#this is why they will always be my favorites

[mercvry-glow]

Hey Lover

parings. jack abbot x younger!reader

warnings. age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s/early 30s), hospital setting, reader has a sprained ankle, reader isn't treated the best by the ed, nothing too serious overall, reader is considered to be bratty, some suggestive parts but it’s just comments between reader and jack, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I love jack and younger reader, I felt there was a lot of me in this one lol! since so many of you requested this hopefully y'all don't find her demeanor annoying, I read it as the reader is a bit scared and defensive knowing that the ed doesn't particularly like her for whatever reason. but as always please enjoy and feedback is appreciated as always!

wc. 2200+

You could admit you weren’t the easiest person to get along with.

You liked your oat milk lattes extra hot, your lip gloss to match your water bottle, and your schedule planned down to the exact minute. You didn’t do chaos. And people around here—meaning, this godforsaken hospital where your fiancé worked twelve-hour trauma shifts—tended to mistake that kind of organization for being high-maintenance.

And Fine. You were a little high-maintenance. But you weren’t mean… And you definitely didn’t deserve to be sitting in some back hallway of the PTMC ER with your hair still in a claw clip, mascara running down your cheeks, and one ankle the size of a grapefruit.

You sighed dramatically, shifting on the gurney. Your baby blue workout hoodie was streaked with tears and did little to hide the shame you felt in this very moment. Your phone was cracked. And worst of all—your favorite pilates socks had blood on them.

Today was not your day.

“I’ve been here for forty-five minutes,” you muttered, crossing your arms and wincing when your movement tugged your wrapped foot. “And if one more person tells me to ‘just wait,’ I’m going to scream.”

The nurse behind the little desk—tight bun, tired eyes, and feeling high and mighty—didn’t even look up. “Ma’am, we’re triaging other trauma patients—”

“I am also a trauma,” you said, gesturing at your foot. “Just because it happened in pilates at 5am and not a bar doesn’t make it less traumatic. I heard a crack.”

From across the nurses’ station, someone mumbled, “No wonder Dr. Abbot keeps her a secret.”

You froze. The room spun a little, but not from the injury.

Jack.

You blinked hard, biting down on your tongue. You knew what they thought. What they always thought. That Jack Abbot—with his calm voice, sharp eyes, and salt-and-pepper curls—couldn’t possibly be serious about you. That you were too much. Too loud. Too shiney. Too young.

But he’d never made you feel like that. Not once.

You tucked your phone tighter under your arm and exhaled through your nose, preparing to wait another hour—until the door to another room swung open into the hallway.

There he was.

Jack in a white long-sleeve under his scrubs, his stethoscope around his neck, and his hazel eyes already scanning the room. When he saw you—half-dressed like a ladies health magazine, clutching a cracked phone and looking entirely out of place—his whole face changed.

“ Are you serious right now?” he muttered, storming toward you. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here?”

“She didn’t ask for you,” someone muttered.

Jack didn’t even look at them. He was crouched in front of you already, gently brushing his hand over your shin, checking the wrap someone had done.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said quietly, lip wobbling just a bit. “It’s just an ankle. And, like… mild humiliation.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s not just anything if you’re hurt.”

“I fell trying to do that stupid split thing you like—”

He gave you a look.

“Okay, gracefully collapsed trying to do the split thing. And my instructor screamed, so then I screamed, and I cried in front of a room full of strangers.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I ruined my socks.”

Jack sighed and kissed the top of your knee, just above the bandage. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Take me home? Get me out of this place in a timely manner?”

His laugh was quiet but real, and he kissed you again, this time on the forehead.

Behind him, someone coughed pointedly. He stood, slowly.

“She needs a reevaluation. Now.”

The nurse gave a half-hearted “x-ray is backed up” shrug.

Jack’s tone turned colder than ice. “Then she’s priority after critical. Or get someone who cares and tell them why I’m walking my injured fiancée to get care, myself.”

That got people moving.

Jack helped you up, one arm tight around your waist. You clung to him dramatically, batting your lashes like you weren’t totally milking the attention—but under it, you could feel his heart racing.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing up.

His voice dropped low. “Not until you are.”

You smiled, a little smug. “Told you pilates was dangerous.”

He just shook his head, holding you closer. “I should’ve never let you sign up.”

“You didn’t let me. You said, and I quote, ‘try not to flirt with your instructor this time.’”

“Yeah, well. Next time I’m going with you.”

“You in pilates?” You snorted. “Please. Your hips are too tight.”

“I have very flexible hips, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Bed's ready,” a night shift nurse called.

You smirked at Jack. “To be continued.”

He groaned. “This is why they all hate you.”

You winked. “They only hate me ‘cause you love me, other than that I don’t know.”

And by the way he looked at you—like he’d walk through fire just to kiss you again—you knew you were absolutely right.

The space they gave you wasn’t fancy, but it was private. Probably borrowed from someone in observation or cleared just for Jack’s peace of mind. He didn’t say a word as he helped you onto the bed, tucking a blanket over your legs like you were made of glass.

“I’m not dying,” you said, wrinkling your nose as he fussed with your ankle.

“You’re really annoying,” he muttered. But his hands were gentle, steady as always, checking your range of motion and rewrapping your foot with crisp, even lines.

You watched him work, the little furrow between his brows, the tiny flecks of gold in his hazel eyes that always showed up when he was worried. His curls were a little messy, probably from running his hand through them a hundred times today, and his sleeves were pushed up, exposing the veins on his forearms you’d once drunkenly referred to as "your Roman Empire."

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“You’re so hot,” you replied simply.

Jack huffed but didn’t argue.

He finished taping your ankle and stood, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s a sprain, not a break, but you need to stay off of it for at least a week. Actually stay off it, not your version of resting.”

“Which is?”

“Pilates in a boot.”

You grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“I’ll cancel your gym membership myself.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I pay for it, try me.”

You didn’t win that stare-down. He kissed your forehead again instead.

“Get some rest. I’ll check in after I get off here in a few.”

You pouted. “You’re leaving me?”

Jack gave you a look. “I’m an attending. I can’t just disappear mid-surge.”

“Tell Robby I said please, I saw him walking around.”

That got a faint laugh out of him. “No more sass. Be good.”

You made an angelic face. “I’m always good.”

He was halfway out the door when you added, “And please ask someone if they can bring me an ice water! Or tell them you’ll do it.”

“I just said—”

You batted your lashes.

Jack muttered something under his breath and disappeared into the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, Jack was standing near the lockers, hands on hips, when Robby stepped in with two bottled waters and a raised eyebrow.

“Your girl okay?” he asked, handing Jack one.

Jack nodded, cracking the lid open. “Sprained her ankle trying to impress a pilates instructor, apparently.”

“Sounds like her.” Robby sat beside him, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “She looked like she was about to throw hands when the nurse offered her ice chips.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. “That tracks.”

“She really hates being fussed over, huh?”

Jack shot him a look.

“Okay,” Robby amended, hands up in mock surrender, “unless it’s by you.”

Jack didn’t argue. He leaned back against the wall, letting the silence hang a minute before Michael spoke again—more careful this time.

“She’s got some… strong energy going on today.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. Just glanced down at the bottle in his hands, then back up. “You don’t have to pretend you like her, man.”

“I’m not trying to judge,” Robby said, more gently. “You know that. I just… never pictured you with someone so… you know.”

“She’s also the first person I’ve met who makes me laugh like hell and still checks if I’ve eaten when I forget to eat. And she always puts me first. Even when it costs her.”

Robby’s brow creased slightly, more thoughtful than anything. “I get that. I do.. She always asks if I’m looking after you, like I’m the one keeping you alive.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “You kinda are.”

“Okay, but—” Robby pointed a finger at him. “She brings you little smoothie things and reminds you to call your sister and randomly knows what you need on your worst days. I see that. Doesn’t mean I fully get her, but I’m not against her.”

Jack finally relaxed, his shoulders dropping a bit.

“She’s not always easy,” he admitted. “But she’s real. And when it’s just the two of us? She’s… soft. Like, the kind of soft I didn’t know I wanted. She brings out all this stupid shit in me.”

Robby tilted his head. “You’re kind of a sap.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jack deadpanned.

Robby smirked, bumping his shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Just then, a nurse poked her head around the corner, clearly amused. “Dr. Abbot? Your fiancée says she can’t find her lip balm and her lips feel like they’re about to crack. She says quote—‘You know the one I mean.’”

Jack didn’t even blink. “Little pink tube, side pocket of her purse. Tell her I’ll grab it.”

The nurse grinned and ducked back out.

Robby blinked slowly. “You really do know her inside out.”

Jack shrugged, already standing. “She’d do the same for me.”

As he disappeared down the hall, Robby watched him go, still smiling. He might not fully understand your dynamic—but he didn’t have to. Jack was happy, the girl loved him, and honestly? That was more than enough as a friend. 

A bit later you had barely settled into your space—fluffy blanket over your lap, perfectly stacked hospital pillows behind your back, and a comically large cup a nurse had left on the tray—when a soft knock hit the doorframe.

You glanced up, lip gloss freshly reapplied despite the fact you were still in the hospital.

Michael leaned in with his hands in the pockets of his blue hoodue, looking not nearly as judgmental as you were expecting.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Jack’s finishing up his last consult, so I figured I’d check in. How’s the ankle?”

You gave a bright (but very practiced) smile. “Swollen, hideous, and humiliating. But I’m surviving. Thank you.”

Robby chuckled lightly, stepping further in. “Well, the good news is you’ll walk again.”

“Oh, thank god. I was already mentally rearranging my living room for crutches.” You paused, then added, “I promise I wasn’t being dramatic earlier. I just… hate being in here. Even not as a patient, hospitals just freak me out.”

His brow lifted slightly. “You hang around one enough.”

“Yeah, but usually I’m here with iced coffee and lunch for my fiance, not a bum ankle.”

He smiled at that, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “You really do come in like a hurricane when Jack’s on shift.”

You looked down, suddenly fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah. Sorry if I’ve been too much. I know I’m not exactly… subtle.”

Robby tilted his head. “You’re not.”

You blinked, and he quickly added, “But you clearly care about him. And that counts for a lot.”

You looked up again, surprised.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he continued, more thoughtful now. “You’re different from what I imagined for him. But then I saw how he talks about you. How he looks at you.”

You felt your face heat up.

“He’s a lot lighter with you around,” Robby said simply. “Which is wild, because I didn’t even think that was possible.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not really the warm-and-fuzzy type.”

“No, but he’s yours,” Robby said with a small shrug. “And that seems to be working out.”

You stared at him for a second, then leaned back against your pillows. “So… you don’t hate me?”

“I never hated you,” Robby said honestly. “I just didn’t know you.”

You let out a soft breath, genuinely touched. “Well. You’ve officially been upgraded to my favorite of Jack’s coworkers.”

“That’s a low bar,” he quipped. “But I’ll take it.”

The curtain rustled suddenly and Jack poked his head in, curls messier than beforer and his hazel eyes immediately scanning you.

“You good?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Robby said before you could speak, already backing up toward the door. “Being brave. And dramatic. But mostly brave.”

Jack gave you a long, warm look. “Dramatic is her default.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Michael was already halfway out the door. “Later, lovebirds.”

Once it was just the two of you, Jack pulled up a chair beside your bed and took your hand.

“You okay?”

“I will be,” you said softly. “Especially now that I know your work bestie doesn’t think I’m a total disaster.”

Jack smirked. “You are a total disaster. But you’re my disaster.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me, Dr. Abbot.”

And he did.

mercvry-glow 2025

[eraserbread]

Pleaseeeee, I'm begging you.... I need to know how Nanami react when his wife finally tell him she's pregnant and his not crazy this whole time.

click 4 context :)

nanami swears he's never seen you eat deep-fried... anything. it wasn't that you weren't keen; it just never fell into your lap. whenever you two ate outside of home, you found yourself walking hand-in-hand through the doors of your favorite hole-in-the-wall ramen shop.

but, tonight, you begged him. nearly cried with a jutted lip for something you never had, but doom-scrolled past on social media.

now you're sitting in front of him, back straight as an arrow as you uncharacteristically shovel steaming-hot slices of gyukatsu between your glossed lips.

he watches you hardly, flicking his eyes every few moments to catch the way your lips shake, or how you do that stupid little happy dance when you get the perfect bite. he's tending to his curried rice, eating slowly—your exact opposite. he smiles to himself, letting the table remain quiet with your content hums until you bite your tongue and whine out.

"slow down, my love." he speaks after swallowing his bite, leaning back. he can see the slight flush heading across your familiar neck as you react to his buttery voice.

"i'm so sorry. how impolite of me."

"well, i don't care much. just don't want you to burn or... bite yourself further." he nodding towards the sizzling hot stone just in your reach—a dangerous pairing with your eagerness.

flushed under fluttering gold lighting, kento swears you're beaming just a bit stronger. there's a tint to your cheeks that isn't usually there, a gleam that didn't exist until a month ago. he furrows his eyebrows.

"don't stare!"

"thank you for indulging me tonight." you smile as he bends at the knee to remove your shoes at your doorway. you're leaning a hand on the frame, body and mind full of wagyu and kento. "I know you've had a long day at work."

"long day or not, when you tell me you want something..." he pauses, grunting as he stands. "I listen. always. well, most likely."

you giggle, reaching up to hold the back of his neck. the small buzz of his undercut feels fuzzy and familiar—like home. "you're a good husband."

you don't notice, but kento does. the small lisp you give him in speech—he knows it's from your bruised tongue—he hums. "does it hurt a lot? your poor tongue?"

shaking your head, you're smiling. "no... yes... a little bit."

"may I see?" he's so close to you that his words bounce off of your lips like smog—so salty and warm. you nod immediately, always letting him in. "open up."

you're giggling again. "yes, sir." then you keep them parted, dropping your jaw so he can see inside of your warm mouth. you can hear his breathing in the closeness, the drag of his voice against his vocal cords as he inspects.

it's when he presses his finger against the side of your tongue, does it hit you. a debilitating, familiar wave of dizziness. then, you're weak and dipping, knees falling.

right before kento catches you with a single-arm hold on your back, he doesn't make a sound, but the look on his face is terrified. "nanami? are you okay? can you stand?"

it takes you a moment to focus, but his words make it easier. you shake your head, gently. "must've been the exertion."

"why don't you go sit? i'll bring you something, would you like tea?"

"i would love it. thank you."

so, he trusts your balance, but he lets you go like he's nervous. it's only to walk to the couch, but it seems as if you just can't catch your footing. then, you stall and lean to the side—he rushes you, sweeping you up in a cradle.

"no. straight to bed."

"i'm sorry." you whine, burying your head in the pillow when he places you on the mattress.

"i'm calling the doctor now. i've never seen you like this." he's keeping his promise in his perfect timing, scrolling through his contact list with a shaking head. you're staring up at him in horror, heart hammering in your chest, because you don't need a doctor. you know what's wrong.

"n-no, please don't... it's so late."

"doctors take call just like i do." then, he finds it, and just before his thumb presses that shiny green 'call now' button, you're stuffing your face into the pillow, letting it muffle your breathing.

"i'm pregnant." you whine into the fluff, hands twisted tight in the material. you hope he can't hear you, but it's far too late to take it back.

"hm?" kento heard you. crystal fucking clear. but, he's doing that unsure little eyebrow cock, thumb shaking as it hovers over his phone. "what?" he repeats.

"p-pregnant... i'm pregnant." it feels like lava pouring from your soul, so white-hot and shameful, because you've been hiding it for well over two months.

he scoffs, putting his phone down and burying his forehead in his big hand. there's a smirk there—very slight. you don't see it. "ah, well... yes, I suppose that explains it... all."

"please don't be mad at me, it's your fault."

"mine? how?"

"if you just..." you're still talking into the pillow, letting it do the heavy lifting. "you're always on top of me; it's like I can't keep you away."

kento laughs again, it's the most joyless sound that sparks so much within you. he nods, then sits down right next to you, smoothing a hand over the swell of your hips. "if it were possible to choose, i'd like to die on top of you—or inside of you."

"not funny." you're on the verge of tears, feeling the hormonal angst hit you like a ton of bricks.

kento clicks his teeth, then pushes your shoulder to get your flushed face free. "I wasn't trying to be... look, I am not mad-the direct opposite, actually." he's whispering, tracing that hand over your face. you're so warm, so free, now. "I am so happy. relieved that it wasn't something else, too."

"but i'm so scared."

"that's okay. so am i... both happy and scared and relieved; in love with you, your ways, and your spirit." that hand trails back down your side, then it rests right over your lower stomach, thumb rubbing across the covered skin. "and this little one we created together." when he presses, he can feel the firmness that wasn't usually there. "I don't think we will be very good at first, but i'd like it very much if we taught each other how to be the gentlest parents possible."

now, you're crying. it's falling in waves and buckets, snotting up your pillow and eliciting embarrassing sounds from your throat. you're kicking your feet, so built up and unsure where to expel it. "whyyyy," you sob, reaching to twist your smaller fist in his shirt. "why would you say that to me? I'm gonna explode—it's so-

"what are you talking about?" he cuts you off, cradling your clenched fist to his chest. he really just wants to wipe those tears away and make love, but he's kind of... afraid. you'll probably bite him just like your tongue.

"when you talk to me like that... it's so... i can feel it."

"hm... do you think our baby can feel it? i wonder if she can hear us."

"she? i feel like it's a boy."

"no." he whispers, shaking his head, and so sweetly purrs, "definitely a girl."

[seumyo]

the language of biting.

NOTE. a teensy bitsy suggestive!

Bakugou doesn’t always say “I love you” with words.

Sure, he can.

He has.

He does.

But more often than not, it’s in the things he does: folding your laundry just the way you like it, memorizing the exact heat setting for your tea, walking on the side of traffic when you two are out (it’s become a habit at this point, and he will get playfully physical with trying to switch places with you if you think otherwise), scowling at people who so much as glance at you too long.

The quiet, loaded things.

Acts of service.

Devotion in motion.

But when you two are alone—when the world outside your apartment fades and it’s just the two of you—his love starts to show in other, more unconventional ways.

Like biting.

It starts off soft, playful, almost lazy.

You’ll be curled on the couch, on his lap, while something plays on the TV, forgotten. Your hand will drift against his surprisingly soft hands, playing with his fingers to flex them open and close as you hum, and he’ll nuzzle closer, burying his face into your thigh or shoulder or collarbone—wherever you are.

Because Bakugou is an unreliable narrator when it comes to you.

And then, without warning—

“Katsuki!”

You gasp, as if he had just committed the most heinous crime, laughing as he runs his canines gently over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him get away with.

“What?” he mumbles, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You bit me!”

He huffs a short laugh. “Did not.”

“I felt your teeth, you maniac.”

“Didn’t bite,” he says again, leaning in to nip at your collarbone, slow and deliberate this time. “Just a pretend bite. Barely.”

You yelp and try to push him away, palms flat against his shoulders. “What are you, a dog?”

Bakugou smirks against your skin. “You don’t hear me barkin’, do you?”

“Should I take you to the vet? Get your rabies shot?”

His teeth graze you again, this time just on your aching shoulder blade that you’ve been whining about for the past few days. “Too late, dummy.”

He bites down again, this time just enough to leave a fleeting pressure—never enough to bruise, never enough to really hurt, just enough to say, Mine. His hand slides under your hoodie, not in a lewd way, but to rest warm against your waist as he presses his teeth into the curve of your shoulder.

“Why is this your favorite?”

“Because you’re soft.”

“That’s not a reason to bite me.”

“Or maybe you could just admit that I’m cute when I do it.”

“Cute? You just bit me like a teething baby!”

He quietly sighs and leans up higher, bringing his face close to yours now. “Wasn’t tryna hurt you. Just…” He pauses, nose brushing yours. “‘s weird, but I like doin’ it. That ok?”

Bakugou never bites when he’s angry. Never in frustration. Only when he’s calm, or smug, or holding you close and soaking in the way you fit perfectly in his arms. The biting isn’t possessive in the toxic way. It’s intimate. Familiar. He doesn’t even realize how often he does it.

Your expression softens at that, because of course it does. How could it not? His voice had gone quiet, and his brows were furrowed in that shy, self-conscious way that only ever comes out when he’s being sincere.

“You do know biting me isn’t how humans mark territory, right?” you tease.

His ears turn pink at the tip. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I’m serious. Should I be worried? Is this like… a feral wolfboy thing?”

“Keep talkin’ and I will bite harder.”

You snort and lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re still in my lap.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Never said I wasn’ lucky.”

But then, just as you relax again—he strikes. A soft, precise bite just behind your ear this time around. His canines dig in just enough to make you squirm, though there’s no pain. Just the warm press of his lips a moment later.

“Katsuki!”

You could feel him smile against your skin. “Couldn’t help it. You smell too good.”

“You are—insane. You are absolutely feral.”

“You’re still not movin’.”

“Because you’re hugging me like a bear, idiot.”

“Guess you can’t do anythin’ about it now, huh?”

And then he’s peppering kisses along your shoulder—soft ones, a little too sweet to match the devilish glint in his eye—interrupted every few seconds by little nips. Not enough to leave marks. Just enough to feel. Enough to make you shiver and laugh and squirm under his touch until you're warm and breathless from giggling.

Eventually, you push him away with both hands, heaving in breaths. “You need a warning label.”

“I’ve got a hero license. Close enough.”

“I’m gonna make you get a rabies shot.”

“Go ahead. Long as you’re there to hold my hand.”

You roll your eyes, but the affection behind it is undeniable. “You’re the worst.”

“And still your favorite.”

You sigh, defeated, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Unfortunately, I’m married to someone who bites like a baby who’s just now getting their baby teeth.”

He grins, closing his eyes. “Better get used to it.”

“You done?”

“…Maybe.”

“Katsuki.”

“…Okay, okay. I’m done.”

. . .

“…For now.”

“If those leave a mark—I will make you do laundry by yourself next week.”

And Bakugou, pleased as hell with himself, gives you one final, barely-there bite to your shoulder and murmurs, “Love you too.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[k1ranishf4]

☆ Ink and Instinct ☆

☆ Jason Todd x Female Reader

☆ His muscles were screaming, his bones aching and he wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed—or to end up in a coma, preferably. Tasteless joke, he knew, considering that he had literally died and came back, but oh well. None of that mattered when he saw his fiancée, though. Or rather, when he saw the pretty black ink on her radiant skin, right where her womb was.

☆ Content tags/warnings: 18+ content, engaged couple, explicit language, horny Jason Todd, explicit content, soft smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, NSFW, pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty girl (1x), my love), praise, reassurance, reader got a womb tattoo without his knowledge, information broker!reader, shameless Jason Todd, newfound breeding kink and its consequences (don’t worry, no pregnancy in this), Jason’s thinking with his dick, momentarily shy reader, ticklish reader, humorous and sweet atmosphere, no beta we die like everyone in DC at some point

The fire escape groaned beneath his boots as he landed on the creaky metal, right in front of your shared bedroom window. It became a routine for him to enter the apartment through the window after patrolling, considering that the front door would raise too much attention to him. No one was supposed to know who the Red Hood was nor where he lived, thank you very much. He checked his surroundings again, like he always did, and then slid the window open to climb inside.

Patrol had been complete bullshit, in his opinion. Chasing down an amateur thief who ended up knocking himself out by running into a brick wall because he had looked back at Jason, disrupting a drug deal by the docks, gunning down Penguin's goons after one of them had spotted him—he was tired. And sore. He didn't even know anymore if the dried drops of blood on his jacket were his or someone else's.

He wanted nothing more than to get rid of his clothes, take a shower and melt next to you in bed. You, his perfect, smart fiancée who entered his life as the best information broker of Gotham's underworld. He sometimes still had moments of realization that, yes, he was, in fact, going to marry you. His heart felt way too heavy with love.

Jason thought you might be asleep by now, cuddled up in the warm sheets and sprawled out over his side of the bed again, despite your insistence that you always stayed on yours. He never asked you to wait up for him and you were out like a light by eleven o'clock sharp most of the time, so it was a surprise to see you still awake, music filling the air from the loudspeaker at a volume that wouldn't disturb your neighbors.

He closed the window gently, not wanting to announce his presence just yet. You were oblivious that he was even there, in the middle of changing. He leaned back against the windowsill and crossed his arms as he watched you, still in his whole Red Hood getup. Sure, okay, it might have been creepy of him to watch you change, but he didn't really see how anyone could blame him.

To him, you were the hottest, most sexiest woman in all of Gotham, hell, in the whole world. Smart, witty, beautiful, and so kind, he could die again and be much happier in his grave this time around. His gaze raked over you behind his helmet's white lenses, taking in every inch of skin you were showing as you stood there in nothing but black lace panties, pulling a shirt over your head and humming along to your favorite song playing in the background.

He smirked with amusement when you turned and yelped, jumping like a scared cat.

"Jason!" You threw the nearest object—an empty deodorant bottle that he didn't know why you still kept—at him and missed, the aluminium bottle clattering on the hardwood floor. "Don't just stand there, asshole, you scared me!"

He smiled at your indignant tone and looked you up and down again. "Calm down, baby. You know it's me," he mused smugly, his voice changed by the voice modulator. He didn't even make a move to take his helmet off or to put his guns inside the safe in the closet, still leaning against the wall.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You asked with a huff, walking past him to pick the empty deodorant bottle up and putting it back on a shelf instead of just throwing it away, then pausing the music. "Watching me like some creep, instead... Idiot."

But he wasn't listening. His gaze was on your stomach, which was hidden by the shirt again. He could swear that he had seen something there. He watched you reach up to the shelf inside the closet, his eyes still on your stomach while you rummaged through your clothes. For what, he didn't know, nor did he care, because now he could see it clearly.

"Lift your shirt," he said without any kind of context, not even looking at you. His arms were still crossed, but he felt tenser.

"Huh?"

He met your gaze, white lenses meeting hypnotizing but confused eyes.

"Your shirt," he repeated, still making no move to get out of his grimy clothes. "Lift it up."

He kept watching you as you looked at him with confusion for another moment before grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it up to your stomach.

His breath caught in his throat.

"I was gonna show you eventually," you started rambling, but he wasn't even hearing the words. "I thought it'd be cool, I guess, and I was waiting for it to heal properly, but then you became busier and—"

He called your name softly, so soft it could as well have been deadly. His head slowly lifted, looking into your eyes again. "When did you get it?"

The 'it' in question being a womb tattoo just above the waistband of your panties, a tattoo of his name. Cursive, elegant, the J underlining the rest of the letters and dipping beneath your panties.

He felt his heart race, his head tilting when you didn't answer. "Baby, when did you get that?" He asked again. Exhaustion who? He was more concerned about not jumping your bones right then and there.

Jason slowly got closer to you, gloved hand gently tilting your head up. "Don't be shy now, pretty girl. I just wanna know when you got it without me ever realizing," he reassured.

His thumb gently rubbed circles on your jaw, silently encouraging you not to get all shy on him now. "A few months ago," you mumbled. "Three, I think."

He paused. Months? Months of his name engraved on your skin, on your womb, and he was only seeing it now?

Taking a deep breath, he finally reached up to get rid of his helmet, tossing it on the bed carelessly. His eyes were dark, once emerald now appearing black. "You got my name tattooed right above your pussy and never told me?"

"Don't say it like that!" You slapped his chest, but he only smirked. His pretty fiancée, flustered about a tattoo she had gotten on her own volition.

"It's the truth, no? Fuck, baby." His hands went to your waist, his pants painfully tight. "C'mon. Let's get rid of this, hm?" He lightly tugged at your shirt.

"You haven't even put your guns away—"

"I know." He looked into your eyes. "I'll do that as soon as you're out of this shirt. Promise."

"Jason..." He could hear that you didn't believe him. Which was fair, considering that all of his thoughts were on you. Your body. That tattoo.

He felt dizzy from simply remembering that it was his name. His name. On your perfect body.

How would it look like if you were pregnant?

The thought made Jason pause.

Neither of you had ever brought up the topic of having children, not when you were dating, not now. But fuck, if it wasn't an appealing idea.

He never thought of himself as father material, nor did he have any intention of fantasizing about something that you might not even want, but the thought of your stomach becoming round and full of his child, with his name literally on your skin and claiming you, both of you—shit.

"You'll be the death of me," he told you hoarsely, voice thick with lust. "Get on the bed, baby. I'll put my guns in the safe, I promise, but I need you on that bed."

He'd throw you on it if he had to, but he was forcing himself not to go completely caveman on you. It was the last thing you needed, he could tell from your uncertain expression.

"C'mon." He gently guided you towards the bed, walking slowly with you until the back of your knees hit the edge of it. "Just like that. Sit down, baby."

Only when you were sitting did he go to the closet, helmet in hand, and put it along with his guns inside the safe that he had put there for this purpose. Aside from the things he personally needed as Red Hood, there were also some document files and USB drives that belonged to you—all filled with information about various criminals and crime lords.

You never stopped being his information broker and neither of you intended to change that.

"You're not mad, right?" The uncertainty in your voice made him pause, the fog of lust dissipating just enough for some rationality to return. He locked the safe and looked at you again.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" Jason asked, confused. He stood up and walked towards you, sitting down on his knees in front of you and peeling his gloves off.

"I don't know, I just—" He watched you huff, his hands gently running up and down your thighs. "I never told you. I thought..."

"What?" He tilted his head, looking up at you with patience and so much love. His eyes flicked to your throat as you swallowed.

"I thought you might think I'm insane," you confessed quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Jason couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face. "Insane? Baby, the only one going insane right now is me because I'm trying very hard not to fuck you right this instant."

He laughed when you paused, looking at him like he was crazy. His heart swelled when he saw you getting out of that unsure headspace. Insecurity never suited you, in his opinion.

"You're so disgusting," you huffed, and his smile widened at the relieved humor written all over your face.

"That's what you do to me," he grinned. "Now take this shirt off. Please. I wanna see the ink again."

He looked at you with a mix of lust and adoration, not wanting to rush you but also feeling like a feral dog that's hurling its toy across the room.

With a sigh, you took the shirt off and set it aside. "Don't be weird about this," you muttered with faux sternness, making him smile.

"No promises," he winked at you, his hands traveling up your thighs to your hips. "Spread your legs. I need to get closer to you."

"And people say romance is dead," you mumbled as you spread your legs, making him chuckle softly while shifting closer, his lips immediately pressing a gentle kiss on your lower belly.

"You don't know what this makes me want to do," he breathed against your soft skin, his eyes fluttering when he felt your fingers run through the raven strands.

"You mean other than fucking me?" You asked teasingly, tilting your head.

"Oh, you..." He met your grin with his own and stood up, making you lie on your back in the middle of the bed before taking off his boots and settling between your legs.

His heart swelled when you giggled as his lips met your neck. He loved it, loved that you were sensitive and easily ticklish. It made sex even better. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, chuckling when you squirmed.

"Hey, now," he murmured against your neck. "No squirming, I haven't even started."

"That tickles!" You protested with a smile as more kisses were littered on your skin, down to your shoulder.

He smiled and pulled back, looking into your eyes. "Let me worship you, baby." His hand went to your lower belly, gently caressing your skin. He took a deep breath, feeling like he might combust.

Jason looked at you when your hand reached for his cheek. "What are you thinking?" You asked, your eyes looking like gems to him.

"You," he rasped. "This tattoo." He took a deep breath. You were his fiancée, sure, but he was still so afraid that he might scare you away. "I'm thinking about what it would look like if you were pregnant."

A crazy thing to say, he knew, as he watched your eyes widen. You weren't even married yet and he was already thinking about knocking you up. Just to see your skin stretch with his baby, with his name on your body.

"Jason—"

"I know," he interrupted, not even giving you the chance to finish speaking. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, I swear to you. But... Fuck, baby, I can't stop thinking about it. What it'd look like if your stomach was round with my name literally on it and our baby inside you."

He hadn't even been aware that he was hard. But he could feel it now, the unbearable tightness of his pants. He swallowed. "We don't have to talk about babies or anything right now. I just..." His hand gently rubbed your womb again. "Let me worship you, baby. Please. Let me show you how much I love this tattoo. How much I love you."

He watched you swallow before nodding. "Words," he murmured. "Give me words, my love."

"Yes," you breathed. "I.. I want you to show me."

That was all he needed.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, but without urgency. This wasn't like the countless heated make-out sessions the two of you had had or the rough sex whenever both or one of you was too pent up to release the emotions verbally.

No, this kiss conveyed all of his love for you, the adoration he felt for you. One of his hands cupped the back of your head when you let out a small noise against his lips, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

He hummed against your lips when your arms locked around his neck, pulling away with a soft intake of breath before his lips went to your neck.

He smiled as he pressed kisses on your neck, hearing your soft laughs. "You're still ticklish," he murmured against your skin, amusement in his voice.

"I'm blaming you," he heard you say, and laughed.

"Of course you are."

His lips traveled from your neck to your shoulder, down to your collarbones. Both of you started breathing more shallowly as he littered your perfect breasts and stomach with soft kisses, until his lips were on your womb. On that damn tattoo.

He heard your breath hitch when his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, but they stayed there. He looked at you, pupils blown wide. "Can I?"

He watched your throat work as you swallowed. "Yes," you whispered. "Please."

"You don't have to beg me. Never beg me, baby." He inhaled sharply as he pressed a kiss on your clothed mound before pulling the black lace off of your body and tossing it on the floor. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

He felt hot. Too hot. His skin was burning as he leaned down and pressed another kiss on your mound, on the small extension of the inked J. His heart was racing, especially when he heard you gasp softly.

"Jay—"

"Shhh, I've got you," he whispered. "Just lie down and let me take care of you, baby." He had to take his jacket off, the leather landing on the floor too. His body was on fire, molten lava coursing through his veins.

He let his eyes wander over your body again before shifting a little further away. "You're perfect," he whispered as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your glistening cunt. He pressed a kiss on your flesh before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, his eyes fluttering as he heard your breath hitch.

He looked up at you. "Tell me to stop if it becomes too much or if something feels wrong," he told you before his mouth closed around your clit, his tongue swirling around it.

The sound of your breathing becoming heavier only turned him on even more as his hands went to your thighs, moving your legs over his shoulders. Death by suffocation wouldn't be a bad way to go if this was how it happened.

"Jason—mmm..." Your breathy moan went straight to his cock, still straining painfully against his pants. He had half a mind not to dry-hump the damn bed while eating you out.

His right hand left your thigh and went up to your wet entrance, slowly easing his middle finger into you as he kept lapping at your clit. The pleased sigh that left your lips made him moan in response, muffled by your flesh.

He added a second finger when you started rolling your hips against his mouth, meeting his fingers with your own movements. He let out a muffled groan and put his free hand on your hip, to keep himself grounded and not to pin you in place.

Jason didn't mind the movement, in fact, he took it as a sign that he was doing a good enough job. He kept his mouth on your clit as his fingers pumped faster in and out of you, your moans and sighs filling the air.

It was over for him when your hands landed in his hair as you arched your back. He could feel your legs trembling while you clenched around his fingers, greedy cunt sucking them in. He kept his ministrations up as he listened to you moaning his name, his eyes on the very tattoo of it on your belly.

"Jay—Fuck, Jason, that feels good—Mmmm—!"

He couldn't see your face from down here, but he didn't need to. His eyes were locked on the tattoo, watching it ripple with your skin as he curled his fingers against the spot that he knew made you see stars, listening to you moan with satisfaction as he repeated it.

"Jason—Jason, Jay—," he heard you mewl and whimper. "I'm gonna—Fuck, I'm gonna—"

It didn't take too long for him to groan in pleasure as he felt you pulling his hair, coating his fingers with your release while your thighs clamped down on his head. His nose was pressed against your skin, the flowery scent of your body lotion mixed with the musky scent of your cum filling his senses.

He worked you through your orgasm, his own body practically vibrating from the lust coursing through his veins. Only when you stopped squeezing his head with your thighs, did he sit up and slowly pull his fingers out of you.

"Shit," he breathed as he watched you pant and come down from your high. His clean hand rubbed your hip and thigh gently, wanting to soothe you as you caught your breath. "Easy, baby. No rush, take your time."

"Jason," you breathed, your eyes meeting his.

"Shhh... Take your time. We can focus on my issue later."

He kept his hand on you until your breathing was relatively normal again and your legs weren't shaking so much anymore. He helped you sit up, letting you use his arm to pull yourself up.

"You okay?" He asked softly, adoration and concern in his eyes as he watched you nod.

"That felt good," you breathed. "Was...really good."

He smiled as you leaned against him, his arm snaking around you and holding you close. He was still uncomfortably hard in his pants, but that wasn't going to stop him from making sure you were okay first. He rubbed your sweaty skin soothingly, letting you take all the time you needed to fully recover.

"Next time," he murmured, "tell me before you get a tattoo. Might save me from having to process it before I can fuck you."

He chuckled when you slapped his chest, muttering something about him being "a filthy animal", and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

He had come home wanting to sleep, but the red light of the digital clock showing him that it was 3:47 A.M. told him that neither of you two would be getting much sleep tonight.

Tomorrow would have to be a lazy day, he supposed, smirking as he watched your hands reach for his belt.

☆ A/N: Let me know if there’s something I can do better, constructive criticism is always welcome. Hope you enjoyed!!

☆ 3.4k words

[hard-core-super-star]

(they long to be) close to you [W.Maximoff]

pairing: baker!wanda x college student!reader

summary: after months of pining after the lovely owner of westview's best cafe, you finally get a chance to get to know her better.

warnings: none, just fluff and pining; MILF!wanda because my hand slipped; is cute tension a thing?; gay panic; bad flirting; mentions of stress and tense family dynamics

wordcount: 1.8k

a/n: this idea came from a brief conversation with one of my favorite people [@katehopecore] and i wasn't able to get it out of my head so now it's here! and it'll probably end up as a series because i can't help myself. anyway, hope you enjoy <3 [oh AND, the cranberries version of this song is the best one, you can't change my mind]

* * * * * * *

Life in Westview had become a weird sort of predictable by now. Same routine, same people, same comfy booth at the best café in town.

Ironically, you didn't even live in said city. At least, not anymore. There was a time in your life when you'd known nothing except that small town in New Jersey and the neighbors you'd seen your whole life. It was easy, familiar, and so comfortable it became uncomfortable.

And so, to your parent's dismay, when you graduated from high school, you'd decided to leave. You chose to go to college in New York, trading the world you knew for a shining, new, incredibly loud, alternative. As overwhelming as the change had been, it was everything you'd wanted and more.

That being said, you still came back home as much as you could, more out of routine than anything else. At first, you'd left your visits reserved for holiday breaks and three-day weekends. When things got busy at school, the last thing you wanted was to be cooped up with your parents, avoiding their questions and listening to them rant about the neighbors.

Things had taken a turn, however, when you'd accidentally stumbled across Wanda Maximoff and her quaint, yet cozy, café. The lovely owner had moved into town right when you were graduating high school, so even though your parents had attended the house-warming party, you'd never met her.

Maybe that was why you were so drawn to the space. Why your feet carried you there instead of your usual hiding spots. Well, they were technically study spots. At least that was what you told yourself, even though most of the time, you were just looking for an excuse to get some fresh air away from your childhood room.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somehow, Wanda's bakery had become your safe heaven. The one place you could always run to for a warm pastry and a comforting smile.

Okay, maybe you were more fond of the beautiful owner than the fantastic coffee and pastries, but that was beside the point.

What truly mattered, at least right now, was the fact that you'd chosen to leave New York for the weekend, swearing you were going to study and prepare for your midterms next week. Of course, that was easier said than done.

Especially when you'd spent most of the morning drooling into your coffee since Wanda was working the counter today. She had no business looking as good as she did in a flannel and suspenders, her lovely red hair falling into soft waves over her shoulders.

It was a little comical how unaware of the effect she had on other people Wanda seemed to be. It was almost like she was in her own little world. One filled with croissant recipes and the weirdest ways to keep an old espresso machine from breaking down.

She was the most enchanting woman you'd ever met and she didn't even know it. Didn't even notice the way all the teenage boys that came in tripped over themselves for a second of her attention.

As much as you wanted to make fun of them, you were just the same.

Except more mature…at least, you hoped.

You're in the middle of another study session, the most recent drink you'd ordered forgotten on the table among the chaos of notebooks, books and of course, your struggling laptop, when you hear footsteps approaching.

You don't look up from your textbook until you hear the sound of a plate and a glass being placed on the table. A question is on the tip of your tongue when your eyes meet Wanda's. There's a softness in them that speaks volumes.

"You've been here for a while," she says with a small shrug. "I thought you might be hungry."

It's only then that you fully realize what she's placed on the table. A glass of water with a few slices of lemon and a plate with a warm ham and cheese croissant. It's not the most extravagant of meals by any means but, considering the growling of your stomach, it's exactly what you need.

"Thank you," you mumble, your voice coming out slightly hoarse. "This is really nice of you."

"Oh, it's nothing, sweetheart." The warmth that spread across your chest stops you from seeing the blush on her cheeks. "Just a little something to keep your energy up."

You're not sure what compels you but you close your laptop and move your stuff out of the way. "Would you like to sit for a little? You've been working hard all morning too."

A small smile tugs at the corners of the older woman's lips. "I shouldn't but…I'm sure the boys can manage for a few minutes."

You sneak a glance up at the counter, watching as the young boys behind the counter scramble to help the working adults preparing coffee orders. Even though you don't want to pry, a question falls out of your lips once you take in the similarities between the two boys and the woman sitting in front of you. "Are they…your sons?"

Wanda nods before you can think too hard about the embarrassing question you just asked. "Yeah, Billy and Tommy. They come help out on the weekends before going to their father's for a few days."

Thankfully, you were barely reaching for your water when she said that, otherwise…you might have made an even bigger fool of yourself by choking like an idiot. That being said…you still didn't push down the urge to keep asking questions.

"You're married?"

"Was married," she corrects. "Things didn't work out, but we share custody and are still good friends. It makes it easier on the boys, I think."

It's hard to hide the smile that starts spreading across your face. You hate how instantaneous it is, how insensitive it makes you feel, and more importantly…how relieved you feel. You barely know this woman, and yet here you are, wrapped around her finger so tightly that you can't stop yourself from hoping there's a chance.

A chance for what? Only time will tell, you suppose.

"Do they like baking too?" You ask as you dig into the croissant, steering the conversation away from something that might make you gay panic.

Your question makes her laugh, the sound sharp with surprise yet filled with warmth. "Oh no, the second they see flour anywhere, they start throwing it at each other."

"Can't say I blame them. I probably wouldn't be much better."

"That's disappointing," Wanda teases. "I was looking for an apprentice."

You giggle in response and concentrate on not appearing too flustered. You're not sure you succeed, though, considering the way the older woman looks at you. "I would if I could, midterm season doesn't give me much free time."

"An even better reason to give baking a try," she replies. "It's what I do when I'm stressed."

"So you decided to open a bakery? How does that work?"

She shrugs. "Divorce is stressful."

All you can do is shake your head and laugh again, feeling warmth bloom in your chest as she joins you. You're pretty sure you can get used to making her laugh like this.

"I might have to give it a try then," you say once your laughter dies down. "It sounds much better than what I've been doing."

"Which is?"

"Ignoring my problems and drinking too much coffee."

"Oh."

To ignore the soft concern in her features, you go back to eating. Thankfully, she doesn't press you or ask any more questions. She simply sits with you, keeping you company and helping you stay grounded.

It's…nice having her with you, you find. Even though all she's doing is sitting with you, her presence is calming. Comforting.

And maybe you should unpack that, but you'd rather not ruin the peace that's settled over you.

Wanda seems just as comfortable as you, since she doesn't move from her spot until she's sure you've finished eating, and she's coaxed you into finishing the glass of water. Even then, she isn't in much of a rush. At least, until one of the twins (you're still not sure which one is which, since you're too embarrassed to ask) tells her the oven went off and the newest batch of cookies is ready.

The smile on your face falters some at that and the older woman must notice because she turns back to you with a certain sparkle in her eyes. "Would you like to come help? I know you're probably busy but-"

"Yes." You rush the words out before you can second-guess yourself. "I'd love to."

Her surprise turns into glee and before you know it you're putting your things away and following her into the back. Somehow, even though the entire café always smells sweet, the aroma coming from the ovens is magnificent. You're not sure how you're going to help her without eating half of the batch.

She seems to read your mind because she motions for you to sit on a counter while she takes the cookies out of the oven. You're more than happy to watch her work, munching on whatever sweet treat she hands you to keep you from getting bored. You're pretty sure it's impossible to be bored in her presence but you don't mention that.

Some time passes before Wanda speaks again. "Sorry, I'm usually better at multitasking."

You instantly shake your head. "It's okay, I don't mind the quiet. It's nice watching you work."

"You're too sweet," she says, looking up at you with a mock glare.

You stifle a laugh as you notice the faint streak of icing on her face. "Actually, I think you have me beaten."

Her eyebrows furrow, more out of confusion than annoyance, though. "What's so funny?"

Instead of answering, you slide off the counter and reach out to wipe the icing off her face. There's still space between you, but it feels suddenly small…like if you just stepped forward…

The sound of the oven going off again stops you before you can do something truly idiotic.

Your hand drops as Wanda turns. "You should help me decorate this next batch. My hand's a little tired."

You have a feeling she's not at all tired, considering this is her passion, but you see the offer for what it is. A chance to spend more time with her.

"Deal."

It's not until almost an hour later that either of you acknowledge what happened. The soft touch and the even softer looks exchanged.

It's subtle, like the smell of her perfume that starts lingering on your clothes.

"You know, if you want to come back tomorrow, I would appreciate the help."

And you do.

The next morning. And the next Saturday. And the one after that.

You come back each and every weekend until you accidentally carve out a space in her heart reserved just for you.

[physalian]

So I actually live about 15 mins from Universal Orlando and I have an annual pass. I understand from a business standpoint why HP shit is in now all 3 parks (not including VB), but as fun as the rides are, it is so, so annoying seeing this franchise out-sell and thus out-shine Universal’s other franchises.

I mean that an Minions, but Minions is just irritating. Minion merch does not sell at any level compared to HP merch, and some of it is genuinely cool looking, ngl. I’ve never been an HP fan but I had connections to some of the employees and thus their discount and casually wanted a Slytherin robe. They’re like $90 and not all that high quality, I could make one from a trip to Joann’s custom fitted for my size.

But the other reason I don’t like all the HP stuff is that those lands are just so blatantly gift-shop first, and then rides. In the Studios, they ripped out my favorite ride as a kid (Earthquake) and replaced it with 90% shopping and Escape From Gringotts. And it’s always packed. Because people are always buying. So I can’t really blame the park with fans of this ridiculous franchise always rabid for whatever new piece of green/blue/yellow/red merch they can get their hands on, doesn’t matter what it is so long as there’s a house logo slapped onto it.

In IoA, there’s 3 HP rides, one very much known to get you very, very sick, one for kids, and the big one, Hagrid’s Magical Creatures, which is probably the best ride between the two original parks (besides Mummy, Mummy is King). It’s long, it’s dynamic, the ride vehicles are super cool, and you feel like you’ve got your time waiting in line’s worth.

**I’ve heard but cannot verify that the only reason HP land didn’t end up at Disney was because Rowling demanded a functional Hogwarts Express and Disney refused. Universal basically said “lady we’ll build you whatever you want just sign on the dotted line” so there is zero brand moral superiority here, Disney is just incredibly cheap and deathly afraid of committing to any designs that are too unique to be resellable and re-brandable if they fail.

But there’s also Hogsmeade as the hub of those three rides, and there ain’t shit to do in Hogsmeade except spend money, and there are always people spending money.

I can’t afford a ticket to Epic Universe and never cared about the Ministry side of things even when I watched the movies, but they would not have built a third HP land in their brand new park if people weren’t so trigger-happy buying HP merch.

I know it’s vacation and it’s no different than a trip to Disney World, but if you have to buy your stuff because you’re not crafty enough to make it, save the theme park upcharge and buy it elsewhere. Or just make it yourself.

The park has already been built, they won’t tear out the HP stuff immediately, but not buying souvenirs there would help. Universal is in it for the money, so if you help kill their cash cow, they’ll dump it for a more profitable franchise eventually.

I’d say not riding HP rides would also help because ride data determines which rides get the budgets for maintenance and upgrades… but you’re there spending theme park prices, and it all goes in one pot anyway from your park ticket.

Obligatory disclaimer that I’m not trying to shame the park goers for enjoying these rides and areas, I enjoy them, they’re doing what they were designed to do. Just think twice before buying that wand or that robe.

Oh, and by the way, that Supreme Court ruling is where that Harry Potter money goes.

[jo-com]

₊˚🍰₊ ⊹ ➛ Voicemails

Lando Noriss x Ex!Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: A series of voicemails Lando left in the quiet aftermath of your breakup —

୨ৎ Genre: Post- Breakup, Angst

୨ৎ Note: Been wanting to write again so here it is! Not proof read and there are some grammatical errors. Hope y’all enjoyyy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Voicemail 1: Hey baby…i uhm just wanted to check up on you. I know that we agreed on not calling or texting each other but fuck i miss you so much, I regret ever hurting you like that.. please call me back, love you always.

Voicemail 2: Sooo, i was buying these snacks for me and then I saw your favorite food and just.. it reminded me on how much you like eating them and out of habit I picked it up and bought it hahaha… Just wanted to share this, sorry for disturbing you.

Voicemail 3: I know i promised to stop doing this and just move on, you've just been on my mind lately... [sigh] why am i doing this to myself.

Voicemail 4: Hey… I drove past your street today. I wasn’t planning to, it just… happened. Funny how everything reminds me of you, even when I’m trying not to look. Anyway… I hope you're okay. That’s all.

Voicemail 5: It’s late. I couldn’t sleep again. I keep reaching for you in my dreams, and waking up to nothing. I know this is selfish — I’m sorry. I just needed to feel like you were still out there, even if you’re not mine anymore.

...

A long and deep breath left pass your lips— hearing his voice and the things that came out of it made your heart ache even more. The hurt and feeling of loneliness was still evident from the way you've isolated yourself from everything.

You wanted nothing more than be freed from this torment of hearts and just block him all together but at the same time you were holding onto something that you knew was never going to be the same again.

The tears you never even noticed was now sliding down your cheeks, "Fucking hell" you mumbled under your breath.

You quickly wiped it away— not letting yourself show any vulnerability or any kind of weakness.

...

Voicemail 6: I saw your favorite movie on TV tonight. I almost texted you to tell you, like I used to. It’s stupid, I know. You’re not waiting for my messages anymore… but I guess some part of me still is.

Voicemail 7: Do you ever miss me? Even for a second? I keep asking myself that, like the answer will change something. I don’t even know why I’m leaving this. I just— I miss who we were.

...

After hearing the last message he sent, every being in your whole body was screaming to just answer him, but like they say “The heart wants what it wants, but the mind knows what it needs.”

...

Voicemail 8: I saw this coffee place you would’ve loved — all moody lighting and weird art. I almost took a photo to send you. [chuckles] Old habits, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t. Just thought you’d find that funny. Or maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

Voicemail 9: Do you ever feel like you made the right choice, but it still hurts like hell? That’s where I’m at. We ended for a reason... I just wish reason didn’t feel so empty.

...

You've contemplated for a while now and decided to call him back. With shaky hand you went to your contacts and saw his number that was pinned at the top— you forgot you ever did that, it was a long time ago but i guess you just got used to it and forgot along the way.

Every cell of your body was now filled with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, hands shaking abruptly and your chest heaving like crazy, as if you were but to explode with this overwhelming feeling.

The long silence filled your empty room, it was defining to say the least.

With a deep sigh, you finally gathered all your strength and pressed the call button. Your legs bouncing of the ground as you waited for him to pick up.

"Y/n?" he spoke— answering on the first ring.

You hesitated on speaking and was just focused on his voice that was calling out to you. You can practically hear the excitement and confusion on his tone.

You let out a lengthy cough that hid your shaking voice and finally answered him. "Hey..uhm I just called to say that you should stop with the voice messages."

Everything became silent for awhile, it was eating you up to say those words but you two needed to stop torturing one another and just move on.

Lando sighed deeply, "oh okay sorry to bother" and hanged up.

It left you broken— hearing his voice crack from your words. You never wanted this but was for the best.

Or so you thought.

You spent your whole day reliving the conversation, it just bugged you that it crushed him. You’ve decided to just go with the flow and fuck whatever your mind says— your heart clearly belonged with his so what the hell.

...

NOTIFICATION

1 Unheard Voice Message from My girl💞

"Hey Lan… I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I need to say this. I know we ended things, and maybe we both thought we were doing the right thing at the time. But looking back, it feels like we got caught up in something we didn’t fully understand. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t care. That was never the case. I’ve heard every voicemail you left. Every word. I couldn’t help it. I just needed to hear you, even if it was through all that distance between us. I miss you, Lando. I miss what we had. I don’t want this misunderstanding to be the end of us. If you’re willing, I want to try again. I want to fix this. I just need you to know that. Call me back, Okay?"

[pearlymel]

Dandelion

love is in the air.

"These other flowers, don’t grow the same / So just leave it here with me, let’s get dirty, dirty."

warnings: NSFW, MDNI. extremely soft soft husband Sylus x fem reader. there's really no plot, it's just the life of a married couple (plus celebrating his birthday), contains oral (fem rec), dry humping, unprotected, it's just soft, fluff, multiple petnames. 2.8k words.

notes: lyric reference from "dandelion" by Ariana grande. happy birthday to my baby <3

You can feel your hands sweating against Sylus’ as you turn your head around the different departments and stores in the mall.

You pray that he doesn't notice you trying to stay cool while you were dying inside to get his gift.

Sylus guides you to a chic, high-end shopping arcade. It's filled with rows of luxurious stores. Places you're already familiar with.

He guides you through the sea of designer clothes, his thumb occasionally rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

"see anything you like so far?” He begins. you don't look interested enough, he notes. "Why don't you find something that you like, and don't look at the price tag.”

Not now, you weren't here to shop for you.

“I'll be back, stay here.” He watches you dash off with a bemused expression.

This little escapade feels almost like a game. He's not bothered by it, not really. But it almost felt like you were avoiding him all day.

Little did he know you were silent from overthinking of getting something as simple as a gift.

"Don't get into any trouble, sweetie—" he calls out, but he knows you'll be too preoccupied to listen.

He waits there, looking the picture of nonchalant.

—

“honey, stop,”

Honey.

That's a little unfair.

“I was supposed to—” Though Sylus doesn't listen, his tongue laves over your clothed cunt in long, languid strokes.

What did you even do for him to be this eager after coming back from the mall?

“what? Can't have my favorite snack after a long day?” His grip on your wrist tightens just when he senses you were about to push him off.

It's not like you hate it. No, never. It's just you were supposed do something that you completely forgot because of how he's making your head blank.

His teeth then find the hem of your panties. Slowly, he pulls the fabric down, leaving your pussy exposed to his eyes when he spreads your legs further apart.

He takes a moment just to look. And you're almost embarrassed.

He’d call you a work of art, like he always does, but he knows if he does it now while focusing on the wetness smeared on your pussy, you'll be dying from embarrassment.

“don't stare at it,” you pout.

His eyes flick up to your face, and he can’t help smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylus brushes the pad of a finger directly on your clit, and you're immediately shivering.

He circles your bundle of nerves in a slow and soothing way, the type that makes you moan softly while pushing your hips to seek more.

His head dips down, and his tongue quickly replaces his finger, making you gasp as you immediately grab a handful of his hair to tug at.

He continues the onslaught with his mouth, his fingers now sliding through your wet folds and pressing against your entrance. He hears your soft gasp once again, the way your breathing hitches when he pushes one inside—not nearly enough, but it’s all he can give you like this.

“I’ll give you more than this later, be patient. ” He breaks away to murmur against your inner thigh, he sucks in a breath at the way you cry out for him, and presses another finger inside you, pumping them in and out. He wants to hear more of it, every single noise you make, so he returns to teasing your clit with his tongue.

“Oh, sylus, you're being so good for me—”

The words make him feel dizzy—he thrives on praise, the same way that you crave his touch.

His fingers press in deeper, curving just right to stroke the sensitive spot inside you. He’s not going to be gentle at this point; he’s already too far gone, drunk on you.

“Mmhn, faster—” you demand with a whine, and his fingers move to your request, faster, rougher, curling just right against that sensitive spot and—

Ding dong.

Your eyes shoot open, you're both suddenly interrupted by the doorbell leading to the entry of the manor, loud voices coming from the entrance.

Damn it all to hell. The twins.

Right, you remember the thing you wanted to do, you were going to bake with them since everyday is of this month (April) is their boss man's birthday.

Sylus wants you, desperately, and the last thing he needs right now is company, especially their company.

—

The house is quiet, finally quiet.

Sylus stands back from his desk, staring down at a pile of documents strewn across the wood. But he’s not reading a single thing.

He’s frustrated, but not for the usual reasons. Just thinking about earlier (before you were interrupted), it makes him hard again.

—

Your idea of help to ease his stress is definitely… interesting

He’s standing between your legs, eyes watching your furrowed eyebrows, your face is nothing but focused as you glide the razor across his jaw.

How adorable.

Sylus was in the middle of shaving after a long night, but of course, you insisted on sitting on the sink to “help out.”

no, you weren't helping. Sylus wanted to get rid of his hard on by doing something else and letting you relax. You basically walked into his trap.

He can't help but lean into your hands, eyes slightly closed as you finish up shaving the last bits right above his lips. You then grab a towel to pat dry the remaining foam on his face.

“you're all fresh for your upcoming birthday,” you comment, followed by leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

A kiss greets your cheek back from his own lips, “I have you to thank for that, apparently.”

He pulls back, giving you a playful smirk. “I suppose I’ll look pretty for you then, won’t I?”

You grin back, “you're like prince charming, annoyingly handsome,”

A snort escapes him before he can help it. He looks at your face, trying to look serious but failing completely.

“I prefer to be a dragon keeping you in the top of my tower, so that prince charming can't reach you, princess.”

Oh, that sounds hot alright.

You're both laughing after a moment of silence, Sylus buries his face on your shoulder while he holds you close to him. my precious.

—

it's midnight before you realize it, his birthday.

Sylus shivers under your touch, tilting his head into your hand at once like an obedient dog. An obedient dragon, perhaps—but a tamed one. Or, well. A semi-tamed one.

"You don't need to worry," he whispers, "I'll be gentle with you,"

You melt at his reassuring words, even while he promises he'll behave, his hands wander a little. Sliding up beneath your nightgown.

“I prepared a gift for you,” you say as you continue caressing his face, “but you'll receive it in the morning. At our garden.”

It took effort to not throw you back onto the bed and devour you then and there. You and your sweet, kind words, your sweet and kind touches.

Sylus chuckles, "I appreciate the thought, sweetie," he hums, his voice rough and low. "But this is all I want for my birthday."

His fingers trail higher, teasing the edge of your underwear and sending heat straight to your core.

His hand wanders higher, gently rubbing against the dampening fabric of your underwear. all the while, his eyes remain locked on yours. "Is this all for me?" he murmurs, "All this excitement, this anticipation...?”

A soft grunt escapes his lips when you suddenly climb into his lap, his hands automatically coming to rest on your sides.

Your thighs on either side of his thighs, your arms around his neck. The weight of you, the warmth of you, it's driving him insane.

Your lips are over his, and he returns the kiss eagerly, one hand winding in your hair, the other roaming across your skin to settle on the small of your back.

You're so close, so close that you both can't help but grind against each other impatiently. He groans your name, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet yours, desperate to feel even more of you.

"Sweetie,"

“I love you, pretty boy,” you whisper in between short kisses, and a lopsided grin spreads across his face at your words, his heart giving a little flutter in spite of the heat of the moment.

“love you too, my jewel,” he whispers just before his mouth captures yours in another deep, passionate kiss.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your throat, Sylus nips and licks his way down your body, pulling down your nightgown just enough until your pretty breasts are in display for him.

gorgeous, Sylus thinks as he leans down to take one nipple into his mouth, suckling greedily while you whine from the stimulation as his hand kneads the other breast.

“Sylus—” your fingers tug at his hair when you felt his teeth graze the sensitive peak, and he releases your breast with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your damp nipple.

You're in a daze, and before you know it, he's lifting your hips up to gently lay you back on the mattress and unbuckle his belt, to free his aching cock from it's tight confinements.

He rocks his hips forward, grinding the tip of his cock over your slick folds, teasing your clit before pushing just slightly inside you then pulling back out.

Sylus huffs out a breathy chuckle when he watches how you try to take more of his inches, yet he continues teasing you again and again, without giving you what you need.

Finally, he rolls his hips slowly, the thick head of his cock parting your folds, slipping inside you with a low groan. He took his time, inch by inch, letting you feel every throb of his length sinking into you, stretching you around him.

When he was finally fully sheathed inside you, he paused, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. One hand slid down to your belly, cupping the gentle curve, his thumb tracing the line where your bodies joined.

“Oh, you feel incredible.”

“i-I do?”

Sylus raises a brow just slightly before he gives you a slow, deep roll of his hips, grinding his pelvis against yours, and this man moans out just for you to hear.

“does this answer your question, pretty girl?”

His hand then slides down to your knee, pushing it up and back towards your chest until your thigh was draped over his shoulder, opening you even wider to him.

Your nails scratch at his chest, you feel like you're above the clouds, but at the same time it feels like you're on fire.

You hiss when he starts to move faster, his strokes growing longer and harder, each thrust pushing you up the bed slightly. The new angle let him hit that secret spot deep inside you with every drive of his hips, and you couldn't help but cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“C-careful,” Sylus almost stops at your plea. Instead, he slows his thrusts before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i’ve got you, beloved.” he doesn't question anything, he'd rather listen to you and do it without questioning it.

Sylus grinds his pelvis against yours, rubbing your clit firmly as he buries himself balls-deep inside your spasming cunt.

He feels your body go rigid, then—he senses you shudder violently as your orgasm crashes over you, wave of pure, unadulterated bliss radiating out from your core, and you almost feel relaxed.

your walls clench around his length, milking his own impending release. Sylus slots his lips over yours messily as he finds his own release, his cock pulsing as he pumps stream of thick, hot cum deep into your still fluttering pussy.

Though, he doesn't stop afterwards, he continues overstimulating himself, slowly grinding his softening cock into you while you both moan and whimper into each other's lips.

you both stay still, and he gives your cheek one last kiss, “is my wife sleepy?”

“… happy birthday.”

“thank you, dearest.”

—

As you stepped outside, you couldn't help but appreciate the perfect weather; the sun shined gently in the sky, a light breeze passed through the garden. It was as if the sun was setting up a romantic scene.

Sylus let out a soft hum of contentment when the picnic setup comes to view, a small twitch of surprise on his face. His gaze immediately went to yours, a subtle smile tugging on his lips.

"You did this? For me?" He asked, raising his eyebrows somewhat as he gently pulled you closer to him by the waist.

"happy birthday!"

your husband definitely didn't expect to be tackled to the ground, but he couldn't stop the wide grin on his face as you rolled both of you down. He lands on the soft grass with a soft thump, his hands landing on your waist to stabilize you both.

"You little-" Sylus' words are cut off when he feels you hands cupping his face, his expression softens, it’s like you could almost see his eyes sparkle.

he couldn't help but close his eyes instinctively when you started showering his face with soft, gentle kisses. He let out a light laugh at the feeling of your lips. The subtle feeling of the leaves falling from the trees above you and landing on you both added to the atmosphere, and Sylus felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. Opening his eyes, he looked at you, “you’re beautiful.”

you grin, “thank you, handsome.”

The grass beneath you was soft, almost like a bed of feathers.

"come," you stand up to take Sylus' hands in yours, guiding him towards the little set up.

As you reached the blanket on the grass, he sits down to lean back, and his eyes roams over the food that was laid out.

"You went all out, huh? Did you plan all this by yourself?" He asked, still somewhat not believing that this scene was set up for his birthday.

"anything for you," you clear your throat, sitting right in front of him with a box on your lap, “food or gift first?”

you seem even more excited than he is, which makes him pretty excited. "The gift, then. You didn't really expect me to choose food over your present, did you?” Sylus chuckled as he watched you excitedly handing him the small box, "… Should I be worried that you're going to burst from excitement?”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms as if to silently tell him open it already.

He lifts the lid off.

... And he contents of the box was not what he expected, as it only had two items.

a onesie. And baby shoes next to it.

His expression went blank as he stared at the two items: the onesie and the baby shoes. For a moment, he was completely speechless, unable to process what he was looking at, then slowly, he lifted his gaze to look at you, his wide eyes filled with bewilderment.

"Are you—” He could only manage to say the first two words, but the rest got caught in his throat.

at first, you were smiling at the anticipation of what his reaction might be, but your expression falls when you sense his face pale slightly.

before you could even ask him what’s wrong, he turns to you, “did i hurt you last night? did i press anywhere too hard? did i—”

you wrap your arms around his neck as a gesture of reassurance, Sylus couldn't help but bury his face in your shoulder, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him completely. He wrapped his own arms around you, holding you tight, as if trying to anchor himself in the reality of this moment.

“i’m perfectly fine, hon. don’t worry.” you try soothing him, your hand rubbing his back.

“you’re pregnant.” His voice was soft and shaky as he spoke, his words muffled by your skin. "I can't believe it."

“don’t cry.” you tease, and he couldn't help but let out another small laugh, his heart swells with affection. He held you just a bit tighter, a small smile on his face.

A family. You're expecting. You're going to be parents. Oh god, now he has to make sure the house is safe for the baby.

This is truly, the best gift he has ever received.

"We're going to be three," he says in awe, the words bringing joy and pride to him. He leaned in, his forehead gently touching yours, "You, me, and our little one.”

Sylus might not be crying this time, but when he holds his little one for the first time, his emotions might betray him.

[manariee]

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

﹙郡主 ﹚───── Tell me, princess Now, when did you last let your heart decide? ───── you're their princess

𝒮 엔하이픈 & fem!reader wc: 100 - 150 cw: fluff, fluff and fluff

𝓜 anas notes: i passed physics.

HEESEUNG

Your royal tutor storms out, cheeks red and arms flailing, muttering something about “impossible distractions.” The reason? Prince Heeseung, who’s leaning against the window, eyes glinting like mischief wrapped in moonlight.

“Was it something I said?” he grins, already turning toward you. “Or maybe it was how I said your smile makes the stars jealous.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the heat rising to your cheeks. “Maybe you should try flirting with someone who won’t throw a shoe at you.”

“Oh, but your aim is perfect,” he teases, lifting your hand to kiss it. “Right into my heart.”

And just like that, he made your heart do the thing again — traitor.

JAY

The grand ballroom shimmered under golden chandeliers, filled with the soft hum of conversation. But it was Jay who captivated you most—his poised posture, warm smile, and graceful presence made your heart skip.

As he approached, his eyes lit up with affection. “Princess,” he said, bowing with warmth. “May I have this dance?”

You nodded, letting him lead you to the floor. His touch was steady and gentle, and the world seemed to melt away as you moved in perfect sync.

“Jay,” you whispered, caught in the magic.

He looked at you tenderly. “You look beautiful tonight, Y/N. You always do”

Blushing, you felt cherished in his presence. “You do know how to make a girl feel special,” you teased.

“Only want make you feel special,” he replied, his voice low and full of devotion.

JAKE

Jake stumbled into your room, cloak half-on, crown askew, clutching a tray of breakfast.

“Y/N! Princess! I made you pancakes!” he announced, eyes sparkling. “They might be a little…crispy. But it's the thought that counts, right?”

You giggled, watching him plop onto the bed dramatically. “If you don’t marry me, I shall wither and perish.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed.

He pulled you into a tight hug, his warmth enveloping you. “Only because I’m hopelessly in love with you. Seriously, you’re my sunshine, my moonlight, my—wait, do you smell something burning?”

You looked toward the door. “Jake…did you leave the stove on again?”

“Oops.”

SUNGHOON

Prince Sunghoon wasn’t one for loud declarations. But he was always there—holding your parasol, sneaking your favorite pastries into the royal library, smirking when you tripped over your dress.

“Do you ever stop watching me?” you teased, catching his gaze across the garden.

“I would,” he said, lips twitching, “but then who would make sure you don’t fall into the water garden again?”

You narrowed your eyes. “That was one time.”

He walked over, wrapping his cloak around your shoulders, voice softer now.  “I was joking, you know I adore you princess. You’re just too pretty and clumsy to be left out of my sight”

SUNOO

Prince Sunoo leaned against the doorframe of your royal chambers, arms crossed, a sassy smirk on his lips. “Princess,” he began, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “I hope you’re not planning on spending the entire day reading.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “And why would that be such a crime, Your Highness?”

Sunoo strutted into the room, his grin never wavering. “Because the world deserves to see how stunning you are, and it’s a crime for you to hide away like this.”

You chuckled, setting your book down. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” he teased, his voice softer now as he walked closer. He reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “But in all seriousness, Princess, I love making you smile. You’re my favorite person in the world.”

JUNGWON

Jungwon was always the one who seemed to know exactly what to say or do. Today, he found you in the palace gardens, sitting near a pond, gazing at the gentle ripples in the water.

He sat next to you, his presence so natural and comforting. “You look peaceful,” he commented, his voice soft and full of warmth.

You smiled, looking up at him. “It’s nice to take a break from all the chaos, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his smile brightening his features. “I think that’s why I like being around you. You make everything feel like it slows down. It’s... calming.”

You turned toward him, meeting his kind eyes. “I think you do that, too.”

He chuckled softly, his hand brushing yours gently. “Maybe we both do it for each other.”

NI-KI

“Princess,” he says casually, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t wait an hour in the hallway for you.

You raise a brow. “Have you been here long?”

He shrugs. “Nope. Just… passing by.”

You raise a brow. “You’re reading The History of Teacup Designs in the 9th Century.”

He rolled his eyes ‘’Is it illegal for a prince to peacefully read on a staircase?’’

You smirk. “With flowers?”

He looks down at the wildflowers clutched in his hand, blinking like he forgot. “Oh. These? I just… picked them up. You like them or not?”

You reach for them with a soft smile. “I love them.”

And when your fingers brush, his cheeks go pink. “Cool,” he mumbles. “I… I guess I can pick more. For tomorrow. Or, like… forever. If you want.”

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication

[acethememelorde]

So, I've never been officially diagnosed with ARFID, but I'm pretty sure I have it to some degree because I do struggle to eat certain things (including vegetables) because of sensory issues. I remember it being so much harder when I was a kid, however, as I've gotten older, I've learned that it's not always the ingredient itself, but rather usually the preparation.

For example, I don't like the texture of raw tomato (I don't like the seeds and the goo they live in) but if you cut that part out it's OK, and I will eat cooked and sun-dried tomatoes. On the other hand I hate cooked spinach, but raw spinach is actually my favorite vegetable (I like it on a sandwich instead of lettuce, in a salad, or literally just by itself)

This isn't fool proof. There are foods that I've tried to like, and I just can't, like bell peppers (which in my opinion are actually disgusting) and steak (too chewy, no matter how you cook it) and seaweed (It eats like spinach but tastes like fish???) But for a lot of things I've found this to be successful.

So if you struggle with the textures of certain foods, maybe try playing around with the preparation of ingredients. Maybe try an over easy egg if you don't like scrambled or boiled eggs, or something else that I've done to get me to like mushrooms (specifically baby portobellos) was to slice them thin and almost burn them so the texture is meaty and crispy, rather than bizzarely brainy. I like adding those to fried noodles.

Does that mean that some of the ways that things get eaten aren't in the most conventional or traditional way? Yes, but really why should anyone care? You're eating, and that's the important thing.

By the way, this is in no way universal. Everyone has different sensitivities to different textures, so do what works best for you.

AND ANOTHER THING! I think this is important to add, but don't feel bad because you don't like spicy or sour things either! If a food is literally too painful for you to eat, you don't have to eat it. Plus there are plenty of other seasonings that you can add to food that won't physically hurt you.

I saw the post again where the OP is like "I don't care if you're autistic, you have to eat vegetables"

Sometimes a disability means you can't do a thing...That is what disability...Means.............

If you are an autistic person who sits around being judgmental and condescending toward every autistic person more disabled than you, you are a tar pit

[deikshen]

The Heavenly-Demon Emperor Shen Qingqiu tears open the worlds with Xin Mo in search of a disciple who doesn't hate him because he accidentally saw a world where that happened—a world where the irascible disciple who he loved and spoiled so much (IN A HEALTHY WAY!!! He was a master even being a vile demon, of course he wouldn't covet his students when they were children!!! His feelings... changed when his main disciple grew up!!!) did not throw him into the Endless Abyss when Shen Qingqiu revealed his blood heritage to protect him.

A world where Shen Qingqiu instead obtained a kind and gentle disciple who, despite having to push him into the Endless Abyss with tears in his eyes, ended up waiting for, without revealing his identity to anyone in the sect, waiting and defending his name... and marrying him after a few chaotic misunderstandings!!

And Shen Qingqiu is of course on edge. He... He always doted on that disciple of his. Ever since he was a tiny bun, a white lotus. It broke his heart to have to kill him when it was clear there could never be a world where they could both live. He had killed him quickly, painlessly, and wept as if the tortured man had been himself for days.

So, Shen Qingqiu have that qi deviation and he see this other world—HAS HE MARRIED HIS GENTLE, BEAUTIFUL DISCIPLE? His gorgeous white lotus, so beautiful, so capable of loving him...

Shen Qingqiu is smart, of course. He knows that his disciple could never have married him. The man that he raised to be such a fair and just cultivator would never harbor anything but contempt for someone like him, a heavenly demon having to hide among human. So, knowing this, he understands—another soul has changed his disciple's fate and his decisions. And Shen Qingqiu will find him.

... And there is Luo Binghe, a world away. Several jobs to support himself, an orphan without support from anyone, without many friends or money to pay for his university studies. His only entertainment is reading this free xianxia webnovel of drama, revenge, and conquest—although of course, he thinks it needs a good romance. Shen Qingqiu is definitely his favorite protagonist ever, even if many stupid people hate him! He can't afford expensive merch or fan projects based on the novel, but his virtual gallery of fanarts and others is HUGE!!

His apartment is a small place in a not very safe area of the city. So when he comes home from work one day and finds to an intruder, in fact, he is not surprised. He is more surprised because the intruder is the most gorgeous and wonderful Shen Qingqiu cosplay he's ever seen in front of him in his whole life, Luo Binghe might be losing his mind a little.

But that sword looks very real... And why is Shen Qingqiu calling him my dear disciple??!

... Luo Binghe isn't objecting at all, actually.

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something���keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

[orimuraa]

‧₊˚ 梦┊Sweet dreams come after hours - Nishimura Riki ↳ ┊: sweet dreams (feat. miguel) - j-hope

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆you were always the light in riki’s life, but but what happens when you needed that light most? ⨾

۶ৎ grumpy boyfriend!riki x sunshine fem!reader┆fluff, comfort, angst┆petnames, kisses, mentions of parental issues, ni-ki is a sweetheart deep down┆wc 822

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: sigh. i think i made this hit too deep- this is prompt 14 from this list!

prompt 14: "you smiled! i saw it, so no denying it!"

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

you had known riki since the start of your high school days and somewhere in those years, you started catching feelings for him.

he was a quiet, pessimistic boy who had no right being as tall as he was. the only positive thing in his life came in the form of a person, aka, you.

you kinda forgot how it all happened and when it happened but at some point along the line, you started dating nishimura riki.

he was a gentle, kind, and caring boy when he was around you and the rest of his friends. however, other people? not so much.

on the other hand, you were basically the brightest person alive. you smiled to everyone in the halls, waved to people who you knew, and always had a cheerful smile on your face.

riki's friends always loved to tease you guys about how it was a perfect "grumpy x sunshine" trope. they weren't wrong, but it always made riki scoff while it made you giggle.

there was only one time that made his lips twitch into a small smirk when his friends were saying how you both looked like a dream couple.

"you smiled! i saw it, so no denying it! c'mon ki!! just admit that you're soooo down bad for me~" you giggled, eyes turning into little crescents as you smiled.

"i didn't smile! and i'm not that whipped!" he playfully scoffed, pretending not to care.

but deep down, you knew riki did in fact care very much for you, he just preferred to show it through his actions rather than words. you could tell by the way he always bought your favorite drink when you two had study dates, or when he would always hold your hand in crowded spaces so he wouldn't lose you.

and maybe, just maybe, it was because of you. you were the light in his dark world that made him softer around the edges. and that was something he was eternally grateful for.

however, he never knew how to be as bright and cheerful as you were, infecting people with your radiant light.

so that's his dilemma now. he wasn't sure what was going on with you but it was obviously something.

the way your smile didn't quite reach your eyes and the way your lips had a slight frown tugging at them, it concerned him.

so once you two made it back to his house after school, he decided to ask you what was going on.

"sunshine? what's up? you weren't your usual self today," he asks cautiously, his raspy voice still managing to give you butterflies despite your sorrow mood.

"kiki..." was all you managed to get out before feeling tears prick at your eyes. you looked up at riki and he swore he felt his heart shatter. how could he stand seeing his little sunshine so upset?

he quickly pulled you into a tight embrace, adjusting you so you were now on his lap, your head against his chest.

"shhh baby, i've got you, it's okay," he tried his best to comfort you despite not having much experience with these types of situations.

"i-it's my parents...they're a-always fighting and- kiki what if they don't love each other any more?" you sob, looking up at him with tears streaming down your cheeks. you still managed to look gorgeous even when you were crying.

"oh sunshine...i'm so sorry," he whispers, his heart breaking all over again as he wipes the tears from your eyes.

"i-i'm sorry for being such a mess right now.." you cry, feeling guilty for dumping such a heavy situation on riki.

"no no no! baby! i want you to tell me these things! i want to be able to help you and comfort you! why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked softly, his eyes full of sympathy.

"i didn't want to worry you..i thought that if i was sad, you would be sad..and i didn't want you to be down because of me.." you sniffle, wiping at your eyes.

"baby, you could never burden me with your problems, okay? we overcome these challenges together, alright? i would never forgive myself for just letting you suffer with your own issues without ever knowing what was going on," he says, kissing your temple.

"you bring me so much joy and i know i'm definitely not the most joyful person ever, but i'm so so so grateful for you everyday for being that brightness in my life."

you didn't know how to respond as riki's words made your heart swell with emotions, appreciating how riki opened up his whole heart to you.

"thank you kiki...i love you 3000," you smile weakly, tears welling up in your eyes again. except this time, it was because you were so madly in love.

"always sunshine. i love you 3000 and 1," he says, sealing his words with a kiss on your lips.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic

[bytemee]

۶ৎ STUNNER — yu jimin.

“my little angel in disguise..."

⌗ in which— you're a painter who hasn't picked up a brush in months. then one night at your best friends gallery, you meet a stranger who inspires you more than you ever thought possible. you don’t know her name. you don’t know that she’ll disappear before morning. you don’t know that when your hands finally remember how to move, how to paint, it’ll be her face staring back at you from the canvas.

but—when your best friend sees your finished piece, she says eight words that change everything:

"why the hell did you paint the princess?"

pairing. princess!karina x painter!fem!reader

warning(s). language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mild angst, kissing + implied nsfw but not explicit, happy ending.

word count. 5.7k

authors note. @bimkayd for u. i also have to update my masterlist...bad.

when creativity strikes, it strikes.

like, really fucking hard. and it always comes at the worst times—when you’re in the shower, when you’re half-asleep, when you’re five minutes away from an important meeting you don’t even want to be at. but for the past few months, it hasn’t come at all.

time blurs when you’re stuck in the same four walls, staring at blank canvases like you're trying to have a staring contest with them. the paints dry in their tubes, waiting for you to wake up from whatever this is—this rut, this drought, this fucking nothingness in your head.

yunjin tells you it’s a phase. "everyone goes through it," she says over the phone, her voice tinny with excitement, too busy preparing for her own gallery opening to properly pity you. “come to my exhibit tonight. it’ll help.”

so you go to her art gallery opening. you haven't been out of the house in weeks. you haven't painted anything worth showing in months. it's a miracle you can dress yourself and brush your teeth without collapsing.

the gallery is packed when you arrive, an ocean of well-dressed bodies moving in slow currents, sipping expensive champagne from delicate flutes and admiring the artwork. most of these paintings are by yunjin herself—all bold colors and abstract shapes—but there are a few others here, too, and you spend some time wandering around, looking at them all.

your favorite is a painting done in blues and greys, full of sharp angles and harsh shadows. the paint looks thick enough to feel under your fingertips. there's a small plaque in front of it that reads "untitled" and nothing else. you stare at it for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes because when you look up, yunjin is standing beside you, smiling.

"do you like it?" she asks.

"i love it," you reply. "it's stunning."

she laughs. "that's what i was going for."

yunjin nudges you playfully with her elbow. “so? feeling inspired yet?”

you scoff, but it lacks real bite. “i don’t think staring at other people’s work is going to magically make me able to paint again.”

“maybe not,” she muses, taking a sip of champagne. “but getting out of your own head for once might.”

you don’t have the energy to argue with her. not when she’s right. not when she’s always right.

you then let her drag you through the gallery, introducing you to people whose names you’ll forget before the night is over. collectors, critics, other artists—everyone here looks effortlessly put together, as if they belong in a world you haven’t touched in far too long. you nod, you shake hands, you make small talk. it takes every ounce of strength you have just to act normal, as if you haven't been locked inside your own head for months now. as if there isn’t a black hole where your creativity used to be.

"your work is so… bold," says one woman, sipping from her champagne flute. "i love it."

"thank you," you say, hoping your smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

you glance around the room, looking for anything that might distract you from this conversation. a familiar face. a bathroom sign. anything. but all you see are unfamiliar faces and unreadable paintings on the walls, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

claustrophobic.

you need to get out of here.

now.

"excuse me," you mutter, slipping away from the woman before she can ask another question.

you don't know where you're going, but it doesn't matter. as long as it's somewhere else. your shoes click against the tile floor as you weave through the crowd, eyes focused on the exit ahead, sliding out the door into fresh air.

the night is cool on your skin, but not cold. you can still hear the sounds of the city echoing off the buildings, muffled music from inside the gallery mixing with distant traffic and the occasional car horn. it's a beautiful night, perfect weather for an art opening. if only you could appreciate it.

you lean back against the wall, fishing your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. they're crumpled up but still intact, thanks to the tin foil wrapper you put around them before heading over here. you've been trying to quit lately, but old habits die hard.

besides, you figure you deserve this one.

you light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching as it curls and dissipates into the air. it tastes terrible—like ash and chemicals and bitter regret—but it calms your nerves, just a little bit.

and then the door swings open again.

at first, you think it's security. some guy ready to kick you out for loitering in the wrong place. but then you see her, stumbling out the back entrance of the gallery, looking flustered and annoyed. she's wearing an expensive-looking gown with a slit up one side, showing off her long legs, and heels so tall you'd trip over them yourself if you tried to walk in them. her hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, but her expression says she wants to be anywhere else.

you stare, transfixed. she’s all contrast. elegance and frustration. poise and unrest. a picture-perfect masterpiece comes to life.

"do you have another?" she asks, motioning to your cigarette.

her voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you arch an eyebrow. she looks too perfect, too put together, to be standing here asking you for a cigarette. "you smoke?"

a pause. then, "no. never actually."

you laugh to yourself, not in a mean way, more like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't actually happening. "so why'd you ask me for one?"

"because i want to try," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "i want to try something new."

she’s so fucking out of place here. all that polish, all that perfection—it makes her look like a mirage, something that can't possibly be real. her hair’s perfect, her makeup looks like it was painted on by a master, and that damn dress? it’s made for a runway, not this alley. she’s like someone dropped a fantasy into a real, gritty world, and for some reason she ended up here.

her eyes don’t leave yours as she waits—most likely for you to respond, to offer the cigarette she asked for, to say something, anything—but you stay silent because your mind is working faster than your body right now, and you need a moment to catch up.

“you wouldn’t like it,” you finally say, once the gears have started turning again, your words sounding much steadier than you feel.

her eyebrow furrowed, her lips turning down just slightly at the corners. not quite a frown, not yet, but a near thing. you've never wanted to capture an expression on canvas as much as you do right now, her face in all its beauty and annoyance.

"why not?" she asks, sounding indignant, almost insulted. "do you not trust my judgment? my tastes?"

she seems to be talking herself into it, the challenge sparking something behind her gaze. and though her posture doesn't change, you can practically feel the determination radiating off her.

you laugh. "you're missing out on the exhibit, you know."

"i could say the same to you," she counters. "why are you out here?"

you could give her a simple answer, something about needing a break, needing air, needing to get away from the suffocating crowd of people who actually have something to show for themselves. but none of that would be the truth, so you simply shrug and say—

"—wasn't really feeling the whole art world pretentiousness thing."

"strange place to be if you're not a fan."

"my friend dragged me." you admit, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of your shoe.

she cocks her head to the side, eyes flicking down to the now extinguished butt before looking back up. it's her turn to stare at you. to take in your appearance—the plain button-up, dark dress slacks, and polished black leather shoes. if not for the tattoos peeking out from your sleeves and collar, you'd just look like another patron, dressed to impress and blend into the crowd.

"are you an artist as well?"

you smile at the question, "used to be."

her gaze softens, "used to be?"

"haven't painted in a while."

the pout is back, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stares at you, clearly processing this information, taking in your words and decoding them, working through their implications and how they fit into the context. she settles with, "well, do you plan to ever again?"

it's a simple question. one you should have a simple answer to, but life isn't simple. and art, well, art's a fucking mess. your shoulders rise before dropping.

"why not?" her eyes narrow. "have you given up?"

"not giving up." you tell her. "just stuck."

her lips press together like she doesn’t quite believe you. like she’s debating whether to push, whether to pry, whether you’re just making excuses.

"stuck how?" she asks, arms crossing over her chest.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like knowing things,” she says easily. “and i like understanding people. you intrigue me.”

it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. but those words—you intrigue me—they lodge themselves somewhere deep, twisting and turning like a key fitting into a lock you didn’t realize was waiting to be opened.

you glance down, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the pavement, considering how to answer. the truth is ugly. the truth is that you used to paint like your life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. it was your lifeline, your voice, your way of making sense of things when nothing else made sense.

and then, one day, it just—stopped. the inspiration, the fire, the need—all of it dried up, like a well you kept going back to, only to find it emptier each time.

"you ever look at something so much you forget what made it beautiful in the first place?" you ask instead.

she doesn’t answer right away; she just watches you, eyes flickering over your face. trying to read you is like a puzzle box. or a book. you wonder what kind of story she thinks she finds on your face. what she sees, besides the tired bags under your eyes and the slight tremble in your hands.

when she speaks, her voice is quiet. low. it carries across the distance between you and hits you right where it counts.

"i think everything can be beautiful again. if you look at it the right way."

"yeah?" you say, a little more bitter than you mean to. "that easy, huh?"

her lips quirk, not quite a smile, but close. "i didn’t say it was easy. i just think… maybe beauty isn’t lost. maybe it’s just waiting to be found again."

you swallow, forcing yourself to scoff lightly, to shake your head. "you always this philosophical, or is that just the champagne talking?"

she laughs, soft but real. "i haven’t had a single sip tonight."

"then what are you doing out here?"

"i needed fresh air."

your fingers twitch. she speaks again.

"and maybe you just need a new muse."

you wonder if she even realizes what she’s saying. if she knows that, somehow, without even trying, she’s already painting herself into every blank canvas in your mind.

the night unravels like a half-finished painting—smudged, chaotic, too many colors bleeding into each other. you don’t remember who kissed whom first, only that one second she was looking at you like she saw something worth figuring out, and the next, your hands were on her waist, and she was breathing against your lips.

it’s desperate. messy. her dress pools on the floor of your too-small apartment, and her skin feels like something you’re not supposed to touch but can’t help but reach for anyway. you don’t ask her name. she doesn’t ask for yours. it’s better that way.

and then, when morning comes, she’s gone. no note, no number, nothing. you don't have to guess if it was real or not because the memories are too vivid, too sharp, for it to be anything but. you lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over in your head.

the way she looked. the way she tasted. the way she felt.

your hands are itching, craving the feeling of your brush in your hand.

it’s not a choice. not really.

your body moves before your mind can catch up, reaching for the brushes, the paints, and the canvas that’s been gathering dust in the corner. the moment the bristles touch the surface, it’s like something clicks back into place—like an old wound finally scabbing over.

she appears in fragments first. the curve of her jaw. the slope of her neck. the way her lips parted like she was about to say something, only to change her mind. it’s obsessive, almost. you don’t even think about what you’re doing, only that you have to do it. the need rushes through you like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

you don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the act of pulling her from memory onto canvas. hours, maybe.

that’s how yunjin finds you.

she kicks the door shut behind her, dropping a bag onto the counter like she’s another name on your lease. "you alive?" she asks, but then she sees you—sees the paint on your hands, your clothes, your face. sees the finished piece propped up in front of you.

and she stops short.

"oh."

her tone is surprised, breathless, then she laughs, loud and disbelieving.

"oh my god," she says, eyes wide with something between amusement and shock. "why the hell did you paint the princess?"

you blink, exhausted. “what?”

she gestures to the painting like it should be obvious. “why did you paint the princess?”

your stomach drops. “the what?”

she stares at you. “you’re joking.”

“i—” you look at the painting. at her.

your pulse thuds in your ears.

“yunjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

it’s a joke. it has to be.

you wait for yunjin to laugh, to tell you she’s messing with you, but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, then back at the painting, then back at you again like you’re the dumbest person alive.

“you seriously didn’t know?”

your mouth is dry. you shake your head. yunjin lets out a sharp breath.

"oh my god. you—you slept with the princess, and you didn’t even know?” the words hit you like a punch. you stare at the painting—at her—but it doesn’t make sense.

princesses don’t sneak out of fancy events. princesses don't try to bum cigarettes off strangers in alleyways. princesses don’t have one-night stands with random depressed artists they meet in the back of art galleries.

you swallow hard, rubbing a hand down your face. “fuck.”

“yeah,” yunjin says, crossing her arms. “fuck.”

you stare at her, then at the painting, and then back at her. the gears turn in your head, trying to connect the dots, trying to fit this new information into the picture. "are you sure?" you ask, even though you know she wouldn't lie about this. "like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"of course i'm fucking positive!" she throws her hands up. "do you not pay attention to the news at all?"

your mind whirls with the new information.

it’s not that she was just some stranger slipping out before sunrise. she's a princess. a whole gorgeous untouchable, have you said untouchable? — princess.

and now she’s everywhere. on the news, in magazines, her face staring back at you from glowing screens and glossy pages. every headline, every camera flash, every fucking update on her. princess karina seen leaving in the royal car. princess karina attending an art gala. princess karina, princess karina, princess karina.

you try to forget. you try to be normal again—whatever that means. you go back to ignoring your canvases, sitting on the couch, flipping through channels you don’t really watch. you even let yunjin drag you out a few times, shove drinks in your hand, and tell you to move on already. but it doesn’t work.

because she’s still in your head.

so you chase.

not in the obvious way. not in the stupid, reckless, get-yourself-arrested-for-trying-to-climb-the-palace-gates way.

you chase in the quiet ways. the ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. the ways that make yunjin groan and say, “you are literally the most tragic idiot i’ve ever met. but i'll help you anyway."

and that's how you find yourself here. in a palace that is stupidly big.

like, what do you even do with this much space? big. it’s all gold and chandeliers and marble floors and suits of armor standing around, looking vaguely threatening. it makes your skin itch.

you don’t belong here. you know that. but neither did she, that night outside the gallery. and if she could slip out of this world for one night, maybe—just maybe—you can slip in.

yunjin had connections. she always did. you didn’t ask questions when she got you in, just pulled the sleeves of your borrowed suit down and tried not to look like you wanted to throw up.

you have a plan. it doesn't go smoothly.

"i'm sorry, miss. only those on the guest list may enter."

"oh, i—" you scramble to find an excuse. any excuse. "i am on the guest list."

the guard doesn't move. he doesn't even blink.

"what's your name?"

"uh—" your mind blanks. "it's a very long name. very, very long. with a lot of letters. like, a lot of them. you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

the guard doesn’t look amused. or convinced.

"try me."

you throw out the first thing that comes to mind. "it’s, uh… y/n… the first… y/ln… the third."

silence.

then yunjin, from beside you, coughs so hard you think she might pass out. you nudge her with your elbow, but she’s already turning away, shoulders shaking.

the guard, however, does not laugh. he just stares at you like you’re the dumbest person to ever breathe.

"that’s not a real name."

"it could be," you argue weakly.

he crosses his arms. "it isn’t."

you exhale through your nose, willing yourself not to turn and run. not yet. not when you’re this close.

yunjin, finally recovering, clears her throat and steps in. "okay, okay, my idiot friend here—who, i assure you, is actually very harmless—just has a little bit of trouble with names. what they meant to say is that they’re a guest of lady yu."

the guard squints at you both, skeptical. "lady yu?"

"yes," yunjin says smoothly. "you know, lady yu. very high society. loves art. huge fan of… uh, brush strokes."

you resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

the guard exhales, clearly debating whether dealing with the two of you is worth his time. eventually, he lifts a radio to his mouth, murmuring something you can’t hear. a beat later, he nods.

"you’re clear to enter."

you don’t ask how yunjin pulled that off; just grab her hand and pull her inside before the guy can change his mind.

and then you’re in.

the palace is even more ridiculous further inside. every inch screams money. gilded ceilings, more enormous chandeliers, even shinier marble floors that make you extra aware of how not rich you are.

you scan the room, searching, heart pounding in your throat. and then—

there.

at the far end of the ballroom, half-surrounded by nobles and dignitaries and all the kinds of people who actually belong here, she stands. regal. poised. effortlessly untouchable.

princess karina.

and she’s looking right at you.

you swallow. she arches an eyebrow. her expression shifts, then she's up and moving. in your direction. then, without a word, her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but not rough, and she turns, pulling you with her.

you barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re weaving through the gilded halls, past guards who barely spare you a glance, past murmuring guests too distracted by their own conversations to notice the princess slipping away with some stranger in a borrowed suit.

she doesn’t stop until you’re deep in the palace, past the public rooms, past the private suites, past everything anyone else has a right to see. only then does she let go.

you swallow hard, rubbing at your wrist. "subtle."

she ignores you, crossing her arms. "what the hell are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here."

your throat feels dry. "i know."

"then why are you?"

you lick your lips, suddenly 1000x more nervous than you were standing outside the palace gates. "i—" you inhale sharply. "i tried to forget you. and i couldn’t."

"that’s unfortunate."

your chest tightens. "is it?"

she exhales softly through her nose. "what do you want, really?"

and it hits you, all at once, all over again. why you’re here. why you had to come.

you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. your eyes never leave hers. "do you know what it means to be a muse?"

that throws her. a small crease forms between her brows. "i—"

"it means you exist everywhere," you cut in before she can finish. "even when i try to ignore it. even when i don’t want to think about you. you show up in every color, in every stroke of my brush, in every painting i try to create. you are impossible to forget."

her mouth opens and closes. "that doesn’t—you can't—"

"it means you stole something from me," you continue, your voice growing softer as you close the last bit of distance between you. "something i didn’t even realize i was missing until you came into my life and showed me what it meant to feel alive again. you're my muse."

her breath catches at that, lips parting just slightly, as if to speak, but no words come out. you take advantage of the moment, reaching up to cup her face in your hands, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. she leans into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, eyes falling shut for a moment. and then they open again, dark and intense and so, so beautiful.

she searches your face as her hand reaches up to rest against yours. you want to kiss her, want to tell her you want her in the simplest terms, in a way that even a princess can understand. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against hers, and ask, "do you feel the same? was it real, what i felt between us?"

you barely whisper the question out loud, barely hearing her inhale as she closes the space between you. her lips brush against yours, featherlight but enough to make your stomach flip. “i can't be that for you,” she says against your mouth.

and your heart breaks. you know you were just a one-time thing, just a quick fling for her. it's the whole princess thing. you knew it would be complicated, but you couldn't stop thinking about her, and she's looking at you with such an intense look, a look that says she can't forget you either, and that has to be worth something, right?

you don't realize you said all of it out loud until she pulls away, blinking rapidly. "wait, no—that's not—that's not what i meant," she stammers, suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable than you've ever seen her. "that night at the gallery, with you, was real. that was—it was the only time i've ever felt that way."

"but," like always

her gaze softens. "we can't. you can't just come in here like this."

she says the last bit as if you've done something wrong, and her hands pull back to her sides. you don't have it in you to care about her rules anymore. her hands fall to her sides, but you stay still, your forehead hovering near hers, your breath mixing.

"i don't care about protocol," you whisper. "i care about you."

"stop," she says, softer than before. "you can't just say things like that and expect me to—"

"expect you to what?" your voice rises, sharp edges showing. "feel the same? you already do. you’re just scared. and i get it. i do. but don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything."

"i'm not pretending," she snaps, taking a step back, composure cracking. "i haven't stopped thinking about you either, okay? but that doesn’t change the fact that this—us—it’s impossible."

"why? because you wear a crown and i wear paint under my nails?"

"because my life isn’t mine!" she yells. "because everything i do is watched and calculated and twisted into something ugly. if they knew you were here—if they saw us like this—"

"then let them see," you say, helpless and stupid and in love. "i'll stand in front of every one of them and say it. i'll tell them how i look at you like the sun rises in your mouth and sets in your goddamn spine. i don't care."

"well, i care!" she shouts, her voice shaking now, full of fire and something just comparable to fear. "i can't afford to want things. not like you do. not recklessly. i don't get to choose who i love."

it's quiet.

"you need to leave."

you don’t move.

"if you don’t, i'll call the guards."

you flinch, and she notices. her jaw clenches. it takes everything in you not to beg.

“don’t make me do that,” she whispers. “please. just go.”

your throat is tight. you nod once.

you turn, heart heavy, the room blurring at the edges. when you open the door, yunjin is waiting, quiet and still in the corridor, like she knew this was how it’d end.

you don’t say a word as she walks beside you down the long hallway, past the grand ballroom, and out of the palace. she doesn’t push for information or ask about what happened. she just lets you stew in your thoughts, and you are grateful. when you get back to your apartment, you collapse onto the bed. you don’t cry—you never really did, even in high school, and now doesn't seem like a good time to start—but you come pretty fucking close.

you lie there for hours. maybe days. hard to tell. just you, your ceiling, and the hollow space behind your ribs where your heart used to sit before she carved it out with a single sentence and left like it didn’t matter.

you tell yourself it was stupid to fall for her. she’s a fucking princess. what were you expecting? that she’d run off with you into the sunset like a fairy tale? that she’d burn her whole world down just to be with someone who wears the same hoodie four days in a row and forgets to buy groceries until you’re eating plain rice and mustard?

but it still hurts.

the gallery night is yunjin’s idea. she throws a flyer at your chest and tells you to “get a grip and make rent.” you roll your eyes, but deep down you know she’s right. you need something to do with your hands, something to keep you from climbing the palace walls like some deranged romantic with a death wish.

you don’t expect anyone to show up, but people come. some friends. some strangers. a few art freaks who talk way too much about your “use of longing and space.” you just nod along, pretending you're three seconds away from yelling in their face.

everything is her. every painting. every messy, unblended brushstroke. every fucking streak of white paint on the canvas because she wore that blue dress when you first met, and now it’s like your brain can’t forget.

the last person leaves, some guy who said a lot of things you didn't understand, and you don't really remember the specifics of it, but you're pretty sure you shook hands, and maybe he wrote down your name and contact info? you don't remember. but there are no more guests. so you’re cleaning up. closing things. mentally debating whether or not you can drink paint thinner and survive.

the door creaks open behind you, and you don’t even look.

“sorry,” you call over your shoulder, wiping your hands on a rag. “we’re closed. private event's over.”

no response. just the sound of the door shutting. then —

“are you always this rude to royalty?”

you freeze.

slowly, slowly, you turn around. and she's standing there, in a white coat with her arms folded against her chest. there are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping either. it takes everything in you not to run to her. not to kiss her until she forgets all the reasons why she ran the first time. you settle for swallowing hard and clearing your throat.

“you could’ve just knocked."

“i did." she lifts her hand. “twice. and then i panicked and came in anyway.”

you stare. she fidgets.

she looks down at her shoes. looks back up again. looks back down again. like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she's here. finally, she takes a step forward. you take a step back. it's reflex at this point, some instinct to keep her from getting too close.

"i came to apologize," she starts, sounding unsure, which isn't like her at all. "for—everything."

karina runs a hand through her hair. your throat goes tight at the familiarity of the action, at how much she reminds you of that night, that stupid dress, and the way she kissed you, indicating that she didn’t care what came next.

you exhale.

"don’t apologize," you say, because the words feel heavy and foreign in your mouth, because she's been living a life you can't even begin to imagine, because none of that matters if she's here, looking at you like this, and you have to believe in something. "you didn't do anything wrong. and if anyone needs to apologize, it should be me. i shouldn't have—"

"you were right," she cuts in before you can finish.

it throws you. "what?"

she swallows hard, glancing down at the floor, at your shoes. then back up again, holding your gaze this time. "i don't know much about art, but i know what you meant…for someone to be your muse." her voice drops low. "and i think you're mine."

you blink. "oh."

a pause. her cheeks flush, eyes widening in panic.

"was that—did that make sense? i probably sound like a—"

"yeah."

you nod, trying not to smile as you watch her rambling, trying not to stare too obviously at how her whole face is blushing now.

you want to tell her everything. to show her everything.

you settle for, "i mean, it does make sense."

it does. it doesn’t. none of this does, not in a normal way. it's the kind of thing you tell your grandkids about someday. or maybe a therapist, if you can ever afford one. either way, it makes something flicker deep within your chest.

you pause.

"so what do you mean, exactly?"

her lips purse. her eyes are pleading now. she looks younger. more human. not so much a princess anymore as she does someone trying to figure out how to tell the world to screw off. you're struck, again, with how much you love her. it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

"i want this," she says quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "i want this so much it scares me."

you're not used to this, to feeling seen by someone who isn't yunjin, and it throws you off. you clear your throat again, shifting from one foot to the other. "i want this too."

a pause. you try not to stare too openly at her lips. you fail miserably.

"we'll figure it out," she says softly. "together. whatever that looks like."

"together."

the word hangs between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. and then—

you don’t even realize what's happening until she's already moving forward, pulling you down to her level. you can smell her perfume. you can see every single detail of her face as she stares back at you. your lips are a breath apart. she hesitates.

"tell me you don't want this," she murmurs. "and i'll go."

your chest constricts, throat tight. you want to tell her it'll never be easy, not when you're you, and not when she's her, not when this could be so much more complicated than either of you are prepared for. but you also want this, want her, want to know what her skin feels like against your palms and whether or not the words i love you sound good when spoken aloud. you swallow hard, hands tightening on her hips.

"i can't," you whisper. "i don't think i've ever wanted anything more."

a smile flickers over her face. it's gone too quickly. "good."

her lips are on yours, soft and gentle, and everything in your life shifts back into focus, into place.

there are things you can't explain. the way she feels pressed against your chest, warm and perfect and yours, for now at least. the way your hands shake when you brush your thumb over the curve of her cheek. the way she tastes like starlight.

and there are things you don't have to.

[mineganoe]

Loved Or Loving (part 1)

tripleS Shion (ft. Chaeyeon) x male reader

part 1

tags: drama, reverse cowgirl, squirt, missionary, kissing, neck kiss, condom, bareback.

words: 7.8k+

please read the aftermath and Chaeyeon's back story on bonus part here: Loved Or Loving (bonus part 1)

The sunset was fading, painting the sky orange at the end of the street. You and Shion walked side by side after school, as usual. She was talking about a romance novel she’d just read, her voice soft with her signature light giggle.

When you reached her house—a simple home with a small flower garden in the yard—Shion stopped and turned to you, her hair slightly tousled by the breeze.

“Wanna come in for a bit?” she asked, her eyes hopeful, a faint smile on her innocent face. There was a gentle tone in her voice, like she really wanted you to stay longer.

You shook your head gently, feeling a bit guilty. “Not today. I need to hit the supermarket. My little sister asked me to grab some snacks, and she’ll sulk all day if I don’t hurry,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Shion nodded, but her eyes couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Oh, okay… Be careful, then. See you tomorrow?” She bit her lower lip slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her uniform skirt.

“Yeah, see you,” you replied with a small smile, then turned to leave. As you walked away, you glanced back and saw Shion still standing by the door, watching you with an unreadable expression before she finally went inside.

At the supermarket, fluorescent lights lit up the aisles packed with shelves. You pushed a small cart, searching for your sister’s favorite snack—cheese-flavored potato chips that always disappeared in a day.

But as you passed the snack aisle, your eyes drifted to a staircase leading upstairs. There, a section was marked “Adults Only,” partially hidden by a sheer curtain. Curiosity crept in.

What was up there? Magazines? Weird products? You’d never gone up, but your imagination started running wild.

As you glanced upward, a familiar silhouette caught your eye. Someone was moving slowly between the shelves, their movements graceful yet confident.

Long hair tied back loosely, straight shoulders—and wait—was that Chaeyeon? Your heart skipped a beat. Chaeyeon-sunbae, the senior who always made you nervous, was in the adults-only section? She was holding something—maybe a bottle or a package—and casually placed it in her basket, as if it was no big deal.

You froze, half wanting to hide, half dying to know what she was buying. Your mind raced with questions: What was Chaeyeon doing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be her you ran into at a moment like this?

You tried to distract yourself from the image of Chaeyeon’s silhouette in there. Pushing your small cart, you focused on picking out snacks for your famil, potato chips for your sister, chocolate biscuits for your mom, and your dad’s favorite candies.

But Chaeyeon’s at upstairs kept creeping into your mind, making you wonder what she was buying. You shook your head, trying to brush off the nagging curiosity.

Done shopping, you headed to the checkout. The line was short, just one or two people ahead. As you started unloading your cart, a surprised voice broke your focus. “Hey, you?!”

You turned, and your heart skipped a beat. Chaeyeon stood in the next line, clutching her shopping basket tightly to her chest. Her slightly damp hair was tied back loosely, and for the first time, she looked… nervous.

Her face flushed, her eyes wide, clearly not expecting to see you here. “Chaeyeon-sunbae?” you replied, just as shocked.

She quickly looked down, shifting her basket to hide its contents, but the movement only piqued your curiosity. You caught a glimpse of what was inside, a bottle of vanilla-scented lotion, a box with a clear image of a dildo—similar to one you’d secretly seen in an online ad, and a small package that looked like a buttplug.

Your brain froze, trying to process what you’d just seen, "You… you’re buying that, sunbae?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, your voice low but filled with shock. Your face burned as you realized how bold the question was.

Chaeyeon stiffened, her face turning even redder. “N-no, it’s… it’s for my older sister!” she stammered, her voice shaky and her eyes avoiding yours. Her hesitant tone and panicked expression made the lie painfully obvious.

She bit her lower lip, then stepped closer, lowering her voice and admited. “Ye-yes... i'm buying these. Don’t tell anyone, okay?"

.

The sunset had given way to darkness, lit only by flickering streetlights along the sidewalk. You left the supermarket, carrying a plastic bag filled with snacks for your family.

Beside you, Chaeyeon walked a little faster than usual, gripping her shopping bag tightly to her chest as if hiding something. Her face still held a hint of the awkwardness from the checkout, but she tried to act casual, occasionally glancing at you.

You walk side by side with her together, her place is in the same direction, your steps in sync on the quiet sidewalk. At first, the only sounds were the rustle of plastic bags and the tap of your shoes.

You stole a glance at Chaeyeon—her loosely tied hair, her straight shoulders, and the bag she hugged like a guarded secret. Your mind flashed back to her basket’s goods. You quickly looked away, your face heating up.

“So… you and Shion, how long has it been?” Chaeyeon asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was casual, but there was a faint curiosity in her eyes.

“Uh, about a month or so,” you answered, slightly stumbling over your words. “We’re… you know, normal. We hang out at school, and I sometimes walk her home.”

Chaeyeon nodded, a small smile forming. “Shion’s sweet. She seems really genuine with you.” She paused, then added, “But… you like her, right? Like, really like her?”

Her question hit you like a small jab. You looked down at your shoes. “I… I do. Shion’s kind, caring, and… she makes me feel comfortable. But for some reason, it feels like something’s missing. Like I’m not completely sure.”

The words spilled out, more honest than you’d planned. Maybe it was Chaeyeon’s confident yet warm presence that made you feel safe enough to open up.

She glanced at you, her eyebrow slightly raised. “Huh, really?” she murmured, her voice soft but with an unreadable tone. “Honestly, I thought you’d be more… certain about your feelings.” She gave a small laugh, but there was something in her eyes—like she was weighing something.

You smiled wryly, feeling a bit called out but also curious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, still clutching her bag tightly. “Nothing, just… sometimes we think we like someone because they’re nice, but our heart’s actually looking for something else. I’ve been there.” She paused, then added more quietly, “That’s why I’m saying, take care of Shion. Don’t hurt her just because you’re confused.”

Her words hung in the air, leaving you silent. You kept walking, but your mind was now filled with images of Shion—her innocent face, her genuine smile—and Chaeyeon, walking beside you with her secretive bag and words that somehow felt like a mirror to your own feelings.

When you reached the intersection where your paths split, Chaeyeon waved with a small smile. “Be careful on your way home. And… remember, don’t tell anyone about earlier,” she said, half-joking but with a serious look in her eyes.

You nodded, but as she turned away, you couldn’t help staring at her a little longer. Her shopping bag, her nervous demeanor, and your conversation left you with a confusing mix of feelings—guilt toward Shion, a growing attraction to Chaeyeon, and uncertainty about what you truly wanted.

note: bonus scene (chaeyeon solo play) at the end

=======================

Tomorrow.

The midday sun streamed through the school cafeteria windows, illuminating the table where you and Shion sat during break. Shion was across from you, holding a lunchbox filled with rice and homemade rolled eggs.

She beamed, her eyes sparkling as always, excitedly talking about the book club she’d just joined.

“I was thinking we could read a novel together, like that couple in the movie, you know?” she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her uniform.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Sounds fun,” you said. But even with Shion right in front of you—her genuine kindness and innocent face that always put people at ease—your mind wasn’t fully there.

Since morning, Chaeyeon’s image had haunted you like a persistent fog. The supermarket encounter last night—her shopping basket, the vanilla lotion, the dildo, the buttplug kept replaying in your head, growing vivid as the day went on.

When Shion offered you a piece of rolled egg with her chopsticks, saying, “Try this, I made it myself!” you took a bite, nodding as you commented, “It’s really good, Shion.”

But in your mind, you saw Chaeyeon. You imagined her in her room, alone, with dim lighting and drawn curtains. You pictured the lotion coating her new toys, her graceful hands guiding the dildo with confident movements, her breath hitching, her toned body moving in an intimate rhythm. The image was so vivid, so real, that your face grew hot and your heart raced.

“Are you okay? Your face is red,” Shion asked suddenly, her brows furrowing with concern. She leaned toward you, her hand nearly touching yours on the table. “You’re not sick, are you?”

You quickly shook your head, forcing an awkward smile. “No, I’m just… a bit hot, I guess,” you lied, fanning your face to hide the guilt. Shion nodded, but her eyes lingered on you with curiosity, as if she sensed you were hiding something.

“Wanna come to the library later? I want to borrow a new book,” she asked, her voice soft but hopeful.

You nodded automatically, “Yeah, sure,” but your heart felt heavy.

Shion was right there, offering genuine care and warmth, yet your thoughts kept spiraling leaving you questioning: Could you truly stay loyal to Shion, or would your mind keep getting lost in the wild allure of your senior?

.

That afternoon, the sky glowed a soft orange as you and Shion walked to the school library. Shion led the way, her bag gently swaying on her shoulder, her long hair occasionally fluttering in the breeze.

Inside the library, she eagerly searched for the romance novel she’d mentioned at lunch, her fingers tracing the bookshelves with excitement. “Found it!” she exclaimed, proudly showing off a book with a pastel cover.

You smiled and nodded, but your mind was only half-present. The vivid images of Chaeyeon from earlier—wild fantasies about her new toys—lingered, making it hard to focus on Shion’s cheerful presence.

After borrowing the book, Shion suggested stopping by the same supermarket from yesterday. “I need to grab something for dinner. Come with me to supermarket, okay?” she said, her eyes full of hope.

Your way to supermarket not something you thinks about, Shion just blabbering about anything, what she like, what sports she's into about. But your mind still flew back to Chaeyeon, your imagination making Shion's not there with you.

The bright fluorescent lights and crowded aisles felt like déjà vu. While Shion busied herself picking vegetables in the produce section, your gaze kept drifting to the staircase leading upstairs—the adults-only aisle with its sheer curtain.

Your face grew hot, and you quickly looked back at Shion, who was now holding a bunch of spinach with a puzzled expression.

“This one or that one?” she asked, pointing at two bundles of greens. You pointed randomly, “That one,” trying to hide your nervousness.

At the checkout, Shion suddenly grabbed two ice cream sticks from the cooler. “My treat!” she said with a wide smile, handing you one.

You both decided to eat on the supermarket’s terrace, sitting on a small wooden bench facing the street. The evening breeze felt cool, and Shion chatted about her plans to start reading her new book tonight.

The chocolate ice cream in your hand began to melt, and you licked it while trying to focus on her words. But your mind wandered back to Chaeyeon—now with sharper details: her sweaty skin, her fingers guiding the toy in a seductive rhythm, her eyes possibly closed in pleasure. The image was so vivid that you barely noticed the ice cream dripping onto your chin.

“You’re making a mess,” Shion giggled softly. Before you could react, she pulled a tissue from her bag and carefully wiped your mouth.

Her fingers nearly brushed your skin, and her eyes met yours with genuine warmth. “What’s got you so distracted today? Your face is red again,” she teased, though there was a hint of worry in her voice.

You stammered, “Uh, nothing, just… thinking about homework,” lying as your face grew hotter. Shion nodded, but her expression suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced.

She went back to licking her ice cream, her hair falling to the side of her face, and for a moment, you were touched by her innocence, by the way she cared for you without expecting anything in return.

The touch of Shion’s tissue felt like a reminder: she was your girlfriend, the one who chose you. But the image of Chaeyeon, with her new toys and your increasingly uncontrollable fantasies, made you question: How could you balance this comfort with the burning desire in your mind? And more importantly, could you truly stay loyal to Shion, or would Chaeyeon remain an irresistible temptation you couldn’t shake?

.

The evening was creeping toward night, the sky outside Shion’s house a gradient of purple and orange. You walked side by side after leaving the supermarket, the sweetness of the ice cream still lingering on your tongue.

Shion chatted lightly about the novel she’d just borrowed, but you only responded with occasional hums. You tried to focus on Shion, but every time she smiled or accidentally brushed your hand, guilt pressed harder against your chest.

At her doorstep, Shion stopped and turned to you. “Come in for a bit,” she said, her voice soft but hopeful. Her eyes gazed at you with care, and she added, “You’ve been spacing out all day. I’ll make you some warm tea to help you relax.”

You shook your head, trying to decline politely. “No need, Shion. I should head home, it’s getting late.”

But Shion wasn’t giving up. She pouted slightly, her playful sulk always managing to weaken your resolve. “Come on, just for a bit. You look tired. My tea’s really good, I promise!” Her earnest tone was so sincere that before you could refuse again, she gently tugged your hand toward the door.

Inside, the warm aroma of cooking greeted you. Shion’s mother, a friendly woman in a floral apron, was busy in the kitchen.

“Oh, this is Shion’s boyfriend, right?” she said with a wide smile, making your face flush. Shion quickly cut in, “Mom, don’t embarrass him!”

She pulled you past the living room, straight to her room at the end of the hallway. “Wait here. I’ll make the tea. If we stay in the living room, Mom will keep asking questions,” she said with a giggle, leaving you alone in her room.

Shion’s room was small but cozy, with cream-colored walls and a bookshelf packed with romance novels. Her bed was covered with a pastel blanket, a small bunny plushie resting on the pillow. The faint scent of her sweet, floral perfume filled the air.

You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm yourself, but your thoughts drifted back to Chaeyeon. The image was so vivid—that you barely heard Shion’s footsteps returning.

“Here’s the tea,” she said, entering with a small tray holding two steaming cups. The jasmine-scented steam rose, calming the air.

She sat beside you, close enough that her knee nearly touched yours. “You’re really okay, right? You’ve been acting like something’s on your mind,” she asked, her brows furrowing with concern. She blew gently on her tea, watching you with attentive eyes.

You sipped the tea, trying to mask your nervousness. “Yeah, just… tired, maybe,” you lied again, but your voice lacked conviction. Shion nodded, but her gaze lingered, as if trying to read what you were hiding.

She set her cup down and gently took your hand. “If something’s up, you can tell me, you know. I’m your girlfriend,” she said, offering a small smile, though there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

Her touch was warm, genuine, and for a moment, guilt washed over you as your mind remained consumed by Chaeyeon—her wild body, the toys that now felt like a secret you shared with her. Shion was right there, giving you everything with an open heart, but your imagination kept pulling you elsewhere, to someone who wasn’t even yours.

Shion set her teacup on the small bedside table, her hands now clasped in her lap. She took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. “You’re… really okay, right?” she asked again, her voice softer than before. “All day, it’s felt like you’re not fully here. Where’s your mind at?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat. Shion’s expression—her slightly furrowed brows, her pursed lips—made guilt weigh heavier on you. “I’m… just tired,” you lied, but your voice was weak, and you knew she wouldn’t buy it this time.

She looked down for a moment, her fingers twisting the hem of her uniform. Then, with a voice that trembled slightly, she said, “I know I’m probably not your type. I’m not… as pretty or as cool as other. But I’m serious about you. I just want to know… do you really like me? Or… are you only with me because you feel bad saying no back when i confessed to you?”

Her question cut like a knife, sharp and piercing the core of your confusion. You knew Shion deserved honesty, but the truth felt too tangled. “Shion, I… I do like you,” you said finally, your voice soft, but a hint of doubt lingered that you couldn’t hide. “You’re kind, genuine, and I’m happy with you. It’s just… I’m confused about my own feelings.”

Shion looked at you, her eyes glistening, but she forced a smile. “Confused how? Are you… not sure about continuing this?” She gestured between the two of you, her hand trembling slightly. “I don’t want to be a burden, you know. If you’re not all in, I’d… I’d rather we end it than you stay out of pity.”

Her words stung, tightening your chest. You saw the softness in her face, her hands now gripping the edge of the blanket, and for a moment, you wanted to hug her, to reassure her everything was fine. Guilt mixed with uncontrollable desire, and you fell silent, unsure how to respond.

“I just want you to be honest,” Shion added, her voice barely a whisper. “Whatever it is, I’ll accept it. But I don’t want us to pretend.”

She looked at you, waiting, and in that moment, her small room felt like a confessional, a place where you had to choose: Shion’s genuine warmth or the burning temptation of Chaeyeon that consumed your thoughts.

You took a deep breath, set the cup on the small table, and finally said, “Shion, I… I need to be honest. All day, my mind hasn’t just been on you. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about Chaeyeon-sunbae.”

The words came out with effort, each syllable lifting a weight from your chest. “It’s not that I don’t like you. You’re amazing, truly. But… I’m confused. I don’t know why she keeps filling my head.”

Shion went quiet for a moment, her eyes widening slightly, but there was no anger on her face. She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the blanket’s edge, then nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but steady. “Thank you for being honest with me.” You were stunned, expecting anger or tears, but Shion gave a small smile, though a hint of pain lingered in her eyes. “I know that wasn’t easy to say. I just want you to be happy, even if… maybe it’s not with me.”

Her words hit like a gentle blow, tightening your chest with a mix of guilt and admiration. Shion sighed, then, in a move you didn’t expect, she slipped off her uniform blazer. Her white dress shirt clung slightly to her body, highlighting her slender, graceful curves.

Her hair, previously tucked behind her neck, now looked slightly damp with sweat—perhaps from the warm afternoon or the tension of the moment. A few strands stuck to her neck, creating an unintentionally alluring sight—innocent, yet with a subtle charm that made your heartbeat faster.

She turned to you, unaware of the effect of her actions. “I’m not mad, really,” she continued, her voice calmer now. “I just want us both to be honest. If you like Chaeyeon-sunbae more, or if you just need time to think, I won’t force you to stay.”

She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them, and looked at you with an expression full of understanding. “But if you want to try continuing with me, I promise I’ll give you my all.”

You looked at her, your chest tight with guilt and a desire to make things right. Without thinking, you reached for her shoulders, your fingers feeling the warmth of her skin through her thin shirt.

“Shion, I want to stay with you,” you said, your voice firm despite a tremble. “I don’t want to lose you. I mean it.” The words came from deep within, even as Chaeyeon’s image flickered in the corner of your mind.

Shion stared at you, her eyes widening briefly before she closed them, as if absorbing your words. Her breath hitched, and with slow, deliberate movements, her hands moved to her shirt’s buttons. One by one, she undid them, her trembling yet steady fingers revealing her pale, smooth skin and a simple white bra that hugged her slender frame.

“I know my body isn’t like Chaeyeon-sunbae’s,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, but brimming with unexpected courage. “I know I’m not as captivating as her, not curvy enough to turn heads. But… I’ll give you everything I have, if you want it.”

Her words hit like a blow—not because they were self-deprecating, but because of the raw sincerity behind them. She opened her eyes, locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

Her body, though slender and understated, was so real in front of you—her skin faintly glistening with sweat, her damp hair clinging to her neck, her gaze hopeful yet fragile. There was a charm in her, she wasn’t trying to be anyone else; she was offering herself as she was, and it left you speechless.

Your hands still rested on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin, but before you could speak, Shion took the lead. With a determined look, she stepped closer, her body nearly pressed against yours.

“I’m serious about you,” she whispered, her voice soft yet firm. Then, with a bold move, she gently pushed you down until you lay back on her bed. The pastel blanket felt soft against your back, and the sweet scent of Shion’s floral perfume filled the air.

Shion climbed onto the bed, straddling you, her knees on either side of your hips. Her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity you’d never seen before, then she leaned down, her lips meeting yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

Her lips were soft, warm, but there was an urgency in how she kissed, as if she was proving something—to you, or perhaps to herself. Her tongue brushed against yours, hesitant at first but growing more confident with each passing second. Her breath hitched, filling the space between you.

Your hands moved almost instinctively, sliding to her back, finding the clasp of her bra. As the kiss continued, heated and tender, you unhooked it, the white bra slipping away to reveal her small but beautiful breasts.

They fit perfectly in your hands, soft yet firm, her nipples already hardened, betraying her arousal. You touched her gently, your thumb circling her nipple, and Shion let out a soft moan into the kiss, her body trembling slightly.

Suddenly, you wanted to take control. With a swift movement, you sat up, startling Shion slightly. You sat up behind her, pulling her into your embrace from behind.

Her slender body felt warm in your arms, her fully unbuttoned shirt now hanging loosely on her shoulders. Your hands found her breasts again, cupping them gently but firmly, your fingers teasing her sensitive nipples.

Shion tilted her head, offering access to her neck, and you kissed the skin behind her ear, then trailed down to her neck, still slightly damp with sweat. Her scent—a mix of floral perfume and natural sweat—drove you deeper into the moment.

Your lips traced her neck, leaving a path of kisses that drew soft sighs from her, her hands gripping your arms as if seeking an anchor.

“I… I want you to be happy with me,” Shion whispered, her voice hoarse, thick with emotion and desire. Her body pressed back against you, her hips brushing yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating from her. The moment was intense, so real, yet in the corner of your mind, her body now open to you, demanded your full attention.

Suddenly, Shion turned, breaking your embrace. Her eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of desire, love, and a trace of lingering doubt. Her gaze was alluring, her lips slightly parted, her breath ragged.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss deeper than before. Her lips were hot, her tongue dancing with yours, full of urgency and courage that made you forget everything but her.

You stumbled onto the bed, your bodies collapsing onto the pastel blanket, your kiss unbroken, growing wilder, hungrier.

In the midst of the searing kiss, Shion pulled back briefly, her breath heavy in the now-heated air.

“Are you still thinking about Chaeyeon-sunbae, baby?” she asked, her voice husky, thick with emotion. The word “baby” slipped from her lips for the first time, soft yet loaded with meaning, making your heart lurch.

Chaeyeon’s image—the pink dildo, her body moving with passion, the moans you fantasized about—lingered in the corner of your mind, but Shion, with her slender body and open heart before you, demanded your full focus.

“No,” you answered, your voice firm, filled with a sudden conviction. “Right now, I only want you.” Your hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her back into a deeper kiss, your tongue exploring hers with raw desire.

Shion moaned softly into the kiss, her hands moving, tracing your chest, then sliding down to your pants. Her fingers felt the hardness of your straining cock through the fabric, and with a fluid, bold move you hadn’t expected, she unzipped your pants. Her warm hand slipped inside, freeing your throbbing cock, ready for her.

Her first touch made you catch your breath, the sensation of her soft yet firm fingers sending waves of pleasure through your body. Shion glanced at you, her eyes gleaming with a mix of passion and love, then kissed you again, her lips absorbing every moan that escaped your mouth.

You stared at her, still stunned by her courage, her hand so skilled despite this being your first time this intimate. “You’re good at this,” you said, your voice hoarse, half-joking to ease the tension. “Where’d you learn that?”

Shion gave a small smile, her face flushing, but a playful glint sparkled in her eyes. “Hhh… I watch a lot of porn,” she admitted, her voice soft but honest, with a nervous giggle. “You?”

“Same,” you replied, grinning widely, feeling an unexpected new bond between you. Your shared laughter broke the tension, but the passion in the air only grew stronger with each passing second.

Shion bit her lip, then, with a slightly hesitant but eager tone, said, “Wanna… watch some porn together?” Her eyes searched yours for approval, but the boldness in her gaze made it impossible to refuse.

“Sure,” you answered, your voice brimming with enthusiasm, surprised but intrigued by this new side of Shion. She smiled, a bit shy but clearly excited, and got up from the bed, her open shirt revealing her slender curves.

She walked to the desk in the corner, grabbing the tablet she usually used for studying. “When I’m bored of studying, I sometimes watch porn, hehe…” she said, giggling softly as she powered it on, her face red but full of honesty.

“Damn, I had no idea,” you teased, leaning back on the bed, watching her, still in disbelief. “I thought you were a true bookworm, just reading romance novels.”

She glanced back, setting the tablet beside the bed, and returned to your embrace with a mischievous smile. “I’m a bookworm, but… I’m human too, you know,” she said, her voice teasing but with a hint of challenge.

She opened a familiar site, the tablet screen displaying explicit video thumbnails that instantly sent your blood racing. Shion picked one—a passionate scene with a couple, soft moans already emanating from the tablet’s speakers.

You settled back on the bed, Shion leaning against your chest, her hand still on your cock, her movements now slower, as if syncing with the video’s rhythm.

You kissed her neck again, your hand slipping to her breast, teasing her still-hard nipple. The sounds from the video—moans, groans, and the rhythm of bodies moving—blended with your increasingly heavy breaths.

Shion, with her newfound boldness, her skilled touch, and her real, tangible body in your arms, pulled you fully into the moment. “You like this kind of stuff?” Shion whispered, her eyes flicking to the tablet, then to you, full of curiosity and a touch of teasing.

You smiled, kissing her lips briefly. “Love it, especially with you,” you replied, and for the first time, you felt that maybe Shion—with her innocence and this newly discovered wild side—could be more than just comfort, but also the passion you’d been craving.

Shion glanced at the tablet, her eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and boldness. The scene on the screen had shifted to a reverse cowgirl position—the woman on top, facing away from her partner, controlling the rhythm with confident movements.

“I want to try that,” Shion said, her voice husky, filled with desire but tinged with her characteristic nervous giggle. She pointed at the screen, then looked at you, seeking approval.

“Let’s do it,” you replied, grinning widely, your blood boiling with excitement and surprise at Shion’s wild side that kept unfolding. You never imagined the girl you once thought was just a bookworm could be so bold, so open.

Shion rose from the bed, her shirt slipping to the floor, leaving her slender body clad only in her uniform skirt. She walked to a small drawer in the corner wardrobe, pulling out a condom in a foil packet.

“I kept this… I don’t know, felt like I might need it,” she said, giggling softly, her face flushed but brimming with courage.

She returned to the bed, carefully tearing open the packet, she rolled the condom onto your hard cock. The warmth of her fingers made you groan softly, your body reacting intensely to her every touch.

Shion gave you a quick glance, a small smile on her lips, then stood on the bed, unfastening her uniform skirt. It fell to the floor, followed by her already-wet panties, revealing her slightly hairy pussy, glistening with arousal.

The sight made you catch your breath, your desire surging higher. Shion climbed over you, facing away as in the video, her position now aligned with the tablet still playing the heated scene.

With a trembling hand, she guided your cock, its tip brushing against her warm, slick pussy. She took a deep breath, then slowly lowered herself, taking you inside her.

The sensation was incredible—warm, tight, and deeply intimate. Shion let out a soft moan, her head tilting back, her long hair swaying as she began to move.

She followed the video’s rhythm, her hips rising and falling cautiously at first, finding her comfort, then growing more confident. Your hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, her skin soft under your fingers. The moans from the tablet blended with Shion’s gasps, creating a symphony that set the room ablaze.

“You… feel so good,” Shion whispered, her breath ragged, her head turning slightly to meet your gaze, her eyes filled with love and lust. You could see her slender back, the curve of her hips moving.

Suddenly, Shion let out a louder moan, her body trembling. “I… I can’t hold on,” she gasped, her voice hoarse, a mix of innocence and raw desire.

Her hips slowed, her legs seeming to lose strength, and she collapsed back toward you, leaning against your body on the bed. Her warm frame pressed tightly against your chest, her small breasts soft against your skin, her ragged breaths hot near your neck.

Her pussy still gripped your cock, tight and pulsing, making it nearly impossible to restrain yourself.

You took control, your primal desire urging you to move. Your hands grabbed her hips, holding her in place, and you began thrusting from below, driving your cock into her pussy with a steady, forceful rhythm.

Each thrust drew louder moans from Shion, her head tilting back, her hair cascading over your face. “Oh… baby,” she gasped. Her pussy grew slicker, tighter, responding perfectly to your every move.

You quickened your pace, your hips rising and falling with a wilder rhythm, thrusting into her pussy from below. Sweat dripped from your forehead, mingling with Shion’s, slicking your skin.

The video on the tablet showed a similar scene, but what you were experiencing was far more real, far more intense. “Shion…” you groaned, your voice rough, feeling the pleasure building toward its peak.

She turned slightly, her eyes half-closed, brimming with passion and love. “I… I’m close too…” she whispered, and with that, you both surrendered to an unstoppable rhythm, racing toward a climax that was just within reach.

Her body tensing. “I… I can’t hold it anymore!” she cried, her voice raw, brimming with uncontainable pleasure. Her hips shook violently, and with a long, room-filling moan, she squirted, warm liquid soaking your cock, the bed, and your thighs.

She let it all out, her body collapsing back against you, resting on your chest, her breaths coming in heavy gasps. Her pussy still pulsed, slick and hot, making it nearly impossible for you to hold back.

You hadn’t climaxed yet, your desire still blazing. Breathing heavily, you guided her hips, sliding your still-hard cock back into her now-drenched pussy.

Shion moaned softly, her body still sensitive from her orgasm, but she responded by moving her hips again, as if unwilling to let the moment end.

Your climax was nearing, the waves of pleasure building in your body. You wanted more, wanted to feel Shion completely.

With a swift move, you pulled out, making Shion gasp in surprise. “Wait, what—” she started, but before she could finish, you tore off the condom with trembling hands, the foil dropping to the bed.

Without hesitation, you slid your cock back into her pussy, this time bare. The skin-to-skin sensation was like lightning—warm, raw, and so intense it drew a loud groan from you.

Shion moaned too, her head tilting back, her hands gripping your arms. “Oh, God… this is… insane,” she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and ecstasy.

Shion pressed her hips down, meeting your every push, her moans blending with yours, filling the room with a symphony of passion. Sweat coated your skin, Shion’s slender body glistening, her hair sticking to her neck, her small breasts bouncing with the rhythm.

“Baby… I’m… again…” she whispered, signaling another peak, the word “baby” pushing you to the edge.

Shion clawed at your back, her trembling hands leaving faint marks, her moans growing higher with every thrust. Your skin pressed together, sweat soaking you both, her small breasts swaying gently with each push. “You’re… so insane,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, brimming with satisfaction, her eyes locking onto yours with unhidden love.

Your climax was nearing, waves of pleasure building, making you groan loudly. “Shion… I’m…” you started, your voice breaking under the unbearable sensation, your body tensing.

Shion, panting, reacted quickly. “Outside,” she whispered urgently, her arms wrapping around your neck, pulling you closer, her eyes filled with both urgency and tenderness.

With one final thrust, you felt the peak hit. Quickly, you pulled out of her pussy, and with a long, guttural moan, you released everything onto her stomach.

Warm cum splashed across her pale skin, glistening in the room’s dim light. Shion let out a soft moan, her body still trembling from lingering pleasure, her hands gripping your neck tightly as if unwilling to let go.

You both froze for a moment, your breaths ragged, sweat dripping from your forehead onto her chest. The video on the tablet played on, but its sounds felt distant, drowned out by the resonance of your racing heartbeats.

You collapsed beside her, your bodies still touching, skin sticky with sweat and fluids. Shion turned to you, a small smile on her lips, her eyes warm despite her flushed face.

She is giggling softly, her hand gently brushing your cheek. You smiled, pulling her into your embrace, feeling the warmth of her slender body.

The bed was a mess, the pastel blanket askew, and the tablet beside it was finally turned off, its screen now dark after the porn video ended.

Shion rested against your chest, her breathing steadying, her damp hair clinging to your cheek. Her stomach still glistened with the cum you’d left behind, and she gave a small smile, her eyes warm as she looked at you.

“I never thought… we’d end up like this,” she said, giggling softly, her voice gentle with a hint of shyness creeping back.

You smiled, kissing her forehead tenderly. “Me neither, Shion,” you replied, your voice hoarse but full of warmth. “But… I’m glad.”

The words were genuine, and for the first time, you felt free from Chaeyeon’s haunting images—the dildo, her toned body, your wild fantasies. Shion, with her courage and love, had filled that space completely.

.

You both eventually got up, realizing how late it was. Shion grabbed tissues from the small bedside table, wiping her stomach carefully, her face flushing as she chuckled, “This… got a bit messy, huh.”

You helped tidy the bed, pulling the blanket back into place and gathering the scattered clothes—her open shirt, her skirt, and her still-wet panties.

You also tossed the used condom into the small trash bin in the corner, trying to make everything neat before her mom grew suspicious.

Shion slipped her shirt back on, leaving a few buttons undone, her hair now loosely tied, giving her a relaxed yet still alluring look.

She glanced at you, smiling, her hand brushing your arm. “You… don’t regret this, right?” she asked, her voice soft, a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

You shook your head, pulling her into a brief hug. “No, Shion. I’m happy with you,” you answered, and this time, you truly felt the honesty in your words. She beamed, hugging you tightly before letting go.

“I should head home, it’s getting late,” you said, glancing at the wall clock showing past seven. Shion nodded, though a hint of disappointment lingered in her eyes.

“Yeah, be careful, okay,” she said, walking you to the front door. Her mom, still in the kitchen, waved with a friendly smile. “Come back soon, alright!” she called, making you smile awkwardly.

You smiled, waving, then walked home, your mind filled with the night’s moments—Shion’s warmth, her moans, and the unconditional love she gave.

=================

The morning at school felt bright, sunlight filtering through the trees by the gate, casting swaying shadows on the sidewalk.

You walked toward the school, your backpack slung over your shoulder, your mind still buzzing with flashes of last night in Shion’s room—her warmth, her moans, and the sincere love she showed.

The feeling lingered, like the residual heat of a fire just extinguished. As you neared the gate, you spotted Shion waiting, standing neatly in her uniform, her skirt falling perfectly, her hair tied in a ponytail that swayed slightly in the breeze.

Her face glowed, a stark contrast to the passionate, sultry Shion from last night.

“Hey, sleep well?” she greeted, her voice soft, with her signature sweet smile, as if there were no trace of the bold wildness she’d shown the night before. Her eyes sparkled, full of warmth that made you smile unconsciously.

“Pretty good, I managed to relax,” you replied, then added with a teasing tone, “You?”

Shion nodded, her smile widening, her cheeks faintly pink. “Me too,” she said, her voice light but with a mischievous glint in her eyes, as if she, too, was recalling last night.

You walked side by side into the school, your steps in sync, your shoulders occasionally brushing. Your conversation was casual—math homework, the morning weather—but there was a new intimacy between you, something unspoken.

Shion glanced at you now and then, a small smile on her lips, and you felt your heart lighter than ever.

At the corridor, you parted ways to your respective classrooms. “Meet up at break, okay?” Shion asked, standing by her classroom door, her hands nervously clutching her bag’s strap.

You nodded, smiling. “Definitely,” you replied, watching her step lightly into class, her ponytail swaying.

The morning lessons went smoothly, the math teacher droned on about formulas on the board, but you were more preoccupied stealing glances at the window, imagining Shion in the next classroom, probably taking neat notes as usual.

When the break bell rang, you hurried out of class, heading to Shion’s room next door. She was already waiting at the door, her bag slung over her shoulder, her face lighting up when she saw you.

“Let’s hit the canteen, I’m starving,” she said, giggling, then casually linking her arm with yours—a natural gesture that made your heartbeat faster.

You walked to the canteen, chatting about what to eat, but beneath the light conversation was a new feeling—an intimacy forged from last night’s honesty and passion.

You knew that, even as you slipped back into the school routine, something had shifted between you, and for the first time, you felt truly committed to this relationship with all your heart.

=================

bonus scene:

Night had enveloped the city, and Chaeyeon’s room became her own little world. A small desk lamp cast a dim glow, just enough to illuminate her neatly made bed. The curtains were drawn tight, shielding her from the outside world.

On the white sheets, the shopping bag from the supermarket lay open, its contents now on display, a bottle of vanilla lotion, a soft yet firm pink dildo, and a small, shiny buttplug gleaming under the light.

Chaeyeon sat on the edge of the bed, wearing only a tight tank top and black panties, her hair loose and wild after being freed from its tie. Her face flushed, her heart raced—a mix of embarrassment, excitement, and an urge to explore something that had only existed in her imagination.

She picked up the lotion, squeezing a small amount into her hand. The sweet vanilla scent filled the air, calming her tense nerves slightly. With trembling fingers, she applied the lotion to the dildo, coating its surface until it glistened.

She stared at it for a moment, her mind drifting to the awkward encounter at the supermarket—your shocked expression, your hesitant voice when you asked her about it. “Don’t tell anyone,” she’d said, but now, the thought of you made her body feel hotter. She shook her head, trying to focus.

This was about her, about her desires. Chaeyeon lay back on the bed, her head resting on a soft pillow. She pulled up her tank top, revealing the full curve of her breasts, her nipples already hardened with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, she let her hands explore her body—down her flat stomach, over her hips, to her warm thighs. Her fingers slipped under her panties, touching herself gently, feeling the wetness already forming. A soft moan escaped her lips as she found the spot that made her body tremble.

She reached for the dildo, it's cool tip brushing against her thigh. Slowly, she moved it closer, teasing herself with light touches along her vaginal lips before gently pushing it inside. The fullness made her gasp, her eyes closing as she adjusted to its size.

She began to move, guiding the dildo with a rhythm that quickened, each thrust sending waves of pleasure that lifted her hips off the bed. Her breathing grew ragged, a thin sheen of sweat coating her forehead.

Her thoughts turned to the buttplug. With a still-shaky hand, she grabbed it, applying more lotion to ensure smoothness. She shifted, bending her knees slightly, and carefully inserted the small toy into her anus. The unfamiliar yet thrilling sensation made her hold her breath, but as she relaxed, a new kind of pleasure washed over her.

The combination of the dildo still working inside her vagina and the buttplug’s gentle pressure pushed her to the edge.

“Oh, God,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, her body trembling intensely. Your image flashed in her mind uninvited—your eyes on her at the checkout, your surprised voice. For some reason, imagining you seeing her like this drove her wilder.

She sped up her movements, the dildo thrusting in and out with an almost relentless rhythm, while the buttplug added an unbearable intensity. Her body tensed, muscles contracting, and with a long, almost uncontrollable moan, she reached climax.

The orgasm surged through her, leaving her gasping, her body collapsing onto the bed, sweat slick on her skin. Chaeyeon opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling as her breathing slowed. A small smile crept onto her lips, a mix of satisfaction and newfound courage.

The toys lay beside her, wet and warm, like evidence of her nighttime adventure. She felt alive, more connected to her body, her desires. Your image lingered in her mind, but for now, she savored this moment alone—a secret that made her feel powerful, free, and a little naughty.

[holyblonded]

dreaming costs you, my dear | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: your nightmares spill into your life, until you snap

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

notes: i was listening to mitski and inspiration struck to write the request so…

You always loved the rain, especially at night.

There was something soothing about the way it fell against the windows, steady and rhythmic. The scent of petrichor always brought you comfort, like warm arms wrapping around you, tucking you in gently. Rain reminded you that it was okay to be still, to breathe, to let the world move outside while you stayed safe in your own little bubble. You’d always said the rain kept the nightmares away, lulled you to sleep with its gentle lullaby.

So why didn’t it work this time? You’d fallen asleep to the soft hum of droplets tapping on glass, curled under your blanket, body slack with exhaustion. The dream started like all your favorite ones, familiar, warm, impossible in its perfection. You were little again. Someone was brushing your hair, humming a lullaby you hadn’t heard since you were seven. The room was bathed in soft golden light, and outside the window, the rain shimmered like a silver curtain.

A cake was baking. Your mom, whole and real, was laughing at something you said, swaying gently by the stove, wearing that old robe with the sleeves too long. Your father sitting at the table reading a newspaper and talking to Olga. You felt light, like there was nothing to worry about, like none of the bad things had ever happened.

But then something shifted.

The hum turned sharp, like static. The golden light turned brittle and cold. When you looked again, the woman at the stove had stopped laughing. Your father had turned to dust while Olga simply stood up and walked out of the front door. Your mother’s face was turned away, too still.

You called out to her, but she didn’t answer.

You tried to stand, but your body was frozen in place. The chair beneath you felt like stone. You tried again. Nothing.

The humming started again— but it wasn’t the lullaby anymore. It was low and distorted, like a broken music box winding down.

Then she turned around. Her face was wrong. Too long. Her eyes were hollow, bottomless. Her smile stretched too wide, unnatural and gleaming. She took one step toward you. Then another. Her bare feet left black footprints on the kitchen floor, like oil seeping into linoleum.

She leaned down, her face inches from yours. Her breath smelled like whiskey and rot.

“You don’t belong here,” she whispered. “You never did.”

You woke with a sharp gasp.

The rain was still falling.

But it didn’t sound like a lullaby anymore. It sounded like a threat. Loud, constant, pounding against the windows like fists. You couldn’t catch your breath. Your body was clammy with sweat, and your chest ached with the force of your heartbeat.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

You stared at the ceiling, unmoving, feeling the warmth drain from your limbs. The smell of the rain, once soothing, now made you feel sick. It was too much. Too loud. Too close. You watched the hours pass through the faint shifting of the light on your ceiling.

Morning came slowly. You didn’t move.

Eventually, a soft knock came at your door, followed by the creak of it opening.

“Hey,” Olga’s voice was soft, still hoarse with sleep. “It’s our off day. Come on, we’re making breakfast. You, me, and Lex. Bonding time.”

You sat up stiffly. Nodded. Didn’t say anything.

Olga hesitated at the door, watching you for a second too long. But she smiled anyway and left you to get dressed.

You pulled on a hoodie and sweats, ran a hand through your hair, and walked to the kitchen like a ghost. Alexia was flipping pancakes, badly, and laughing at herself, already teasing Olga about burning the eggs. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and butter, but it didn’t make you hungry.

You sat at the counter, sipping orange juice. You smiled when they looked at you. You even laughed when Olga did a dramatic impression of Alexia’s pancake flipping.

But Alexia was watching.

She noticed how you flinched slightly when the pan clattered against the stove. How your eyes kept flicking to the windows, to the leftover rain dribbling down the glass. How your shoulders never quite dropped from their tight hunch.

After breakfast, the three of you went for a walk. The rain had stopped, but everything was still damp. Olga pointed out a dog that looked like a mop and made you and Alexia laugh. You were quiet, but not silent. Still participating. Still trying.

The conflict came at the coffee shop. Olga handed you the wrong cup, the one with almond milk, which you hated.

“This one’s not mine,” you said, more tired than annoyed.

“Well, sorry,” Olga huffed, brushing her bangs out of her face. “Didn’t realize it was life or death.”

You didn’t snap, exactly. Just narrowed your eyes and muttered, “It’s not that hard to remember.”

Alexia looked between the two of you. Olga sighed and backed off, handing you the correct cup.

It passed quickly. Barely a blip. But Alexia kept watching.

At Eli’s house, the lunch was warm and lively. Alba was showing you a stupid meme. Eli was fussing over everyone’s plates, making sure your plate was always full because you are a ‘growing girl’.

You smiled. You laughed. You answered questions. But Alexia saw it.

The way your eyes never fully lit up. The way your hands trembled just slightly when you picked up your fork. The way your hoodie sleeves were tugged down over your palms, like you needed the extra barrier between yourself and the world.

After lunch, as the others were clearing the table, Alexia leaned close, her voice barely above a whisper.

“¿Estás bien?”

You nodded automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But she didn’t believe you. She wouldn’t push. Not now.

But later, maybe when you’re back home, maybe when Olga went to sleep, she’ll find you again. She’ll sit with you in the quiet. Ask again, softer this time.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally say the words that have been clawing at your throat since that nightmare.

Or maybe you’ll stay quiet. But she’ll stay. No matter what.

You lie awake again. The ceiling is still. The shadows are the same. But everything feels different.

Every time you close your eyes, it’s there.

That dream. That nightmare. That twisted version of comfort, warped into something cold and cruel. Her eyes— those hollow, endless pits, flash behind your eyelids the moment they flutter shut. Her voice, slick and venomous, hisses in your ear: You don’t belong here.

So you stop trying to sleep.

You throw the blanket off, your skin clammy and hot, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. You slide onto the floor and drop into pushups. Crunches. Squats. You go until your arms shake and your thighs burn. You count out reps in your head just to drown out the whispers still echoing from your dream.

When that doesn’t work, you strip off your shirt and march to the bathroom. The cold shower hits you like a slap, and you stand under it, arms crossed tight over your chest, water streaming down your face like tears you won’t let fall. Your teeth chatter, but the image still flickers behind your eyes.

You don’t dry off properly. Just throw on a hoodie and shorts and climb out your bedroom window, stepping carefully onto the flat stretch of roof over the garage.

You’ve sat here before, plenty of nights, with your headphones in and a hoodie pulled tight over your head, watching the city breathe beneath you. It usually calms you.

Not tonight.

Tonight, you’re gripping the edge of the shingles like they’re going to fall away beneath you. The cool air bites at your damp skin, and your eyes sting. The stars look cold and far away.

You tilt your head back. “Please,” you whisper.

It’s barely a sound. Not even loud enough for the night to hear.

But you say it again.

“Please.”

Your voice cracks this time. You’re not even sure who you’re talking to. God? The universe? Yourself?

You’ve never prayed before. Not really. But you do now.

Don’t let me close my eyes.

Don’t let her be there again.

Don’t let me fall apart.

You wrap your arms around your knees and rock slightly, keeping yourself awake with tiny motions. You stay out there for hours, eyes wide and glassy, throat sore from whispering nothing.

When the sky starts to bleed into pale blue and birds start to stir in the distance, you still haven’t moved.

And you still haven’t dared to close your eyes.

Alexia wakes to shouting.

Not the kind she sometimes overhears, the playful yelling over breakfast, teasing in the living room, even the occasional annoyed “Azul, seriously?” when you leave your cleats by the door again.

No, this is sharp. Raw. Ugly.

It yanks her out of sleep like a punch. Her eyes fly open in the dark room, her heart already pounding. She fumbles for her phone, 6:43 a.m., and sits up, straining to hear. The voices are coming fast, words tumbling over each other, no time between them. You and Olga.

“You always do this!” your voice, ragged, furious.

“No, you do this! You act like I’m crazy when you’re the one who—”

“Don’t twist it! I’m not the one who started yelling at seven in the damn morning!”

Alexia’s already halfway down the hall before either of you finish your sentence. The moment she reaches your door, she doesn’t knock. She doesn’t ask. She just pushes it open, breath caught in her throat.

You’re both in the middle of the room, squared off like opponents. You look like you haven’t slept. Your hair is a mess, hoodie half-zipped, hands clenched at your sides. Olga looks wrecked—eyes red, voice hoarse, breath uneven. The air feels electric, like it’s crackling between you.

“Hey!” Alexia shouts, stepping between you both. “Enough.”

You flinch, stepping back, but say nothing. Olga crosses her arms, lips trembling.

“I said enough,” Alexia repeats, quieter this time. Her voice is low but final, the kind of tone that demands silence.

It stretches out for a beat—no one speaking, the only sound your heavy breaths and the rain tapping faintly against the window.

Then you shake your head, the movement sharp and full of exhausted frustration. “I’m walking to training.”

“No,” Alexia says instantly, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not.”

You scoff, bitter. “I’ll go to Frido’s. It’s two blocks. I’m not a child.”

Alexia’s jaw tenses. She looks at you for a long moment. Hoodie. Headphones. The set of your mouth. You’re not just angry. You’re wound.

She sighs. “Fine. Frido’s. But text me when you get there.”

You nod once, curt, then grab your bag and walk out. You don’t say goodbye. You don’t even glance at Olga.

When the door slams shut behind you, the echo seems to linger.

Olga sinks onto the bed, still trying to steady her breathing.

Alexia gently closes the door and turns back to her, eyes softening. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” Olga says, rubbing her eyes with both hands. “We were just talking. And then—it escalated. She said something, I snapped back, and then suddenly we were screaming. I was so mad. And I don’t even know why.”

Alexia walks over and sits beside her, pressing a comforting hand to Olga’s back.

“She’s been off lately,” Alexia says quietly. “Snappier. Distant.”

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Olga whispers. “But it’s like she wanted a fight.”

“You’re not the problem.” Alexia leans over and kisses her temple. “You’re doing everything right. She’s just… she’s struggling with something. We’ll figure it out.”

Olga nods, though her eyes still shimmer. Alexia gives her a minute, rubbing gentle circles on her back, before rising to her feet again.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” she says softly, and leaves.

The training grounds are quiet when Alexia arrives, over an hour early. The sky is gray and low, still drizzling lightly. She spots you immediately, sitting alone on the edge of the pitch, one leg bouncing restlessly, your hoodie pulled up and headphones in.

You don’t look up when she approaches. You barely seem to notice her at all.

Alexia sits beside you, tucking her hands into her coat pockets.

“I’m assuming you ignored me and walked the whole way?”

You glance at her, slow and guarded. One headphone comes out.

“No,” you mutter. “I jogged.”

Alexia sighs. “Great. So your joints and your lungs hate you.”

You offer the smallest twitch of your mouth. Not a smile, not really. Just an acknowledgment. Then your gaze drops back to the grass, where the rain collects in small puddles along the edge of the pitch.

Now that she’s close, Alexia can see it more clearly. The sunken eyes. The pallor. The way your posture folds in on itself, shoulders tight like a spring that’s been compressed too long. You look like you haven’t slept in days.

“Have you talked to Sydney?” she asks gently.

You shrug, noncommittal. “She’s busy. Family emergency.”

“She’d still make time,” Alexia says.

You don’t answer. You just stare straight ahead, headphones dangling in your lap, knuckles white from how hard your fists are clenched.

Alexia hesitates. Normally she lets you come to her. You’re stubborn, and she’s learned not to press. But now? You look haunted. Like something’s eating you alive and you don’t even know where to start pulling it out.

“What’s going on, Azul?” she asks softly. And this time, it’s not just a suggestion. It’s a plea.

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head to look at her. Your expression is unreadable, but your eyes are cold. Distant.

“Nothing,” you say flatly.

And then, before she can respond, you stand up. Slip your headphones back in. Walk away like you didn’t just leave a hollow ache behind you on the bench.

Alexia stays where she is, hands still tucked in her pockets.

She watches your retreating figure, shoulders hunched, head low, and feels something twist deep in her chest.

You’re slipping. And she doesn’t know how to catch you.

Dinner is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that hums beneath your skin and makes every clink of cutlery sound like a scream.

You sit at the table, head down, fork dragging lazy circles through your food. The rice has gone cold. Your chicken’s untouched. You’ve barely taken two bites. Your foot bounces under the table so fast it’s practically a blur, rattling the floorboard in a rhythm that’s louder than the silence.

Olga glances at you. Then glances again. You feel it. Her eyes on you like heat on your neck. She opens her mouth, closes it. Tries again, then changes her mind. Alexia watches from across the table, jaw set, eyes sharp and narrowed, but silent.

Fifteen minutes pass like that. Silent chewing. Silent playing. Silent fidgeting. Glances passed like secret warnings. And then—

“What’s going on with you?” Olga blurts. Her voice is sharper than she means it to be, laced with irritation, but under that there’s something deeper. Concern. Fear.

You don’t look up. “Nothing.”

“Azulita,” she says again, quieter this time. “Talk to me.”

You shrug. “I said it’s nothing.”

“No. No, it’s not nothing,” she snaps, suddenly standing. “You’ve been like this for days. You barely eat, you barely sleep, you barely even speak unless you’re yelling at someone—”

“I don’t—”

“You do!” Olga’s voice cracks. “And I’m trying—God, I’m trying so hard to help you, but you won’t let me. You just shut down and push us away like we’re nothing to you.”

“That’s because you don’t get it!”

The scream rips out of you before you can stop it. Your voice is hoarse and broken and angry.

Alexia groans and stands slowly, pushing her chair back. “Okay. Stop. Both of you. This isn’t helping—”

“Stay out of it!”

You scream the words straight at her.

And the whole room freezes.

Alexia stares at you like she’s been slapped. Olga’s mouth falls open in disbelief.

You never yell at Alexia. Not even when you’re mad. Not even when you feel like your whole world is crumbling.

You blink, realization crashing over you like a wave. Your shoulders sag. The anger fizzles out in a second and leaves only shame. You shove your chair back, the legs scraping loud against the tile, and stomp off without another word.

Your door slams so hard it echoes.

Olga and Alexia just sit there, stunned.

“Did she just yell at you?” Olga whispers.

“She never yells at me,” Alexia murmurs, eyes still fixed on your empty chair. “Something’s really wrong.”

They don’t even finish dinner.

They clean up in silence, dishes clinking too loudly in the sink. Every sound feels off, like the air in the apartment has changed.

“She looked exhausted,” Olga says as they dry the plates. “Like… beyond tired.”

“She’s been zoning out at practice,” Alexia adds, frowning. “I thought she was just overthinking. Especially because Syd isn’t here.”

Olga sets down the plate in her hands, heart speeding up. “Wait. Wait—she hasn’t been sleeping.”

And they both take off down the hall. They pause outside your door. Then slowly, quietly, they push it open just enough to peek inside.

You’re lying on your bed like a broken doll. Hoodie still on. Shoes still on. Curled stiff and straight on top of the blankets, staring at the ceiling, face pale. Blank.

Like a corpse. That’s when it all clicks.

“¡No has dormido!” Olga gasps, barging into the room. “¡No has estado durmiendo, Azulita!” (You haven't slept! You haven't been sleeping, Azulita!)

You blink up at her like you’re underwater. Eyes bloodshot. Movements slow.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she cries, pacing at the foot of the bed. “Why would you let it get this bad?! You scared the hell out of me!”

Alexia steps in after her, calmer but just as worried. “Olga. Calm down.”

“She looks like she’s gonna disappear.”

“I said calm down.”

Olga presses her hands over her mouth and exhales shakily. She’s trying. Really trying.

They sit on either side of you, careful not to startle you, like you’re made of glass. Alexia rests a hand on your shin, steady and grounding. Olga gently brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

They don’t press. They just wait. And after a long moment—something breaks loose.

“I had a dream,” you whisper.

They both look at you immediately.

“About my mom. And my dad. They were both leaving me. Walking away. And I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop them.”

Your voice cracks. You keep going.

“They were saying it was my fault. That I was too much. That I ruined everything.”

Olga’s lip trembles. She closes her eyes, leans her forehead gently against your shoulder.

“And then I woke up, and I couldn’t stop thinking— what if you leave too?” You look at her now. “What if you realize you don’t want me either? What if I ruin this, the way I ruin everything else?”

“Mi Azulita,” she murmurs. “I could never leave you.”

Your eyes flick toward Alexia. “I yelled at you.”

Alexia smiles softly. “Yeah. You did. First time ever.”

“I’m sorry,” you croak.

“It’s okay,” she says, brushing your leg. “I get it now.”

You swallow hard. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. Not here. Not school. Not the team. I feel like I’m just… floating. Like no one really sees me.”

Alexia shifts closer. “We see you.”

“You’re not floating,” Olga adds, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re anchored right here. With us.”

You nod, but tears are running down your face now, silent and unstoppable.

Alexia opens her arms and you fall into her like a wave crashing into shore. Olga curls around your back, hand over your heart. They hold you like that, wrapped in warmth and quiet safety.

Then, soft and sure, Olga begins to hum.

Her voice rises into a lullaby. Gentle. Familiar. Like a song pulled from the bones of your childhood.

“Duerme, mi Azulita, cierra tus ojos ya, que la luna te cuida, desde su cielo allá. Mis brazos son tu nido, mi voz tu canción, mañana despiertas, vuelve mi corazón.” Her hand strokes your hair with every line. Alexia joins her for the last part, softly, remembering Olga telling her about the lullaby. “Mi hermosa Azulita, en sueños te ves, y cuando despiertes... volverás otra vez.” (Sleep, my Azulita, close your eyes now, that the moon takes care of you, from its sky over there. My arms are your nest, my voice your song, tomorrow you wake up, my heart returns. My beautiful Azulita, in dreams you see yourself, and when you wake up... you will come back again.)

Your breathing evens out.

The tightness in your chest starts to ease. The shaking stills. And for the first time in days—

You sleep. Safe. Held. Home.