy is strikingly similar to pile 2 from this reading. maybe you could look into it, in case you're more curious about their potential first impression of you.

i keep getting the theme of nature, so there could be a lot settings in nature for your relationship. maybe they first saw you in nature.

interestingly, i keep seeing flower fields and gardens in my minds eye. maybe your first date? or do you use flowery scents? also, something about animals. you might have a lot of love for animals and feel a special connection to them, which your fs finds wonderful.

your future lover might also be incredibly poetic. i could see them comparing you to a flower a lot, and saying slightly cheesy, but lovely things like that. they just see as so beautiful. like a piece of art you can't help but be in awe of.

they see you as immensely intelligent. your future spouse admires how much complexity you hold. how you're not someone who lives on the surface. there's this admiration of the depth your soul has, and how many layers there are to you.

your future spouse loves that you aren't easy to figure out. not because you're hiding, but because you've learned to protect your softness. every step closer to your heart feels like a gift to them, one they don't take for granted.

i can see you opening up to them slowly, and their love growing deeper with each layer they get to uncover. the more they understand you, the more they cherish you.

honestly, they love how much effort it takes to truly know you. might sound weird, but your fs actually enjoys having to put in the work to get past the walls around your heart.

they love it, because it's you. it feels worth it. being rewarded with someone they see as so precious, someone who brings such depth and richness to their life.. nothing else compares. it doesn't feel tiring to them.

random note, but i could see some of you having an earth venus, or maybe saturn in the 7h. in fact, the pisces risings watching this, would have a virgo (earth) descendant/7h 🫵🏻

your fs could have some strong earth placements too, in addition to the water placements.

your future lover's favorite thing to witness is those moments when you break free from your shell. when you let go of hesitation and fully immerse yourself in what brings you joy. they love seeing you light up, completely lost in the moment, expressing your passion without holding back.

if there's one thing they deeply wish to give you, it's the safety and encouragement to feel free. to let your light shine without fear of judgment. they never want you to dim yourself to make others comfortable.

in their eyes, you're a radiant, warm, and uniquely vibrant soul. they're drawn to the moments when your confidence sparks, when you choose your joy over your fears.

i was reminded of the bollywood film “kal ho naa hoo”, where the male lead quietly helps the female lead discover the beauties of life again. and watches her, as she begins to bloom in her own light. he doesn't rescue her.. he simply reminds her of the light she carries, and watches her shine.

note; i also kept feeling drawn to a few songs while being in this pile's energy, you might resonate with some of them:

glimpse of us by joji

just one day by bts

god is a woman by ariana grande

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your feedback on what resonated for you <3

𓂃⭑ pile 3 ⭑𓂃

your favourite things about your fs

the main energy i'm getting here is that, you will recognize parts of yourself in your fs, which will give you this sense of familiarity with them. even if you don't really know them yet.

you know the feeling when you're looking at someone, and something about them just.. feels like you've known them for years. i could for sure see this being a past life connection too.

one aspect which i could see the two of you bonding over, is both of you being wrapped up in similar circumstances.

this is specific so, take it if it resonates. but when you meet your future lover, some of you might feel dissatisfied with where you're at in life, especially when it comes to the general direction it's going in. maybe your current job isn't truly emotionally fulfilling you.

there's a sense of apathy and emotional numbness. you might feel like you're at a point in life, where your life is just passing by you. nothing really feels all that exciting, it feels stale and stagnant.

this could also be rooted in past heartbreak. it could've caused you to grow more pessimistic, cynical and guarded.

meeting your fs, will feel like a breath of fresh air. they will come to you with a reassuring presence, like you're not the only one who feels this way.

the song the only by sasha alex sloan started playing in my head while reading.

you will love your fs' realistic approach towards the world. this isn't someone who escapes into their fantasy dream world, and has their head in the clouds. they're quite pragmatic, rational, and unafraid to speak the truth when it's necessary.

their lack of filter and honesty might come off as overly blunt to some people. but to you, it's refreshing. it's likely something that will draw you to them.

they're the person who's likely to point out the elephant in the room, while everyone else is walking on eggshells.

worthy to note though, is that i don't see this person being tactless, despite their outspoken attitude. they weigh their words out, but don't water them down.

you love how committed your future spouse is to the things that are important to them. they're the type of person who dedicates all their efforts to what they value, willing to show up, and put in consistent work to achieve their objectives.

your future lover is immensely protective. there is a strong sense of security they can provide you with. someone who just makes you feel like no one in the world can hurt you.

they're quite literally your human shield; the one who will place themselves in front of you, if anyone ever dares badmouthing or attacking you. they do lean towards the territorial side.

there's this feeling of.. after all i've been through, there's no storm i can't face at this point. now even more, with someone steady and loyal by my side, who resembles me in that regard.

in addition, you love the sense of wisdom your fs brings to the table. they might be an older soul, or simply person who's had significant life experiences for their age, which have shaped them into a person who's mature, and full of knowledge about life. they're introspective, and reflective.

this is something you could take note of, as the relationship progresses, and you engage in more deep and layered conversations with them. ones that go beyond the mundane and shallow topics.

i'm strongly getting earth energy, especially virgo or taurus. something mercurial about them, but also grounded and stable. additionally, there might be air energy such as aquarius or gemini, giving them a sharp intellect, wit and eloquence.

both of you read as being on the mature side, but your dynamic also seems very fun.

your future lover has the potential to bring out an inner softness in you, which might've been buried before. there's this sense of feeling younger, more playful, more free, and more hopeful when you're with them. like your future lover reawakening the inner child in you, that genuinely enjoys to live again.

in addition, you'll just feel like you can let loose when you're with your fs, you don't need to put on any act, or worry about what they'll think. you can be yourself in your entirety, and know your lover will adore you just the way you are.

this is random lmao, but you could literally burp around them, hang around with unwashed hair, no make up, pimples, whatever it is.. it'll just be comfortable, and come with a sense of ease, and lightheartedness.

i feel like your current environment might make you feel misunderstood. you might struggle finding someone who shares similar thoughts and outlooks as you.

what your fs can give you, is the feeling of being understood. they have similar principles and values in life as you do, and both of your life-paths align beautifully.

that mutual understanding has the potential to shift your perspective in a more positive light, and help you see things in a more optimistic manner again.

the emotional intimacy between the two of you will be special. there'll be things about each other, that only the the two of you know about. private moments, quiet nights, deep talks. your alone time will be meaningful, and the connection will be one that recharges you, instead of draining you.

i keep thinking of the sentence “being alone, together.”

your fs' favourite things about you

your fs will feel very attracted to you early on. they'll have this impression of you being a beautifully feminine and sensual individual. you'll awaken a lot of desire in them.

it's likely you'll shake up their world from the moment you enter their life. you'll just have a strong impact on them, from the beginning, they'll look at you as someone who makes an impression everywhere they go. like you enter the room, your fs' eyes are fixed on you. constantly. something about you they can't deny.

your future lover, will admire the strength you hold. they'll love that you're a person who can be logical and cut-throat when you really need to. they'll see you as intelligent, witty and strategic. someone who has a quick mind, a lot of intellect. you're just the type of person no one can really fool.

something about the way you communicate in particular, will intrigue them. you give them the impression of someone you can hold immensely interesting conversations with.

there's something about the way you bring a blend of several qualities to the table, which they adore. you can be very mature and rational at times, but they also recognize a down to earth, humble, and incredibly ambitious side to you.

your fs is likely to see you as a person who's always looking to learn more from life, and expand to higher places.

this is very specific, so it might not resonate with everyone, but some of your fs' might be your seniors at work, uni or school. so they look at you in this more “student” type of role.

for others, this could just apply to the grounded attitude you carry. how you're someone who's continuously looking to improve themselves. quite self-critical and hard on themselves, but also not easy to please in general.

your fs will love the sense of peace you bring into the relationship. they'll genuinely appreciate how you're someone who can provide them with the rest that they're in need of at times. solely being with you, makes them calm down.

your existence in itself is a source of comfort to them. their favourite thing to do with you, could quite literally be the most ordinary activities; like laying down at the end of the day, with candles lit, watching some random movie and cuddling. it's then, that they can finally exhale in a restful manner, and completely release their pent up stress.

i could see the both of you being career-oriented, and offering a type of outlet for each other. like you put your nose into your work all day, and look forward to spending the end of the day with each other, in order to just let go of the accumulated, inner tension. there's this beautiful sense of quiet, but strong support you can provide for each other in that way.

(this pile is sooo taurus coded..)

this is something i can see slowly developing as your connection deepens, but your fs is likely to genuinely appreciate you being a good listener. someone who just knows how to make them feel seen, and cared about.

as i said before, i can see the two of you bonding over shared experiences. this unique type of understanding you'll have for one another, is likely to bring your future lover a lot of healing.

the addition of you in their lives, can light their otherwise stressful life up in the most wonderful way. having someone by their side, who they share a genuine emotional connection with, will bring them this feeling of peace.

i just keep seeing this scene in my minds eye, of them looking you in the eyes, and feeling like.. okay, everything's fine again. you give them a sense of renewed hope, and inner strength.

what's worth to note for this pile, is that i probably had the hardest time tapping into the energy of your dynamic. there's just something remarkably private and intimate about your connection.

i really don't see you enjoying to share about it too much with others. when you're together, it feels as if it's just the two of you on planet earth.

the song my love mine all mine started playing on shuffle while i was writing this, might resonate with you guys..

thank you for reading! i'd love to hear your feedback on what resonated for you <3

#kpop tarot #pac reading #pac #tarot reading #tarot community #tarot #personal reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading

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jinjoohaa · 1 day ago

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Room for One more ?

Pairing - JJK Men x reader

prev chapter | next chapter

Chapter 2

“Cheers to our new roomie!”

Gojo announced loudly, raising a shot glass high above his head, standing in front of the music-blaring TV like it was a goddamn stage.

You were curled up at the end of the couch, flustered beyond reason after being manhandled from the balcony by Gojo’s impossibly strong arms, your whole body still pulsing from that bizarre Toji encounter.

“I'm—uh, I really don’t—drink much,” you said, palms up, shrinking into the cushion as Gojo pressed a full shot into your hand.

Geto plopped down next to you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, dangerously close to your shoulder. “C’mon, one won’t kill you.”

“You’ll sleep better,” Gojo grinned, clinking his glass with yours before knocking his shot back like it was candy. “Besides, you already signed the roommate contract. This is part of the hazing.”

You gave him a look. “There’s… a contract?”

“Verbal,” Geto added smoothly, fingers brushing your sleeve as he grabbed his beer from the table. “Binding by presence.”

“Peer pressure is a crime, you know,” you muttered, trying to hand the shot glass back.

But Gojo was already pouring another. “And yet… you’re still here. Kinda sus.”

You blinked. “Sus?”

“Suspicious,” Geto murmured, eyes fixed on you with that unreadable half-lidded stare, his smile low and lazy. “You sure you didn’t want us to get you drunk?”

Your jaw dropped. “I—I—No?!”

“Relax,” Gojo laughed, leaning down so his face was inches from yours, silver hair falling over his eyes. “We’re just messing with you.”

Your cheeks burned.

“But seriously,” Geto cut in, voice lower now, smoother, “a drink or two helps. Loosens the nerves. And you’ve looked like a deer in headlights since you stepped in here.”

You sighed.

Then drank.

It burned.

You coughed immediately, blinking fast, your whole chest heating.

“Attagirl,” Gojo grinned, already filling another. “You didn’t make a face. I’m proud.”

“Cute one,” Geto said, sipping his beer.

You turned redder.

The next shot came quickly. Then a third.

You weren’t sure when you stopped protesting.

The music thumped in the background. Toji was sitting on the armchair across from you, one hand wrapped around a beer bottle, dark eyes flicking up every now and then to watch silently. He hadn’t said anything since Gojo carried you in.

But his presence was heavy. Quiet and coiled.

“You know,” Gojo said, stretching beside you on the couch, legs wide and easy, “you’re a lot more relaxed now.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m dying,” you muttered, blinking slowly.

He teased you, finger poking your cheek. “All sleepy and droopy and—look at this little pout.”

You pouted harder, turning your head away. “Stop touching me.”

“Why?” Geto said smoothly from your other side. “You’re not exactly pushing us away.”

You tried to say something—anything—but Geto's hand had rested low behind you now, fingers barely brushing the fabric of your shirt.

Toji’s bottle clicked against the table as he stood abruptly. “Tch.”

You flinched.

He didn’t speak. Just walked past the couch and disappeared into Gojo and Geto’s shared bedroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

“…Did I do something?” you asked blearily.

Gojo waved a hand. “That’s just Toji. He gets pissy if he doesn’t get his alone time.”

“Or when someone else touches what he wants,” Geto muttered under his breath.

Gojo glanced at him. “Dude.”

“What?”

You blinked. “I’m not—he doesn’t—I mean, he’s not even nice to me?”

Geto smirked. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

You tried to process that but the shots were hitting hard now. Your limbs felt loose, your head a little floaty, like someone had cut the strings tethering you to gravity.

You yawned without meaning to.

Gojo leaned in. “Aw. Getting sleepy?”

“I think I need water,” you mumbled.

“Or another drink,” Geto said.

You shook your head. “No more, I—”

“Last one,” Gojo promised. “Swear. Just to celebrate.”

You gave in.p

The last thing you remembered clearly was the two of them laughing as your body slumped against Gojo’s side, and Geto whispering something in your ear that made your cheeks burn even in your haze.

Everything after that blurred into warmth, pressure, a spinning ceiling—and then, black.

Your head felt like a brick had been dropped on it.

No—several bricks. Sharp, heavy ones. Maybe even a few rusty nails thrown in.

The first thing you noticed was the blaring pain behind your eyes. The second—was that you couldn’t move.

Because something heavy was draped across your torso.

Correction: someone.

“…What the—?” you mumbled, blinking through the haze of a hangover.

You were on the living room floor. Blanket crumpled under your legs. A pillow from the couch shoved behind your head. But it wasn’t the setting that made your heart leap into your throat.

It was the man curled up on top of you.

Gojo Satoru.

Sprawled across your body like a human octopus, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, head tucked low against your chest—his cheek was literally resting right between your breasts.

And even worse, he was nuzzling. In his sleep.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He let out a soft groan, rubbing his face further into the soft space beneath your collarbones. “Mmh… warm…”

You tensed. "Gojo—"

He didn’t wake. Just tightened his hold like you were his personal teddy bear.

You peeked to the side. Geto was passed out on the couch, one arm dangling off the side, mouth slightly open. A beer bottle rolled next to his fingers.

Toji was nowhere in sight.

The memories came back in pieces. The music. The teasing. The drinks. Gojo handing you one. Then another. Geto laughing as you squinted at the bitter liquid. You hadn’t wanted to drink—but they kept pushing, and you’d just wanted to blend in, to seem cool, to not be that girl.

You groaned softly. Your limbs were heavy, sore. Your body still buzzing uncomfortably from the leftover alcohol.

And Gojo’s arm was locked across your waist like a steel bar.

You wriggled. “Gojo—wake up—”

He grumbled again, barely lifting his head—blue eyes squinting open sleepily, then immediately closing again as he pressed closer to your chest.

“…soft…” he murmured.

You yelped under your breath. “Satoru—!”

That’s when you heard the soft click of a door opening.

Your head snapped up.

Nanami walked out of his room, hair messy but still somehow composed, dressed in a plain t-shirt and sleep pants, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with one hand.

He stopped mid-step.

Staring.

At you.

On the floor.

With Gojo’s face stuffed in your cleavage.

You froze. Wide-eyed.

“I—it’s not—! I didn’t—I mean—I was just—!”

Nanami blinked once. Then again.

A pause.

Then—

“I see,” he said simply. No judgment. No panic. No disgust. Just… neutral.

You scrambled to sit up, only for Gojo to tighten his hold again with a sleepy whine. “Don’t go…”

“I wasn’t—he—he’s the one who—I fell asleep—I didn’t mean to—!”

Nanami raised a hand gently. “It’s alright.”

You wanted to melt into the floor.

“I don’t usually drink,” you added quickly, heart racing. “They—they just kept giving me shots and I didn’t want to be rude and I—”

Nanami actually smiled. Small. Gentle. The corner of his mouth twitching upward like he found you mildly amusing.

“You don’t need to explain. I’ve seen worse. Especially from him.”

You exhaled in relief, cheeks still burning.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked.

You nodded furiously. “Please.”

He stepped closer. “Let me help.”

With quiet, careful hands, he crouched next to you, gently prying Gojo’s arm off your waist with the precision of someone who’d done this before.

Gojo whined again, reaching out blindly.

Nanami caught his hand mid-air. “Let. Her. Go.”

Gojo grunted, rolling onto his side with a groggy pout, arm flopping over a cushion instead.

You scrambled to your feet, wobbling slightly. Nanami reached out instinctively to steady you, one hand on your elbow.

“You’re pale,” he murmured. “Drink water first.”

You nodded again, grateful, and followed him toward the kitchen.

The apartment was quiet now. Only the soft hum of the fridge and the faint city buzz beyond the windows. The calm after last night’s storm.

Nanami moved through the kitchen like it was a sanctuary. Precise, measured, clean. He opened the cabinets, poured water into a glass, and handed it to you.

You drank it all in one go.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little,” you said, voice small.

He nodded. “Coffee?”

You watched him fill the pot, grind the beans, start the machine. He was calm. Soothing. A sharp contrast to Gojo’s chaos and Geto’s teasing touches.

“…Thank you,” you said quietly.

He glanced over. “For the coffee?”

“For… this. Not making it weird.”

He looked at you for a long moment. “You’re young. And they’re… overwhelming. You don’t need to match their energy to be accepted here.”

You blinked. “But if I don’t… won’t they think I’m boring?”

He gave a soft scoff. “You are boring. But in a good way.”

Your eyes widened.

He smirked. Just a little. “Stability is rare in a house like this. Don’t lose it.”

You stared at him, the thrum of your pulse still loud in your ears—but slower now. More grounded.

The coffee finished brewing, and Nanami poured two mugs. One he placed in front of you. The other he took for himself.

Outside, Gojo was snoring. Geto hadn’t moved.

The sun was starting to rise.

Nanami stood across from you, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed like he hadn’t yet fully settled into the day. He leaned back against the counter, arms folded as he watched you with that gentle intensity of his.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth but low, “how are you feeling?”

You blinked, holding the mug tighter. “Honestly? My head is trying to kill me.”

“Hangover,” he said. “Expected.”

“I didn’t plan on drinking that much,” you muttered.

“I know,” he nodded. “I saw them push you.”

“…You did?”

“I was watching from the hallway for a while,” he admitted. “I wanted to see how they’d treat you.”

You looked up, surprised.

Nanami’s expression was unreadable, but kind. “I don’t enjoy chaos. Especially when it involves people who deserve peace.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I didn’t even want to come here, honestly,” you confessed softly. “But I had nowhere else affordable. Everything’s so… much.”

He walked over slowly and placed his mug down beside yours. “If anything ever gets overwhelming—whether it’s Gojo, Geto, or Toji—call me. Even if I’m in my room. You knock. You call. I’ll help.”

You stared at him, warmth pooling in your chest for a different reason now. “You barely know me.”

“I’ll get to know you,” he said simply. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Sharing space. Respect. I believe in that.”

Your throat tightened slightly.

He pulled a chair out beside you and sat, more relaxed now. “So tell me. What do you like?”

“Um… in what way?”

Nanami gave a small chuckle. “Start anywhere.”

You took a breath. “I like quiet mornings. Reading… fantasy books. I don’t get much time for it lately. And I like dancing. But not in public.”

He nodded. “That tracks. You’re… a bit reserved.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” you said with a laugh.

He looked at you seriously. “That’s not an insult.”

Before you could answer, the kitchen door creaked open and Geto shuffled in, shirt rumpled, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, yawning hard and scratching his neck. “Damn, it’s bright in here.”

Nanami’s face hardened immediately. “Don’t start.”

“Huh?”

Nanami raised a brow. “Don’t play dumb, Geto. You and Gojo didn’t exactly make her feel safe last night.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Geto said, hands up in mock surrender. “It was all Gojo. I’m innocent.”

Nanami stared him down. “You sat next to her. Let him pour drink after drink. Watched her pass out.”

Geto smirked. “I was enjoying the company.”

“She’s not here to be entertainment.”

“I know,” Geto said softly, then glanced at you. “Sorry, by the way. If I crossed a line.”

Your mouth opened, surprised by the apology.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Nanami exhaled through his nose. “Just don’t make things harder.”

“I won’t,” Geto said. “Unless you ask nicely.”

Nanami glared.

“Okay, okay,” Geto grinned, grabbing a banana from the counter and peeling it dramatically. “Peace offering.”

Just then, the door to the living room swung open and Gojo’s head popped in, bright and mischievous.

“Morning, my favorite people!”

Nanami groaned softly. “No.”

Gojo ignored him entirely. “Guess what day it is?”

You blinked. “Saturday?”

“Getting to Know the New Roommate Day!” Gojo beamed. “It’s tradition. I just made it up.”

“No,” Nanami said.

“Yes,” Gojo said, already grabbing your wrist and tugging you up from the stool.

“C’mon, sunshine. Time to be interrogated by four emotionally stunted men.”

You half-laughed, half-panicked as he led you to the living room. Everyone was there now—Toji slouched on one side of the couch, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Geto followed behind with a fresh coffee in hand. Nanami was reluctantly taking a seat at the edge, clearly against this whole setup.

“Okay,” Gojo clapped, sitting in front of you, legs crossed like a kid at story time.

“Ground rules: you answer honestly, we each take turns. No skipping.”

“This feels illegal,” you said.

“Only mildly,” Geto smirked.

Nanami sighed. “Let’s get it over with.”

Gojo grinned. “I’ll start. What’s your biggest fear?”

You blinked. “That’s the first question?”

“Toji said I couldn’t ask if you were a top or bottom, so yeah,” Gojo shrugged.

Your jaw dropped. “What—?!”

Toji snorted under his breath.

“Okay, okay,” Geto cut in. “Let’s ease her into it. What’s your major?”

You glanced at him, grateful. “Economics.”

“Hot,” he said immediately.

Nanami groaned again.

Toji’s turn came, and he didn’t even pretend to think.

“Are you a virgin?”

Silence.

You went beet red. “I—excuse me?!”

Nanami sat up straight. “Toji.”

“What?” Toji said lazily. “Just wondering. She looks like it.”

“Don’t speak about her like that,” Nanami said coldly.

Toji smirked, amused. “It’s a question. She doesn’t have to answer.”

You opened and closed your mouth, utterly flustered.

Gojo leaned in again, smile wide. “Don’t worry, we’re just teasing. Though if you are, I can offer classes.”

“Gojo,” Nanami snapped.

Geto laughed. “Do not let him teach. He has a PowerPoint presentation and everything.”

“I’m gonna go hide in the bathroom,” you muttered, hiding behind a throw pillow.

“Wait, wait!” Gojo grinned. “One more—what do you think about us? Like, first impressions.”

You peeked out. “Honestly?”

All four leaned in.

You pointed. “Gojo—annoying but fun. Geto—too smooth, too dangerous. Nanami—terrifying but secretly sweet.”

“And me?” Toji asked, eyes sharp.

You paused. “You scare me.”

A long silence followed.

Toji leaned back slowly, lips twitching. “Good.”

Gojo clapped his hands again, eyes sparkling. “Okay, round two! This time we’re diving deeper.”

You squirmed slightly on the couch, still feeling the heat of Toji’s question from before burning your cheeks. Nanami sat stiffly beside you on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, jaw set like he was doing everything in his power not to explode.

Gojo pointed at you like a game show host. “If you had to marry one of us, who would it be?”

Your eyes widened. “What?!”

“C’mon, c’mon,” Gojo leaned in. “It’s a harmless game!”

“Harmless?” Nanami scoffed under his breath.

You looked around helplessly. Toji looked smug, Geto had a glint in his eye, and Gojo was practically vibrating.

“I—I don’t know you guys!” you stammered.

“Just on vibes,” Geto said smoothly, sipping his coffee.

“Don’t pressure her,” Nanami warned, voice low and firm.

“It’s a fun game,” Gojo said, hands up in mock surrender. “Besides, I’m clearly the best option.”

“Debatable,” Geto muttered.

Toji leaned forward suddenly, resting his arms on his knees, staring straight at you. “You looked the most scared of me. But scared can be good.”

You blinked. “W-what?”

He smirked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Sometimes fear keeps you alert. Keeps you obedient.”

“Enough,” Nanami cut in sharply, standing.

Toji didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

Nanami turned to you, his tone gentle now. “You don’t need to sit through this.”

You looked up at him, torn, but also not wanting to make it awkward. “I-it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“No, she’s fine,” Gojo chirped, draping himself across the arm of the couch. “Let’s keep going! Okay, next one—if you were stuck in a closet with one of us for seven minutes—”

Nanami exhaled hard. “I’m done.”

You flinched a little as he walked toward his room.

“Wait, Nanami,” you started, standing halfway.

“I’ll be in my room,” he said without looking back.

And with that, his door shut with a soft but firm click.

You stood awkwardly, heart thudding.

“Buzzkill,” Gojo sighed dramatically. “But not unexpected.”

You gave a weak laugh, shifting uncomfortably under their attention.

Gojo grinned at you. “Okay, serious one—how old were you when you learned what sex was?”

Your mouth opened in horror. “Wha—?!”

“Or,” Toji said, low and casual, “have you ever touched yourself?”

“Stop!” you said quickly, cheeks flaming.

Geto chuckled. “They’re monsters, I won’t lie.”

“I—this is too much,” you said, voice cracking slightly.

Toji looked at you, face unreadable now.

Gojo leaned back, hands up. “Okay, okay. We’ll stop. You win.”

Geto nodded. “Game over.”

Silence fell heavy and awkward for a moment. You sank back onto the couch, overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered quietly.

Toji scoffed. “Don’t apologize. If you can’t handle it, just say so.”

Gojo suddenly leaned over, nudging your shoulder. “But if you ever do want to play that closet game, let me know.”

“Toji would punch you,” Geto muttered.

“Worth it,” Gojo smirked.

You buried your face in the couch cushion and groaned hoping if this torture would end soon.

to be continued in the next chapter

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houseofpinkboombox · 1 day ago

Text

One of the more insane moments as a Goy who literally didn't know much about I/P conflict is. Years before this I was doing crafts at my friends house and she had like NPR on. Something I didn't listen too on the reg. And some Hamas leader literally said "we will rise Isreal to the ground, every man woman and child. We will wipe them from the earth, from the river to sea" that was my first time hearing that and I was in deep amount of shock. Like here's a "leader" that literally just said "no to peace, genocide peace".

This was mind you, in response to, Isreal is in peace talks with this loonatic.

I remember turning to my friend and being like "holy shit that guy just called for a genocide against a whole people" I didn't even get it was a Jewish vs Muslim thing, yet again I hadn't really paid attention.

My friend looked at me and said "I know Isreal is terrible."

I was confused at that point because I'd figured she'd misheard. "No that guys on Palestinian side and he just called for the genocide of every man women and child in Israel."

And maybe I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt here but it looked like she was fucking rebooting. "But Isreal is the one that's genociding them."

"That guy just said he wants to kill babies, how are they having peace talks with him?"

"Isreal kills kids all the time."

"They do? When?"

".......like.... all the time."

"Yeah forgive me if I'm not pro genocide, that guy just said it out loud"

And she was weirdly insistent that, that was not what I heard. But that was my first experience with dealing with leftist that just wanted to believe Jews bad. And it's still mind blowing today.

My cousin was convinced it was an apartheid. Then I pointed out "hey there's 2 million Arabs living there...."

She told me "we don't know that!"

"And I said we do we can look at the population numbers there"

And was like pissed that she was wrong and has yet to speak to me since.

So it was a lobster in slowly boiling water for me. Call me an old fashioned American but we're like super proud of the two times we where right in a war, one of them was mopping the floor with jew hating Nazis. So my dumb ass take away was that jew haters are bad. You know what?

my childhood understanding of geopolitics as an American brat 🫱🏼‍🫲🏻 George Orwell: if they hate the Jews it's bad fucking vibes.

And you know what? We're correct.

I will never understand how so many people fell for such a wildly antisemitic rabbit hole so easily, and convinced themselves they were the underdogs? When Jewish people — especially Israelis — have lost practically everything socially ever since October seventh? Friends, partners, perceived allies, platforms, safe spaces, and for some, even family. All because antisemitism became the hot new thing. Guess all it took was for it to be flimsily rebranded as “antizionism” for nearly every leftist to eat it up like candy.

It’s funny how the ones constantly telling Zionists (or just any Jew, really) to shut up, are the very same who fill the air with incoherent yelling and incessant screams for violence and fear. For, not of. For, not against. For as long as you can rebrand it as “revolutionary”, then it’s ok, right?

“I support it,” they said. “No matter what. Because it’s just too much to ask of those poor, poor martyrs. You see, the only way to save innocents is to kill other innocents instead. And do horrible, torturous things to them til they meet their grave. Revolution at its finest. And it’s all ok, glorious, even. Because it’s being done by the good guys. Those poor, poor underdogs. You see, why would you possibly expect any semblance of moral standard from them? What do you mean I sound terrible right now? ‘Racism of low expectations’? I’ve never heard that. You’re making it up. They can’t help it. It’s their culture. it’s revolutionary. By any means necessary. How dare you say I sound like a nazi? It’s just revolution. You know, like the French, or Soviet Russia. Revolution fixes things, you’ll see. We just need more bodies. The road to peace is paved in blood. Good guys say that. I’m in the right. We are always in the right. That’s what facists say? You’re crazy. You’re insane, actually. Genocidal, even. By the way all zionists deserve to die. I don’t care if that means 80% of Jews. You know, I always had a weird feeling about them. Zionists, I mean. That’s what I meant. Dog whistle? Those aren’t real. They made them up. Who’s they? The Zionists, of course. I’m the least bigoted person you’ll ever meet.”

For those who lack reading comprehension: EVERYTHING I just put into quotations was meant to be from the mouth of the average antizionist who simultaneously exhibits extreme prejudice against Jews and extreme xenophobia against Israelis, while ALSO being extremely racist and islamophobic to the very people they claim to advocate for! It will never free Palestine to support Hamas. It will never free Palestine to dehumanize ANY side, let alone both. If this post angers you, then you know what kind of a person you are. Deep down, you know how far you’ve fallen.

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #leftist hypocrisy

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ghostgirl-22 · 2 days ago

Note

p link

https://x.com/gaysexgang/status/1910790340375650451?s=46&t=oY926O_azsr0obp_vsHH7w

this with artrick <3

Hmm not sure if you’re the same anon… or just on the same wavelength but yes… Patrick’s absolutely gonna risk his professional license to fuck Art lol <3

CW: MDNI, NSFW, so… heed the warnings!! theres a little hint of dub con/cnc that’s resolved in the end, Patrick’s a licensed professional behaving unprofessionally, if behavior like this triggers you please dont read.

——

Patrick loves his job really. And he’s good at it. He’s never ever done anything like this. He’s a professional. Really. He honestly didn’t mean for it to happen.

It’s just he’s actually the prettiest thing Patricks ever seen in his five years training and working as a masseuse (probably the prettiest thing he’s seen ever). Goldilocks curls, haunted blue eyes, tall but in an awkward gangly way… like he grew too quickly between 12 and 13 and never quite figured it out. Standing in front of Patrick, looking down at the ties on his robe, shy.

Patrick didn’t mean it. But he did get hard just at the sight of him. Thankful that their uniforms come with an apron that is so long and loose. Honestly he took one class in college… freshman psych before he dropped out and from what little he remembers, this should be in the DSM. Trying to think when you’re horny. It’s a condition really. He can’t believe no one’s ever thought of this before. His psych professor would be so proud if he won the noble prize for being the first person to discover thinking with your dickitis… or whatever… a real and true condition.

Patrick’s so hard and the client hasn’t even gotten naked yet.

The client being Art Donaldson. What a fucking name. Patrick almost laughs when he spots it on the chart in front of him.

“Okay um…Art…. first time?”

“Mmhm… my fiancé got it for me, birthday gift,” Art says, soft little smile. Beautiful smile. If Patrick was a better person he’d go back in the lobby and get Sammie to ask another masseuse to take over. Especially now that there’s a fiancé. A beautiful boy with a fiancé. So very much off limits. But Patrick’s not a better person. He’s got this condition…

”So I’m Patrick…and it’s easy… just um… you can take off the robe and get on the table.”

Art is compliant, shrugging the robe off and dropping it on the empty chair near the door of the suite. He’s deceptively solid for appearing so skinny. Bare chest chiseled, body stretched with lean corded muscle, pink nipples erect, his skin looks so soft over firm biceps. The small little towel is the only thing keeping his modesty and he’s blushing. God he’s turning fucking pink. Patrick almost unzips and starts jerking it right there. Strangled moan caught in his throat that he quickly swallows down as Art crawls onto the table, resting on his back.

“Uh I usually start with you… with you on the… face down.” Words aren’t working for him anymore but only cause this is the prettiest boy Patrick’s ever seen. It’s like he was constructed in a lab based on all of Patrick’s masturbation fantasies. The only thing he could be doing to enhance the fantasy is be in some sort of uniform.

“Oh god, sorry of course,” Art says, moving quickly to roll over. Fuck. Okay he hasn’t neglected his back muscles either. He’s Patrick’s walking wet dream and Patrick’s forced to behave himself because he’s a client. It’s kind of like a punishment.

He picks up the company's overpriced massage oil. Thirty two dollars for 8 ounces and a brand name. Patrick’s sure he’s found the knock off at Bath and Bodywork’s for six bucks. But it goes on warm and smells so sweet that the often snooty clients will pay for it like it’s gonna work miracles. He squirts it liberally on Art’s bare back and shoulders. His fingers itching to touch and not just Arts body. Art’s skin is warm, his body so tense. Patrick almost feels like a creep. This poor innocent client, he’s got no idea what’s going on in Patrick’s perverted mind. He starts chastising himself. Trying his best to calm down. To be appropriate. To treat him like any other client.

And then he moans.

This soft little exhale as Patrick’s working along his shoulders and the broad expanse of his upper back that slowly turns into a very satisfied full bodied moan. Patrick bites his tongue and moves along that same stretch of skin and muscle again. Another satisfied sigh. It’s okay. It’s fine. Some clients are vocal. It’s part of the job. He wishes though that he wasn’t going insane.

”Lotta tension huh?” It’s a safe comment. It’s what he’d say to any other client.

“Yeah and your hands are… I mean… this actually feels really… nice.”

Patrick chuckles. He’s gonna behave. He’s gonna keep his job. The room is dim, soft instrumental music coming from a portable speaker, steam from scented diffusers. All of it meant to make the client relax but now Patrick feels crazy that this is actually his place of business.

He works his way through a kink of knotted muscle nearing Arts lower back and earns another soft moan. “That’s right,” Patrick blurts it before he can bite his tongue. He expects Art to tense up… to say something but he doesn’t. He’s still on the table, unaffected. Patrick lets out a breath and continues, working his obliques. He’s breathy here. “You have amazing hands,” Art says, softly.

Patrick has to swallow before he opens his mouth. “Mm I’ve heard that before.”

Art’s shoulders move, a little laugh escaping him.

“What do you do?” Patrick doesn’t usually like to talk but he’s in desperate need of distraction.

“‘m a tennis player.”

“Well that explains the shoulder tension,” Patrick says.

”Yeah… my fiancé says… says i’m really tight.”

“Yeah… I bet…” Patrick says quietly.

“You feel it huh?” Art replies, aloof to the way Patrick meant it.

“Yeah…I feel it.” Patrick’s working his way down towards the swell of his ass and another soft sigh escapes his lips into the forced serenity of the room. Patrick works just down to where the towel is sitting before he stops… just like he’s supposed to. The whole time Art is breathing, little gasps and delicious moans.

Patrick’s hands are shaking as he moves away from the ass…to the legs. His calves are tight, the hair so fine he might as well be hairless. Legs so long and pretty like a girl. Patrick massages deep into the muscle and Art begins shifting on the table. “Mm feels really good.” He sighs.

“Yeah?” Patrick coaxes. Then he remembers this isn’t his bedroom on pride weekend. This is his job. Where he works.

“Mmhm, really. You’re so good at that.”

God.

He’s working his way up Art’s thighs, when he fully crosses the line.

”I actually…I think you carry a lot of tension right along here,” he rubs Art’s bottom over the towel. “I could get in there for you if you want?”

“Yeah please, if you think it’ll help,” Art says eagerly. Too easy.

Patrick slips his hand just under the towel. Arts body is so heated there, Patrick gently massages along his ass cheeks. One side, then the other. He can hear Art breathing. Can hear himself breathing too. His dick is straining painfully along his pant leg. He almost slips a finger inside but stops himself.

“Uh… okay how’s that?” His voice pitched so different than normal.

“Better,” Art says tightly.

“Good, you can turn over.” Patrick lets out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’s almost done but he knows it’ll be so much harder to keep his expression professional when Art is looking at him.

“Well uh… can I have a minute?”

Patrick pauses, heart rate picking up. “Uh sure… is everything okay?”

“Mm I think I might have enjoyed it too much.” He laughs a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you straight?” Patrick blurts.

“Yeah,” Art says. “Yeah I’m sorry i swear this has never… this doesn’t…”

“Me too, I’m straight too.” Patrick interrupts. “I promise it doesn’t even matter,” he says quickly. “It happens all the time. Gay, straight, doesn’t matter,” He lies.

“Really?”

“Yes. You can roll over I assure you it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Art laughs a little awkwardly. “Uh okay…I keep forgetting you guys are like doctors. You’ve probably seen it all.”

“Oh yeah,” Patrick says. Just hungry to get his eyes on it. Art settles on his back trying to cup his hand over it, trying to keep it pressed down to his pelvis but it bobs up tenting the towel.

The blush goes all the way down. Pretty and ashamed and oh so hard.

”Fuck,” Patrick mutters. He’s gonna fuck him. He reaches for it, runs his palm over it over the towel. Forgetting himself.

Art juts his hips upwards against his palm. “Is this… is this part of it?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, breathlessly. “Have you heard of a happy ending?”

“Mmhm,” Art breathes.

“This is a happy ending… everyone does it. It’s just… not talked about.”

“Oh,” Art says.

“Yeah… so just between us okay?” Patrick says, honestly not caring if he loses his job at this point.

“Oh…okay…oh god,” Art closes his eyes as Patrick slips his hand underneath the towel and takes hold of him properly. A very healthy sized solid cock. Patrick slides the towel down so he can see it properly.

Pretty pink and perfect like he knew it would be. One night with a gorgeous straight boy like this could probably ruin him for a fucking decade.

He covers his hand in more of the warm tingly massage oil and slides it over Art’s cock. He whines, thrusting up into Patrick’s fist. Patrick uses his free hand to tease at his nipple. Watches them go erect as he pinches them. Soft and pointed. Art gasps, arching up off the massage table. “Oh fuck,” he whines.

“God its so fucking pretty,” Patrick hums. “Ever been blown by a guy before?”

“No this is my… this is my first time.”

“Yeah?” Patrick smirks, cause he hasn’t even offered to do it yet.

Patrick leans over and feeds most of Art’s length into his mouth. Fingers playing with his balls. He tastes so good, salty with the sweet minty taste of the oil. “Oh my fucking god,” Art groans as Patrick licks up and down. Sucking hard. He starts fucking into Patrick’s mouth right away. A fucking dream.

Patrick slides his free hand into his scrubs and starts jerking himself as Art thrusts into his mouth over and over and over. Art’s just moaning, needy and lost and Patrick’s drooling, slobbering all over him. It doesn’t take long before Art’s movements get erratic. “Fuck I’m gonna—“ he gasps through the end of the sentence and Patrick’s mouth starts to fill with the sticky wet heat of his cum.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Art moans as Patrick pulls off, some of it still leaking from Arts tip, dripping from Patrick’s lips. Patrick pulls the aapron off and yanks his dick out properly. jerks himself to completion while Art watches. Spills all over Art’s bare abdomen. Rubbing it in with his fingers when he’s done like it’s massage lotion.

“Mm,” Art hums sitting up as Patrick finishes, gazing at him wide eyed. “Was that um… is that extra?”

Patrick laughs. “Fuck, if you come back I’ll give you that and more any day of the fucking week for free.”

Art collapses back on the table, covering his face. “I really shouldn’t.” He draws one of his knees up. “But um… she really thinks… my fiancé thinks i need to loosen up and you… you have a really good… hands.”

Patrick grins and wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. “Okay then um… I’ll have Sammie mark you down for the same time next week?”

“Yeah and next week we can start on the uh… the front?” Art suggests, gesturing to his now spent cock.

“Sure,” Patrick smirks.

Thankful for the apron Patrick leaves the room to let Art clean up and get dressed while he straightens up in the employee bathroom. He returns to the front desk just in time to see a gorgeous fucking woman in a tennis skirt is in the lobby walking out behind Art. His breath catches in his throat as she catches his eye, her fierce brown eyes lingering on him like she can see what he did to her fiance. He smirks and offers a sheepish wave. She shrugs a little smile in response and walks out. Sammie looks up from the computer.

“You and your magic fingers dude. He just booked you every Tuesday and Thursday for the next 3 months.”

#tw: dubcon #tw: cnc #tw: p link #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fic #artrick #art x patrick #art donaldson x patrick zweig #tw: lack of professionalism

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w2soneshots · 1 day ago

Text

Girl dad -ChrisMD

words: 0.9k+

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, birth and postpartum depression.

summary: some fluffy chrismd girl dad headcanons.

notes: Life has been lifeing recently so my posts are annoyingly irregular but here’s this to hold you over until I get my shit together😫. Love ya girlys, missed uuu!!🫶🏼💞 (also thank you so much to anyone who sent in ideas, I appreciate you sm💅🏼)

• "A girl? Really?!" Was Chris' reaction when you told him the gender of your baby, the only reason you hadn't found out together was that the ultrasound technician had accidentally said 'she' during an appointment that Chris couldn't make it to. You weren't mad since everyone's human and she was extremely apologetic plus it was quite sweet telling Chris when no one else was around.

• After that day, you started putting together the nursery and every other time Chris went on a shoot that had Ethan, Danny or Simon on it he'd come back with a list of things that we needed to buy, which was actually very helpful since you had no idea you had to buy a baby bottle washer, cooler and warmer.

• Though you were having a girl she would definitely still be wearing the little arsenal jersey Chris had brought many months ago for announcing the news of your pregnancy to his friends (whose reactions were mostly shock and then extreme excitement).

• One night you and him sat in your baby's almost complete room. You were folding and organising the freshly washed little rompers and dresses while he built the comfortable nursing chair you'd bought. The room was completely silent but you were both so content, every other minute you'd glance over at each other and just smile. This was the life you'd always dreamed of... peaceful and happy.

• When you're little girl decided to make her arrival two weeks early while you were in the car on the way home from your parents house, Chris sped to the hospital, glancing over to you every few seconds. Though you were in pain Chris was way more stressed than you so you ended up reassuring him... "babe. Everything's fine, take a deep breath."

• It all ended up being absolutely fine. Though you got to the hospital within the skin of your teeth and she was born just fifteen minutes after you walked through the front doors, none of it mattered when your baby was placed on your chest.

• In the moment, when your baby girls cries filled the hospital room you looked over at Chris. His hand was holding yours tightly as tears streamed down his cheeks. Once his eyes met yours he smiled, leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead and whispered, "you did so well. I'm so proud of you my love."

• The first few weeks were hard. You were so happy and grateful to have a healthy baby but you were absolutely exhausted.

• Chris would get up with you every. single. time. your alarm went off to feed Annabelle -which is what you decided her name should be- that helped a little since it ment you didn't feel so alone.

• Eventually, the doctor diagnosed you with postpartum depression. Chris was the one to sit you down and gently ask if the both of you should look into it, since he had noticed just how difficult you were finding everything. Which in the end run you were extremely grateful for.

• After some lifestyle changes and online appointments with a therapist each week you started to feel significantly better, thankfully you caught it early so you didn't fall deeper into the dark hole. Months later you felt like a new person, finally truly enjoying motherhood.

• "Babe?" You called groggily after waking up, realising you'd just had a full eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time in... you couldn't remember actually. You got up to find Chris fast asleep in Annabelle's room on the rocking chair -clearly having taken the night shift as not to disturb you- while she also slept soundly in her cot. You smiled then left him to sleep. When he eventually got up and joined you on the couch you gave him the biggest hug and thanked him, he brushed it off as though it was nothing but you were so grateful that you had him.

• One day you sat in George and Arthur Hills apartment, the both of them meeting the baby for the first time and Chris was being extremely protective over your fragile little girl (which you weren't exactly mad about). "Wash your hands first!" "Hold her head properly!" He would instruct before adding a quiet "...please?" at the end.

• The dad jokes came in full force, he was constantly coming out with funny little one liners that always make you chuckle. A good example of one being when he said that Annabelle had more hair than Theo - which was even funnier because she actually had quite a lot of blonde hair, just like her dad.

• As soon as Annabelle could walk Chris was already -attempting to- teach her football and you would often find them sat together on the couch intently watching an arsenal game, which she surprisingly -but not so surprisingly- loved.

• "She's going to be in the big leagues one day," Chris quietly said into your ear with a proud smile as you watched your daughter play in her first actual football game at four years old. "She inherited your skills," you replied, your eyes admiring how happy she looked running around the pitch.

• "All done sweetheart." "Thank you daddy!" Annabelle beamed as she pulled the plat that Chris had just done for her to the front so she could admire it in the mirror. Minutes later she raced into the kitchen to show you. "Look mummy! Daddy did my hair!" Chris trailed behind her and you looked up at him in surprise. "It looks amazing sweetheart," you smiled at her before turning your attention to Chris, "when did you learn to do that?" "The other day. Watched a youtube video," he replied simply. "That's adorable." As if you couldn't love him more.

#chrismd #chris md #chris dixon #chrismd x reader #chris dixon x reader #christopher dixon x reader #youtuber x reader #british youtubers #uk youtube #x female reader #x fem!reader #x you #x reader #fanfic #imagine #oneshot #fluff #dad!chris #dad fic

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adoreasellie · 1 day ago

Note

bbf ellie where reader has a huge crush on her and ellie lowkey knows but doesn’t do anything about it bc she doesn’t like her back.. but she does, but she won’t let anyone know

Hi nonnie I hope you’re doing well. Hope you like what I wrote xx

—————————————————————————

Title: If She Finds Out

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You love Ellie. She knows—but pretends she doesn’t. Until you find the one thing she’s been hiding.

Tags : best friends to lovers - mutual pining - soft angst - unresolved tension - secret crush - she knows but won’t say it - yearning ellie is down bad - they were roommates

Joel once said that some of the best things in life start with a dead car battery and a pair of jumper cables. And in your case, he wasn’t wrong.

It was winter. Freezing. Your car had stalled in front of some random house, and you were halfway through a mini breakdown, your breath fogging the air as you cursed out loud at your engine.

That’s when he came out. Joel. Beanie on, wrench in hand, calm like nothing in the world could surprise him.

"You need a hand, ma’am?"

You barely had time to nod when she stepped outside.

Ellie.

Wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt, her hair an absolute mess, rubbing her eyes like she’d just woken up. She looked at you like she’d seen you before.

And that was it.

You were in trouble.

Since that day, you’d been inseparable.

Late nights talking about everything and nothing. Lazy weekends gaming on her old console. Rainy afternoons spent tucked away in the back of the bookstore where you worked, while Ellie devoured astronomy books like they were oxygen.

“Did you know that starlight can take hundreds of years to reach us?” she once said, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, eyes wide with wonder.

You looked at her like she was the miracle.

She was in her third year of astrophysics at university.

She worked too hard. Slept too little. You’d caught her more than once passed out on her textbooks at 2 a.m., pages smeared with ink and sleepy doodles of constellations.

You did what you could—coffee, snacks, soft playlists.

In return, she brought you to dinner at Joel’s.

You loved those nights.

Ellie talked about her classes like she was made for them—hands animated, voice rising when she got excited about dark matter or black holes. Joel would listen, proud, and you’d just… stare.

Her mouth as she spoke. Her fingers tracing invisible galaxies in the air. That soft laugh when Joel made a dumb joke.

And sometimes, she’d glance at you mid-sentence. Just a second.

Enough to knock the wind out of you.

You were in love with Ellie. Painfully, irrevocably.

You knew her like no one else did—her favorite pens, her study music, the way she scrunched her nose when she was focused.

You knew the spots she liked to be touched: the back of her neck, her temple, the inside of her wrist.

Not because you’d touched her like that—

But because she let you.

She held your hand during movies. Played with your hair until she fell asleep.

She called you "babe" sometimes, half-joking. Wore your hoodie like it was hers. Made borderline flirty jokes she never followed through on.

And like a fool, you believed. You hoped.

“People think we’re dating, I tell them not yet” you’d said once, laughing.

You still remembered the silence that followed.

Ellie didn’t laugh.

Didn’t say anything.

Just looked away.

And you pretended not to notice.

What you didn’t know was that she thought about you.

All the time. Too much.

She shoved the feelings down.

She was scared.

Scared of ruining it.

Scared of being seen.

Scared that Joel might know. That you might know.

So she buried it all.

Turned it into something else.

She sketched it.

——

That night, she was in the shower. You were in her room, waiting.

You wandered toward her desk. Her notebooks were there, stacked like always. But one stood out.

A black sketchbook. The spine frayed.

You hesitated.

Then opened it.

Page after page. Drawings.

Of you.

You laughing. Reading. Sleeping.

You naked. On your knees. Bent over. Exposed.

Your breath caught.

There were words too. Scribbled messily between the margins.

Don’t ruin it. Don’t ruin it.

If she finds out, I’m fucked.

God, she’s so hot it’s driving me insane.

I can’t lose her.

Please—not her.

You collapsed onto her bed, sketchbook in your hands, too stunned to stop flipping through it.

You didn’t hear the water shut off.

Didn’t hear the door creak open.

You looked up just as she stepped inside.

Hair wet. Towel slung around her neck.

Eyes locking onto the notebook in your lap.

Silence.

Then her mouth parted slightly. Her lips trembled.

A whisper—barely audible, laced with dread:

“I’m fucked.”

You didn’t say anything.

Not right away.

Instead, your fingers turned one more page.

A full-body sketch. You—straddling Ellie’s lap, head tilted back, mouth parted. Her hands gripping your hips.

The most explicit one yet.

You held it up.

Met her eyes.

And asked, voice steady—

“Wanna try that out?”

#ellie x reader #the last of us #ellie williams #tlou #ellie tlou #ellie x you #ellie williams x reader

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namelessgakusei · 1 day ago

Text

EP. 4.2 Faith and Inhibition

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual how. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent.

EP. 4.1 Belief and Perception (prev.)

EXTRA EP. 4.3 Rabbiting (cont.) TBA

Synopsis: The demons decided to torture Dante one last time before they blow up the plane. Someone "dies" before you all fall to your death and you gain something out of it.

No. Impossible. You're all going to die.

Despite Enzo's confidence that Dante will save you all, no, you're going to die. The plane will explode and everyone will either perish from the blast or fall to their deaths. Yep, this is it, this is how it ends. Surrounded by hostages in a hijacked plane, you'll die at the ripe age of 18. On the bright side, at least you won't die alone???

So much for having faith that it will all work out in the end.

"Wow, my good buddy and protégé, the son of Sparda." Enzo chuckles to himself, leaning closer and squishing you between the two men, looking expectantly at Dante while the other hostages whimpered in fear for their imminent deaths. Dante gapes at the older man, sighing loudly in response. "Come on, even if my dad might have been demon, Sparda isn't real."

"He's their version of the boogeyman."

"Your necklace is real." Your muffled voice cuts in, making Dante turn to your with a frown. "Not helping." He retorts.

The blue demon steps forward, agreeing that his father is indeed the demon knight. "Take it from us who've been living with the fallout of his betrayal for the last two millennia." Dante scoffs at the mention of the amount of years it has been, insisting that it couldn't be possible after all. You sighed, he's being in denial again, gaslighting himself just like what the White Rabbit said.

"You really think my dad is a demon from 2000 years ago?"

"Dante."

"How old do I look?"

"Dante."

You meet his eyes, it's shaking. He knows what he's doing, yet he still doesn't want to accept things as they are.

Dante’s scared.

Who wouldn't if you found out that the blood of the monsters who killed your family runs inside you?

You don't know what to say. You're not prepared. You're scared too! But Dante is... He's the one that's going through something worse in the room right now. You're thankful for your chatterbox of an adoptive father for filling the silence, making you lean to Dante as Enzo scoots closer, tattling on about how he had an inkling that the boy was part demon. "I just couldn't figure how, but you being Sparda's son explains everything."

"He's the good demon."

Dante's expression relaxed at that.

Enzo continues, proud even, as he convinces Dante that he's good regardless of his heritage. "That's what's in your blood. You get it?" Well, what do you know. Enzo's pretty good at lifting people up. If he was more shrewd, you'll understand how he's still a broker after all these years. Dante smirks at his words, fear creeping off of him.

"Let's see if he's right." The warm atmosphere went as it came due to Agni walking towards Dante, scraping his sword at the floor, releasing a grating sound as the demon grins. He stops a bit short from the half-demon, pointing his sword at the hostages before it turns to Dante. "You heard Rabbit. Either you stop us, or we blow them out of the sky."

Perhaps invigorated by Enzo's words, Dante returned to his usual cocky persona, smirking at the two demons with an insult. "What are you gonna do? Form half a Captain Planet?" He'll just keep bringing trouble, won't he? You shook your head, slightly amused at his brazenness. Rudra wasn't on the same page, however, as he leaned closer to where you sat. "I wouldn't be so cocky, mate."

"After all, you failed at saving your own mom and brother."

"And you led your own family to their deaths."

Both of you froze as flashbacks of those memories came back. Dante remembers the closet, the fire, Eva's body and Vergil's screams; while you remembered the bloody house you went home to.

"Oh yeah. Rabbit knows all about what happened to them too."

"How you two just stood as they died."

Dante shuts his eyes, willing himself to get past the sickening feeling in his stomach. The memory of his mother's corpse and the smell of something burning is still fresh in his mind. You weren't any better, nearly hyperventilating at the memory of your brother, barely breathing, as he spoke his last words to you. It's your fault that it happened. It's all your fault, you weren't thinking, and now you're forced to remember that event once again—

"We were helpless kids when those demons attacked us."

You flinched at Dante's voice, only able to look up at him as he stood up to face the two demons, eyes watering from the emotional pressure. How can he still stand strong like that? Your fates are uncertain at the moment, but he remains steadfast, confident that everything will work out.

Have faith that everything will work out.

Damn it.

"We're not one anymore." He grunts as he rips off his restraints despite how it was draining his energy. So you could brute force it? The hell?? You squirmed in yours and felt it draining your will already, but looking at how it broke off from Dante's weakened strength, you may have a chance if you time it right.

"Well, let's see if we could make you a little nostalgic." Rudra smirks, and so, the fight begins.

Fists flew in the air as the two demons ganged up on Dante, with him barely managing to go toe on toe due to his strength still being weak, courtesy of the appendage-like restraints from earlier. With your wardens distracted, you got to work, the restraints get a little loose if you stretch it as big as you can, but still not giving you a way out. That little leeway is enough for you. You might not have the strength to break this off, you're confident in your own flexibility.

You only need a little space to get your arms out of your coat.

Agni conjures a fireball and blasts it towards Dante, who froze upon seeing the fire due to its association for that night, making his reaction time a bit late as he dodged the attack. "Poor little half-breed. Gets hit with one measly fireball and turns into a whimpering baby." Dante's breathing started to get heavy as he tried to compose himself, rushing towards Rudra to deliver a punch, only to get slammed to the wall by the demon's ability. The impact damaged the plane so much that alarms started going off, with the pilot struggling to keep the aircraft flying properly.

"Seems like that strength Sparda gave you won't be much use up here." Agni mocks the hyperventilating Dante, who is getting haunted by the memories of his mother's death at the moment. "As useless as the man himself." Rudra grabbed Dante by his coat and threw him on the ground before levitating him off of it, restricting his airflow at the same time.

"The way we heard it, he didn't even bother showing up to protect you—"

The fireball from the red demon quickly disappeared as Agni chokes, his neck ensnared with your restraints as you clung to his back, his own energy quickly seeping out the more he struggled out of it. You were quickly pried off the red demon by his brother, and was slammed towards Dante with such force that it nearly knocked you out, with the other not being any better as he coughed out blood.

Everything was ringing, your body hurts like hell, you don't even have the energy to move— Someone's approaching... Agni's about to land a strike...! Your vision cleared almost immediately as you screamed. "Jump!"

The demon's fist landed on the luggage that you two landed on, scattering the litter of items across the plane, with Dante going to the left and behind Agni as you jumped up to avoid the attack, using the demon’s head as a leverage to perform a somersault to get around him. What you didn’t account for is that Rudra’s waiting behind his brother, grabbing hold of your torso, trapping your right arm with it, and slamming you to the wall before you could land on your feet. Dante screams your name before Agni punches him. “I’m disappointed in you, mate.”

“And here I thought you’ll understand us the most, given how you helped us out before.” Rudra’s words brought back the memories from the warehouse, the faces of the demons locked up and used as shooting targets for DARKCOM soldiers, and the cages you unlocked. His smirk made your head throb, adding to the psychological stress, as tears started to threaten to fall from your eyes. ”Look on the bright side.” Agni taunts Dante as the young man fights off the two demons, desperately kicking and punching Rudra to free you while avoiding Agni’s Agnited punches. "After watching your families die,"

"Watching these people die should be easy for you." Your body slowly starts to get crushed from the demon’s grip, restricting your airflow as black spots appear in your vision; meanwhile, Dante’s fighting off with his own trauma as Agni purposely sets himself on fire when the former catches his fists. "Aw. The one time you're fighting for something other than yourself, and this is how you do it?" The demon mocks him before delivering a clean headbutt that sends the agitated Dante to the other side of the plane, reducing him to his knees, as Agni procures Rebellion from behind. "Rabbit was right about you."

You’re going to die. You’re going to die…! I don’t want to die! A turbulence slightly shook the plane, and a metal clanged near your foot. Even in your blurry vision, an idea crossed over your mind. You don’t know what will happen, this is just a reckless action, born from desperation.

The sword glints, reflecting the hyperventilating Dante, before he gets slashed by his own sword at the chest. “Dante…!” You wheezed as he collapsed, with Agni cackling at his expense. "You're just like your dad."

You stomped at a fire extinguisher, one that had already lost its pin from the chaos from earlier, making it spin violently across the plane while discharging smoke everywhere, rendering visibility to little to none. You hoped that this would at least help Dante as your eyes started to roll back, with a cry being the last thing you hear as you slip to unconsciousness.

…

He can hear your heartbeat.

Dante lies on the ground, with blood spurting out of his chest wound, one that is already healing due to his abilities. Agni laughs over his body, but he cannot hear the demon. The hostages are crying, but he can’t hear them either. His head is ringing. He can’t breathe. It’s only you that he can sense right now.

You’re dying.

Dante could only watch as your life is being squeezed out of your body.

Will he be forced to see a loved one die again? Will he be just like before, a helpless boy? He promised to protect you, yet he couldn’t even face some demons who reminded him of his past.

Rudra is mocking you as he crushes you to your death. Those demons are trying to take everything from him again! He heard your bones cracking, the sharp inhale and the way you wheezed for air. At this rate, you won’t last! No! Not you. Please, not you…! He wasn’t able to do anything back then, but right now it’s different! He’s stronger now! He can protect those that matter to him!

Yet he can’t do anything.

Was it true, after all? That he’s a hellblood? That he’s the son of Sparda? That he’s just like his dad?

“Your dad was a brave warrior.”

Eva’s voice echoes in his head. The memory of his mother that night flashes in his eyes as it starts to water from helplessness.

“The bravest who ever lived.”

He remembers her smile, how gentle it is, as she describes his father, her husband, with such affection. He wanted to meet him. To know the man that his mother speaks so highly of, to be reunited with the father he never knew.

“He fought against all the bad things so we could be free.”

Something snapped within him.

White smoke filled the room as a fire extinguisher hit Agni on the head, exploding upon contact with his flames just as he was about to deliver the finishing blow on Dante. A flash of red lunged at him, snatching Rebellion and sending the demon flying towards his brother in a split second. Before you could fall to the floor, an arm catches you, relatively human compared to the other that your savior has.

You woke up with a cough, heaving for breath while groaning in pain. Everything hurts, except for your left arm. But at least you can breathe now—

Despite his appearance, with red electricity crackling around the two of you, the way he looked at you is of obvious worry and concern.

"Dante?" You croaked, looking up at the young man who now has a part of his face painted in red, with golden cracks crawling across it. His irises are sharp while his sclera looks far worse than just being bloodshot. His other arm holds Rebellion, but unlike what a human limb should look like, Dante's right arm transformed into something else. It's bigger, larger, with skin that looks tougher than an animal's and nails sharp enough to cut through anything.

The hostages panicked at the development, fear creeping in due to the uncertainty of the situation. Enzo on the other hand, looked at Dante in awe. The vice president mirrors his expression, but with the glint of something else as he marvels at Dante's current transformation. "Truly... remarkable...!"

"I got you." He smiles, and he doesn't know if the relief is because he got to you in time or if you're still alive. Both, he thinks, as he repeats his words, exhaling as he closes his eyes. He got to you in time...

"He's ready. Blow the charges." Rudra stood up from the ground, reaching for the switch that was entrusted to him, only for his brother to cut in. "Yeah..." Agni raises a hand, eyes focused on the two of you, before glowering. "Just give me a second to kill him first." With a snap of his fingers, he gets enveloped with fire that soon morphes into a scimitar. "We could say he died in the blast." The red demon smirks before lunging towards you.

"Can you stand?" Dante whispers before supporting you up. The second you winced however, he hoisted you up his arms and proceeded to dodge every swing of Agni's weapon with you in tow.

The moment the red demon missed was when he retaliated, throwing you up in the air as he slashes Agni's arm off, with it flying upwards. "Getting killed with your own sword?" You grinned at Dante's words and grabbed the hilt of the scimitar, twisting your body for momentum due to how heavy it is and grotesquely beheading Agni using the serrated side of his weapon. "That'll be pretty embarrassing."

You fall back to the ground, heaving from the weight of his sword, confused that Agni's body just stood there as his head rolls off. Dante's body starts to go back to normal as the sparks went down and everyone went quiet from what just happened, before the red demon laughed from the floor, dispersing in a bright red light alongside his body and getting absorbed by his weapon. The scimitar became relatively lighter in your hands, where you could easily wield it on your own. "What—"

"I've been waiting a long time for this!" Agni's voice echoed from the scimitar, dripping with pride and confidence as he guffaws. Rudra doesn't seem to share his sentiment, however.

The blue demon looked distraught at the current situation. "Brother!" He cries, frantically looking for the detonator he had, only to find nothing and remembering the way you snuck behind the two of them to immobilize Agni. "Looking for this?" You grinned like a maniac after revealing the now-damaged detonator, courtesy of how the demon nearly crushed you to death.

"You're not worthy of him..." Rudra calms down and readies his own sword, one that matches the one in your hands, glaring at you as wind picks up in the plane. "Give me back my brother!"

Your eyes widened. While there might not be bombs, there are other ways to take the plane down. Dante moved faster than you, rushing towards Rudra to stop his attack.

But it was too late.

Everyone screamed after it happened.

The air sliced the plane in pieces, sending everyone on board to fall to the city below.

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye @that-dumb-bitch @sleepykittycx @sidewalkenforcer @devil-might-sob @sophrickingfunny

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc #dmc x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #devil may cry x reader insert #dmc x reader insert #gaku's works!

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