#if I pretend enough maybe it never even happened and everything would be okay again

[namilettes]

Make a Sayori! Reader x any forsaken character, and make it So Sayori! Reader was brought to forsaken after Monika intensified Sayoris depression

Haven’t seen any Sayori readers out here so I’ll do it myself!

Anyways go drink water

Taph x Reader that's like Sayori

[It's okay to feel sad.]

I think the person most fit for someone like Sayori is Taph..-

I love sayori they did my girl dirty im telling you.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, depression, implied hanging ''Rope burns''

It's been a few months after you've gotten forsakened. Everyone seems to be adjusting to the horrible living situation, but if you're being honest all that matters to you is that everyone feels safe, that everyone is happy. If anything, you haven't really noticed or paid mind to how horrible this situation is, how horrible you feel. All you've been worrying about is making everyone feel included and happy. And so far your plan has been going rather nicely-

except that one person- guy? Girl.. Who knows, it's like he never uncovers his face anyway.. Not that you wanted to talk bad about anyone, it's just worry, mainly.

Worry that he thinks you're a freak, worry that he thinks anything but good about you. Not that you really mind if people bully you, you mainly want everyone to be happy, that's all that matters. But for that to happen people would need to view you in a more positive light.

It was raining the day you disappeared. Or… maybe it wasn’t. Time gets weird when you’ve been crying for so long, your heart starts forgetting how to beat like it used to.

One moment you were in your room- arms wrapped around your stuffed plushie, the papers you weren’t supposed to write still open on your desk. You weren’t supposed to tell them how you really felt. But it didn’t matter anymore. They'd already seen. Already changed everything.

But you're here now. Not dead. Not alive. Just… floating in a world where you're forced to be happy, again. Always smiling, always pretending.

.

.

.

It's been.. What- another few weeks?.. You walk to the kitchen during night time after another session of trying to cry yourself to sleep, you groggily stumble down the stairs of the main cabin to try and find a midnight snack to put you to sleep. You didn't understand what was wrong, usually you always fell asleep once you cried for an hour or so. Maybe the stress of this situation did actually get to you?... Even so, that wasn't relevant. You needed to focus on how others felt like.

That's what you always told yourself. You flip the light switch to see the one person who never talked or even acknowledged you by a simple nod, spooning a tub of peanut butter. It was.. A rather funny sight to see- a man who you've always thought about as intimidating and tough eating in such a funny way.

It.. Made you happy! You weren't sure if it was because of the funny sight, or if you were just happy to see that he was also at home. Enough- at least. Nevertheless, you felt happier than before that is.

You're still stuck with the same condition you were left in after your suicide, you still claw at the rope burns on your neck every now and then.

The man doesn't seem embarrassed in the slightest- like he was confident about casually eating peanut butter, in fact, he pops another spoonful in his mouth as you walk to the kitchen. He senses something is off despite you smiling and laughing your pain off.

See, being mute gives you a lot of abilities like analyzing people more closely, he sees through your constant facade but never says anything about it.

You cheerfully walk in, laughing and joking about how both of you should be asleep at this time. You see him start to sign something-

Whether or not you knew sign language, your eyes were much too groggy to register anything, Taph of course, noticed this as well and brought in his notebook to write a simple ''Are you okay?''

It was simple but.. It made you sentimental. You still shook your head and laughed it off with a simple ''Yeah! I'm fine!''

He murmurs, writing up something else in his notebook after a little shake in his head. ''You're one of the ones who lied to themselves.'' He casually writes and shows it to you. You sit down and smile, as if not to know exactly what he was talking about. He murmurs again- wondering if his handwriting is just bad.

''You’re bleeding from a place no one can see. You think if you smile hard enough, it’ll scab over. It won’t.'' He writes this time- Taph sits nearby. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t comfort you like your friends used to. Just watches with a tilt in his head.

He offers you a spoonful so casually. You break in tears and nod, hesitantly taking his offer like you haven't eaten in decades.

Maybe things rot differently in here, but even rotten things can smell like sugar.

[vynlrecord]

♡ is the light sleeper in the room with us?

At first when you’d asked Simon to move in with you, he seemed excited or well, as excited as Simon allowed himself to show. Yet as it got closer and closer, you weren't so sure.

“You probably won’t ever get a good night’s sleep again. I'll constantly be disrupting it.”

"I have nightmares and night terrors, I’ll probably scare you-"

“I’m such a light sleeper, everything wakes me up and puts me in a panic."

It was almost like he was trying to dissuade you from sticking to your decision, giving you an out in case he was too difficult for you, you knew exactly how his brain worked.

But you loved him, and nothing he was saying was making you change your mind, not even close to it.

You prepared anyway, looked up everything you could with how to handle certain night terrors, best things to say or not say, whether you should wake him up if he’s having a nightmare, everything.

Then the first night came, and you were ready to be woken up at 3am, maybe to Simon shouting or crying or something and you pictured all the things you’d do to calm him down, grab him some tea, maybe gentle reassurances as you wiped his tears, whatever it took. 

But none of that happened.

The first night, he slept the whole way through, completely undisturbed and you would know because ironically you were the one who didn’t sleep the first night. You'd stayed awake, worrying, wanting to make sure he was okay, checking for even a slight twitch or a face of anguish but, nothing.

And then a few days later, on an early Sunday morning, your neighbour had decided to mow the grass. It was unbearably loud and you'd sat up, internally screaming because who chooses 7am to cut grass on a Sunday?

And Simon? Well he was completely out.

You looked at him, wondering if he was pretending for a moment, giving him a little nudge. He'd shuffled a little in his sleep before letting out a few soft snores, it was like he was on another planet completely.

And it kept happening. He'd sleep through alarms, and not just one or two but enough in a row that you had to turn them off yourself and tell him to wake up. Phone calls too, slept through every call, no matter the ringtone, no matter how loud. Your cat's 4am zoomies? Not even a flinch.

You were so confused, he'd worried constantly before moving in about ruining your sleep and now it was like sleeping was second nature to him, which you wouldn't have questioned if not for the repeated warnings of how light of a sleeper he was.

It made no sense, Simon couldn't understand it either, but you were quite happy with it of course, and so was he. Whenever you thought about it for too long, it actually made you smile, there was something sweet about it to you.

Perhaps it was your apartment, the fact that the space was yours, maybe your presence was helping him, you'd even joke it was your cat's soothing company. Or maybe it was the soft sheets, in a bedroom that felt cosy. A proper homely space, one that Simon wasn't quite used to in his old place, all bare walls and no decoration, not even a comfortable mattress. He'd never bothered with anything except the bare minimum, a vast difference to now.

Whatever it was, he was actually sleeping, peacefully for once, he couldn't remember the last time he was able to say that.

But what Simon did know, was that he felt completely safe with you and seeing him like this was the most beautiful thing to you.

[papayainsectorone]

Teach Me

════════════════════════

summary: A chance reunion with Oscar at a party leads to a night of exploration, vulnerability, and intimacy—where he learns to ask for what he wants, and you’re more than willing to teach him.

content: 18+! smut, nsfw descriptions, oral sex, praise kink

word count: 4,7k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: this turned out to be great potential to add some parts, so maybe stay tuned if it does well

teach me series

════════════════════════

You hadn’t seen him in years. Not really. Not since both your lives split off into entirely different rhythms—his dominated by circuits and airports, yours by everything else.

And yet, when you bumped into him again at a mutual friend’s party, he still had the same shy smile. Still held eye contact like it meant something. Still remembered the dumb in-jokes that made you laugh harder than the alcohol.

You ended up talking for hours. About nothing and everything. And somehow, that turned into walking back to your hotel together. And somehow, that turned into sitting too close on your bed, the TV playing something neither of you are watching, knees touching like it’s a game of dare.

You can feel how tense he is. Not nervous like scared—but nervous like hesitant. Like he’s not sure what’s okay to want.

“You’ve always been so good at this,” he murmurs eventually, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then away again. “People. Talking. Flirting. I don’t think I ever got the hang of it.”

You tilt your head. “When would you have? You went straight from karts to cars. The rest of us were fumbling through school dances—you were chasing podiums.”

He huffs a laugh. Quiet. Embarrassed. “Yeah, but even then... the other guys, they still talked about it. About girls. Hookups. I never really—” He breaks off. “I was just thinking about racing.”

“That’s not a crime,” you say softly.

His voice drops a little, barely more than a whisper. “Feels like I missed something.”

You glance at him sideways, curious “Are you a virgin?”

His head snaps toward you—wide eyes, startled. Then he lets out a small, awkward chuckle. “Yeah... I mean—no.” He exhales sharply. “I’m not totally new to this. I’ve had sex.” A shrug. “We were young. It was fast. Awkward. Over before I could really think about it. And then... I don’t know. Life just kept happening.”

“Do you want to learn now?” you ask.

His breath catches. Then: “Yeah.”

Your thumb brushes his cheek. His skin’s warm, a little flushed. You lean in just enough for him to meet you halfway if he wants to.

He does.

The kiss is gentle. Curious. He doesn’t rush it, and you don’t push him. Your hand cups the side of his neck, feeling the soft thrum of nerves and anticipation under his skin.

When you pull back just enough to speak, your voice is almost a whisper.

“You don’t have to pretend you know what you’re doing.”

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your thigh. “Good,” he murmurs, a little breathless. “Because I really, really don’t.”

You kiss him again, slower this time, letting it linger. His hand drifts to your waist, unsure, but you press into his palm to tell him it’s okay.

When you pull back, his cheeks are flushed, his lashes low.

“Okay,” you say softly. “New rule.”

He blinks. “Rule?”

You nod. “You have to talk to me. No hiding it. If you like something, you say it. If you want me to stop, you say it. If you want more…” You trail your fingers lightly down his chest. “You say that too.”

He swallows. “Even if I sound stupid?”

“You won’t. I promise.” You smile, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “There’s no wrong answers. Just tell me what feels good.”

He hesitates only a second before nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”

You lean in again, mouths meeting, and this time you ease him gently back against the pillows. Your knee slots between his thighs, your hand sliding under his shirt, just brushing warm skin.

His breath stutters.

“That okay?” you murmur.

“Y-Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s… good. Warm.”

You laugh under your breath. “Good start.”

You guide him through every little step—how to touch, where to focus, how to relax into the way your lips find his neck and your hand curls low on his stomach.

Every time he gasps or moans, you stop and make him tell you why.

“It—when you do that thing with your thumb,” he pants, eyes fluttering. “It… it makes everything feel tighter. Better.”

You press your mouth to his jaw. “That’s what I want. For you to feel everything.”

And he does. Slowly, sweetly, in breathy little confessions and nervous laughs, in the way his hands start to get bolder, braver.

He listens. He learns. And he lets you teach him with lips and tongue and open praise.

It’s messy, a little clumsy, but none of that matters—not when he’s watching you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. His hands are on your back now, sliding under your shirt like he’s memorizing you.

You roll your hips just enough to make him shiver.

“Still good?” you ask, voice low.

He nods quickly, too quickly, then corrects himself. “Yes. I like… when you move like that.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

He fumbles for a second, eyes flicking away. Then, quieter: “More. I want more of you.”

That’s all it takes.

You ease his shirt up and over his head, kiss your way down his chest, slow and soft. His skin is warm, marked with a few nervous trembles, but he’s breathing steady through it now. Trusting you.

When your hand slips lower, he gasps, hips lifting into your touch before he remembers to speak.

“Yes,” he says, breathless. “That—please, don’t stop.”

You smile against his skin. “Good boy.”

He whines. Actually whines. And it goes straight through you.

His hips twitch again like the words themselves tug at something deep inside him. His fingers curl tight into the sheets, his jaw slack with need.

“God,” he pants, like the sound of praise is almost as intoxicating as your touch. “Say it again. Please.”

A soft, almost shy laugh escapes you as you pull back just slightly, looking down at him. You tilt your head, fingers brushing along his jaw.

"Did you like that, Oscar?" you ask, your voice low, teasing in a way that makes his breath catch. "Me telling you how good you're doing?"

His eyes snap open, pupils blown wide. His face flushes a deeper shade of red, and for a moment, he doesn't say anything—just stares at you, caught in a mixture of surprise and a shy kind of awe. Then, his hips buck involuntarily against you, as if the praise itself set something off inside him.

His chest heaves, and he stammers, his voice tight. "I… I… yeah, I liked it. It—it felt… good."

You lean in closer, your lips brushing just above his ear. "I could tell." You press a little firmer against him, watching his face twist with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. "You’re doing so well, Oscar. You like hearing me say it, don’t you? When I tell you how good you’re being for me?"

He bites his lip, the flush on his face spreading all the way down his neck. “Yeah… I… I want to hear it.”

You let the words sink in, savoring how they make him squirm beneath you, how much he craves that affirmation. And you know, in that moment, you could keep going—make him beg for it, make him crave your praise until he’s dizzy with it.

You give him what he wants.

“You’re doing amazing. Such a good boy, Oscar.”

That breaks him.

"Fuck, please," he says, voice trembling.

His grip tightens on the sheets, and you can feel him shift beneath you, eager, almost frantic. His body is a perfect contrast to the hesitant boy he once was. Now, he’s confident in his need, in his craving for your approval.

"Please," he gasps, his voice rough and shaky. "I need to hear more…"

Your fingers hover just above his waistband, your breath hot against the sensitive skin of his abs. Oscar’s body trembles beneath you, the anticipation almost too much to bear, and youcan feel his nerves radiating through the tension in his muscles.

You look up at him, voice soft but coaxing. “You’re doing so well, Oscar,” you murmurs, lips grazing his skin lightly. “But I need you to tell me what you want. What feels good? You just have to say it, baby. I’m here to listen.”

His eyes meet yours, uncertainty flickering in them, but there’s something else too—a hunger, a desperate need to feel good, to know that you want to hear what he’s craving. His hands curl into fists at his sides, still not sure how to ask for it.

You kiss his thigh gently, lips lingering for just a moment before you pull away, letting the tension build. “It’s okay. You can tell me, Oscar. I won’t bite. Just tell me what you need.”

Oscar swallows hard, his voice trembling when he finally speaks. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

You smiles softly, hand brushing his side soothingly, the touch gentle, patient. “It’s alright. Just start slow. Tell me if it feels good when I touch you like this.” You move your fingers again, grazing the waistband of his pants, letting him feel the heat of your proximity. “Does that feel good?”

He nods, his body reacting with a soft moan that escapes before he can stop it. “Yeah… yeah, it feels good… But I… I want more…”

Your heart races at his admission, the vulnerability in his voice making her pulse quicken. “More?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet full of warmth and encouragement. “Tell me what more feels like. I want to know what makes you feel good, Oscar.”

Oscar’s breath catches, his face flushed, but he nods again, this time with more confidence. “I… I like when you’re close. When you touch me, but… maybe with your mouth…”

Your eyes soften at his words, and you leans in closer, your lips brushing against his skin. “I can do that,” you murmur. “Just tell me if it’s too much or if you want more, okay?”

He shuffled to the edge of the bed and as you gently slide the last of the fabric down, his body exposed now, not prepared for the sight that greets you. You pause for a moment, eyes widening slightly, unable to hide the surprised expression that cross your face.

"Fuck, Oscar," you breathe, voice low and full of disbelief, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "How did you hide that?" Your gaze linger on him for a beat longer than you mean to, taking in how he stands there, vulnerable yet undeniably… impressive.

Oscar’s face flushes a deep shade of crimson at her reaction, his body stiffening with embarrassment.

But you’re not going to let him feel self-conscious for long. You lean in closer, your breath warm against his skin, your gaze flickering up to meet his once more.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper, your voice soft, reassuring. “You’re exactly what I wanted.”

With that, you lower yourself further, your hands resting on his thighs for a moment as you look up at him, silently asking if he’s ready. He nods, barely a whisper of a sound escaping him, but you hear it—his consent.

You move slowly, deliberately, pressing your lips to his skin just below his navel, tasting the heat of him before continuing your descent. His body flinches slightly, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your mouth moves lower, your lips brushing over him with a delicate pressure. You feel his hips twitch beneath you, and you pause, your eyes flickering to his, seeking confirmation.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” you murmur, your voice soft, but with the authority of someone who knows exactly how to guide him. “Just say the word, Oscar.”

He shakes his head, his hands fisting in the sheets, and his voice trembles with need. “It feels good,” he breathes, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. “Please, just… don’t stop.”

You smile, knowing you’ve unlocked the vulnerability in him, the one that lets him speak his desires. And you’re more than willing to give him what he needs. With that, you finally take him in your mouth, slow at first, the heat and taste of him overwhelming your senses as you move in rhythm with his quiet gasps.

As you continue, the sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel him struggle to keep his composure. The way his hips buck unexpectedly sends a jolt of shock through you, and you stumble for a moment, a slight gag catching in your throat. Tears well up in your eyes from the sudden movement, but you quickly recover, a trail of spit still connecting you both, glistening in the dim light.

For a moment, you just breathe, letting the surprise and intensity of the moment settle, your hand gently resting on his thigh as you look up at him. “Did you like that?” you ask, your voice a little breathless, your eyes soft with the mix of surprise and affection.

Oscar’s chest heaves, his breaths coming quick and uneven as he watches you. His eyes are wide with a mix of shock and excitement. “Oh my God… yes,” he pants, his voice hoarse with need, a little desperate now. “I didn’t mean to—fuck, I—”

You smile, wiping your lips gently, savoring the way he’s unraveling in front of you. “It’s okay, Oscar,” you say, your voice soothing, though there’s an underlying teasing tone.

You take his hand, guiding it to your hair, your fingers lightly curling around his wrist, urging him to take a little control. “You can take some control,” you murmur, your voice low and full of trust. “Just guide me if you need to.”

Oscar’s eyes widen in surprise, his hand trembling in your hair as you lower yourself again, your lips brushing against him, waiting for his guidance. His breath catches as you look up at him again, your expression soft, yet encouraging.

As you pause, waiting for him to take the lead, his mind is spinning, and a sudden surge of confidence rushes through him. He’s starting to get it—how it feels to guide you, how much you’re willing to trust him with this. Slowly, he exhales, his hand tightening in your hair, not pulling, but gently guiding your head down as his hips buck up again, this time with purpose.

Your eyes meet his, and for a brief moment, he freezes, unsure if he’s doing it right. But your smile, the way you relax under his touch, reassures him. “That’s it, Oscar,” you murmur, your voice low and soft, as you sink further into him, your mouth finding its rhythm again. “You’re doing perfect.”

The control he feels is intoxicating. He guides you just a little more, feeling his own body grow tighter with the sensations. The rush of pleasure builds, and it’s almost too much to handle. He squirms beneath you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares down at you, his breath hitching with the overwhelming feeling.

"I think I’m gonna…" he starts, his voice faltering, a mixture of panic and desire in his tone.

You pull off for a moment, your lips still glistening, a soft smile playing at the corner of your mouth as you look up at him. “It’s okay, Oscar,” you breathe, your voice soothing and encouraging. “Just let it happen. Let me know where you want it to be.”

Your words are the reassurance he needs. He exhales a shaky breath, his grip on your hair tightening again as he gently moves you down, his hips bucking once more in need, desperate for the release he’s been holding back.

“Please… can you…” He doesn’t know how to ask for it, but the words tumble out, raw with need. “Can you… finish it? I… I want you to.”

You smile softly at his request, your eyes locking with his.

You lower yourself once more, moving with deliberate slowness, each motion intentional as you take him in.

Your tongue glides over the tip, circling gently, your pace steady. His hand remains tangled in your hair, fingers brushing the softness as you move. Each subtle bop of your head brings him closer to the edge, the sensation growing more intense with every second. The pressure builds inside him, and though he tries to hold back, it becomes overwhelming. With a deep, almost primal grunt, he loses control, his hips jerk upward, hitting the back of your throat — the final spark that ignites everything.

The pressure inside him snaps all at once, and his body shudders violently beneath you. One hand grips your head, pulling you down harder without thought, caught in the grip of release, while his other arm locks tight behind him, bracing against the mattress and forcing his upper body forward. His back arches, hips lifting fully off the bed, his torso folding over you as if every muscle in him is straining toward you, unable to hold anything back.

But you don’t stop. Your mouth stays on him, your throat tight around the tip, taking every inch as his body bucks beneath you. One hand holds his thigh steady, the other stroking him gently through the aftershocks as he gasps through a stuttering stream of “Oh God… fuck… you feel so good…” The words fall from him unfiltered, broken by the rawness of the release.

When the tension finally ebbs from his muscles and his breath slows, he collapses back onto the bed, chest rising and falling. Only then do you let him slip from your mouth, slow and careful.

The silence between you both is comfortable, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, and you move to sit beside him, your fingers gently brushing over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your touch.

"You okay?" you ask softly, your voice a soothing contrast to the intensity of the moment just passed. Your eyes are full of warmth and care, checking on him in a way that makes him feel safe and cherished.

Oscar nods, still catching his breath, his eyes meeting yours. A soft, almost shy smile tugs at his lips, and his hand reaches for yours, gently pulling it to his chest. "Yeah… I think I’m just a little overwhelmed," he admits, his voice quieter now, full of a mixture of contentment and vulnerability.

You smile, your thumb gently tracing over his hand, the simple touch grounding him. "It’s okay. You did amazing," you say, your voice tender, reassuring.

He blushes slightly, the praise settling into him like a warm blanket, making him feel both shy and proud in equal measure. His voice almost shy as he looks at you with wide, honest eyes. "I… I didn’t expect it to feel THAT… good."

You chuckle, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch tender and careful. "We can do that again, whenever you like."

He smiles, all flushed cheeks and messy hair, eyes still a little glassy from the afterglow. “Yeah?” he breathes, disbelief and hope threading through the single word.

You nod, leaning in until your foreheads touch, your thumb still gently stroking his temple. “Yeah,” you whisper, as if it’s a secret just for him. “You just have to ask.”

Oscar swallows hard, his heart thudding all over again—but for a different reason now. Not nerves, not lust. Just this quiet, aching affection building in his chest. “Okay,” he says softly. “I… I think I will.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek—sweet, not rushed, not trying to stoke the fire again, just sealing the promise between you. Then you rest your head on his shoulder, fingers drawing slow, lazy shapes on his chest.

For a while, you don’t speak. You don’t need to.

He eventually tilts his head to glance at you, his voice sleepy but sure. “You’re really good at making people feel safe.”

And he doesn’t say anything after that—just holds you a little tighter.

NEXT PART

[alisonsfics]

wrong name

pairing: tyler owens x best friend!reader

summary: you were doing a great job suppressing your feelings for your best friend until you hooked up with a guy and called out tyler’s name in bed. but it’s fine, tyler would never find out, right? right?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, car sex, fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, minors DNI (18+ only)

It had been one week since the most mortifying moment of your life.

You’d gone on a first date with a guy named Finn because that’s what you do when you’re trying to get over your crush on your best friend. You hope that maybe you’ll meet a guy that you’ll fall harder for and stop crushing on the guy who would never see you like that.

So, you went back to his place after dinner, and the sex was mediocre at best.

At first, Tyler only popped into your head for second. You imagined how much better it would feel if it was his hands running over your body. Then, you had more intrusive thoughts. Like the thought of Tyler bending you over and fucking you.

It’s only because you were desperate. There was nothing worse than trying to pretend you were having a good time when you were just bored out of your mind.

So, you suggested to Finn that he should blindfold you.

From there, your imagination really soared, and you allowed yourself to believe you were with Tyler.

It was a fun little secret, just for you.

Until you both came, and you called out Tyler’s name and not his.

You were praying you’d spontaneously combust because you couldn’t face him after that. You quickly scrambled back into your clothes and went home.

You were doing okay at pretending it never happened. When you were lying in bed at night, the memory liked to sneak up on you and mortify you all over again.

So, you were boycotting dates for the moment because you couldn’t risk doing it again.

You had a boring night of wine and a movie planned for yourself when Tyler called you. “Hey, Tyler? What’s up?” You asked him, cheerily.

“You got any plans tonight? I was thinking about going out to a bar.” He suggested.

Even over the phone, his voice ran right through you. Goosebumps ran down your arms as you tried to hide your excitement. “That sounds great. Pick me up at 8?” You suggested.

“Sounds perfect, see you soon.” He replied.

You hung up the phone and flopped backwards onto your bed. The heat rushed to your cheeks. You had to fight the urge to giggle and kick your feet.

You’d been friends with Tyler for years, which didn’t mean you stopped getting butterflies around him. You just got better at hiding it.

You both had been through a lot together, and you didn’t want to jeopardize it by letting he find out you were harboring feelings for him.

So, you picked out a cute black dress to wear. One that Tyler’s eyes would linger over, but he’d never admit it. Just like every time the two of you went out to a bar.

You’d just finished getting ready whenTyler’s red truck pulled up outside your apartment. You quickly ran down the stairs to greet him.

“There she is,” he said, his eyes running down your body as he got out of the truck. That look of awe was enough to make you feel dizzy.

You could feel the butterflies start to swarm as he walked closer to you. “You look gorgeous as always.” He said, taking your hand and spinning you in a circle.

You thanked him as he pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Your chariot awaits.” He joked, opening the passenger door for you.

The drive there went by in a flash. You and Tyler knew each other like the back of your hands, so you could easily spend hours talking about nothing and everything.

“So, any particular reason you wanted to go out tonight?” You asked, looking over at Tyler as you both took a seat at the bar. You knew Tyler’s favorite solution for problems at work was going out drinking with you. No one could calm Tyler down the way you could.

“Can’t it just be because I wanted to hang out with my best friend?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You rolled your eyes at him, swatting his arm. “While I am a delight, I know that’s not it.” You encouraged him, letting your hand linger on his forearm.

His eyes darted down. The way your small hand was gripping onto his muscular arm was enough to distract him. You quickly pulled your hand away, feeling slightly embarrassed after seeing his reaction.

“Just tornado stuff. We had this big opportunity to get a bunch of data, but some of the equipment malfunctioned. We lost almost everything.” He explained. He was eager to move the conversation past how he had almost malfunctioned because you grabbed his arm.

You gave him a small sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That’s frustrating. You’ll figure it out. I mean, you’re the tornado wrangler after all.” You said, cheesily trying to cheer him up. Tyler chuckled and looked down at his hands.

Ever since Tyler had been branded the “Tornado Wrangler,” you loved to tease him about it.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I hate when you call me that.” He groaned, smiling at you. You cheekily shrugged your shoulders.

“I gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Can you watch my drink?” You asked him. Tyler quickly nodded, sliding your drink over in front of him. You rushed towards the bathroom, where you assumed there’d be a line.

“Two shots of tequila please,” Tyler heard a man come up to the bar and order beside him.

He didn’t pay a lot of attention to it, until he saw the man down both shots back to back, out of the corner of his eye. “Rough day?” Tyler joked, looking over at the man.

“Rough week,” the man corrected him, with a grim expression. Tyler looked at the man’s face, not being able to shake the feeling that he knew him from somewhere.

“Wait, do we know each other? You look familiar.” Tyler said, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought. The man gave him an awkward smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, man.” He said, knowing he’d never seen Tyler before.

That’s when he saw Tyler’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, wait. You’re Finn, right?” He asked him.

Finn’s expression only became more anxious and worried. “Yeah, umm. I am, but how do you know my name? I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He asked.

Tyler quickly shook his head, trying to assure the man who was growing more nervous. “No, we haven’t met. You went on a date with my friend Y/N last weekend. She showed me your picture before you guys had your date.” Tyler said.

Finn nodded in recognition. All the memories of that night came rushing back to him. “Oh, yeah. That explains it.” Finn said, sheepishly. It was clear to Finn that this man he was speaking to didn’t know anything about how that date went.

“Sorry, don’t want to be rude. I’m Tyler, by the way.” Tyler said, quickly shaking Finn’s hand. Finn stared blankly back at him. “Tyler?” He asked, feeling his blood run cold. Tyler nodded, giving Finn a friendly smile.

Meanwhile, you were on your way back to the bar.

“Hey, Tyler. I’m back.” You said, reaching to grab your drink back from Tyler. Your gaze drifted past Tyler to the man that was standing beside him.

“Hey, Y/N. Good to see you.” Finn said, with a fake smile. You felt yourself freeze. You wanted to run away, but you couldn’t convince your feet to move.

“Oh—uh, Finn. Yeah, good to see you.” You nervously lied. Your eyes darted between Tyler and Finn. You were praying Finn hadn’t found out Tyler’s name. You were also praying he hadn’t told Tyler what happened.

“I guess you haven’t told your friend, Tyler, here that our date was kind of a bust.” He said, coldly.

You wrapped your hand around Tyler’s bicep, trying to tug him towards you. You wanted Tyler to get the hint that you really wanted to leave.

Tyler turned to face you. He saw the pure panic in your eyes. “You okay?” He asked you, quietly.

You tried to form the word “no,” but no sound would come out of your mouth. All you could imagine was Finn telling Tyler what happened. You could practically see the way that Tyler’s face would change.

“I think the guy deserves to know.” Finn said, noticing the way you were tensed up. You weren’t hard to read in this moment, but Finn had been humiliated when you said the wrong name. So, he wanted revenge.

“That’s none of his business.” You said firmly. You refused to look Tyler in the eye. You were worried that if you did, he’d somehow see into your soul and know what happened.

“Let’s go.” Tyler said, standing up and wrapping his hand tightly in yours. Tyler knew how uncomfortable Finn was making you and wanted to get you out of there as quick as possible.

Tyler turned to leave, pulling you with him when Finn yelled after you both.

“We hooked up, but she called out your name, not mine.” Finn said.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your stomach sank. You felt like the floor was going to open it up and pull you under.

You tugged your hand away and ran out of the bar and into the parking lot. Tyler was trying to process what he’d just heard.

He turned around to face Finn, who had a grin on his face. “The lady told you to shut up.” Tyler practically growled, shoving Finn against the bar.

Tyler turned on his heel to follow you towards the car.

When he got outside, he saw you standing by the passenger side of the truck. Your arms were crossed, and your eyes were focused on the ground.

“Sweetheart—” Tyler started to say before you cut him off.

“I want to go home.” You snapped. Your tone came out harsher than you meant to.

Tyler slowly nodded. He didn’t want to push you to talk about something you didn’t want to talk about. You both got into the car in complete silence.

Tyler hesitated before putting the keys in the ignition. He glanced over at you. He could see your eyes starting to water as you still refused to look at him.

He cautiously reached over to let his fingers interlace with yours. “Will you please look at me, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not scaring me away. I promise.” He said, softly.

You hesitantly looked over at him. He gave you a soft smile, trying to calm you down. “Finn was a douchebag for telling me, but I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you. You softly squeezed his hand.

He used his other hand to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “So…you were calling out my name, huh?” Tyler asked you, with a cocky smirk.

Your eyes went wide. You tugged your hand away from his and covered your face with your hands. “Tyler,” you complained, dragging out his name.

He chuckled to himself. “I wasn’t trying to tease you.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender.

You peeked at him through your fingers. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, Owens.” You said, groaning to yourself.

He shook his head. Then, you felt him grab both your hands. His rough calloused skin scratching against your soft hands. He moved your hands away, looking you in the eye.

“I was just offering to make your little fantasies a reality.” He said in a low voice.

You leaped across the car, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. His hand flew to the back of your neck as he kissed you back.

You could taste the liquor on his lips. The kiss was sloppy and hungry. You’d both wanted this for too long to be patient. His fingers weaved through your hair, holding on tightly.

His other hand grabbed your waist. His fingers caressed the silky material of your dress. His mind could only think about how much softer your skin would be under his touch.

You seemingly read his mind. “Go ahead,” you mumbled against his lips. You could feel his lips curve up into a smirk. He slipped his fingers under your short dress, caressing your upper thigh.

He noticed the goosebumps that were covering your legs. It only encouraged him more. His hand slowly moved higher up your thigh.

You whimpered against the kiss. You felt the familiar aching between your legs. You needed his touch like you needed air. “So needy for me, baby,” he said, cockily.

The pet name sent a shiver rolling down your back. You bucked your hips up against nothing. “Please,” you begged him.

He rubbed his thumb across your clothed heat. A small wet patch had formed in your panties. Another whine came out of you.

He quickly pushed your panties to the side and plunged a finger into your folds. You gasped, pulling out of the kiss. Your eyelids softly fluttered closed.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumbled softly. Tyler peppered kisses to your shoulder as you leaned your head back. Your senses were overwhelmed. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head. He curled his finger inside of you, making you buck your hips against his hand.

“You want another, sweetheart? Can you handle that?” Tyler asked you. You furiously nodded your head. He could feel his jeans becoming strained as he watched you writhe under his touch.

He added another finger, stretching you out. Your mouth hung open as you adjusted. Your wetness only allowed Tyler to move his fingers quicker. He quickly moved them in and out, watching as your breath quickened.

Your stomach started to tighten. You reached for anything to sink your nails into. Your hand landed on Tyler’s bicep.

He pressed his thumb into your clit. “Tyler,” his name fell effortlessly from his lips. He quickened his pace. Every breath and moan from you made him go faster.

“Cum for me, baby,” he praised you.

He started rubbing circles around your clit. You whined, helplessly grinding your hips down against his hand. You swore you were seeing stars. “Oh fuck, Tyler, I’m gonna—” you swore, biting down your lip.

“Go ahead. Cum on my fingers.” He instructed. Your orgasm hit you. You clenched around his fingers, riding the high. “Tyler, so good,” you mumbled. Your legs were shaking, and you threw your head back against the headrest. He continued pumping his fingers into you.

“That’s it. There you go.” He softly praised you. Tyler’s fingers slowed down, helping you down from your peak. He brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips softly.

He wiped his soaked fingers on his jeans. You softly nipped at his bottom lip. His smirk grew again. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” He asked you.

Instead of answering him, you climbed across the console into his lap. Tyler pulled out of the kiss to watch you, in shock. His eyes were wide at the sight in front of him.

You were straddling his lap. Your skirt was hiked up to your hips while your cum was running down your thigh. Your makeup was smudged. Your lips were swollen. And you looked tired out from your orgasm.

“Hold on, just a second, baby,” he said, quickly sliding his seat all the way back and leaning the chair as far back as it would go.

As soon as you both had more room, you were back all over each other. Tyler’s hands were possessively holding on your hips. You unbuttoned Tyler’s shirt as you kissed him. Feeling the last button come undone, you raked your nails over his bare chest. Tyler groaned into the kiss. Your touch was magic on him.

“Need you,” he mumbled against your lips. You tugged his shirt off his shoulders and threw it in the back seat.

Tyler leaned back as you reached for the hem of your dress. He watched with a cocky smile as you pulled the dress over your head. He’d just been fingers deep in you, but the sight of you in your bra and panties was enough to make him crazy.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, darling,” he practically moaned. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to kiss him again. Your hands struggled to undo his belt while he unclasped your bra.

Having Tyler’s hands on you had your skin burning. You felt like your skin was on fire, in the best way. You could sense his desperation. His hands explored your body, not wanting to leave any part untouched.

His hands covered you, helping you undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He quickly tugged his jeans down to his knees.

You pulled out of the kiss to take a breath. Tyler buried his face in between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and a trail of saliva. He leaned forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your eyes rolled back, grasping onto Tyler’s arms. “Need you, Tyler,” you mumbled.

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” He said, tugging down his boxers. His cock spring out, slapping against his stomach. He watched as you practically drooled over him. He brought you back into the moment as he pulled off your panties.

“You want to do this right here? Or you wanna move into the backseat?” He asked you, smirking at your eager expression.

“Right here,” you said. The words came out rushed as you captured his lips in a kiss. He smirked against your lips. “Hang on, sweetheart. If you’re gonna ride me, you’re gonna need this.” He said, grabbing his cowboy hat from the backseat and plopping it on your head. A bashful smile appeared on your face.

You shifted your weight, holding onto Tyler’s shoulders. “Go ahead, cowgirl.” He encouraged you with a wicked smile.

You slowly sunk yourself down onto his length. A low groan escaped Tyler’s lips at the feeling of you wrapped around him. “Fuck, darling,” he moaned, grabbing at your hips. He helped lift you up and let you plunge back down on his cock.

“Oh, Ty— so good,” you mumbled, rolling your hips back into his.

Tyler took a mental picture of you riding him while wearing his hat. He wanted to remember it forever.

With his assistance, you sped up the pace. You were ramming your hips down against his. With each thrust, you could feel Tyler reaching deeper inside you.

“This what you were thinking about with that other guy? Thinking about wrapping your sweet pussy around my cock. You fit perfect. It’s like you were made for me.” Tyler praised you. His comments went straight to your core. Your legs started to shake.

His name fell from your lips. He bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway. “Need to…f-f-faster,” you stuttered, feeling your muscles begin to tighten.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help ya,” he assured you, grabbing a tight hold on your hips. He slammed you down on his cock.

You could feel him brush up against your g-spot. You clenched your eyes shut, a whimper escaping your lips. “That the spot, sweetheart? Don’t worry. I’ll give it the attention it needs.” He said, flipping your body over so he was on top.

“You did so good, honey. But just let me do the work. You focus on cumming for me.” He instructed you.

He braced his leg against the console and started pounding into you. Your legs began to shake. You wrapped your hands around the headrest, your knuckles turning white.

“I’m almost—” you said, breathlessly. The noises bouncing off the truck walls were almost pornographic. You could hear every thrust. From Tyler’s low groans every time you squeezed around his cock to the sound his cock made as it slipped through your wetness.

His hand flew down to your clit, rubbing small tight circles. “Can’t last much longer, darling,” Tyler moaned. You could tell from his erratic thrusts that he was telling the truth. You vision was starting to go white as the muscles in your abdomen contracted.

“Oh, shit. I’m gonna— oh, fuck, Tyler.” You called out as you came around him. Your walls clenched down around his cock, pushing him over the edge. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, bucking his hips into yours and he came inside you.

He collapsed against you, slowing his pace and bringing you both down from your highs. His sweaty body pressed against yours.

“So, how’s that compare to what you were imagining?” Tyler asked you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

You gasped for breath. “S-so much better,” you mumbled, breathlessly.

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Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“Just Hold Me”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Reader has gone through a bad day and just needs to feel safe

Genre:fluff

⸻

The day had clawed its way through you.

Everything that could go wrong had. Your phone screen cracked. You failed a test you swore you were ready for. Someone said something cruel, and it stuck to you like tar. Every word today felt louder than usual. Every hallway, more suffocating. You were tired of people talking at you, expecting things from you, watching you.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just moved on autopilot, feet dragging until they brought you to the one place you didn’t have to pretend.

The warehouse was quiet. Familiar.

Geum Seong-je was there, back turned, doing something with his hands—maybe taping up his gloves, maybe cleaning up after a fight. He always had a reason to keep busy. Even when things were quiet around him, his body was never truly still.

You didn’t say anything. You just walked up behind him slowly, like approaching a wild animal. You knew how he was. Touchy. Defensive. Like if you leaned on him wrong, he’d snap and bare his teeth. But today… today you just needed something to anchor you.

So you leaned forward and rested your head gently on his back, arms not even wrapping around him—just laying against him like a ghost of a hug.

He stiffened immediately.

“The hell are you doing?” His voice was sharp, not yelling—but cutting.

You didn’t move. “I’m tired.”

He took a step forward, trying to shake you off. “Go sleep somewhere else.”

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you from sinking. “Just for a second.”

He turned around now, face shadowed, brows furrowed in irritation. “I’m not your damn pillow. Don’t come around me like that.”

You finally looked up at him, and this time you couldn’t stop your voice from cracking. “I just want to be held.”

It came out so small.

So raw.

Like a piece of you broke off and landed at his feet.

He opened his mouth—probably to say something sharp, maybe tell you to go home—but then he saw your face. Not just your red-rimmed eyes or the trembling line of your mouth, but all of it. The weight. The silence. The fight you had clearly already lost with yourself.

His jaw tightened. Then relaxed.

He sighed, turning his head slightly like he was annoyed with himself.

“…Tch. Come here.”

You didn’t move fast—scared he’d change his mind if you did. But he didn’t stop you when you stepped forward. Didn’t push you when you leaned into him again.

This time, his arms came up—awkward at first, like he didn’t know where to put them. But eventually, one arm wrapped around your back, then the other rested lightly on your shoulders. It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t romantic. But it was real.

Warm. Solid. Human.

His hoodie smelled like worn leather and faint cologne. His chest was steady under your cheek. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for hours.

You didn’t talk.

He didn’t ask what happened.

And that was the best part.

Seong-je wasn’t the type to whisper comforts or tell you things would be okay. But he was warm. And still. And after a few minutes, his hand lifted—hesitantly—and started brushing down your back in a slow, grounding motion.

“You should’ve just said something,” he muttered under his breath.

You smiled weakly into his chest. “I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“…Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you’d cry on me either, but here we are.”

You weren’t crying, not really—but maybe he said it just to give you permission.

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough for the noise in your head to dull. Long enough for his arms to tighten just a bit more. Long enough to believe—for a little while—that the world wasn’t as cruel as it had felt this morning.

And Geum Seong-je, rough edges and all, held you like maybe he needed this too.

[alohajix]

𝐒𝐡𝐡𝐡… 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐔𝐬

Description: I wasn’t supposed to be here again. He wasn’t supposed to notice. But when Harry pulls me onto his tour bus after the show, things get filthy fast—and staying quiet is the one thing he can’t do.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, power imbalance, oral (f. & m. receiving), praise kink, spit kink, hair pulling, chocking, dirty talk, slight degradation & risk of being overheard. Readers +18.

Words count: 4.4K

author note: okay so… this wasn’t supposed to be posted until thursday, but i got an unexpected day off today and couldn’t resist finishing it early ♡ this one-shot is based on a request (which was such a fun idea to play with), but i’ll be honest—i definitely struggled trying to make it feel just right ✨ still, i’m really happy with how it turned out and i hope you love it as much as harry loves being loud on that tour bus…

also!! if you ever have a request, don’t be shy—my inbox is always open ♡ i love writing about everything and anything, so hit me up whenever your brain is full of chaos and ideas

enjoy the filth, angels ☆彡

*****

I told myself this was the last one. No more spontaneous flight bookings. No more overpriced tickets. No more chasing cities just to stand front row and pretend it was a coincidence that he always looked my way.

But here I was—again. Pressed against the barricade, surrounded by screaming fans, heart pounding hard enough to shake my ribs. I could already feel the bass thrumming through the floor, could smell the mix of fog and stadium air. And when the lights dropped, my entire body lit up like it knew he was near. The roar was deafening when he walked out. Curls wild. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease. Smile lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He waved to the crowd, took the mic, and scanned the sea of faces with practiced ease.

And then he saw me. I knew the exact second it happened. His eyes found mine and held. Not a quick pass. Not a maybe. A beat. Then two. Long enough to feel the air catch in my lungs. Long enough for my hands to tremble where they gripped the rail. He didn’t smile. Not right away. Just tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to figure me out. Like he remembered. Then, as the intro to Love Of My Life started, he looked away—just barely—and smirked. I felt it in my knees.

The rest of the show blurred, but not the way it usually did. My body moved on instinct—singing, swaying, screaming when everyone else did—but my head? It was back in that moment. That glance. That smirk. That impossible possibility that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t just looking through me like every other night. And by the time the last song faded, my throat was raw and my chest felt like it had been cracked open.

The lights came up. People started to file out. But I stood there, frozen, gripping the barricade like it might disappear. I didn’t even notice the staffer until he was standing beside me, subtle in black with a headset tucked behind his ear.

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

My mouth barely moved. “Yeah.”

He glanced around, voice low. “Would you like to come backstage?”

My heart thudded. “Wait—seriously?”

“He asked for you.”

The walk backstage felt unreal. Like I wasn’t in my own body. The halls were dim, the walls pulsing faintly with the echo of music still vibrating through the venue. Other fans walked beside me—maybe ten of us in total—all chatting and laughing and smoothing their hair in their phone cameras. But I couldn’t join in. I couldn’t even think straight. Because if this was what I thought it was… If he really asked for me… Then none of this was just in my head.

He walked into the room like the encore never ended. Still glowing from the stage, hair messier now, shirt hanging open over his chest, towel slung across his shoulders. He looked wrecked in the most beautiful way—like he hadn’t had time to come down from the high of performing, like he’d stepped off stage and walked straight into this moment.

His gaze swept over the group, casual… until he saw me. And then it wasn’t casual at all. He stopped. His smile twitched into something warmer, softer. Something only for me.

“Hi, love,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “You made it.”

Every cell in my body flipped. He moved closer, hugging the fan beside me quickly, then stepped into my space like he belonged there. He didn’t even hesitate. His arms wrapped around my waist—firm, warm, way too sure. And when I hugged him back, my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without meaning to. His scent hit me hard: sweat, cologne, something faintly sweet. Familiar. Overwhelming.

He didn’t let go right away. I felt his breath against my ear when he leaned in for the photo. Felt the slight press of his chest against mine.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he murmured. “But I’m glad I did.” My heart stuttered.

He pulled back slowly, hand lingering against the small of my back. His eyes flicked down to my lips—so fast I almost missed it—and then met mine again, steady and full of things I couldn’t even begin to name.

“You look good tonight,” he said simply.

I didn’t even remember smiling for the photo. I don’t think I blinked the entire time he stood next to me. And when he moved away, I felt cold.

They ushered us out a few minutes later, gently guiding everyone toward the exit. The group chattered happily, already buzzing about social media captions and edits and which pose Harry used with who. But I wasn’t paying attention. Because just before I reached the hall, a hand caught my wrist.

“Wait.” I turned—and it was the same staffer from earlier. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Don’t leave with the rest.”

My pulse skipped. “What?”

“He said he wanted to see you. Properly.” I blinked. “Come with me.”

I followed him through the back halls like I wasn’t entirely sure I was awake. The venue had mostly emptied. The muffled chatter of crew echoed in the distance, paired with the dull thump of gear being loaded into trucks. But the further we walked, the quieter it got. The kind of quiet that made my pulse echo in my ears.

The staffer didn’t say much—just kept a steady pace and glanced over his shoulder once or twice, like he was making sure I hadn’t run. Believe me, I’d thought about it. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, it couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be him. But I didn’t stop walking. He led me through a gate, past a few trailers, and toward the tour buses parked side by side under flickering lot lights. The biggest one sat tucked behind a row of gear crates, its door slightly open. The inside glowed low and golden through the tinted window. He paused just before it, turned toward me, and gave me a look that made my stomach flip.

“Wait here. He’s just finishing up.” I nodded, unsure my voice would come out right.

He stepped onto the bus and shut the door behind him. The silence that followed was too much. I folded my arms to keep them from shaking, looked down at my shoes, tried to steady my breathing. Every second stretched. I could still feel the way Harry’s hand had pressed against my back. Still hear the rasp of his voice in my ear. Didn’t think I’d see you again. It was on a loop. Every word. Every glance. The way he looked at me like he knew what I’d been thinking from the very first night.

The bus door creaked open again. My head snapped up. He stood there, framed by warm light. Loose sweats low on his hips. White towel draped around his neck. Damp curls sticking to his forehead. His eyes found mine instantly. Something shifted in his expression. Like a string being pulled tight.

“Come in, sweetheart.” His voice was lower than before. Rougher. Not a question.

My legs moved before my brain caught up. I stepped onto the bus, my breath catching the second the door shut behind me. The inside was dim, cozy. Blankets tossed on couches. A few flickering lights running along the ceiling. It smelled like him—clean sweat, something warm and woodsy.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at me. I could feel the air buzz between us. He took one slow step forward.

“You’ve been following the tour,” he said, voice soft.

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t teasing. Just… noticing.

I nodded. “Since Denver.”

He smiled, barely. “I know. I’ve seen you.”

My stomach flipped. “I thought maybe you had.”

He kept moving closer. “You wore that green thing in Nashville.”

My cheeks burned. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.”

Now he was standing right in front of me. I had to tilt my head back just slightly to meet his eyes. They were darker now. Hungrier. And I swear—swear—he looked at my mouth like he’d already had it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “Tried to. Told myself it was nothing.” His fingers brushed my wrist. Light. Barely there. “But then you showed up again tonight… and I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to wait.”

I let out the softest breath. He leaned in.

“You want this, don’t you?” he whispered.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

He didn’t hesitate. One hand slid to the back of my neck. The other gripped my waist. And then he kissed me. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was messy and hot and open-mouthed, like he’d been waiting for this since the moment our eyes first met. Like he didn’t have time to be careful. I kissed him back like I’d been aching to. His hands roamed—over my back, my hips, curling into my hair. I gasped when he tugged. He groaned when I bit his lip. It was clumsy in the best way. Urgent. Desperate.

When he pulled back, we were both breathless. He pressed his forehead to mine.

“We’ve got about ten minutes,” he said. “Maybe fifteen.” My heart slammed against my ribs. “That enough?” he asked.

I smiled, breathless. “More than.”

He grinned, wicked and boyish. “Knew I liked you.”

Then he took my hand, pulled me toward the back of the bus—and locked the door behind us. The second the door clicked shut behind us, something in him shifted. His grip tightened. His mouth crashed onto mine again, more urgent this time—less like a kiss and more like a collision. Tongue deep, teeth nipping, hands everywhere. He was all over me. Pushing me back until my knees hit the couch.

“Sit,” he rasped.

I dropped onto the cushions without thinking, my thighs pressed together in anticipation. He stood over me, chest rising and falling. His eyes dragged slowly down my body, so full of heat it made my skin burn.

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?”

I swallowed, nodding before I even realized I was doing it. He leaned down and tugged me forward by the hips until I was slotted between his legs. One of his hands slid into my hair—fingers twisting—and the other cupped my jaw.

“Open your mouth for me.” I obeyed instantly. He smirked, then let a string of spit drip from his mouth onto my tongue. “Swallow.” Fuck.

I did, and he groaned under his breath like I’d just touched him.

“Good girl.” I whimpered.

He knelt down, suddenly eye-level with me, and reached under my skirt without warning. His fingers pushed past the waistband of my panties, sliding through the slick mess already there.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

I could barely breathe. “Been like that since the meet and greet.”

He laughed—a soft, breathy sound full of disbelief. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Then his fingers dipped inside me, slow at first, curling just right. My head dropped back with a moan.

He leaned in, lips against my throat. “You gotta be quiet, angel.” I nodded quickly. “You gonna be good for me?”

I nodded again, harder. “Yes. I promise.”

But then he pushed a second finger in, twisting them just right, and my hips bucked.

He groaned into my neck. “You’re already losing it.”

I bit my lip to keep the sound in, whimpering as he fucked me with his fingers, faster now, his thumb circling my clit with practiced ease. My thighs started to shake.

He pulled back to watch me. “Want you to come just like this. Think you can do that for me?” I tried to answer but it came out as a whine. He smirked, breath hot. “C’mon, pretty girl. Don’t make me work for it.”

A few more strokes and I was gone—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, nails digging into his shoulder. He kissed me through it, swallowing the broken sounds, letting me fall apart all over his hand. And then—without warning—he stood up, yanked his sweats down, and wrapped a fist around his cock. I gasped. It was thick. Heavy. Veiny. Red at the tip. And already leaking.

“You wanna be on your knees for this,” he muttered, voice gone rough. I dropped instantly. He let out the filthiest moan I’d ever heard when I wrapped my lips around him. “Fuck, that’s it… just like that.”

His hand tangled in my hair again, gently guiding the pace as I sucked him deep—tongue tracing every ridge, cheeks hollowing. He hissed every time I gagged a little, then praised me like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Fuckin’ mouth on you… god, I’m not gonna last—” But he didn’t pull away.

He grabbed the back of my head and held me there, cock deep, hips jerking forward once—twice—and then he pulled out last second, stroking himself with fast, desperate movements right in front of my face. I looked up, eyes wide, panting, spit smeared across my chin.

He groaned. “Get on the couch. Now. On your back.” I scrambled up, heart racing. He climbed over me, lined himself up, and paused. “Still want this?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Please.”

And he slid in, slow and thick and deep. We both moaned—his low and drawn out, mine high and choked. He started to move, hips snapping hard and fast almost immediately.

I gasped. “Harry—fuck—too loud—”

“I know,” he panted. “I know, I’m sorry. Can’t help it.”

He bent down, buried his face in my neck, and kept fucking me like he didn’t care who heard. But then someone walked past the bus. Footsteps. Close. I tensed. Froze. Covered my mouth with both hands. Harry didn’t stop.

He looked me straight in the eye and whispered, “Stay with me. Ride it out.”

Then he grabbed both of my thighs, shoved them up, and drove into me deeper—hard enough to make the couch creak. I bit back a scream, head thrown back. He watched me come undone again, completely wrecked under him, my body trembling and breath hitched. He didn’t even try to be quiet now.

“Fucking—shit—this pussy’s perfect—fuck—” I reached up, hand over his mouth. He growled behind it. Licked it. Bit my palm.

When he finally came, it was with a broken moan into my neck and a final, hard thrust. His whole body shook. He muttered something I couldn’t understand—just breath and curse words and my name over and over. He collapsed on top of me, still inside, breathing hard. Neither of us spoke for a while. His hand found mine, fingers lacing. Then he laughed, barely.

“I was so loud.”

I nodded, dazed. “You were.”

“I’ll take the blame if anyone says anything.”

I smiled. “Worth it.”

He leaned up just enough to kiss me again—softer this time. Sweeter. Then he grinned.

“Let’s do that again tomorrow.”

*****

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk199o @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @mads3502

[fear-is-truth]

PLAYER 124 / NAM-GYU as your boyfriend

warnings — kinda toxic. mention of drug use. a/n — who should i write for next…

남규

nam-gyu is the kind of partner who constantly needs to feel in control. he has a fragile ego, so he’d want to prove he’s the one in charge in the relationship, even if it means belittling you in arguments. he’s not the type to openly apologise; instead, he’d try to “make it up” by buying you gifts or doing something overly performative to smooth things over.

wouldn’t outright say “i love you” (saranghae; 사랑해) unless it’s in the middle of an argument or you’re threatening to leave. it wouldn’t be the “romantic” type of “i love you”; it’d be desperate, like, “fine, i love you, okay? is that what you want to hear?” then he’d get mad at himself for even saying it lol.

he’d have a complicated way of showing affection—instead of saying something sweet, he’d tell you, “that hoodie looks ugly as hell, but you somehow make it work.” or, “you’re lucky you’ve got me looking out for you.” it’s almost backhanded, like he’s scared of being too soft.

when it comes to physical touch, he’d only be comfortable initiating it when he’s in control. he’d sling an arm over your shoulder in public to make sure everyone knows you’re his, but in private, he’d sit stiffly until you coaxed him to relax. if you tried to cuddle him or play with his hair, he’d grumble, “stop being clingy,” but wouldn’t pull away—and if you did stop, he’d be like, “what, now you’re ignoring me?”

he’d NEVER let you see him cry. he’d bottle up everything until it spills over in a way that’s either pure rage or self-destructive. but maybe, just maybe, he’d have a mini breakdown and choke out something like, “i’m so fucking tired,” and let you hold him for a minute before he shuts it all down again and pretends it didn’t happen.

his jealousy would be off the charts. if he even suspects someone else is catching your attention, he’d immediately become aggressive and violent toward the perceived “threat.” then he’d accuse you of flirting or not appreciating him enough, even if you’ve done nothing wrong.

he’d have this really toxic habit of trying to “test” your loyalty. like, he’d say something purposely cruel just to see how much you’d put up with, and if you didn’t take the bait, he’d either feel validated or spiral into self-loathing because he’s scared you’ll leave. he’s the kind of guy who pushes people away but gets furious when they actually go.

he’s manipulative and would use your vulnerabilities against you during fights, twisting your words to make himself seem like the victim. he thrives on power dynamics, so if you’re someone with a soft heart, he’d use that to his advantage to get his way. he’s not above emotional blackmail.

obsesses over how others perceive him, so he’d put a lot of energy into making sure you’re impressed by him. even if he’s not doing well, he’d brag about some minor victory just to hear you say you’re proud of him. if you ever criticised him—like genuinely, not jokingly—it’d eat him alive. he’d act like it didn’t bother him, but he’d bring it up days later in a passive-aggressive comment like, “guess i’m just not good enough for you, huh?”

he strikes me as the guy who’d buy you expensive gifts, to prove he’s capable of taking care of you. he’d probably get something super flashy and impractical, and then get annoyed if you fawn over it immediately. “what, you don’t like it? i spent a lot of money on that shit.”

deep down, i feel like he’s terrified of being alone. he doesn’t know how to show it in a healthy way, so it comes out as possessiveness. like, he’d constantly ask where you’re going, who you’re with, and what you’re doing—not because he genuinely doesn’t trust you, but because he doesn’t trust himself to be worth staying for. if you ever left him on read, even for a little while, he’d overthink it to the point of spiraling, doing drugs etc.

has zero tolerance when it comes to anyone disrespecting you. if someone said something rude or crossed a line, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight them to defend your honour.

definitely not the type to plan cute dates or do anything traditionally romantic. instead, he’d drag you along to things he already likes—bars, shady clubs—and expect you to have fun. but sometimes, when he’s in a good mood, he might surprise you by doing something actually thoughtful, like showing up at your door with your favourite street snack or insisting on watching a movie he secretly hates just because he knows it makes you happy.

his love language would probably be acts of service, but only in an effed-up way where it feeds his own need for validation. he’d show his love by offering to “solve” your problems, but he’d expect endless praise for it. he’d remind you constantly of how lucky you are to have him.

feels completely out of his depth when you’re sad, but he can’t stand seeing you like that. instead of asking what’s wrong (because vulnerability makes him squirm), he’d focus on practical things. if you haven’t eaten, he’d come back with takeout—probably ordering your favourite without even asking because he’s memorised it by now. he wouldn’t outright express his concern, though. instead, he’d shove the food at you with a gruff, “here. eat this before you waste away or something.”

despite his flaws, when you’re sad or feeling low, there’s a small part of him that genuinely wants to help, even if he doesn’t know how. he’d sit awkwardly next to you, fidgeting with his rings, and mutter, “you’re stronger than this, you know. don’t let whatever’s bothering you win.” …. the closest thing to a pep talk he can manage.

nam-gyu is FAR from an ideal boyfriend—he’s moody, defensive, and often toxic in the way he handles his emotions. his need for control and his inability to communicate openly make him exhausting to deal with at times, especially when his insecurities get the better of him. but underneath all that mess, he knows he’s piece of work, and a part of him feels like you’ll wake up one day and realise you deserve better. this fear makes him hold on too tightly, sometimes suffocatingly so, but it also drives him to try—clumsily, imperfectly, but genuinely for you. he doesn’t know how to love in a healthy way, but he does love, and he loves deeply.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[buckyseternaldoll]

Love Me or Leave Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You loved him deeply. But loving him started to hurt. And Bucky? He saw it coming—he just couldn’t stop it.

Disclaimer: emotional angst, breakup, unrequited love (mutual but misaligned), emotional distance, grief, self-isolation, unresolved tension, self-love epilogue, implied trauma (Bucky), no happy ending

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: This was heavily inspired by Love Me or Leave Me by DAY6. Serving you nothing but heart-wrenching angst 💔

You told yourself you could handle it.

The missions. The long silences. The way his name would show up on the news with a flicker of urgency in the anchor’s voice. You thought it’d be fine—as long as Bucky came home to you. As long as you still felt his heartbeat beneath your cheek when he held you at night, you thought you’d be okay.

But you weren’t.

Not when he’d come back with blood on his collar and bruises blooming along his ribs. Not when you had to cut him out of his tactical suit because his shoulder had dislocated again. Not when you saw the way he winced as he sat on the couch, but told you, “It’s nothing, doll. Just a scratch.”

And not when you spent whole nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if the next mission would be the one that took him from you for good.

You wanted a simple life. Not boring—just peaceful. Grocery runs, warm coffee, movie nights, a cat maybe. The kind of life where the scariest thing you’d face together was a burnt dinner or the occasional fight over what to watch.

And he wanted that too. God, did he want it.

But the world kept calling, and Bucky kept answering.

Because that’s who he was. Not just your Bucky—but the one who still carried guilt like a second skin. The one who needed to do good to make up for everything he believed he owed. The one who stayed in the fight not for glory, but because he needed to make sure you would always be safe.

But safety and love had never felt further apart.

You started pulling away without meaning to.

You stopped telling him about your day. Stopped leaving your coffee mug next to his in the mornings. Stopped reaching for his hand when he walked through the door.

Your laughter, once constant and effortless, became something scarce.

And one night, without a word, you stopped sleeping beside him.

He asked if you were okay.

You smiled—a small, quiet thing. “Just tired.”

What you meant was: I’m tired of wondering if I’ll lose you. Tired of pretending this doesn’t scare me. Tired of loving you so much it hurts.

But you never said any of it out loud.

You just kept drifting, building invisible walls between the two of you—high enough to keep him out, fragile enough that you could still watch him from the other side.

And maybe, just maybe…

you were hoping he’d come break them down.

—

It was all up to you now.

And Bucky knew it.

He’d tried. God, he’d tried.

Tried to catch you in the moments between your hurried mornings and long nights. Tried to meet your eyes across the table, to find the warmth that used to be there—that spark that always made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he deserved good things after all.

But every time he reached for you, you slipped through his fingers like water.

One night, he came home early. He thought maybe he could talk to you, just sit down and have a real conversation—like you used to, curled together on the couch, tangled legs and soft voices.

You were in the kitchen. Stirring something on the stove.

He stepped closer. His voice low. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t even look at him. Just said, “The broth’s been simmering for three hours—if I don’t watch it now, it’ll burn.”

So he nodded. Stepped back. Waited.

The next time he asked, you were in bed, lights already off, your back to him.

“Can it wait?” you murmured. “I’m just… really tired tonight.”

And it kept happening.

Little moments. Little excuses.

Like you were running from something.

Like he was the something.

Eventually, he stopped asking.

Because what choice did he have, really? He couldn’t force you to talk. Couldn’t beg you to let him back in.

He’d lived long enough to know what this looked like. What it felt like—the slow, quiet unraveling. The beginning of the end.

So he watched.

Watched you laugh a little less. Watched you eat a little faster. Watched you move through the apartment like a ghost—your ghost.

And he let you.

Because it wasn’t his decision to make anymore.

Whether this ended or not—that was up to you.

—

Sometimes, he told himself he was imagining it.

The coldness. The silence. The ache he couldn’t name.

You used to be the softest thing in his life. Warm hands. Warm breath against his neck at night. Warm notes left on the fridge when you left early.

And now…

Now you barely looked at him. Your smile, when it came, felt like a formality.

Maybe he was overthinking.

Maybe the mission hangover still hadn’t faded—too many nights sleeping on cold concrete, too many hours with blood on his knuckles and nothing but noise in his head.

Maybe you’d just watched a sad movie. Maybe you were tired. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe—

“Don’t be paranoid, Buck,” he muttered to himself in the quiet. “She loves you.”

But the cold kept getting colder.

You were right there… and yet miles away. And he couldn’t find the road back to you.

His chest started to ache in that old, familiar way—like something was slipping away before he could name it.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky doubted.

Doubted the love in your eyes.

Doubted whether you even saw him the same way anymore.

Do you even love me now?

—

On the nights when you were both home—but in separate rooms—Bucky tried to be patient.

He told himself you’d come around. That you just needed time, that the silence wasn’t personal. That the way your eyes avoided his wasn’t because you didn’t love him anymore… but because maybe you were hurting too.

And Bucky understood hurting. He could sit with pain better than most.

So he waited.

He lingered by doorframes, pretending he was just passing by. He made two cups of tea instead of one, just in case you wanted to sit and talk again. He left your favorite blanket folded neatly on the couch, hoping you’d come curl up beside him like you used to.

But the silence never broke.

You never came.

And the tea always went cold.

Still, he waited—wrapped in the cold quiet you left behind.

Because what else could he do? If it were up to him, he’d pull you into his chest and never let go. He’d ask you a hundred different ways to stay. He’d fix whatever he broke, even if he didn’t understand how he broke it in the first place.

But it wasn’t up to him anymore.

So he held his breath. Every night. Every second you stood just a few feet away from him and yet felt like a lifetime apart.

He waited for your answer in the spaces between words. In the sighs. In the soft thud of your footsteps avoiding the creaky floorboard he used to fix just to make you laugh.

Is it yes or is it no?

He didn’t ask out loud. Couldn’t.

He was too afraid that if he gave the question breath, your answer might shatter him.

So instead, he begged in his sleep.

He curled into the cold side of the bed and whispered your name into the pillow, like a prayer. Like a man desperate for a miracle he knew wasn’t coming.

Some nights he’d dream of you smiling. Of you reaching for him like you used to. He’d wake up and turn to see if you were there.

You weren’t.

And still, he waited.

Waited for you to look at him again the way you once did. Waited for a whisper, a word, a sign that this wasn’t the end.

But deep down, Bucky knew.

He’d lived too many lifetimes not to recognize when something was dying.

And this—you—you were slipping through the cracks of his fingers. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to hold on without hurting you more.

Still, he wanted the truth. He needed it.

Even if it crushed him.

So tell me now… love me or leave me tonight.

—

Time didn’t heal anything. It only made the cracks deeper.

And now, they were splitting wide open.

It became painfully clear to Bucky that you weren’t just pulling away anymore—you were already halfway gone.

The house, once filled with warmth and soft noise and shared routines, felt more like a mausoleum.

Quiet. Lifeless. Cold.

You moved through it like he wasn’t even there—like he was some ghost haunting the corners, lingering in places where your love used to live.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t wait for him to eat.

You didn’t leave the kitchen smelling of spices and garlic and slow-simmered comfort.

You didn’t turn on the TV anymore—no late-night sitcom reruns, no cozy background chatter as you folded laundry together.

Nothing.

The warmth was gone.

And in its place was silence—heavy, choking, endless.

Bucky could see it.

The distance. The dimming light in your eyes. The slow erosion of all the little things that once tethered you to him.

You were still here.

But only physically.

Your heart had packed up weeks ago.

And he knew it.

He told himself it might be a misunderstanding. That maybe you were just burned out. That maybe the weight of the world was getting to you both.

But those were lies.

Lies he whispered to himself when the silence got too loud.

Do you even love me now?

He already knew the answer.

He’d known it in the way you stopped calling him “baby.”

In the way you started wearing headphones around the house.

In the way your hugs disappeared without warning—like you didn’t even notice you’d stopped giving them.

Still, Bucky pretended.

Because he couldn’t give up on you.

Not until you said the words. Not until he heard them.

Even if your silence was already screaming them loud enough to break his bones.

He believed you didn’t want to be the one to leave first.

That you wanted him to walk away—to be the one who gave up—so you could blame the ending on him and still carry your love for him without guilt.

And maybe you did still love him.

But not enough to stay.

Not enough to risk the ache of maybe losing him in a way far worse than heartbreak—like a mission gone wrong.

Like a phone call with no voice on the other end.

You were saving yourself.

He knew that now.

So he let you hurt him. Quietly. Slowly.

Because that pain was still better than letting you go.

Until the night you did it for him.

—

He was sitting in the armchair, staring blankly at a muted TV, when he heard your footsteps. Not the usual ones—not soft, half-dragging. These were… deliberate.

He turned.

And saw you.

You were dressed in that pale yellow dress with tiny floral prints—the one you wore on your first date.

Your hair was done.

You smelled like the perfume he gave you that Christmas—the one he said reminded him of sunshine and late spring.

In your hand: a travel bag. By the door: two more.

Bucky stood up slowly. His body moved before his brain caught up.

His heart dropped somewhere around his knees.

You looked… exhausted.

Thinner. Paler. Hollow.

You hadn’t glowed in weeks, but tonight… you looked like a memory.

Not a person.

Just something soft he used to have and would never touch again.

You didn’t say a word.

You didn’t offer excuses or apologies.

And Bucky…

He didn’t ask for any.

He walked toward you.

Pulled you into one last hug—slow, trembling.

He buried his face in your neck and breathed you in, too deep, too long—like he was trying to memorize you.

Your scent. The shape of you. The way your body still instinctively leaned into his before stiffening like you remembered why you couldn’t anymore.

You’re leaving me tonight.

He didn’t say it. But it screamed through every inch of his body.

And then… you pulled away.

Picked up your bags.

Walked to the door.

You didn’t look back.

Not even once.

—

He stood in the doorway long after you left.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just… stared.

The silence pressed against him like a weight.

Not the usual kind—not the silence of a peaceful home or a quiet night.

No.

This was the kind of silence that screamed. The kind that curled under your skin and whispered you’re alone now over and over until you believed it.

Your scent lingered for a while.

Faint. Sweet. Warm.

Like a ghost clinging to the air just long enough to haunt him.

Bucky walked back into the living room.

He sat on the couch.

Then he stood up.

Then he sat down again.

He didn’t cry. Not at first.

He just stared at the coffee table where your favorite candle used to sit. At the folded blanket you hadn’t touched in weeks. At the imprint your body still left on the far corner of the bed.

And then the first sob broke loose—low, cracked, unsteady.

It sounded like someone else.

He covered his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking so hard it felt like his ribs would shatter.

Not from the grief.

But from the relief of finally letting it out.

You were really gone.

He wasn’t Bucky Barnes, the soldier, the asset, the Avenger. Not right now.

Right now he was just a man who loved too hard and lost anyway.

—

He left the Thunderbolts a week later. No dramatic speeches. No announcements. Just a message:

I’m done. I need to disappear for a while.

And then he did.

He traveled to nowhere places—towns with no names, forests that didn’t show up on maps. He worked odd jobs under fake names, fixed broken fences, repaired engines, sometimes just helped carry groceries for the old lady down the road who reminded him of you.

He kept moving, like if he stopped, the grief would finally catch him.

But it always did.

Every night.

He stopped wearing cologne.

Stopped shaving.

Stopped sleeping on the left side of the bed—your side—because it hurt too much.

He didn’t talk about you.

But he kept one photo tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. The one where you were laughing, hand over your eyes, hair caught in the wind. You never liked that photo. Said it made your nose look weird.

He thought it made you look like joy.

—

[EPILOGUE]

You didn’t leave because you stopped loving him.

You left because you started forgetting how to love yourself.

It started slow—the way you stopped laughing, stopped dancing to music while you cooked. The way your shoulders stayed tense even when he was home, safe and whole. The way you’d check your phone every morning, expecting a call that never came… because he always made it back. Until one day, you were just too tired to keep hoping for that.

You told yourself it would be okay. That love would carry you through.

But loving him started to feel like holding your breath every day—and no one can live like that for long.

You needed to remember who you were without the fear.

Without the waiting.

Without the ache.

So you left.

Not to erase him.

But to save what was left of you.

And some nights… when the wind is soft and the moon is high,

you wonder if he ever found peace.

If he ever forgave you.

If he still carries that photo in his jacket.

[stevielovesmatt]

could u write smth of like reader being scared to say i love you to chris maybe?

SAY IT AGAIN

in which... you're scared to say i love you but chris comforts you :)

warnings: anxiety, slight mention of bad ex, fluff

3 months.

3 months of the most beautiful, blissful, passionate relationship with your boyfriend, Chris.

He spoiled you rotten. Always brought over 'just cause' flowers, dropped everything if it meant he could spend time with you, and constantly reminded you how much he cherished you.

You loved him. You did. But every time you got even a little bit close to saying it, you looked away and changed the topic. For some reason, it freaked you out to say just those 3 words.

Currently, you're both underneath a blanket, limbs tangled together, with a forgotten show in the background.

"If a frog had the chance to speak, what do you think it's first word would be?" Chris asks, with a serious face.

You giggle. "I have no idea."

He scoots in closer to you, hand absentmindedly rubbing your back. You lean into his touch.

"I think he'd say..." Chris cuts himself off, already laughing, "Y/N is the prettiest girl ever." He croaks, pretending to be a frog.

You blush, rolling your eyes and swatting his arm. "Yeah yeah." You mumble.

His hand finds your jaw, bringing it up so you look him in the eyes. His eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to your eyes. "You know I mean it." Chris murmurs.

He kisses you, soft and sweet. He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. "I love kissing you," He whispers, taking a deep breath, "I love you."

Fuck. Your eyes widen slightly, your mouth opening to respond but... nothing comes out. You feel as if you can't speak. Your breathing quickens, looking away from Chris. Why can't I say anything?

"Hey," Chris grabs your jaw again, his eyes scattered across your face trying to understand, "Breathe baby. Breathe."

You feel your eyes prick with tears, shaking your head and burying it in his chest. Just say it. Is it so hard? He's going to leave if you don't say it back.

"You don't have to say it back if you're not ready." He kisses the top of your head, playing with your hair. "I just want to make sure you know how much I love you. That's all I care about."

You sniffle, snuggling somehow deeper into his hold. "I-I'm just... scared." You breathe, wiping some tears that have fallen.

"Why are you scared?"

"I'm afraid that if I say it you'll leave. That's what happened last time. I said those words a lot and it was too much for them. I don't want to lose you or scare you away." You rant.

Chris nods the whole entire time, taking in every word you say. He cups your face, forcing you to look up at him. "M'not leaving." He says firmly. "You're not too much for me. Never. That's not a thing. Okay?"

You nod, leaning into his hands. He smiles softly, kissing your forehead.

"I love you, nothing will change that. You could say it tonight, tomorrow, or even next year and I will love you the same. You could say it every minute or three times a minute and I will love you the same."

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly. "It would take a lot of work to lose me, love. You ain't getting rid of me that quick." He whispers into your hair, making you giggle.

---

Later that night, you both are laying in his bed. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and your face cuddled into his chest.

"Chris?" You whisper, half expecting him to be asleep.

"Yeah?" He whispers back.

You close your eyes, settling further into his arms. "You make me feel safe."

Chris pulls back slightly, enough to kiss your forehead. "I'm glad baby. I always want you to feel safe with me."

A beat of silence. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your quickening heartbeat.

"I love you."

Your voice is barely audible. But Chris hears it. He pulls back, resting his forehead on yours. He looks at you with a twinkle in his eye.

He smiles softly. "Yeah?" He whispers, rubbing gentle circles into your back.

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

"Say it again."

"...I love you?" You mutter, confused.

He grins. "God, I love hearing you say it. Please say that like every second." Chris presses another kiss to your forehead.

"I love you, Chris." You say gently, but firm, kissing his chest.

"I love you more." He says, hugging you closer to his body.

You drift off to sleep like that, feeling safe and loved in the arms of the boy you love.

a/n: hehe so cute :) send more requests!!

main: @slvt4subchratt @chrepsi @hannaloveschris @courta13 @sunflower-vol3 @mattspillowprincess @ilovedanielcaesar @kenah-sturniolo

dividers by @/diviniyae

[katemoneymartinsgf]

hiii can I request a pazzi fic based on that game against villanova wherein paige hurt her leg? tysm 🫶🏼

Villanova |pazzi|

Paige felt it before she hit the floor.
Just a shift — the wrong angle, the wrong amount of pressure. A collision that shouldn’t have mattered but did. Her foot caught, her knee wobbled, and everything buzzed for half a second.

Her hand went to her left knee immediately.
Of course it did.
It was always the left.

She didn’t cry out. Didn’t grab at anyone. Just… laid back and stared at the rafters.

Don’t panic. Don’t give them a reason to panic.

So she sat up.

“That’s a flagrant foul,” she muttered. Dry. Controlled. A little too loud.

It wasn’t funny. But it gave the bench something to breathe out.

She stood on her own. Walked off.

Her knee wasn’t screaming — yet. But she didn’t look at anyone on the way back to the bench.
Especially not Azzi.

Azzi hadn’t blinked since the fall.

At first she thought maybe Paige was just slow getting up. That maybe the contact had thrown her balance off. But then she saw her reach for that knee — that knee — the one they spent so long rebuilding-and Azzi’s stomach dropped.

It wasn’t dramatic. Paige never made scenes.

But Azzi had watched enough of her rehab to know what a bad landing looked like.

Her whole body felt like it was vibrating under the surface. Like if she moved even a little, it would all come spilling out — panic, adrenaline, fear she didn’t have words for.

She stood, towel still clenched in her hand, forcing herself not to move farther. Not yet.

Because Paige would want her to hold it together.
Because Paige was walking.
Because Paige smiled — joked, even.

But Azzi saw how stiff her shoulders were.
How her steps weren’t even.
How her jaw was locked.

It didn’t matter that she walked off.

Azzi already knew it wasn’t fine.

-

Azzi didn’t move when Paige sat down. Not right away.

She watched the trainers wrap the ice, watched the way Paige clutched the edge of the bench with both hands like her fingers might give away what her face wouldn’t.

From the outside, it looked calm.

From Azzi’s seat she could see every single thing that wasn’t.

She stood slowly. Walked over. Sat down beside her — not too close.

Paige didn’t speak. Her legs bouncing from nerves.

She was pushing into the palm of her left hand, like she always did when she was nervous.

Her jersey was pulled up over her mouth. Her eyes were straight ahead.

Azzi reached down, opened a water bottle, and held it out. Paige took it automatically. A few sips. No words.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to the wrap. The tape had already started to slip.

Typical.

She adjusted it — slow, careful. Her hand brushed Paige’s leg, but she didn’t pull away. Azzi let her palm settle gently on her thigh after.

She pressed her hand a little firmer. Not enough to stop her leg from bouncing. Just enough to say I see you.

Paige’s leg stilled.

Neither of them spoke. Azzi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She wasn’t pretending to be okay — she just knew Paige would need this silence more than she’d ever say.

Inside, though, Azzi was already planning.

What happens if she can’t walk tomorrow.
What happens if the scans say something worse.
What happens if I have to carry her again.

-

Paige wasn’t in pain — not really. Not the kind that screamed. But something about the cold wrap pressed into her skin felt familiar in all the worst ways.

She sat in the corner with her phone. Not texting. Not reading. Just scrolling.

She knew the locker room would quiet down. She knew Azzi would show up.

She didn’t look up when the door opened.

“I’m fine,” she said first.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, “i didn’t ask.”

Silence sat over them for a second

“You’re doing the jaw thing,” Azzi said.

Paige istantly relaxed, her face softening

“You always do it when you’re lying.”

There was no bite in it. Just knowing.

Paige looked away. Her hand gripped the hem of her jersey again.

She looked up just in time to see Azzi crouch in front of her — calm, still, like she was checking the floor for cracks.

“You okay?”

“They don’t think it’s torn. They said that right away. But… I don’t know.”

Azzi reached out. Her hand rested lightly on Paige’s knee, careful as always. Then the other came up to her cheek — warm and steady.

“I’m not okay,” she said, and it came out so quiet it didn’t sound like her at all.

Azzi’s heart didn’t spike. Didn’t race. It just sank — because this was the version of Paige that scared her. The one who didn’t need help, but finally asked.

“When are the scans?”

“Seven-thirty.”

Azzi didn’t say anything back. She sat beside her, took the soaked towel without asking, and replaced it with a fresh one. She worked quickly, gently, the way someone does when they’ve done it before — not just physically, but emotionally.

Paige didn’t move. She kept her eyes on the floor like looking up might break the spell.

“You’re still doing the jaw thing,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige exhaled through her nose. “Yeah, well.”

Azzi didn’t need her to crack. She just wanted her to breathe.

She adjusted the wrap again, this time slower, her hand settling on Paige’s leg as she leaned forward just a little.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft. “You don’t have to give me the version of you that’s fine. Not right now.”

Paige didn’t answer. But the corner of her mouth twitched — like she was trying to decide between deflecting and just… resting.

Azzi let the silence hold.

Then Paige said, quieter:

“It’s not supposed to feel familiar.”

Azzi nodded once. “I know.”

“It didn’t hurt. Not bad. But I knew.” Paige’s voice was tight now — still quiet, still in control, but slipping just slightly. “I knew what it was before I stood up.”

That landed heavier than anything else.

Azzi didn’t push. She reached up, fingers brushing Paige’s cheek like a reflex.

“I hate that it’s your instinct now,” she said gently.

Paige blinked fast. Kept her jaw tight.

Then finally, quietly:

“Will you come with me tomorrow?”

Azzi’s hand stayed where it was — grounding, steady.

“Already planned on it, baby.”

That cracked something open — not enough to fall apart, just enough for Paige’s shoulders to finally drop.

She leaned forward until her forehead pressed against Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi didn’t move, didn’t rush to wrap her up — she just let her be there.

“You don’t have to talk,” Azzi said after a beat. “But I’m gonna say something, and you’re not allowed to argue.”

Paige let out the ghost of a laugh. “I make no promises.”

Azzi smiled. “You’re allowed to be scared.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. But after a long breath, she said:

“I wasn’t scared until I thought about you.”

Azzi closed her eyes for a second, then kissed her temple.

“You were the first thing I thought about when I went down,” Paige added, voice muffled now.

Azzi’s response was instant, soft and sure.

“You’re always the first thing I think about.”

They stayed like that — shoulder to shoulder, breath syncing up, silence folding around them.

Not broken.
Not fine.
Just… together.

And right now, that was enough.

[belli5]

⌗ . ᵎᵎ ⸝⸝ So Close, Yet So Far Away .ᐟ ೀ W.S²

After all the time you spent missing Will, feeling guilty leading on someone else, when your heart isn’t there fully, can a simple message from Will can change everything?

˚₊· ᥫ᭡ Will Smith x fem!reader ➜ Angst, Fluff at the end(?). Note: didn’t know how to end this really, so kept it short and sweet. 🥰 masterlist. ➜Part one:Hoping I’ll find a glimpse of us. ➜Part three:let me love you

Your friend had the idea.

“Come on, it’s been ages. And besides, you said you missed watching hockey live.”

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip like the motion might hide the sudden ache crawling up your throat. The Sharks were playing the Hurricanes—a big game.

And Will would be on the ice.

Still, you agreed. Because some part of you wanted to suffer. Because you were tired of pretending his name didn’t still rattle around your ribcage like a ghost trying to find a way out.

You didn’t have to wear his jersey. You made sure of that.

Instead, you pulled on a plain teal Sharks jersey, the back left intentionally blank. No number. No name. You couldn’t stomach the weight of it. You didn’t want to be noticed. And just to make yourself feel more like a new person, someone entirely different from the version of you who used to scream Will’s name from the stands, you tied a black SJ Sharks scarf around your hips, knotting it right where the button of your jeans was.

The game was electric. The tank rumbled with noise—fans banging on the glass, people waving signs, old couples clapping politely in coordinated Sharks beanies. The lights hit the ice just right. The cold air curled into your lungs like a familiar friend.

Will skated out second in the line up.

God, he looked.. taller. Stronger. His face was locked in that same pre-game focus you’d seen a hundred times before, that quiet storm expression that made your stomach twist back then. Your heart betrayed you—it skipped a beat. Maybe two.

You friend elbowed you lightly, smirking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied. “Just cold.”

By the second period, the score was 1-1, William Eklund being the one who scored in first period. Will on the other hand played, just as easy to watch as he used to be.

He never looked your way. Not once.

Or maybe he did. A few times he’d glance toward your section after a whistle, his eyes dragging slowly over the crowd like he was trying to find something. Or someone. But it didn’t matter. Because his gaze never stopped on you. Never lingered. And you were wearing that damn blank jersey, anyway. Just a shadow now.

And still, everytime he skated past the glass, your knees went weak.

Every time you heard his name over the intercom, your throat tightened like the syllables were wrapped in barbed wire.

It was during intermission when your friend turned to you again, eyes softening. She’d seen enough. “Y’know,” she said slowly, “you never really told me much about what happened with him.”

You shrugged, eyes glued to the ice as the zamboni did slow laps. “There’s not much to say.”

“Bullshit.” She paused. “I mean.. I didn’t mean to push,” she added gently. “I get it. But I’ve known you a long time, and I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you looked at him. You used to light up just saying his name.”

You wanted to say something back. Something witty. Maybe sarcastic.

Instead, your thoughts wandered to him again. His birthday, what was 3 days ago.

You didn’t text him. You didn’t dare. But that day you barely spoke to anyone. You told your boyfriend you need to catch up with some things.

But the truth was, you spent half the day scrolling through your phone. Digging through the messages, just to hear him laugh again. Just to find one voice message where he said your name. Or told you something dumb. Or whispered goodnight.

You didn’t even know why you still had them. You told yourself you’d delete them tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

Now your friend was looking at you with something that felt close to pity.

“You have a new boyfriend,” she reminded you. “One who treats you really well. Who doesn’t make you cry. Who brings your mom flowers and lets you sleep in his hoodie.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“I know.”

“But?”

You sighed. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep doing this,” you admitted quietly. “With someone who’s perfect.. but not him.”

There it was. The truth. You stomach twisted with guilt, your fingers curling in your lap. “He’s so good to me,” you said, looking down at your lap. “And I feel like a fraud everytime I hold his hand. Like I’m leading him on because I’m still haunted by someone who doesn’t even see me anymore.”

Your friend leaned in closer. “Then why do it?”

“I don’t know,” you said again. “Maybe I keep hoping I’ll stop seeing Will in other people. That if I try hard enough, this new love will overwrite the old one.”

“And has it?”

You looked back down at the black scarf tied around your hips. “No.”

The final score was 3-1, hurricanes had won.

The crowd started thinning, people shuffling toward the exits. Your friend grabbed your hand and tugged you up gently, and you followed her in a daze, your body moving automatically through the warm chaos of post-game chatter and concession stand lines.

But just before you turned the corner out of the section, you glanced back.

Will was by the glass where he’d skate off the ice, and this time he was looking right where you’d been sitting.

Right where you stood now, frozen mid-step, the crowd slipping past you like waves. For a moment, you locked eyes. Or atleast you thought you did.

But then he blinked, ducked his head, and disappeared down the tunnel like you were just another fan. Like the years you spent loving each other were someone else’s story.

The city lights blurred behind the car windows as you and your friend drove in silence, the soft hum of music barely filling the space between you.

Neither of you spoke much after the game. There wasn’t much to say. The Sharks lost. Will played well. And somewhere between the second and third period, your heart had cracked open again like it always did when he was near.

You had hoped this game would be harmless. Just something fun. A distraction. But it wasn’t. How could it be a distraction anyway?

You were still thinking about that final glance he gave. The way he looked right at your section after the buzzer. Like he knew. Like for one second he saw past the crowd and spotted you.

And now you were back in your apartment, flopped on the couch with your legs tucked beneath you, wearing that same jersey and a tired look in your eyes.

Your friend emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, handing one to you before sitting cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch.

“You haven’t said much,” she murmured.”

You shrugged. “Neither have you.”

“I was giving you space.”

“I didn’t ask for space.”

“You never do. That’s the problem.”

You looked up, blinking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She took a sip from her mug before answering. “It means you’re holding in a category-five emotional hurricane, and eventually it’s gonna tear someone else apart.”

You looked at you hands, suddenly unsure how to respond.

She waited a beat, then added softly. “It’s going to be Luca.”

That stung.

“I don’t mean that in a cruel way,” she said quickly. “I like him. He’s sweet. He’s stable. And he clearly like you—a lot.”

You nodded, fingers tightening around the mug.

“But if you don’t feel the same,” she continued gently, “be deserves to know.”

“I do like him,” you said. “I just..” you trailed off. The sentence hung there.

She tilted her head. “But you don’t love him.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your friend sighed, setting her tea down. “Look. I get it. You’re trying to move on. To do the healthy thing. But pretending with Luca is hurting you both.”

“I’m not pretending,” you mumbled, though even you weren’t convinced.

She looked at you sadly. “Y/n.. you wore a nameless Sharks jersey to avoid being obvious, but you still tied that scarf around you hips the same way you used to when he liked it. You still sat low in your seat, but leaned just enough for him to see you. And when he looked up after the game? You froze like your lungs had forgotten how to work.”

Your chest ached. The truth has never been gentle. “I’m trying,” you whispered. “I’m trying to let go of Will. But it’s like.. even when I don’t say his name, he’s still everywhere. In the stupid way I butter toast or the song that played in the car or the way Luca holds my hand, and all I can think is: Will did that too.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes before you could stop them.

Your friends voice softened. “I know. But if Will is still the person you’re comparing everyone to, then you’re not ready to be with someone else.”

A long silence passed. Finally, you asked, “What am I supposed to do? Break Lucas heart?”

“No,” she said. “You’re supposed to be honest. That’s the only way to stop dragging it out. If you keep faking it, trying to force something that isn’t real, then you’ll break his heart.”

You stared at the floor. “I don’t want to hurt him,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I also don’t want to stay just because I’m afraid to be alone again.” Your voice cracked as you admitted, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. Your friend scooted closer, placing a hand over yours.

“Then don’t,” she said. “Be brave. Say what you need to say. Because the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be. For him. For you. For everyone.”

You nodded slowly, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I feel like such a bad person.”

“You’re not,” she said immediately. “You’re just heartbroken.”

That night, after your friend left and the apartment had gone quiet, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

The jersey was wrinkled now. Your hair was a mess. Your eyes puffy. You looked like someone who still loved a boy who wasn’t hers. And maybe that’s exactly who you were.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

Luca 😚 Hope you had fun at the game. Call me when you’re home safe?

You stared at the message, fingers trembling. You didn’t reply right away. But when you did, you sent a simple message.

Me Hey. I’m home. Can you come over? I need to talk.

You didn’t say more. Didn’t try to soften it with a heart or a “miss you” you just hit send, then tossed your phone onto the bed and sat quietly in the low glow of your lamp.

Your apartment felt too quiet. Too still.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Luca standing there in a hoodie and joggers. “Hey,” he said, stepping in.

“Hi.”

You shut the door behind him, the silence between you already too heavy. He sat in the couch, not leaning in for a hug or a kiss, just.. waiting. Like he already knew something was coming.

You sat beside him, not too close, hands clasped tightly in your lap. For a while, neither of you spoke. Finally, you said quietly, “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

“I..” you paused, trying to gather the words that wouldn’t destroy him. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I care about you,” you said. “you’re kind, and patient, and everything I told myself I needed. But I don’t think it’s fair to keep being with you when.. when my hearts not fully here.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I thought I could grow into this,” you continued. “That if I just gave it time, the feelings would catch up. But they haven’t. And today, at the game.. I realised I can’t keep lying to myself.”

You didn’t say Will’s name. You didn’t have to.

Luca let out a soft breath, still looking down. “I figured.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“I mean,” he gave a faint, bitter smile. “You went to your ex’s game.” You stayed quiet. “I told myself it didn’t matter,” he went on. “that it was just hockey, just a night out with your friend. But the second I saw the story you posted, the jersey. And the scarf.. I knew.”

Your mouth felt dry. “I didn’t wear his jersey—”

“I know,” he cut in gently. “But you didn’t need to to. You wore something he’d recognise. Something he’d notice. And I guess that’s when I realised.. maybe part of you was still hoping he would.”

You closed your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I know.” Another silence stretched between you. Luca finally looked up. “Did you talk to him?”

“No,” you shook your head. “He looked. Just once. “I don’t even know if he saw me.”

Luca studied your face, like he was trying to figure out whether that hurt you more than it should. And It did. But you didn’t say that out loud.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said. “You don’t deserve this.”

“No, I don’t,” he replied softly. “But I think I knew from the beginning that part of you wasn’t ready. I just hoped.. maybe if I was good enough, patient enough, you’d get there.”

“I wanted to,” you said honestly. “I really, really did.”

“But you didn’t.”

You shook your head. “No.”

Luca leaned back on the couch, exhaling through his nose. “You know the worst part?” He murmured. “You never even talked about him. Never said how you ended. But he was always there..”

You stared at your hands.

“I don’t blame you,” he added. “I mean, how could anyone walk away from a love that big without scars?”

That made the tears rise fast. You blinked them back.

“I just..” He turned to face you. “I wish I wasn’t the one you used to figure that out. And I guess you were never really mine, it was just my turn..”

You reached out instinctively, but he didn’t take your hand. Not out of cruelty—just because it was over. And you both knew it.

“I’ll give you space,” he said rising to his feet. “I’ll come by for my stuff another time.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He lingered by the door for a second. “I hope he was worth it,” he said softly. “Or at least.. I hope you find peace, with or without him.”

You swallowed. “Thank you. For everything.”

He didn’t answer. He just left. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality that echoed through the apartment, leaving you sitting there on the couch—wrapped in the kind of silence that only comes when something real ends.

You didn’t move for a long time. And when you finally did, it was to curl up in bed, face buried in your pillow, tears soaking the fabric.

Few days went past. The world kept moving. Even if yours hadn’t. Outside your window, it was raining—soft and steady, the kind of gray that blurred everything.

You stayed curled up under a blanket on the couch, eyes fixed on the television that you weren’t really watching. Your phone sat untouched beside you, screen dark.

You hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even your closest friends. You needed just a few days—few days to breathe, or cry, or not feel anything at all.

But then, your phone buzzed. You didn’t expect the name. You didn’t expect him.

Smitty 🩷 Hey.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, unsure whether you were dreaming. Whether this was your brain making something up just to feel something again.

You unlocked your phone with shaky fingers.

Smitty 🩷 I had the weirdest dream.

That was it. Just that one sentence—open, unfinished, and impossibly him. You hesitated. Then you typed back.

Me What kind of dream?

Three dots. Then a pause. Then they disappeared. Then came the message.

Smitty 🩷 That we were still together. That you weren’t gone.

Your breath caught in your throat. The blanket suddenly felt too heavy.

Smitty 🩷 We were at the beach you used to love. The one with the rocks and the ice cream truck that always played the same song.

You closed your eyes, and you could almost smell the salt in the air. Almost feel the weight of his hoodie draped over your shoulders.

Smitty 🩷 I swear it felt real

You didn’t know what to say. The words stayed stuck somewhere deep in your chest, choking you quietly.

Smitty 🩷 You’re still mine, aren’t you?

Your lungs forgot how to breathe. Your heart ached—the worst kind of ache, the kind that remembered every version oh him: the messy hair in the mornings, the way his voice dropped when he whispered your name, the laugh that came from his chest when you wore his jersey and pretended to know hockey stats better than him.

For a second, just a second, you wanted to type yes.

Because the words felt real. Too raw. Like the world had paused and spun backward—just to let you step into that dream for one more second.

Just to let you be his again.

But you blinked, and reality crashed back in.

Lucas voice rang faintly in your memory. “He was always there.”

The pain you left behind. The guilt still clinging to your ribs. The truth. You stared at the screen. But you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t say yes. You didn’t say no.

Your mom had always told you sometimes, silence is the only answer you have left. But not this time. Not when it was him. Not when it was that message.

You say there for what felt like hours—when in reality it was just a few minutes—your pulse loud in your ears. You’d imagined a thousand ways he might reach out. A late night “hey”, a picture from a memory, but never this.

Never you’re still mine, aren’t you?

You chest ached. Not from pain, not anymore. From want. From the almost.

The screen lit up. His name still stared back at you. He was still waiting. And suddenly, all of your pretending cracked open.

Me You’re really gonna drop that on me like that?

You stared at it. Hovered over the send button. The tapped it.

Delivered. Immediately, those little dots appeared.

Smitty 🩷 I don’t know what I expected. But I had to say it.

Me Why now?

Another pause. Longer this time.

Smitty 🩷 Because you were in the crowd that night.

You sat up straighter. You didn’t think he saw you. You thought you’d imagined that moment—the way his eyes scanned the stands, the split second you swore they met yours. You’d told yourself it was wishful thinking. Nothing more.

Smitty 🩷 I don’t know why I looked. But I just knew you were there.

You bit your lip. Everything inside you swirled—the storm, the guilt, the want. You remembered what Luca had said. The way he looked at you when he left. “You were never really mine, it was just my turn..”

And maybe he wasn’t wrong. Because right now, texting Will, it felt like breathing again after being underwater for too long.

Me I dreamed about you too.

Even the night before your birthday

But it was never weird..

He didn’t reply immediately.

Smitty 🩷 I kept looking at my phone that whole day.

Me I wanted to text you. I really did.

Smitty 🩷 Why didn’t you?

You hesitated.

Me Because it still hurts

No reply. Not for a minute. Not for two.

Smitty 🩷 Me too

It was quiet again. No questions. No begging. Just that quiet little confession, tucked into the glow of your screen like it still meant something.

And even though you were still on opposite sides of whatever this was now—heartbreak, healing, hope—it was enough.

Just to hear his voice in your head again. Just to know he still dreamed of you. You didn’t know if this would fix anything. But for the first time in a long time, your chest didn’t feel so heavy. Because he wrote first. And you answered.

Your phone buzzed again later that night. You were still curled up on the couch, half-watching the end of some movie you’d seen a hundred times, when his name lit up your screen.

Smitty 🩷 Let me take you out to dinner.

Just like that. Like he hadn’t cracked your entire chest open a few hours ago. Like he hadn’t been silent for months. Like he hadn’t let you go without a fight.

You stared at the words. You read them once. Twice. A third time. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you sat up, the blanket falling off your shoulders as the weight of his message settled over you.

Dinner. It was everything you used to hope for.

The time your birthday went past and he didn’t text. Everytime you drove past a rink and thought of his laugh echoing through the concrete tunnels.

You used to dream of this. Of him showing up. Of him trying.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed.

Me Why now, Will?

The dots popped up immediately.

Smitty 🩷 Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you after the game. Because when I saw you in the crowd, it hit me how long it’s been. How far away you feel. And how badly I want to fix that.

You blinked hard. Your throat tightened. It was everything you wanted to hear.

Me You could’ve tried to fix things before.

You didn’t mean for it to sound bitter, but it did. You weren’t sorry.

Smitty 🩷 I know.

I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go.

But I was wrong.

You swallowed. You remembered every night you cried into your pillow, wondering if he even missed you. You remembered dating Luca and feeling like a fraud every time you reached for someone who wasn’t Will. You remembered telling yourself to let go—and never quite managing it.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to go.

Me When?

Smitty 🩷 This Saturday? Somewhere quiet. Just us.

You could still say no. You could still protect yourself. But you didn’t. Because later you would regret it, if you said no.

Me Sure.

[seilahdiaries]

୨ৎ you and everything french. 𝐒. 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒

. . . four times you’ve tried catching Soda’s attention, and the one time you did.

imagine ! જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader warnings . . . none

🪽 tysm for the recent likes! i love you all and i hope you guys enjoy thiss, guys i love writing a silly reader. listen to the song while reading! now playing . . . i can see you - taylor swift

you’re not exactly sure when your crush on sodapop curtis started.

maybe eighth grade, the year he got taller and when you started noticing little things— like the way his voice changed when he laughed or the way his pretty eyes sparkled when he did something he wasn’t suppose to.

despite that, you guys never really talked. it was always just mere you dropped this, or do you have a pencil? nothing that would mean he noticed you or thought of you in another way other than just his classmate.

then sandy happened— and you told yourself you were fine with it, ignoring seeing them hold hands and make out in the hallways. and you were respectful, you stopped writing his initial and yours with a heart, you hummed songs instead of romanticizing every word he said, and you waited. waited till it went away.

and it almost did. until it didn’t.

when a few months ago, a spur of events came and they were no longer together anymore. and you— sweet and slightly delusional— felt the tiniest of hope and decided it was the right moment. felt that maybe this would be it.

this year would be it, is what you told yourself. except you were a soc. and he’s a greaser. and your friends— charlotte may and blaire kavinsky weren’t exactly cheering for this relationship.

blaire had even frowned when you brought up, “i’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” she reasoned, “i’m saying greasers can be trouble.”

charlotte just pursued her lips and told her, “when you do this, wear the white ribbon in your hair— the one that makes your eyes look soft.”

people tell you you’re pretty, you wear dainty clothes, people smile at you in the halls and boys even offer to carry your books just so they could smell your perfume. but none of them are him.

and this time you’re gonna try, really try.

and now, while you’re halfway through history and your pencil snaps. the tip sliding into the corner of your desk.

you stare at it for a second, when an idea pops in your pretty mind. then glancing sideways.

he’s right there. one row over, one seat back.

you glance once again. he’s leaning forward on the desk, the curve of his sharp jaw resting on the palm of his hand. he’s not even pretending to take notes, just watching the window like he’s not sat in history class, just somewhere else entirely.

your heart picks up a little, you’re not wearing the white ribbon today. but your hair is blown out, and your sweater is a soft pastel, you feel okay— brave enough.

you turn in your seat slightly, and in a mere whisper, you whisper, “hey.. do you have a pencil?”

he blinks out of his day dream, looks at you. his eyes are warm, and a little sleepy. but without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls the pencil out.

bitten, stubby and no eraser. the wood at the end splintered like someone got bored and took their frustration out on the poor pencil.

he passes it over without looking twice. you take it, and just as your fingers coated with a milky pink polish brush his, you hear a sound— a pfft from in front of you. charlotte.

you bite the inside of your cheek, offer a quiet, quick “thanks,” and try to act normal. you immediately glance up, her shoulders are shaking.

of course she’s laughing.

it was charlotte’s idea.

“you should absolutely write him a note,” she said, standing in your room the night before with her arms crossed.

blaire, half-asleep on your bed in a lilac silk robe, muttered “this is a bad idea.”

but you did it anyways.

pink stationary and little gold hearts in the corners. you wrote it curled on your fluffy rug at midnight, with vanilla cashmere lotion on your legs and the ronnettes playing softly.

and because you’re you, you lightly sprayed the paper with your perfume.

just a little, so if he opened it, he’d know. and it would smell like sweetness and daydreams.

you, charlotte, and blaire showed up early to “help” your english teacher organize the class library. which really meant the two of them distracted her while you tiptoed over to the shelf, find the copy which you thought was his and slip the note inside.

and when third period came, you sat with the two girls in the front left corner, pretending not to look over at sodapop, who’d sat with his friends in the way back.

he looked tired, you noticed. but your heart was pounding.

while you were in a conversation with the girls, a boy you didn’t even know— skinny, glasses and fluffy hair walked up to the front of the room.

handing her something— something pink. it caught your eyes for a second.

the teacher squinted at it, “oh?”

the boy smiled, “i think someone lost this, i found it in my copy.”

then, without any remorse, she read it aloud.

“you probably won’t notice this, but i notice you. everytime you smile i fall in love all over again. i’m not brave, but maybe this is enough.” “—p.s if you ever want to walk me home, just say the word.”

you felt your entire soul drop to your stomach, you froze.

someone let out a howl, others clapped and sodapop? soda laughed. all bright and boyish just like you said in the note and definitely not in love with you.

blaire was wheezing, charlotte looked like she was biting the corner of her lip to keep it from making it worse. you sat there, hand half over your mouth and with the nastiest side eye ever known.

“atleast you made him laugh?” charlotte said with no help.

the smell of your perfume lingered above everyone like a cloud of sweet and feminine. the worst part was he never even looked at you. or did he recognize that perfume?

a pleated white tennis skirt that fluttered with every breeze, a matching sweater draped over your collarbone and your hair loosely pulled back in a soft low ponytail that brushed against the middle of your back.

you were playing doubles at the country club after school, a friendly match between you and spencer— a tall, preppy friend that was definitely not your type, but easy to be around— and blaire and charlotte on the other side.

things were going well and you were about to serve again when you heard a voice— faint, familiar.

you turned and there he was.

sodapop curtis in a black t-shirt and dirty jeans. walking with steve and laughing at something with his head tilted back. he wasn’t looking at you, not yet atleast.

your stomach dropped so fast you almost dropped your racket, but your grip tightened, now or never.

you stepped into position, and tossed the ball up. your form was great, elegant even. you swung—

smack.

a shriek.

blaire dropped her racket and doubled over, hands flying to her face.

you stood frozen for a full second, eyes wide, mouth open.

charlotte burst into laughter. and spencer let out the loudest “OHHHH!” you’d ever heard. followed by a wheezy “what was that?”

your hand slapped over your mouth, “ohmygod— blaire— im— im so sorry!” you cried out, abandoning your racket and running to the net. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean— i swear i didn’t mean to!”

“you almost sent me into another dimension.” she groaned out from behind her hand.

“do you want ice? a milkshake? i’ll buy you a million. name anything. anything.”

charlotte finally calmed her laughter down and crouched down beside her, gently nudging her shoulder “atleast you’re not knocked out.”

you were kneeling now, right infront of her, frantically brushing hair from her cheek, full of worry and guilt. and sodapop— he was the last thing on your mind now.

until blaire said it, muffled and slightly incoherent.

“he saw.”

you blinked, “what?”

blaire raised a brow. “sodapop. he looked over and laughed. so did steve.”

charlotte nodded, trying to suppress the sudden giggle that threaten to slip. “he definitely saw. probably thinks were insane.”

you sat back on your heels, cheeks flushed.

“great,” you deadpanned, “my reputation is violence now.”

blaire grumbled, “he better fall in love with you. my cheeks already swelling.”

you groaned into your palms, “i’m never showing my face on this court again.”

you had started the day cute, you wore your cable-knit ralph lauren top, your hair soft and loose again, catching sunlight like honey. the iced coffee you sipped on had extra vanilla, just how you liked it.

you, charlotte and blaire had wandered into the boutique on fifth that always smelled like sugared cookies and tulips. fashion magazines sat by the register, racks were stocked with cute and comfy sleep wear sets, frilly tops and baby pink silks.

“ooh, this,” blaire gasped, holding something sheer and ridiculous. “put this on. immediately.”

“you’re kidding,” you replied, already laughing.

but you did— and the next one. and the next.

soon, your dressing room was filled with chiffon and pastel. you did twirls in every outfit, the curtain whipped open dramatically each time and the sounds of charlotte and blaire hollering and laughing filled the time.

you were mid-spin in a soft pink tulle dress that made you practically float, layers of ruffles around your knees and the back only half-zipped because you’d given up trying. when blaire said—

“wait, wait, hair up. you really need to let the neckline breathe.”

“i don’t have a tie.” you whined, staring into the mirror.

blaire immediately spotted a silver clip— meant for closing snack bags but nonetheless grabbed it.

in one messy swoop, your hair was pulled into the worst bun of your life and clipped up with the plastic chip bag clip. loose pieces framed your face at odd angles. “oh yeah, this is totally it.” charlotte declared, legs kicked up on the plush bench and macaron from the sample plate halfway in her mouth.

“pose. right now. give me…” blaire thought for a moment, “bridal ballerina.”

so you did. standing on tiptoe infront of the dressing room mirror, arms raised. laughing and ridiculous, your cheeks were warm from all the twirling.

and just then— the bell above the door chimed.

you didn’t think anything of it, until charlotte froze mid-laugh.

“um,” blaire said, sharply. “..don’t freak out.” her eyes wide.

you blinked, “what?”

you turned around. and there he was. sodapop curtis.

standing by the front desk with a perfectly neutral expression as he talked to the sweet old lady receptionist, glancing around as if he didn’t just walk into your personal crash scene, until they paused. on you.

you didn’t even think before you dove behind the nearest cardigan rack like your life depended on it.

you crouched there, heart in your throat and frozen among the sweater vests and moist rose air from the humidifier.

you could hear everything— the soft music, the buzz outside, his sweet voice and the girls whispering near the dressing room.

you barely breathed until the bell chimed again and the door closed.

“okay,” blaire said, appearing above. “you can come out now.”

you peeked before standing up slowly, dazed.

charlotte leaned back on the couch, sipping your coffee. “he didn’t laugh.” she said, eyeing you. “didn’t look twice, or look amused.”

you stared at her, “..what do you mean?”

“he just looked,” blaire shrugged, “picked up a skirt. paid. then left.”

you were quiet, staring down at your feet.

“maybe he thinks i’m weird.”

charlotte blinked, “you are weird, you literally froze then threw yourself into the sweaters.”

“not helping,” you groaned.

you layed down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, layers of tulle surrounding you like cotton candy. blaire brought you your chip clip and a macaron, placing it on your stomach solemnly, like a lost possession.

you didn’t even laugh.

the event had finally calmed down. something with fundraising for the clubhouse garden, but when the chocolate fountain came out— no one really remembered.

your once- perfect makeup didnt survive the chocolate, even with charlotte warning you not to lean in so close. but you laughed it off.

it didn’t matter, anyway. you’d stopped caring since the boutique embarrassment. you had spent so long trying— years! not just four times. and not once had he ever seen you, not the way you wanted him to.

and now you found yourself here— barefoot in patchy grass and under a dusky lavender sky. your fingers were sore from picking up tiny foil stars and tissue paper confetti— spencer was suppose to help you while the rest of the club mingled inside.

but he ditched.

at this point, you gave up and collapsed into a patio chair, one leg tucked beneath you, sipping lemonade from a small, flimsy styrofoam cup.

your long white sundress, feminine and romantic blew with the small breeze with delicate straps and a neckline just shy of sweet. your kitten heels sat forgotten a few feet away from the porch steps. and your previous blowout fell flat from the humidity, clinging to the sides of your face.

the porch was quiet now, the crickets sang in the bushes and your eyes unfocused. even when there was a small thud from nearby, your rosy lip caught between your lip blissfully unaware.

“s’nice out,” came a voice from the slight shadows.

you blinked. sodapop.

your guess was he jumped the fence, sneaking in.

he walked up to the porch, hands in his pocket. you had barely seen him since the boutique but yet— you didn’t find yourself sitting straighter, tucking your hair behind your ear or licking your lips. you simply looked at him.

“didn’t know anybody was out here,” he added, glancing sideways at you. “figured everyone was inside playing bingo with the mystery meat.”

you let out a small snort before you could help it.

his smile ticked up, just a little. a subtle one, like as if you blinked you’d miss it. “are you good?”

you helped up your cup, “barely.”

“messy hair. no shoes.” he nodded with mock-seriousness. “brave woman.”

you laughed quietly. there was no butterflies, no trembling fingers. you weren’t trying and it all felt so normal, and maybe that’s why for once— it worked.

he didn’t sit beside you, but leaned against the porch railing a few feet away.

he looked at you again, a little longer this time. then, like it just came to him— “i like your dress.”

you blinked. “oh. thanks.”

a pause came over, you were tired. frizzy. and messy. you glanced at your light pink nails wrapped around the cup.

“i thought you thought i was weird,” you said softly.

soda blinked, taken off guard. “what?”

“never mind.” you shook your head, already regretting it.

but he tilted his head, continuing to just.. look at you. then said, “i don’t.”

you looked up, startled by how his voice genuinely sounded so gentle and sincere. but before you could say anything else, charlotte’s voice came from inside, muffled from the walls and hollering your name.

you exhaled, almost disappointed.

“guess i should—”

“see you tomorrow?” he asked.

you looked up at him again, he didn’t smile. not fully. but there was something in his eyes— and it was the look that you’ve been dreaming of since middle school.

you nodded, “yeah. see you.”

and he simply stepped back into the shadows, on his way to cause some trouble. but what you didn’t see— was the quiet, soft smile you got out of him when he turned away.

and then blaire popped out of nowhere, “charlotte’s been looking everywhere for you!”

there was a quiet, lazy smile on your face with flushed cheeks. did you finally do it?

[lightsoutmatthews]

This is an oddly specific request but maybe your car breaks down and you call him freaking out and he comes and helps/takes care of you? Like really fluffy and sweet. Auston or Will? Congrats on 250 recently, your writing is so good!

I love oddly specific requests!!! Also I chose Auston because I did get quite a lot of Willy requests and wanted to switch it up a little and thank you for the congrats!! 😌

Car Troubles – Auston Matthews

It started with a flicker just as you were pulling out of the grocery store parking lot. A light on the dashboard blinked once, then disappeared like it had never been there.

At first you thought it was your eyes playing tricks on you. Maybe the sun reflected in the display weird, or you simply imagined it.

But then, half a block later, the steering started to feel off.

You gripped the wheel harder, feeling the sudden heaviness in your arms as it resisted your turns.

A strange tightness settled into your chest, so you eased off the gas and coasted for a moment, blinking rapidly at the dash.

A couple more warning lights flashed. First the battery, then the oil symbol, then some other one you had never seen before and this time they stayed on.

You took a slow breath, trying not to overreact. Cars had weir glitches sometimes. Maybe it was just a sensor acting up.

You had small issues with the car before but nothing like this.

Half a block later the air conditioning cut out. The dash lights dimmed and then the engine gave a quiet stutter and died.

Your car rolled forward silently, everything in the cabin eerily quiet.

You managed to steer it to the shoulder, a small stretch of gravel between the road and a weed-choked fence. It was barely enough room, but at least you were out of traffic.

Throwing the car in park, you stared at the wheel, gripping it tight like it would help or somehow turn the car back on.

The silence came next. You were still sitting there, no music, no engine, no AC, the car slowly heating in the Arizonian sun.

It was just your breathing and the low whoosh of other cars going past.

The quiet didn’t feel peaceful, it felt wrong. Like something essential had just stopped.

You turned the key again. Nothing.

No click. No rumble. No sign of life.

Your stomach dropped, and that was when the first wave of panic rolled in. A sharp, bitter wave that made your hands go clammy and your breath catch in your throat.

You grabbed your phone with trembling fingers and instinctively searched for Auston´s contact. You didn’t think about it or weighted you options.

He was your person. The first one you needed.

He answered quickly. “Hey babe!”

“My car died,” you said, barely managing to keep your voice steady. “It just stopped completely. I don’t know what happened, I pulled over, but it won’t even turn back on,” you rambled.

There was a pause on the line, but it wasn’t the bad kind. He was thinking.

“Where are you right now?” he asked, voice already shifting into that calm-control mode.

You gave him the cross street and a rough idea of where you had pulled over. “I´m on my way,” he said. “Fifteen minutes tops.”

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Are you safe? Did you lock the doors?” he checked. “Yeah.”

“Okay good, I´m coming. Try to stay calm, okay?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

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

The next ten minutes felt like thirty.

You sat rigid in your seat, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the side of the road, watching cars rush by too fast and too close. Every little noise made you flinch and the heat was slowly becoming unbearable even though you had opened the passenger door to let fresh air in.

You kept trying the key again, like maybe the car would magically wake up and pretend nothing happened.

It didn’t.

You tried googling possible causes. Battery, alternator, starter, but the more articles you opened the more overwhelmed you got and the more that creeping feeling of helplessness returned.

You weren’t used to being helpless. You were used to figuring things out on your own. Handling it. Pushing through. But now you were just stuck in a dead car on the side of the road.

And then Auston´s familiar car finally pulled up behind you.

You saw it in the rearview and immediately let out a breath. The tension in your shoulders started to melt and the second he stepped out of his Lamborghini.

He didn’t rush, but he didn’t waste time either. His stride was calm but purposeful. When he got to your window, you opened the door and saw the concern on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, crouching down so you were at eye level.

You nodded, eyes suddenly burning. “I think so. I don’t know what happened.”

“Hey,” he said, reaching for your hand, cupping the side of your face with the other one gently. “It´s okay, I´m here now.”

That was it. That was all it took for you to push out of the car and before he could say anything else, wrap yourself around his body.

You practically collapsed into him.

Your forehead smashed against his chest and his arm immediately came around your back. It was tight and warm and comforting.

His hands rubbed slow circles along your spine and he placed sift kisses to your head as you buried your face in his shirt. “Shh,” he murmured against your hair. “You´re okay. You´re safe. I´ve got you.”

You didn’t cry exactly, but your eyes welled up and your breathing hitched in that quiet, overwhelmed kind of way.

You weren’t even sure if it was because of the car anymore or if everything just came crashing down on you.

How helpless you had felt. How much better you felt now that he was here.

“Go sit in my car, okay? the AC is on and there´s a water bottle for you in the cupholder.”

You nodded.

He ended up helping you into the passenger seat of the expensive vehicle. You still hadn’t gotten used to sitting it even after regularly driving in it since the beginning of summer.

Auston closed the door gently and you thought he would go and check on your car, but he was walking around to the other side. Once he slid in, he handed you the water and took your hand, interlinking your fingers.

“Let´s sit for a minute,” he said. “Catch your breath, then I´ll check on the car, okay?”

You nodded again.

-----------

Ten minutes later, he was crouched in front of your car with the hood up. You knew he had probably no idea what he was looking at, he was a hockey player not a mechanic, but you still appreciated him trying to check what he could.

You sat in his car watching him, that tight knot in your chest loosening a little more every time you saw the care in his movements.

When he came back, he slid into the driver´s seat and gave your knee a squeeze.

“Is it bad?” you asked even though you knew he probably didn’t know.

He shrugged. “With my very limited knowledge of cars I think it´s not the end of the world. I´ll call a tow truck and we´ll get it to a shop.”

You felt yourself slump back in the seat. “I hate not knowing what to do.”

“That´s why you have me in these situations,” he said simply. “You don’t have to know what to do all the time. Especially, not when I´m around.”

He called the tow company shortly after, gave them your information and stayed calm thought the whole thing, even when the estimated wait time was longer than expected.

“They said it will be about 45 minutes,” he said, setting his phone down. “I got some snacks in the back if you want beef jerky or a protein bar.”

You looked at him, one brow raised.

“What, I get hungry after training.” You smiled a little at that and he looked smug like that had been his goal.

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

The next half hour passed in quiet comfort. You curled up in the passenger seat with your legs pulled under you. Auston leaned his seat back a little, talking about summer training and about how Clayton almost took himself out during their skating session this morning and then blamed the ice.

“You should have seen his face when everyone started laughing. He´s gonna get chirped forever.”

You laughed, for real this time, and Auston´s eyes softened. “Look at you feeling better already,” he said, gently brushing his fingers across the back of your hand.

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

When the tow truck finally arrived, Auston got out and handled everything. Talked to the driver, made sure the guy knew where to take it, stayed right next to the car as it was loaded up.

You watched from the front seat, feeling both exhausted and incredibly grateful.

By the time he got back in the car, the sky had started turning gold.

It had been over an hour and a half since you first broke down.

You still had no idea what the repair would cost or how long you would be without a car, but you weren’t alone.

[luvchaew]

──── ｡ first love 🍦

first love 성훈 𖹭 female reader wc𓈒 1.2k ˃ ᵕ ˂ fluffy, early 80s au, angst WHERE your grandkids ask you about your first love, and you tell them your childhood anecdotes excitedly— and perhaps, too vividly ≛

𝑚. 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

“gran, who was your first love?”

you sighed at your oldest grandchild, Minjoo, who clung to your sleeve like a lifeline, afraid she'd bump into someone on the street. she had just turned 12, the age where love seemed easy, approachable, and perhaps she had met her first love, no?

Sohee, who held your calloused hands tightly, joined in hastily, strident voice echoing in your ears; “tell us, gran! was he handsome?”

you chuckled to the air, yet the smile didn't quite reach your crinkled eyes. memories washed over you like silk, akin to what a deja vù would make a person feel, and suddenly you felt emotional.

you held them firmly as you crossed the street, feet walking towards the other side of the crosswalk, though they were directionless. your mind was completely astray; “he was good-looking, yes.”

“we want to know! pretty please!” the youngest continued to plead, voice dripping with saccharine.

it was the summer of 1981, when life was careless, easy-going. you had zero concerns besides listening to new pop rock music — hidden, of course, since your mother repudiated all types of tunes if they weren't from church — and preparing yourself for assuming the family's bakery, which would soon be yours if you proved yourself to be deserving of it.

you were seventeen.

reckless; laid-back; fun.

amidst your peaceful environment, going along with it, Park Sunghoon, the guy who laughed bubbly at your terrible dad jokes and joined you on your passing obsessions.

“i bought two, which one?” he queried, stretching two different popsicles under your nose, so close you could barely see it. he didn't give you enough time to answer, though, “why am i even asking? you'll get the strawberry one, right?”

you perked up to look up at him, nodding with a pathetic grin tugging on your rosy lips. he handed it to you, brushing your hands with his icy-cold ones in an electric shock. he kept his arms still for a beat longer than necessary, letting you feel his touch and grow accustomed to it. terrifyingly and deliciously accustomed to it.

when he finally moved away, his head was thrown back as he started cackling nonstop, giving you a perfect view of his milky white teeth, and the melody of his voice coming to your ears like a choir. the sound you could listen to persistently over and over again.

“you think you know too much about me. but i'm a mysterious lady, okay?” you state, chuckling along with him.

he gasps, pretending to be offended, and gives you one of those playful boyish glances you always melted into; “what? did you want the caramel one?”

“no? but it doesn't matter.”

he sits by your side on the wooden bench, shoulders brushing, “you're too mean to me, y/n. you're going to end up hurting my feelings”

you deny it, laughing as he pressed a hand to his chest, portraying how wounded he felt. when you finally convinced him he was the one that was too sensitive, he giggled at you, eyes smiling as well, and although you should feel happy, your chest ached familiarly.

you were betraying yourself. again. allowing yourself to nourish such harmful feelings; to do this to yourself despite second or third judgement.

Sunghoon never knew about your secret crush. nor that everything in you regretted not telling him about it sooner.

perhaps, if you had mustered up the courage to tell him, things may have gone differently; or it wouldn't have hurt so much when you received his wedding invitations, some years later.

what could've happened if, maybe, you released the words that had been stuck in your throat, like a knot, for longer than you could bother to recall?

would he have chosen you?

✪

the evening of his marriage ceremony, you walked into the venue with your heart fluttering rapidly against your ribcage, feeling in your throat.

he was a big friend, therefore it would've been anything but acceptable to not attend it solely because of your past feelings.

except they still felt real. like they've never left

except your pupils still dilated slightly when you looked at him for too long.

you tried not to let your emotions overlap, attempting to shut your longing and pinning down. but it was excessive.

it made you want to throw up. combust eternally until you turned into ashes. it was consuming you.

you treated everyone with extra courtesy, swinging around the dance ball flawlessly, even if you were crumbling down on the inside.

you wished Sunghoon congratulations, gave him the standard amount of money for this kind of celebration and talked plenty.

nobody ever noticed something was wrong. they couldn't even dream of it.

and convincing yourself everything was okay should be enough as well, right?

as the years went by, you also got married, — and invited Sunghoon to it, thought it left you wondering how it would go if he was the groom instead — had children, eventually grandchildren, and grew more and more distant to him.

you missed him occasionally, enough to sting but not enough to suffocate.

you moved on with your life, after all.

now, you are more mature, a responsible, noble woman, with duties and a family to take care of.

yet, you could play pretend and act the same as you acted around him when both of you were 17 and had countless summers left to spend together.

because you never grew up when it came to him. it was like time stopped.

the kids listened to it enthusiastically, restraining themselves from keeping their comments to them. by the end of your anecdote, you'd already been called ‘dumb’ plenty of times and had come to a place completely foreign to yourself after the mark of seventeen.

the Park's diner.

when did your foot lead you here again?

when you opened the metal door, a bell rang with the action. your whole body had shivers running through, because you remembered even the high-pitched sound it made perfectly.

as your eyes wandered around the place — irritatingly similar to what it was when you'd seen it for the last time — it dropped on an elderly man, with starry eyes, wrinkles all over his face and hair turning gray. still, he was dressed impeccably, muttering some old rock under his breath.

he had poorer posture, grip on the broom loosened up. yet, it was him, undeniably.

Sunghoon.

without a doubt, Sunghoon.

he looked up just in time to meet your eyes, and when he did, a flick of awareness washed through his features. then awareness.

his lips curled up in a smile, that same grin you were crazy about, and you returned it.

it didn't hurt. didn't burn.

it just left you wondering why you'd waited so much to do this.

but perhaps, it was because of this feeling. the feeling where you were a hopelessly in love teenager that thought she would never recover from this.

you really didn't recover completely, a stubborn voice inside you shouted, rebelled, but you shut it down hastily.

before you could speak up, your grandkids ran to hug him and give him high-fives, chatting excitedly about school and how their mother was feeling lately.

“Minjoo? you know him?” you asked in a low voice, genuinely confused, and she shrugged it off.

“it’s uncle Sunghoon, gran! he visits us all the time, i thought you knew him”

you nod after some time, letting the information settle itself into your head. you bring your head slowly up to him again, but now it was charged with something else.

gratefulness. longing. an emotion you couldn't describe despite your ‘experience’ in life.

“they’re beautiful, y/n. congrats.”

[tillysslife]

wsp with you—part two

pairing: walker & teen!actor

warnings: none <333

you stared at your phone like it had personally betrayed you. where were the spies on your phone? they should’ve not let this reach your eyes.

walk💙

we gonna talk about this or what?

or what!! that was your choice. there was no way you could face him like this. your face was akin to a roasted tomato and the amount of energy flurrying in your chest was enough to power a neighbourhood at christmas time.

so instead, you did what any spiralling girl would and called your best friend from home. you would’ve loved to talk about this with leah but she was too close to the action, she had been plotting on this for months and you needed some real advice.

with trembling hands you pressed on the facetime button like your life depended on it and waited for scarlet to answer.

when she did you let out the scream you had been holding in, “oh my god!” you said, raking a hand through your hair in an attempt to busy yourself. “oh my GOD!”

scarlet held her hands to her ears, your shriek obviously not what she was expecting. “why are you screaming?” she yelled back, eyes wide with terror. “you either got hit by a car or something happened with walker.”

“he texted me,” you sighed, voice lowered to a normal human level as you flopped back dramatically on your bed. “like, full sentence and grammar. ‘we gonna talk or what?’ who does he think he is, a lead in a romcom?”

she gasps, a smirk making its way onto her face even though she had no idea what they were going to talk about. “right. and to make sure i’m crystal clear here. what the fuck do you have to talk about?”

“oh you haven’t seen it? well y’know that trend that’s like ‘they say shooters shoot. duke dennis what’s up with you?’ well…i may have done something.”

“you didn’t!” she cackled, falling back into her own bed in a fit of laughter. “oh my god, y/n, that’s priceless.”

you whined. “it is so not funny. what if what he wants to talk about is that i overstepped our boundaries and i shouldn’t have made that post.”

that was what you were really scared about. you and walker had developed a true ‘platonic’ relationship and you didn’t want to ruin it because of a stupid tiktok trend that would disappear in a few days. god why did you always ruin everything?

“i’ve just looked at the post and to me it looks like he said, and i quote. “oh. bet?” does that really mean nothing to you y/n l/n?” scarlet inquired, her eyebrow raised halfway to her forehead with a look of disbelief. “god you always were oblivious,” she joked.

but you couldn’t even hear her any more because a notification at the top of your phone read his name.

“babe?” scarlet questioned, eyebrows drawn together. “you’ve gone deadly pale. what have you done this time?”

you dropped your phone from your hands, watching helplessly as it bounced on the bed. “he texted me. again,” you whispered. “oh my god what do i do? do i pretend i’ve fallen off my balcony?”

your best friend shook her head, pursing her lips as she thought. “no. first you’re going to read me this new message and then i’ll help you find a new name and you can fly to mexico, okay?”

you nodded wordlessly, as you exited the facetime app and clicked on you and walker’s thread again. “i’m scared to look what if he hates me now?”

“this is walker we’re talking about. you could kill his dog and he’d forgive you.”

nonetheless, you bit on your lip, eyes shut as you fought for the courage to open them. this was scary. you had never had this reaction to a boy before. was this really what having a crush felt like? “okay i’m ready,” you finally whispered, eyes fluttering open as you took in his message.

walk💙

hey i’m not trying to freak you out. just wanted to talk. maybe not on the internet. fuck can i call you, y/n?

”he said what?” scarlet choked out, clutching her blanket like it was the last thing tethering her to earth. yeah, now she gets how you feel.

you stared at the screen your voice a half-whisper as you repeated his virtual words. scarlet screamed. you didn’t blame her.

“HE SAID FUCK, like a casual swear? he’s giving boy who’s nervous but trying to play it cool.”

“yes!!” you whisper-yelled, very aware that anything to loud would alert your little sister and bring chaos. you paced the room, massaging your temples. “he swore and then said my name! that’s so hot, why does that sound so hot?”

“because you like him,” scarlet said simply, “and because he clearly likes you back. he wants to talk to you. like about real shit. oh my god this is happening. this is happening!”

you let out a panicked literal squeak. “i can’t. i literally can’t do this.”

“you can,” she said, firm and composed, acting like she was your life coach. “you’re gonna hang up this call and then you’re gonna call him and you’re gonna be normal.”

“i don’t know how to be normal?!”

“figure it out,” she yelled back. “you’re hot and funny and charming. go get your man. i’ll be here having a heart attack while i wait.”

you laugh, nervous but feeling a little bit better after talking to scarlet. “okay i love you”

“love you more, go!”

you hung up.

your heart was pounding so loud you could hardly hear the dial tone.

but then—it clicked.

”hello?” walker’s smooth voice came through the phone’s speaker, sounding a little panicked himself.

that soothed you a bit.

“hey,” you said, barely above a whisper. “i hope it’s okay i called.”

“of course it is,” he rushed to say, his voice softly firm. “i was kinda staring at my phone waiting for it to ring,” he admitted with a chuckle.

you let out the softest laugh, already overwhelmed. “i’m uh— i just wanted to say i’m sorry.”

“for what?” he sounded genuinely curious.

“for posting that. for dragging you into… all this,” you said, gesturing wildly with your hands even though he couldn’t see. “i didn’t think it’d blow up like that. it was supposed to be funny. just a joke. and i totally get it if you never wanna talk to me again or if you think i’m—”

“woah,” he cut in gently, “slow down.”

you went fully quiet, your uneven breathing the only sound echoing through the call. “i don’t want you to hate me,” you whispered, voice shaking.

“of course not, y/n. i didn’t think anything bad about you, okay?” he said, voice steady. “i wasn’t upset at all. especially not at you. i was just…caught off guard i guess. you know i love being dragged into your messes.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he laughed softly, like he was nervous too. “it’s not a bad thing. it’s just—it felt like when you posted that my whole world flipped.”

your heart clenched. in a good way or a bad way you were still unsure.

“i’ve been trying to find the right way to say this for a while now but nothing ever seemed perfect enough for you. i didn’t know if you’d ever see me that way or if i was just this dumb guy who pulled faces at interviews while you sat there being gorgeous, laughing at me while being so ridiculously talented. ”

“walker—“ you murmured, or at least tried to.

“no just…please let me get this out. i’m not good at expressing my emotions and this is scaring the shit out of me, but i need to. you don’t know how many times i wanted to tell you, you’re just so perfect and i couldn’t find the right moment. but then you posted that, and i thought maybe, i wasn’t imagining everything all along.”

your whole body went still, frozen in shock. but your words moved before your normally overthinking brain. “you weren’t,” you started softly, “imagining things. god—i’ve liked you for ages. i just didn’t think you’d feel the same.

“are you serious?” he breathed.

“yes walker. i like you, like, really like you.”

he let out this laugh from the back of his throat—disbelieving and warm and happy. “this feels fake. like i’m gonna wake up.”

“you’re not dreaming,” you said, smiling so hard your cheeks ached. “unless i’m dreaming too.”

another pause. a little silence. but it was the good kind. the kind where you both knew everything had changed, and it wasn’t scary—it was perfect.

“so,” walker said, voice a little shy now, “can i see you? like… not through a screen?”

you laughed, giddy. “yeah. i’d really like that.”

“cool,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “guess the shooter did score.”

“guess so, huh?” you giggled, biting your bottom lip.

GUYS ITS FINALLY OUT!! thank you so much for the love on tbe first part it really gave me the motivation to write this out quicker then i ever have. and i’ll work on the requests soon❤️❤️ love yourself bye💋

[demie90s]

juju x influencer reader, just reader being a huge juju simp online thinking that juju wont see her posts fangirling abt her but she does, Juju then sees her courtside while reader is on live and starts flirting w her and the clip gets posted online

ᴊᴜᴊᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴋɪɴꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Caught Slippin’ (But Make It Cute)

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’re that influencer—pretty, unserious, and always online. Thirsting over Juju Watkins for months on your socials, convinced she’d never actually see any of it.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Fluff, Humor, Flirty Chaos, Social Media

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Mild language, intense thirsting, reader being real unserious

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.3k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: Baddie meets baller, live caught slippin, “ain’t no way she heard that” turned “yes she did and now you blushing on camera”

⸻

You were already being dramatic the moment your courtside pass hit your hand.

You hadn’t even made it to your seat yet when you opened your live with:

“Juju can guard me any day. In fact, I insist.”

Chat was already on fire.

“pls ur in public”

“GET A GRIP”

“what does she MEAN by that 😭”

You adjusted your sunglasses—indoors, obviously—flicked your lip gloss wand like a weapon, and panned the camera to the court.

“Now chat,” you whispered like this was a Nat Geo special. “Get a load of her. The bounce. The braid. The thighs. The control.” You zoomed in shamelessly. “IM TRYINGGGGGG.”

You collapsed back into your seat like the performance just took you out. You sipped your overpriced soda for dramatic effect, then whispered to your phone, “Rock, paper… lemme eyp.”

The game hadn’t even started.

You crossed your legs, chin propped in your hand, pretending to be civilized, but then she walked out. Juju. USC warmup on. Locked in. And it was like God pressed slow-mo on your soul.

“Google,” you muttered into your mic, live still rolling. “How do I become a basketball. No like spiritually. Biblically. I’m ready.”

The chat exploded.

You stayed hunched like a girl in mourning, whispering, “This made my hole week—I mean my whole week. Sorry, my bad. Freudian slip. Or maybe prophetic. Depends on her.”

And then.

Then.

You saw her glance your way.

Just for a second. Barely a flick of her eyes.

But it was enough for you to throw yourself back like you were shot.

“NO. NOPE. NOPE. CAMERA OFF,” you gasped, trying to cover your face with your sleeve while your friend next to you screamed laughing. “SHE LOOKED. SHE FUCKING LOOKED. WHO SAID SHE HAD PERIPHERALS LIKE THAT???”

You didn’t turn off the live, though. Let’s not lie.

First quarter. You tried to chill. You sat pretty, nodded along, lips glossed, whispering sweet nothings to your Coke bottle like it was her. The chat begged you to behave.

Then halftime hit. And that’s when everything derailed. Juju glanced up again. But this time, she didn’t just glance. She looked. Locked.

And you? You were mid-live, mid-sip, mid-stupid comment—something about “I wanna be her mouthguard so bad”—when she walked toward your sideline during a break.

You froze. Camera still rolling. Your friend already ducked out of frame, whispering, “You’re on your own.”

Juju leaned on the barrier, towel around her neck, sweat still gleaming like divine proof of her workout. She looked you dead in the eye, smirked, and said—

“You sayin’ all that, but you real quiet in person.”

The SCREAM you let out was ungodly. You covered your mouth like that would save you from the cameras that were definitely filming.

Your voice cracked: “I—I—raw raw or whatever Lady Gaga said.”

She bit her lip and laughed. Laughed. Wiped her brow with the towel, and walked off like she didn’t just leave you combusting in your seat.

Chat lost it.

“YOU WON”

“ain’t no way she said that on camera”

“how’s it feel being GOD’S FAVORITE???”

“girl you need to PRAY”

You ended the live 30 seconds later with your face hidden behind your sleeve, whispering, “Okay. Bye. I have to go cry in a bathroom or throw myself at her feet. Whichever happens first.”

You were trending on TikTok by the end of the night.

#jujusimp

#courtsidecrush

#thismademyholeweek

“You sayin’ all that but real quiet in person” [10M views]

The next day? Juju reposted the clip.

With your @.

Caption: “Don’t be shy, say it with your chest next time.”

And you? You reshared it.

“Say less.”