#I love him so much i’m scared of messing something up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junplusone · 1 day ago

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i'll always say it's you ; yoon jeonghan

summary: you always used to think that even the end of the world couldn’t keep you and yoon jeonghan apart; you’d find your way back to each other somehow. ten years later, you start to wonder if that’s such a good thing after all.

contains: childhood best friends to ??? to ???, swearing, drinking (+ underage), talk of joshua and cheol's arm muscles, mention of drugs in a joke like once i think, caffeine addiction, peak delusion, jeonghan cheating in games as always, hella yearning

word count: 12.98k

a/n: this is lowkey a mess and probably kind of inaccurate loll but i hope u enjoy! feedback always appreciated xx

the me of today hopes for the you of tomorrow

“What about you, Y/N? Have you ever been in love?”

Hearing your own name slowly zones you back into the conversation at the table. You pause at the question, a drop of soju splashing out of the glass in your hand.

“What?”

“Come on, it’s just a silly question,” the young intern says, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun, Y/N. We’re off work right now! It’s fine,” he drawls, swaying a little in his chair.

You can’t really remember his name right now, downing the glass in one go, but his bold innocence bothers you. Maybe his demeanor, full of life and promise, is what gets on your nerves.

Were you like that when you were fresh out of college, too? It’s so unthinkable to you now, at twenty-nine. It feels like ages in the past.

“So? Are you —”

“I hardly think this is an appropriate conversation,” you say quietly, zipping your bag shut. “I think I’m going to head out, anyways. It’s quite late already.”

“But —”

“Chan, just stop asking questions and drink this, okay?” His friends try and calm him down with a glass of water. Amidst the chatter, you decide to slip away, silently pushing in your chair and leaving the bustling restaurant.

Dinners like this always end up making you feel worse, anyways, like an outlier at a table of people with fervent hopes and dreams of their own.

You make it two blocks until your phone begins to buzz in your pocket, and you fumble to answer it, knowing there’s only one person who would call you at nine o’clock on a Friday night.

“Hello?”

“Oh, you answered,” Yeonju says, evidently surprised. “I thought you’d still be at work.”

“I’m on my way home now,” you tell her. “Why, did something happen?”

“Kind of,” you hear rustling on her end of the line. “Jeonghan called.”

“Huh?”

You had stopped abruptly at Yeonju’s words— foolishly in the middle of the road, and you rush to the sidewalk, still reeling. It’s been so long since you’ve even heard his name that it sends your mind into a tailspin when she says it again.

“I thought you knew,” she says, “He said he tried calling you first, but you wouldn’t pick up.”

“I don’t answer calls from numbers I don’t have saved,” you remind her. You haven’t had Jeonghan’s number saved on your phone in a long time. There was no need to keep it if you never used it anymore.

“I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeonju,” you shake your head. “Why would I? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is, and you know it, too,” she doubles down. “You won’t say it, but I know you agree with me.”

She’s right, as much as you want to pretend otherwise. When has Choi Yeonju ever been wrong about you? Sometimes it scares you how good she is at reading your mind, but as always, she delivers reality checks right when she feels like you need them.

“Maybe,” you admit begrudgingly. “But things are just easier without him.”

“Yeah, well, nothing is ever easy,” she points out, “but take your own time, no rush. And take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“I will,” you say with a faint smile.

“OK, perfect. Call if you need anything else, yeah? I gotta go now.”

“Okay, Yeonju, take care.”

“Bye!”

She hangs up just as you unlock your front door, shutting it behind you and kicking off your shoes. The peace and quiet of your apartment welcomes you, and you sigh in relief as you sink into your couch.

Pulling out your phone again, you scroll through your call log. There are a few unsaved numbers, likely just spam calls, but when you see the same number four times in a row, there’s no doubt about who it might have been. Your finger hovers over the screen; should you? Shouldn’t you?

No, it’s easier to just stay angry. It’s easier to pretend his name means nothing to you anymore.

But even as you toss your phone to the side, Chan’s question still haunts you, like it’s a reminder that maybe you need to retrace your steps and do something different this time.

God, you had finally been able to go a few days without thinking about him, but today just took you right back to square one.

“Have you ever been in love?”

When you close your eyes, all you see is him.

first time feeling my heart race, never thought it'd beat so fast

TEN YEARS AGO

“Yoon Jeonghan, delete that right now or I’m going to kill you.”

Jeonghan shakes his head vehemently, still cackling at the picture of you on his phone. This is nothing new to you; over the years you’ve gotten used to him finding the absolute worst angles of you whenever you fall asleep in class, or on the bus, and it never fails to get you fuming.

In fact, if Jeonghan has one talent, it’s probably pissing you off.

“Not my fault you dozed off like that during lecture! Even Yeonju would have bullied you if she was there,” he teases. “I’ve been collecting bad Y/N photos since we were sixteen and in high school, why would I stop now?”

“You’re evil.”

“Thanks, I know.”

“Dinner’s on you, by the way.”

“What?!”

“Do you want to keep that horrendous picture or not?”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes immediately, slipping his phone into his pocket. “But we’re going back to my dorm first because I left my wallet on my desk.”

"Why would you not have that with you? Dumbass," you scold.

To anyone else, you might sound angry, but somewhere in the unspoken words, you and Jeonghan have already reconciled.

The weather is chilly and perfectly November-esque, and if not for the thick scarf around your neck you’d be shivering by now. Having Jeonghan by your side adds to the warmth spreading throughout your body, a little piece of happiness found in his company.

You’ve never needed to explain yourself to him. Somehow, whatever you’re feeling, whatever’s going on, he just knows, and it’s perfect. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Not much to your surprise, Jeonghan’s roommate is there when the two of you walk in, blankets piled over him as he hunches over his laptop.

“Hey, Josh,” you greet him. “Everything okay?”

“No,” he frowns, rubbing his eyes, “I may have procrastinated a little too hard on this paper and now it’s due in a couple of hours and I’m totally fucked.”

“This is why I told you to drop that philosophy class at the beginning of the semester,” Jeonghan says, pocketing his wallet. “You don’t even need to take it.”

“Just trying to knock off my humanities electives, but honestly, this one kind of backfired on me,” Joshua admits, defeated. “Where are you guys headed?”

Jeonghan points at you accusingly. “This one tricked me into buying her dinner earlier.”

“I did not!” you gasp. “You walked into that one, stop blaming me for the consequences of your actions! Also, I want ramen, which means we’re going off campus, so you’re driving.”

He narrows his eyes at you as he reaches for his car keys. “You are so evil.”

"Takes one to know one, Hannie."

What throws you off is the way Joshua’s eyes flit between the both of you as you bicker, the way he tells you to have fun in that singsong voice of his as you step back out into the cold, like he knows something you don’t.

You still remember the day you first met him, when Jeonghan left to go grab something after introducing the two of you, and the question that immediately followed.

“Are you guys together or something?”

And of course, Joshua meant no harm — nobody ever does, when they ask something like that. You and Jeonghan have been fielding questions like that since the start of your friendship. Everyone’s wanted to know exactly what it is that you are to each other, and the answer has always come without missing a beat.

Friends, you’ve always said.

Friends in the way that you can’t go anywhere alone in your hometown without being asked where the other one is, the way that your parents always set out an extra plate and ask if he’s joining for dinner as usual.

The right word for it would be ‘inseparable’. Sometimes, though, you wonder if that’s all that it is.

Like now, as you notice the cold has Jeonghan trembling next to you. His teeth are chattering, long lashes framing his eyes that are now narrowed in displeasure.

When you unravel your scarf from around your neck and reach to drape it around his, they go wide in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“You never wear enough layers, idiot.” You tuck the ends into his jacket and the way he’s staring at you steals the breath out of your lungs.

You can’t run from the fact; your best friend is undeniably attractive. It’s a simple truth, down to his soft but sharp features, the slope of his cheeks, and the hair that frames his face so perfectly. It’s dark out, but Jeonghan’s eyes are lit up like stars. You don’t even realize it until you start to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“Thanks,” he says with a faint smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Freeze, probably,” you reply flippantly, but you look away, unable to take the intensity of his gaze on you.

Just think about the way he looks at you, Y/N.

Was Yeonju right? You have no way of knowing, and you don’t want to tip the scales by bringing any of it up now.

“Alright, let’s go,” you say instead, tugging him along to the parking lot. “It’s late, I’m hungry, and you promised.”

“Why do you always seem so excited to drain my bank account?”

“It’s my favorite hobby,” you quip. “Shall we go?”

“We shall, m’lady,” he says as you get to his car, pulling open the door for you with a wink. Your cheeks burn as you get in, his defined features etched into your brain.

Yes, he’s your dearest, oldest friend, but Yoon Jeonghan has a certain way of making your head spin that throws that very title into question.

when half of me is gone, how can i live as one?

PRESENT DAY

It’s been exactly three days since Jeonghan called you, and you haven’t heard from him since then. You don’t know what you were expecting. Another call? A text?

No, it would be quite stupid to hope for such things after everything that’s happened.

It’s a quiet Monday night, and your brain decides to take an involuntary trip down memory lane. Ten years ago today, you’d probably be doing homework frantically, most definitely an assignment you’d put off until the night of. Ten years ago today, Jeonghan would be by your side.

Oh, how some things change over time.

After another hour of mindless TV and doing whatnot on your phone, your conscience finally wins the moral battle against your pride, and you scroll down through your call log again. Taking a deep breath, you decide to call him back before your brain can convince you otherwise.

All the words evaporate out of your mouth when he picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?”

God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. Just the sound of your name from him is enough to make you tear up.

“... Jeonghan?”

Silence. After a few seconds your heart sinks, thinking maybe he’s hung up on you and gone radio silent yet again.

Then you hear it, just barely whispered into the phone: “I’ve missed you.”

Those words tug at your heart so badly you press your eyes closed to prevent your tears from welling up. “Jeonghan, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I haven’t heard from you in over a year,” you cut him off. “A year, Jeonghan. Do you really think you can just ‘I miss you’ your way back into my life whenever you want?”

“Don’t say that,” he implores. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. I mean it.”

“I’ve heard the exact same line from you so many times,” you tell him, the rest of your words dying in your throat.

You have many more things to say to him, so many unspoken feelings, but now doesn’t feel like the time. Instead, you swallow your anger like you’ve done every time he finds his way back into your life.

“How… how have you been?”

“I’m okay. I wrote a new song,” he says lightly. “Shows have been pretty alright, things are looking up… just the usual.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay, too.” A blatant lie. “Jeonghan… why’d you call me on Friday?”

“Oh,” he starts, like he’s surprised you even asked. “Um, I’m actually in town for a bit, so… I was just wondering if you wanted to meet and catch up again. Y’know, like old times.”

It’s the flippant edge in his voice that stings more than anything else, as if he doesn’t care that your friendship hasn’t been the same for years. Do you mean that little to him now?

But, like always, you have a hard time saying no to Yoon Jeonghan.

“Okay,” you agree. “Just tell me where, I guess. And when.”

“Okay.”

It’s not for a few seconds that you realize your cheeks are wet. Jeonghan feels so far away now, the distance hurts like a piercing pain and you have to slap a hand over your mouth so he doesn’t hear you sob against your couch, the stoic wall you put up crumbling away with every passing moment.

“Y/N,” his voice is shaky now. “Y/N, please don’t cry.”

Feeling caught and cornered, your brain enters fight or flight mode, and promptly chooses the latter. “I’m not,” you blurt out, and immediately end the call, tossing your phone across the room so you aren’t tempted to call him again.

If time traveling was an option, you’d go back to a decade in the past without a question. For some reason it hurts more that after all this time, Yoon Jeonghan is still the one that knows you the best.

You wake up the next morning horribly late for work, with a blinding headache and a notification from Jeonghan on your phone.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: is tonight @ semicolon cafe ok with you? after you get off work?

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i won’t take up too much of ur time, i promise

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m so sorry y/n

you: its ok. that works, see u then

It’s well past nine o’clock when you finally enter the office. You almost make it to your desk unnoticed until your boss glances at you sneaking in.

“You’re very late,” Seungcheol observes, leaning back in his chair. His gaze is always stern, and today it makes you even more anxious than usual.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “Things just… everything kind of worked against me today. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I believe you,” he says, casting another concerned look at you as you nearly drop your laptop going to your desk. “Is everything okay, Y/N? This really isn’t like you.”

“Yeah,” you lie through a tight smile. Damn Yoon Jeonghan and his stupid face for ruining your whole day. “Everything’s fine.”

Looking back, it’s quite impressive how you manage to keep your composure throughout your whole workday. You know you’ve accomplished a feat when even Junhui doesn’t really notice anything’s wrong.

Despite how oblivious he comes across at first, your colleague is easily one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met, as you’ve learned in the past five years you’ve spent at this company.

“Long day?” Junhui swivels around in his chair as he catches you taking a break from your screen.

“Yeah,” you admit, glancing at the clock. Almost five. “Even longer when we get asked to fix all of the intern’s mistakes. How do you just forget to write a whole method?!”

“God, I hope Lee Chan never gets hired as a backend developer. Love the kid, but I’m not sure how he got through college with his code looking like this.”

“Hard agree.”

“Hey, do you have plans after? Me and the rest of the team are probably gonna get dinner together. None of the interns,” he clarifies with a grin. “We need some peace and quiet. I think Wonwoo’s genuinely at his final straw, he’s been downstairs with them all day.”

As tempting as that sounds — Junhui has a knack for finding the best spots in Seoul — you have something more important on your plate for the day.

“Maybe next time,” you decline. “I have to meet someone after work.”

“Oh?” A sly grin spreads across his face. “Someone special?”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, face heating up.

“I never asked if it was, Y/N, you’re just outing yourself at this point.”

“It’s not!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teases, turning back around. “Keep me posted!”

You roll your eyes.

The end of the day couldn’t have come any slower. Usually, you’d get so engrossed in whatever you were working on that you’d end up staying late, but today you shock everyone by packing up when the clock hits five, bidding Junhui a good night as you almost run to leave the building.

(“Someone’s in a rush,” he remarks when you turn your computer off. “Don’t be late on a first date, it’s not very polite!”

“Fuck off,” you respond, when Seungcheol is safely out of earshot.)

The walk home almost freezes your fingertips, and you have to shove your hands deep into your pockets to keep them from going numb. You make a note to dress accordingly for the biting cold later.

At least the weather matches your mood today.

The idea of a hot shower turns out to be a little too inviting, though, because when you finally step out, hair wrapped in a towel, it’s 6:28, and you have a text from Jeonghan waiting to be opened.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m here, i snagged a table in the back

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, pulling on an old sweater and some jeans. You don’t have time to fully dry your hair, so you just run your round brush through it a couple of times, hope for the best, and throw it into a claw clip, praying it stays up.

You’re officially twenty minutes late when you finally get to the cafe — it’s not too far from your apartment, thankfully, but you still had to book it — and you approach Jeonghan slightly panting and out of breath.

(If Junhui was right and this was actually a date, you would be royally screwed.)

“Here, sit,” he pulls out your chair, a little alarmed by your flushed face. “Were you running?”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m late,” you answer, and then you look up at him and the air is knocked out of your lungs as if you weren’t already winded from getting there. He’s even more beautiful than the last time you saw him. “Wow, you…”

“I?”

You’re not even sure what the rest of that sentence was going to be, the words slipping out before you could even think about them. Snap out of it.

“Nothing,” you say quietly.

“How have you been?”

“You already asked me that.”

“I want to know more.” He’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize your features; it’s hard to ignore.

“I don’t have anything interesting going on,” you deflect. “Tell me about what’s going on with you. You said you wrote a new song?”

Jeonghan’s face lights up when you say it. “I did. I spent around nine months rewriting and perfecting it. It’s kind of like my child, in a way.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, a father. I never thought I’d see the day.”

He laughs, and it feels like a part of your old selves is back. “Want to listen?”

You nod, and he passes you an AirPod and his phone. “Imperfect Love,” you read out loud. “That’s deep.”

“It came from a pretty raw place,” he confesses. “Something that’s kind of been on my mind for a while.”

“Something or someone?”

Jeonghan’s face reflects something akin to panic. “What are you talking about?”

“This seems like a song about unrequited love,” you deadpan. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Well, it’s not,” he huffs. “Don’t assume things.”

“This is the kind of update I was waiting for. You didn’t tell me you’d found someone!”

“I didn’t!” he insists, concealing a smile. “Will you just stop asking questions and listen already?”

“Alright, Mr. Unlucky in Love,” you tease, securing the AirPod in your ear and pressing play.

The instrumentals are beautiful, and Jeonghan’s angelic voice fills your ears a few seconds later. You haven’t heard him sing in a long time, and you’d forgotten just how ethereal he sounds when he’s pouring his heart into the mic.

The sunlight that happily illuminates this dark world

Becomes a star when night comes

Come down to me

There are many, many things shining in this world

But among them, you’re the only one that’s precious to me

Jeonghan is watching you nervously, like he’s anxious for what you will say. You make the mistake of catching his eyes, because immediately you falter — they are gorgeous, he is gorgeous, and it feels like you lose time with every second you spend admiring him.

Even if I can’t be the perfect weather for you

Will you still love me like this?

It feels like a silent plea — you wonder what kinds of things have happened to him in the past year that you missed, all the things you don’t know about.

Together we become old and worn out

Even if you come to me, who’s useless

At the end of a shining day

I’m happy that it’s you every day

The song comes to an end, and you hand Jeonghan’s phone back to him. His eyebrows raise, like a question.

“Did you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him honestly. “I love it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m still convinced you have a secret crush that you’re not telling me about.”

“Oh, not with that again,” he grumbles, waving off your curious questions.

What you don’t tell him is that you’ve missed hearing him sing and watching him perform, that the look in his eyes when he’s doing what he loves most is something you adore. There are a lot of things like that you want to say to him, and as good as the both of you are at acting like nothing’s wrong, the situation feels awfully different this time.

“Hey.” Jeonghan has a glint in his eye, the one he usually has when he’s up to something. “Do you wanna leave and go get tteokbokki and fried dumplings at the night market stands instead?”

Your favorites, from when you were a broke college student and couldn’t afford anything nicer. How did he still remember that?

“Yeah,” you say, already grabbing your things and standing. “Let’s go.”

You had forgotten that it was cold as fuck outside.

You had also forgotten that the food stalls were in the opposite direction of your house, so now you’re stuck walking twice the distance in the freezing weather.

“Are you warm enough?” Jeonghan asks, a bit worried. Stop looking out for me, you want to scream at him. Stop caring. Stop making such a fool out of me.

“I am, but I know you’re not,” you scold instead. “I’ve been telling you for years to dress for the weather.”

“Eh, what’s a little bit of cold?” he jokes, but you catch him shivering violently out of the corner of your eye, and you can’t just watch as he suffers.

“Here.” You pull your scarf off of your neck and hold it out to him. “Wear it.”

“Are you su—”

“Wear it before I take it back.”

You wait until Jeonghan’s listened to you, the warm fabric wrapped around his neck. A part of you thinks you’ll always feel the urge to look after him.

Stop it.

“You still haven’t told me about yourself,” Jeonghan starts hesitantly. “I know I’ve probably missed a lot of things in the past few years.”

“Eight years,” you correct him. “We graduated and then you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear, things just got really hectic,” he tries to explain. “Like, all of a sudden everything was on my shoulders, and I had to spend all my time working towards what I wanted. That or it was all just gonna go to waste.”

“Right,” you leave it at that, not wanting to start an argument on the road. This always happens — you’ll run into Jeonghan somehow, you’ll somewhat reconcile, fight, make up, and then it’s radio silence from him again. A year after you graduated college, you stopped looking for news articles on him entirely, actively avoiding any headlines with his name in them. It hurt a little too much to bear. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

You suck in a breath at the quick response.

“Yeonju’s doing well,” you start, even though he probably knows that already. “She has a cat now, actually. She adopted him a couple of months ago.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Mandu, because she says he’s round and fat like a dumpling.”

Jeonghan snorts. “That’s like when Josh told us his dog’s name was Bingsu.”

“Oh, I remember that,” you say, faintly reminded of his college roommate. “Um, there’s not much else, honestly. Junhui is still a major pain in my ass, that definitely hasn’t changed.”

“Your work friend, right? I thought you two got along pretty well?”

“Yeah, we do,” you admit. You don’t need to explain any further, because Jeonghan knows that your sarcastic remarks are reserved for those you cherish the most.

“It’s been a really long time since you introduced us,” he muses. “But I still remember him pretty clearly.”

He remembers you, too, you think to yourself, recounting all the times you’ve ranted to Junhui about all the times Jeonghan got on your very last nerve. Just not as fondly.

“Oh! Wonwoo actually joined the same company two years ago. I think I told you this already,” Jeonghan confirms with a nod, “But it’s really nice getting to see him again, I missed when we used to hang out in college.”

“Aw, that must be really nice.”

“And the three of us still work for Seungcheol,” you conclude.

“I remember him, too. The one with the huge ass biceps,” Jeonghan says, a bit miffed. “I don’t think he liked me very much.”

“He doesn’t like randoms coming in during work hours, which is what you did, Han.”

“Oh. Right.”

Despite his short response, you know Jeonghan is smiling to himself right now, and you kick yourself mentally for letting the decades-old nickname slip. The two of you may be on a truce right now, but that doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven him.

A few minutes later, the lanterns and lights of the night market come into view. A little piece of childhood memory burrows its way into your heart. The vendors and stalls may have changed, but you used to love visiting this street with Jeonghan when you were still students.

“I really feel so old right now,” Jeonghan remarks as he follows you through the narrow walkways. “I feel like the last time I’ve been here was when we were eighteen.”

“It probably was,” you say. “Oh! Tteokbokki!”

You don’t even realize the way you’re holding on to the sleeve of Jeonghan’s sweater as you pull him along with you in excitement. He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles to himself as he walks behind you.

“Two cups, please,” you request the vendor when you finally get to the cart, and reach for your wallet. Jeonghan stops you before you can get to your pocket.

“No way,” he says firmly. “This one’s on me.”

“Jeonghan.”

“That voice isn’t working on me this time.” He hands the vendor a couple of bills with a friendly smile. “Just let me buy dinner tonight.”

You cross your arms. “No.”

“Why not? You had no problem doing it back in college.”

“Don’t bring that up now,” you say sharply, stung by the familiar memory. Jeonghan senses the shift in your attitude and drops the subject immediately.

“Wait here,” he tells you. “I’ll be back in a second.”

What are you supposed to do with yourself? Oh, you’re a mess, you realize, the way your feelings haven’t been in check for the entire evening. You were supposed to be so calm and collected, and now you’re anything but.

“Here you go,” the vendor hands you two steaming cups of the spicy rice cakes. “One for you, one for your friend.”

“Thank you.”

The man nods towards Jeonghan, making his way back through the sea of people. “Never let go of someone who cherishes you that much,” he says offhandedly, stirring the tteok in the pot.

You just blink, confused. “What?”

Before the vendor can answer, Jeonghan’s already caught up to you again. “There was nobody in line for fried dumplings,” he tells you excitedly. “Here, have some.”

“Thanks,” you say as you exchange with him for the tteokbokki, ignoring the awkward encounter you’ve just had. “We should probably get out of the way and find somewhere to sit down.”

“Yeah, we should.”

There are a few benches at the corner of the street, and you pick the empty one under one of the streetlamps, a hazy yellow glow cast over it. Sitting down, you bite into the first dumpling, the flavor flooding into your mouth.

“Jeonghan.”

“Yes?”

“Is this shrimp?”

“Yes?” He looks adorably confused in the dim light. “You prefer seafood over pork, right?”

Your heart feels like it’s beating at double the pace. “I do,” you reassure him. “It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Try the tteokbokki, too, it’s just the right level of spicy.”

“I will.”

Just being there and enjoying the food in silence reminds you of how easy it is to just be around Jeonghan. There’s no pressure to break the quiet; it’s comforting and peaceful.

You watch him savor the tteokbokki sauce and smile to yourself when he winces slightly. He’s always had less of a spice tolerance than you.

“Jeonghan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to vanish on me again when you leave Seoul?”

The question stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t seem to have the words to answer, and the lack of a response makes your heart sink.

“Why are you thinking about that right now?” he says instead, chiding you gently. “Did you finish eating?”

The way you’re looking at him now, your eyes are imploring him. Please don’t make me empty promises again.

“It’s rude to answer a question with another question.”

Jeonghan rakes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I’ve never vanished, Y/N, it’s just hard for me to leave my work that often,” he insists, “and besides, you’ve got Junhui and Yeonju and Wonwoo to entertain you in the meantime —”

“None of them are you!” Several people passing by glance over at you, but you can’t help that your voice is rising when you feel the anger bubbling up. “You’re my best friend, Jeonghan, do you have any idea how hard it’s been doing life without you?”

“Y/N, we’re past our youth,” he tries reasoning with you. “We don’t have to be attached at the hip all the time.”

Every word he says is like a knife to your chest. “You shouldn’t have asked to meet up today, then.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jeonghan shuts his eyes, trying to think of the right words. “I just can’t be there for you all the time in the way that you want anymore. You’re stable, you have a solid job, but my livelihood depends on my music and whether people like me or not. That’s the harsh truth of it. And I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“I’m not asking you to be there for me all the time,” you snap. “All I ever wanted was the occasional message. A few updates. Whether you’re doing okay, how your life is going, things like that. Don’t give me bullshit excuses. I know you have thirty seconds to text me back letting me know that you’re alive.”

And stop playing with my heart, you want to add. Whether you’re aware of it or not.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan swears under his breath. “Y/N, let’s calm down and talk about this inside —”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Yoon Jeonghan.” Your fists are clenched right now. Jeonghan knows this about you; you don’t get angry quite often, but when you do, you are a force to be reckoned with. “It’s always a goddamn cycle with you. You show up, make all these promises, and then abandon me again. What am I supposed to do with that?”

You’re on the verge of tears, but you can’t cry in front of him. Anywhere but here.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he pleads with you. “I don’t know what more to say other than I’ve been trying my best, I really have been.”

You’re not having any of it. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, averting your eyes so you have time to blink the tears away.

“I mean it. I want to be there for you, but…” he trails off, voice shaky. “It’s just been so difficult.”

“Save it, Jeonghan.” You don’t think you can be here for a minute longer without totally breaking down. “I should really get going now.”

“Y/N, wait —”

“If you took the subway, there’s a station down that street if you keep walking for a few minutes.”

“Wait,” Jeonghan insists, standing. “Let me at least walk you home.”

“No need,” you retort, turning around and setting off towards your apartment. It’s even colder now that it’s completely dark out, and you start to regret your choice of coat as your teeth chatter quietly. All you can do is thug it out for the remaining three blocks to your apartment building.

The wind stings your eyes and you tear up anyway, despite your attempts to keep it down for now. Why did you think today was going to go any better than every other time this has happened?

Stupid. Your fault for thinking anything would have changed in eight years.

It’s not until you approach the entrance to your building that you hear the quiet shuffling of footsteps. You whirl around, ready to fight, but you stop short when you see Jeonghan standing several feet behind you.

“Just to make sure you got back okay,” he says quietly, walking over to you. You accept gingerly when he places your scarf back in your hands. “It’s late.”

You don’t even know how to feel; you’re too high-strung with too many lines of thought in your brain at the same time. “Thank you.”

“One more thing.” Jeonghan hands you a small plastic bag. You peer inside.

“What is this?”

“Tiramisu,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

“Oh,” you’re confused. “Why?”

It should make you even more furious that he has the audacity to give you a soft smile, but for some reason it doesn’t.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The realization hits you belatedly — how did you manage to forget? — that you were so swamped with work commitments, it had totally slipped your mind today. (So that was why your phone had been constantly buzzing with notifications from Yeonju before you’d put it on silent.)

Jeonghan’s gesture, though, comes as a complete surprise, and it starts to dissipate the irritation from earlier.

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I never forgot.”

just friends, that's not enough for me

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Normally, you are not someone who is criminally inclined.

However, it’s currently five in the morning on a day where you don’t have class until noon, so whoever is calling you at this time is most definitely going to end up six feet under.

You answer without checking who it is first, eyes still closed. “Hello?”

“Happy birthday!”

“Huh?” You lift your head just to be sure you heard correctly. “Yoon Jeonghan, it’s five a.m!”

“I know!”

“Why are you awake?”

“To tell you happy birthday?”

“Thank you, but cut the crap,” you tell him.

“I pulled an all-nighter to finish a project,” he admits. “Worth it, though. I’m the first person who told you, right?”

“You keep forgetting I live with Yeonju,” you point out, glancing over at your sleeping roommate.

“Damn it, Choi Yeonju!”

You grimace at his loud exclamation. “Jeonghan?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and let me go back to sleep.”

“Okay, but I’m waking you up at ten so you don’t skip your linear algebra class.”

“That class is at noon!”

“Yeah, and you take centuries to get ready, dumbass.”

When ten o’clock does roll around, you’re wide awake already. Yeonju is still fast asleep, so you try to get ready for class as quietly as possible.

jeonghan: i’m outside ur building

jeonghan: hurry up i’m hungry

you: ??? when u said u were gonna wake me up i thought u meant u would call

jeonghan: uhh surprise?

“Are you serious,” you mutter under your breath, haphazardly throwing an outfit on and rushing downstairs. Quickly, you press your key card against the reader and push the door open to the sight of Jeonghan leaning against the side wall.

“How long were you waiting?”

“Long enough. God, you really take forever, but I guess you get a pass because it’s your birthday,” he says begrudgingly, gesturing for you to walk with him.

The weather is quite bleak, but the slight smile on Jeonghan’s face is enough to chase the dreary atmosphere away, like your very own sun.

“Did you sleep at all?” you question, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“I tried, but by the time I finished the project it was already seven and Joshua was up, so I just didn’t bother. That guy’s a freak, I’m telling you. I don’t know anybody else who wakes up that early just to go to the gym.”

“Well, you don’t go at all. Maybe that’s why he has those nice muscles and you don’t.”

Jeonghan’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Are you kidding? Is this why you keep coming over? To ogle Joshua Hong’s arms?”

“Yeah, cause Joshua Hong is my best friend,” you deadpan. “Is it such a crime to just appreciate a nice set of muscles?”

“Okay, okay, stop talking about Josh when you’re with me and get in the car,” he urges, fishing out his keys. “Or we’ll be late and you won’t make it to that class.”

“I don’t even go half the time,” you point out. “And you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“What I can do is promise you will be happy and fed by approximately half past eleven.” Jeonghan starts the car, adjusting his mirrors. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Deal.”

It strikes you then, beneath the dim sunshine, how good he looks when he’s driving. His eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on the road, humming along to the song playing through Bluetooth. For all the jokes you throw at him for never being seen at the gym, his arms are quite toned, subtly flexed as he makes a turn with one hand on the wheel.

God, you are so done for.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan pulls into a relatively empty lot. The building is quite unassuming, but you recognize this cafe as the one you frequent during exam season for your coffee fix.

“I love this place!” you exclaim, beaming at him. “How did you know?”

“‘Cause you never shut up about it,” he quips back, grinning.. “Stay here, I’ll just be a minute.”

You hum quietly to yourself as you wait for him to come back, content where you are. There couldn’t have been a better start to your day, aside from Jeonghan’s early morning call, and you think you’d be happy to spend the day just like this, peacefully with him and your closest friends.

In truth, you aren’t really sure how to navigate things with Jeonghan at the moment. Your relationship has always been labeled as strictly platonic, but lately there have been things that make you want to think otherwise. A few stolen glances, the way he looks out for you a little extra… you think you’re going insane.

That, and the way your heart has been reacting when you make eye contact with him lately has been a bit unsettling.

(“Don’t be so delusional,” Yeonju had told you a week ago. “You have a lot to lose here if anything happens. Plus, it’s Yoon Jeonghan, everyone thinks he’s flirting with them.”

“Yeah,” you’d replied flatly. “You’re right.”)

But maybe you’re allowed to be a little selfish. Maybe those sunlit smiles and most vulnerable moments are memories reserved just for you.

The car door opens again, and Jeonghan pokes his head in, handing you a plastic bag as he gets in.

“Sustenance,” is all he says. “Eat before you go to class or I’ll have to deal with your hangry whining after.”

His words sound annoyed, but his tone is soft with you, like it usually is. You flash him a grateful smile before pulling the boxes out.

“What’s this?”

“Avocado toast, but yours has egg on it.” He wrinkles his nose with displeasure at the combination. “Plus a little sweet treat for your caffeine addiction.”

“This is beautiful,” you hold up the tiramisu box. “The caffeine is speaking to me, Hannie. We are one and the same.”

“One would think you’re on drugs.”

“One would think living with a chemistry major would teach you that caffeine is a drug,” you tease, sinking your teeth into the golden toast. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were until now — maybe you shouldn’t have skipped dinner last night. “Wow, this is good.”

“It is,” Jeonghan agrees, “but I’ll stick with no eggs for now.”

“You’re just ignorant and have bad taste.”

“Again, free pass only because it’s your birthday.” Jeonghan waits for you to swallow, then asks, “So, does twenty-one feel any different?”

“Nope,” you say decidedly. “Why would it? The only thing that’s changed is that drinking is legal now.”

“Oh, and you can gamble.”

“Right, but I don’t have enough savings to do that.”

Jeonghan laughs to himself at a stray memory. “Remember when I turned twenty-one? I’ve never had a night more disastrous than that one.”

“I do remember! Anyone would assume you were a raging alcoholic,” you snicker. “Even Soonyoung felt the need to sober up and help me get you back to your place. Do you know how impossible that is for him?”

Jeonghan looks like he’s questioning his whole life. “Yeah, that is pretty bad,” he admits. “Good thing it hasn’t happened since and I’m a responsible alcohol enjoyer now.”

“You drank a whole bottle of soju before your exam last week because you ‘needed to pregame’ or you’d fail it.”

“... Right.”

The two of you eat in silence, careful not to drop crumbs in his car, enjoying the midday quiet with each other’s company and nothing else. It’s moments like these with him that you cherish the most.

Yeonju’s Don’t be so delusional echoes in your head, like a silent rebuke.

“Hey, we should start heading back,” Jeonghan says, glancing at the time. “Let this be the day that Y/N graces the lecture hall with her presence.”

You groan, not wanting to spend another hour and a half trying not to doze off listening to who is possibly the most boring professor at your entire university. Jeonghan pats your back empathetically.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you, “Just think about how you’ll feel later when it’s all over and done with.”

“I’ll feel like it was a huge waste of time and I could have just asked Wonwoo to catch me up,” you grumble.

Jeonghan’s smile falters a little bit at the mention of your classmate, one of Soonyoung’s friends and therefore a part of the friend group. You still can’t figure out why Jeonghan isn’t too fond of him, but you just assume they haven’t had the opportunity to connect as much and brush it off.

“He got me through data structures last semester,” you offer, trying to defend your point. “Or I’d probably have failed.”

“Right, I remember,” Jeonghan says absentmindedly. You don’t say anything more until you’re back on campus again, picking up on his sensitive mood. When you start making your way to your lecture hall, he follows you, and you let him.

“I’ll walk you to class, I have to print something out at the student center, anyways,” he explains, bag on one shoulder. “Also, you left this in the car. Eat it after class, or whenever.”

You take the plastic bag he hands you, the faint scent of coffee filling your nose. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan fills your ears with silly stories about his friends over the short walk and you listen carefully, always happy to hear about the boys. It’s been a while since you’ve seen them anyways; you’ve been swamped with work, and time that all of you have free together is quite rare.

“I should go in now,” you tell him when you reach the hall. You wish you didn’t have to be here, but you might as well, and Jeonghan can easily read the annoyance written on your face. He pats your shoulder gently.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “Come over later so we can all eat cake and listen to you rant about your god-awful professor.”

“Okay.”

“And so you can get an eyeful of Joshua’s arms, you freaking pervert.”

You gasp. “Am not!” you screech, punching his arm.

“Ow!”

“Take it back!”

“Not afraid to speak my truth,” Jeonghan says instead, feigning injury. “This is literally abuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Get out.”

“Go in.”

“Fine,” you huff, pulling open the double doors, but you look back over your shoulder before you let them close behind you. “See you later?”

Jeonghan nods, a twinkle in his eye.

(You won’t know it now, but this is the look on his face that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.)

“See you later.”

Choi Yeonju is, you discover, the lightweight of all lightweights.

That title had belonged to Soonyoung up until now, but tonight even he’s watching her in disbelief from where he’s perched on Joshua and Jeonghan’s couch.

“I only gave her a shot,” he promises you, eyes big and pleading. “I swear on my life.”

“I know,” you sigh, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her away from the wall she’s about to faceplant into. “It’s okay, I’ve got an eye on her.”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung offers sheepishly. “I know you were planning on getting wasted tonight.”

You were not, in fact, planning on that at all. “Who told you that?”

“Jeonghan?”

“That evil bastard.”

The evil bastard in question is currently deeply immersed in a card game with a couple of others at the small kitchen table. The subtle flush on his face tells you he’s a couple of drinks in, and if you squint enough, you can see the silhouette of cards hidden in the sleeve of his jacket. Typical.

“Y/N!” Yeonju taps your shoulder urgently. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

She grins. “I wanna go to the bathroom.”

“Alright, come on. You gotta stand up,” you inform her gently when she doesn’t budge from her spot on the sofa.

“Comfy,” is all she says, mumbling into the furniture.

“Do you still need to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

Soonyoung just looks at you in total confusion and shrugs.

“Nothing to do about it until she asks again,” he says before sinking into the couch beside her. He still looks relatively sober — sober enough to handle the situation if Yeonju decides to walk into a wall again — so you tell him you’ll be right back and decide to check in on the game going on.

You walk in on a crime scene.

“You!” Seungkwan throws an accusing finger at Jeonghan, who you can tell is playing innocent through his surprised expression. “You rigged the game!”

“I didn’t do anything! I won fair and square!”

“Count the cards,” Seungkwan tells Wonwoo vengefully. “There won’t be fifty-two, I’m telling you!”

Jeonghan stands suddenly, laying his hand on the table. Everyone else is too busy yelling amongst themselves, and Wonwoo seems to be content with watching them argue, but you catch the way Jeonghan slips the cards in his sleeve into the pile unassumingly.

“Excuse me, boys,” he says smugly, “but I’m going to go on a little victory walk. Don’t mind me, enjoy!”

Seungkwan grumbles, but lets him go in favor of helping Seokmin back into the chair he’s just fallen off of. In the meantime, Jeonghan sidles up to you, faintly smelling of tequila.

“You seem very sober,” he observes.

“I am,” you laugh. “Not entirely, but sober enough to notice the cards you stashed during the game.”

Jeonghan’s face morphs into one of surprise, then mirth. “Shh,” he winks, placing a finger on your lips. That alone short-circuits your brain, so you nearly miss his next words. “It can be our little secret.”

“Oh, you are tipsy tipsy,” you murmur, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re up for that victory walk you were talking about.”

“I am! I’m so up for it,” he announces, tucking his arm in yours. “Let’s go take a walk outside.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“What’s four plus four?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ninety-two,” he says sarcastically. “Please, I’m not a lightweight like the rest of our friends.”

You cast a glance at the couch; Soonyoung has been roped into listening into whatever story Yeonju’s telling him very animatedly, sitting attentively with his back unnaturally straight. He looks a little scared of her energetic narration, which is a first for someone like him.

They should be fine, right? You don’t plan on being gone for long — usually you wouldn’t think twice about leaving Soonyoung and Yeonju together, but in their current state you’re not sure how chaotic they’ll get.

“They’ll be fine.” Jeonghan mirrors your thoughts as if he’s read your mind. His voice feels a little too close, like his lips are right by your ear. Too close, too close — you’re faintly aware of your breathing accelerating, heart running on sheer adrenaline.

By the time you snap out of it, he’s already at the door, turning to find you when he realizes you’re not next to him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” is all you can manage before you grab your coat off the hook and follow him out the door. A part of you wishes Yeonju was sober so she could slap the delusion out of you.

Jeonghan opts for the stairs — “We’re only on the second floor!” — and is waiting patiently at the main door for you. The smile he greets you with is blinding, and his eyes crinkle a little more when you return it.

“Did you bring your keys?”

“Right here.” Jeonghan pats his pocket reassuringly and pulls the door open. “After you, m’lady.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you laugh, reveling in the moment.

It’s windy outside, and you glance over at Jeonghan, satisfied to see that he’s dressed warmly for once. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and for a man his size, his thick sweater is draped over his body in a way that makes him look a little smaller. It’s adorable, and it just makes you want to reach over and squish his cheeks.

“You’re awfully quiet for a man who just won a game against Boo Seungkwan,” you tease gently. Jeonghan chuckles, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Nothing new,” he says. “Seungkwan just has bad strategy and won’t admit it.”

“Or you just enjoy cheating a little too much.”

He gives you a knowing smile. “Touché.”

You’re not exactly sure where you’re going; you don’t think Jeonghan does, either, but the two of you fall in step together perfectly on the sidewalk. It’s not too late yet, maybe nine or ten, and the streets are relatively crowded, as expected for a college city.

“Do you think we’ll be really different when we’re thirty?”

You look at Jeonghan, a bit surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Like, we’re twenty-one now,” he explains, “Remember when we were sixteen? We had so many ideas about what we were gonna be, and we’re already there. Five years passed so quickly.”

You nod, reminiscent of your childhood days. “We’re gonna hit thirty before we know it.”

“Do you think I’ll be bald by thirty?”

“If you are, I’ll take lots of pictures of you and your shiny head,” you joke. “For memories.”

“Noo, not my hair,” Jeonghan laments theatrically. “My gorgeous, gorgeous hair.”

You can’t even counter that, because it’s true: Jeonghan must have won the gene pool because his hair has always been soft and silky. It’s longer now than it used to be, curling a little bit just under his ears and brushing the back of his neck.

“Soonyoung’s been campaigning for you to go platinum blond,” you inform him. “He keeps saying if you do it, he’ll dye his whole head bright yellow.”

“Highlighter Soonyoung is really not something I want to see.”

The more the wind picks up, the tighter Jeonghan has his arm looped around yours. His lips are pursed, like he’s preoccupied with something else.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Are we still gonna be friends when we’re thirty years old?”

The subtle, vulnerable tone in his voice surprises you a little bit. Drunk words are sober thoughts, you suppose.

You try to cheer him up, saying, “Why, did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“No,” he shakes his head firmly. “Everything is so much easier with you.”

Don’t be delusional, don’t be delusional, is the mantra in your head as you attempt to ignore your rapid heartbeat. The truth is that you agree — the way Jeonghan just gets you makes things so uncomplicated and free.

It’s been this way since middle school, when twelve-year-old you found home in the boy who always helped you sneak snacks from your desk during class when the teacher wasn’t watching.

Jeonghan has always been the first person you think of in a sticky situation; he’s always been reliable, above all, because he knows you would do the same for him without even needing to think about it. He’s been by your side for so long, you can’t even picture what a life without him would look like now.

Your next words would never see the light of day had Jeonghan been sober, but you suppose you can get away with erring on the side of honesty.

“Me too,” you tell him quietly, holding onto him just a little bit tighter. “I like life a little better when it’s with you.”

because i love you, because saying i love you isn't enough

PRESENT DAY

The office is quiet when it’s late at night; there aren’t many people who enjoy staying past their stated hours, but you figure it can’t hurt to finish some additional tasks when you don’t really have much to go home to. You can’t remember the last time you had a day to yourself without worrying about deadlines; the lines of code haunt you in your sleep and fill every waking hour. Every night spent working overtime is a testament to your determination, though it crumbles it a little each time.

Today, though, you’re joined by Junhui and Wonwoo, the three of you working under the dim light. The rest of your team packed up and left hours ago, so it’s just you on this floor of the building.

“I feel like my eyes are melting in their sockets,” Junhui complains, stretching for the first time in what you think is a solid eight hours. “I don’t know how Wonwoo does it.”

“He’s a machine,” you joke. He’s got headphones on, most probably noise canceling, so you know he can’t hear you two. (Or he’s choosing not to.) “I just don’t want to go home with this stuff unfinished because I know I won’t stop thinking about it all night.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled an all-nighter in the office.”

“Unfortunately.”

Junhui frowns. “You need to take time for yourself,” he expresses. You let him lecture you, even though he’s younger. “Do stuff that you enjoy that doesn’t involve writing code. You know, enrich your personal life.”

“Maybe,” you sigh, putting your head in your hands. “There’s barely any time as of now.”

“Speaking of personal lives, I still can’t believe you won’t tell me about your date,” he sulks. “You’ve always come back with stories about your dates.”

“There haven’t even been that many,” you say at the same time Wonwoo turns around with his headphones off of one ear, asking, “Date? Really?”

You give the man a look. “You didn’t hear us say your name, but that was what caught your attention?”

“Well, Jun’s always talking, but the last time you went on a date was two years ago, so this is news to me.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Junhui reasons. “Everyone has bad dates. It’s a universal experience.”

“Okay, first of all, it was not a date,” you clarify. “I just met up with a friend from college.”

This piques Wonwoo’s interest. “Wait, really? Who?”

“Right, I keep forgetting you guys went to college together,” Junhui mutters under his breath.

“Did you see Yeonju again?”

“It was nobody,” you lie through your teeth, kicking yourself internally for your choice of words. As much as both men know about your ongoing tug-of-war situation with Jeonghan, you don’t really want to bring it up in conversation, and definitely not now of all times. “It went fine, just some catching up.”

“So it wasn’t a date?”

“You really need to stop believing everything Junhui tells you without fact checking it first.”

“Damn,” he says. “And we thought you were finally getting some action.”

“Wonwoo!”

The conversation is interrupted by the low rumble of your stomach in the few seconds of silence that pass afterwards. Both men turn to look at you expectantly.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll order takeout,” Wonwoo volunteers, already reaching for his phone. “Is kimchi fried rice okay with you guys?”

“Fine by me.”

“With pork?” Junhui asks hopefully.

“Done.”

The three of you promptly get back to work, aiming to maximize the amount of work you get done before the food arrives and you inevitably break focus. By the time the delivery notification goes off on Wonwoo’s phone, you’ve knocked off about three quarters of your to-do list for the day.

Good enough, you reassure yourself, pulling the sticky note off of your desk and flicking it into the trash can.

Junhui eats in a record time of ten minutes — you swear you’ve never seen him scarf down food this fast before — and starts packing up at his desk, dropping off a couple of notes on Seungcheol’s desk for tomorrow morning’s meeting.

“My girlfriend is going to be so upset if I’m not home soon,” he says ruefully, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Take care, guys! And thanks for dinner, Wonwoo, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You and Wonwoo finish not too long after, and you take your time cleaning up the place, making sure everything is thrown away and in its place.

“Are you ready to lock up and go?”

“Yeah, let’s head out.”

It’s not until you’re in the elevator, heading to the parking garage, that Wonwoo speaks up again. A little hesitantly at first, but the concern in his tone is still evident.

“Hey, has everything been good with you lately?”

“Hm?” You look at him curiously, wondering what it was that made him ask. “Yeah, why?”

He shrugs, looking down at you through thick-rimmed glasses. “Just haven’t checked in with you in a bit. Seungcheol’s needed me all over the place lately, so it’s been a while since I caught up with you guys.”

“Right, you’ve been in back to back meetings with the design team,” you muse. “Seolhwa was talking about how chaotic it’s been in the restroom earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty tough.”

The elevator opens with a ding! and you follow him out, fishing for your keys that are probably somewhere in one of your pockets.

“I parked a little far,” you tell him, “so I’ll get going now. But I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting, right?”

Wonwoo just looks at you gently, like he’s seeing right through you.

“Jeonghan’s the one you met up with, isn’t he?”

You freeze. “What?”

“I had a feeling, but it was a little more obvious when you started getting defensive,” he chuckles. “Plus, I think you forget I’ve known you for nearly a decade now.”

You allow yourself to breathe, relaxing the taut muscles in your neck. “I didn’t want to make it awkward,” you admit. “I know you said you guys still keep in touch sometimes. I don’t want to make it weird.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Just for birthdays and things like that. We weren’t really that close in college, either.”

Not really knowing what to say, you stay silent, eyes glued to the ground. He seems to sense this and drops the matter, reaching over to pat your shoulder.

“I won’t pry,” he says lightly, “But if you ever want to talk about it, just know you can always call up an old friend.”

You smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

“Take care, Y/N. Get home safe.”

The drive home is numbing. The playlist you have on dulls into background noise as you focus on the road, fighting the urge to yawn. It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night, and all you want is to be back in your bed.

At the back of your mind, all you can think about is the text you woke up to this morning.

yoon jeonghan: hey, i just wanted to tell you tomorrow is my last day in seoul

yoon jeonghan: i don’t know if you want to see me or not, but i’ll be at semicolon cafe working for most of the day. pls drop by if you have some free time. i really miss you.

So typical of him, to leave it up to you to go find him. And yet, you would — if it came down to it, you would go to the ends of the earth if he asked you to.

Yeonju would be furious if you told her you were even considering it, you scold yourself. After all, she’d only told you to speak to him once for your own peace of mind. Last week should have given you all the closure you needed.

Still, your conscience is swayed at the idea of being able to see him again.

You shake the thoughts out of your head, as if the subtle action could erase the pain and longing you’ve felt for the past eight years.

The traffic light turns green. You step on the gas and don’t look back.

even if i can't be the perfect weather for you, will you still love me like this?

SIX YEARS AGO

Jeonghan has been in the studio for hours.

Nothing seems to sound right, and the frustration makes him want to pull his hair out. He can’t even remember the last time he got out of the chair, but he doesn’t want to lose even a little bit of whatever workflow he’s managed to maintain while he’s been in here.

Occasionally, when the weather is just a little dull and time seems to tick by too slowly, he wonders if he made the right choice. Maybe he should have stuck with his career, actually put his degree to use, instead of setting it aside in the name of passion.

He’s vocalized these thoughts to his manager many times, and Jihoon is awfully good at raising his spirits, but the self doubt seeping into his soul is very hard to ignore.

Reluctantly, he presses the play button again, whatever he’s conjured up in the last couple of hours playing in his headphones again. It doesn’t sound any better this time.

Yes, he could swallow his pride and ask Jihoon for help, but after a year and a half of unsuccessful ventures in the music industry, he wants to be able to do something on his own.

Prove himself; to Jihoon, the world, and you.

Jeonghan will never forget your only words to him when he’d first revealed his plan to switch career paths, just a month or two before graduation.

(“I always believe in you,” you’d said, following it up with a comforting hug.

“Always?”

“Always.”)

And when you said that with such conviction, placing all of that trust and belief in his hands, he knew there was no way he could turn back on what he’d set his sights on. In truth, on days where things just seem so bleak, you are his strength, and he wishes he could tell you that.

But when your name comes through on his phone, he falters.

What is he supposed to say? All he can give is excuses, that nothing’s really worked, nothing has panned out in his favor yet. As it is, the two of you haven’t spoken that much since graduating, both of you occupied with your own goals and careers, and at times like these he feels your absence a little extra.

Is this what it means to grow up and grow apart?

For now, he ignores the buzzing, telling himself he’ll come back when he’s snagged his first real achievement. You’ll be proud of him, and he’ll finally make something of himself.

Jihoon walks into the room, closing the door quietly, right when he’s about to listen to the track for maybe the hundredth time.

��Oh, hey.” Jeonghan can hear the exhaustion in his own voice. “What’s up?”

“Wondering when the last time you slept was.” Jihoon sinks into the chair beside him, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like a zombie.”

“Yeah, I feel like one.”

“You need to spend less time in here,” Jihoon advises gently. “Or you’re going to lose your mind. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I just can’t figure out what it is I’m missing,” Jeonghan sighs, evidently frustrated. “It’s like, almost there, but not really. It’s been killing me for days.”

“You know, these things do take time.”

“Or maybe I’m just not cut out for this and I should just go work for a news channel instead.”

Jihoon watches him carefully, picking up on his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you held on just a little bit longer. Do you really want that?”

Jeonghan doesn’t really know what else to say. He’s been hearing the same things from everyone around him — his parents, his sister; everyone talks of a future where he’s already succeeded, but that isn’t set in stone. Nothing is promised, he knows.

“I need a miracle,” he mumbles instead.

“You need to eat,” Jihoon corrects. “I just placed an order for dinner, and I know you like sundubu-jjigae, so you have no excuse to bail on me this time.”

Jeonghan considers this for a moment, then gives in. “Fine,” he says, “but I can’t stay too long.”

“Good.” Jihoon rises, and then places a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.”

“Thank you.”

He’s alone again, when the door closes behind the shorter man. It’s something he’s had to get used to; he’s learned to rely on himself over the past year or so, but when the reality of loneliness sinks in, it breaks his heart just a little.

Even more so knowing that it’s his fault that he’s pushed everyone away, including you.

Your name is still burned into Jeonghan’s brain, and his fingers itch to respond, but he ignores the urge. His phone is left forgotten as he slips his headphones on again, tinkering with the unfinished track.

And the thought of you dissolves into the music.

we used to be best friends, i remember you said you can be yourself when i'm around

PRESENT DAY

Today is the day that Choi Seungcheol learns that you are full of surprises.

In all your five years of working for him, he’s never once had you call in sick for work or ask for a day off. You’ve always been hard-working, maybe too much at times, but he sounds like he definitely didn’t anticipate this.

“Oh,” is all he says when you request the morning off. “Yeah, sure. Are you feeling alright?”

“Not really, but I will be before the client meeting at three, so I’ll be present for that.”

“Oh, all right. We’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

It weighs on your conscience that the first time you request time off also happens to be the first time you blatantly lie to your boss, but you’ve already deliberated this enough with Yeonju over call last night.

(“I’ve been such an honest worker,” you said dramatically, “and now I’m running all that to the ground.”

“Don’t be so theatrical. Choi Seungcheol can afford to give you half a day of paid leave.”)

Now that you’ve settled that, you grab your heavy winter coat, setting out into the morning cold. Damn Yoon Jeonghan for making you move your whole day around for him. You had predicted correctly that Yeonju would berate you for it — you sat through a lecture over the phone last night — but that hadn’t deterred your resolve to see him again.

Who knows? His behavior is so erratic that even you, who knew him like the back of your hand at one point, can’t predict him anymore. Today could very well be the last time you see him for another few years until he decides he has the time for you again.

Whatever, you huff to yourself as you walk briskly, knowing that as upset as you get, the soft spot you harbor for him will never go away.

You had worried that it would be a little too early, since it’s only eight in the morning, but you have no problem finding Jeonghan in the sea of caffeine-deprived corporate workers getting their fix in the small establishment. He’s engrossed in his laptop, and he doesn’t realize you’re there until you take the seat across from him, waiting for him to look up.

“Oh,” is all he says, pushing his screen down. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I didn’t think I would, either.”

Jeonghan gives you a sorrowful look, hair fluffy like a halo around his face. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“Jeonghan —”

“I’m juggling so many things at once,” he says quietly. “And I never wanted you to think any less of me. I wanted you to be proud of me..”

“I was. I still am.”

“But I still haven’t done anything.” He sounds more agitated as he speaks. “I haven’t gotten anywhere, I’ve barely made a name for myself. Nothing I do is paying off.”

“You’re trying, though,” you tell him. It saddens you to see him like this. It’s not often that Jeonghan talks about how he feels, especially not now that you’ve grown so distant. “And you don’t have to go off and accomplish great things for me to be proud of you. I already am.”

He’s quiet, like he’s dwelling on something.

“I’m sorry,” he says a few seconds later. “It’s just all been such a mess.”

“That’s okay.”

In the silence between those two words are many more that don’t need to be spoken for him to understand. You’re doing okay. Everything will turn out okay.

“I wish things could go back to the way they were,” he says again, eyes a little shiny when he looks back at you.

Nostalgia fills your brain, all of those treasured memories with him resting in a well-lit corner of your heart.

“You know, it really hurts, Han, to keep doing this push and pull with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Don’t apologize,” he laughs wistfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I never meant to hurt you, Y/N, honestly. And I’m really trying to be better about it. Things are looking up now, I think. It’s getting a little easier than before.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“How…” Jeonghan starts tentatively. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply, fidgeting with one of your bracelets. “Not too long.”

“Are you going to have something to eat?” An olive branch.

“I have food I meal-prepped at home.” A subtle denial.

The silence is loud. You try to think of something, anything to say to fill it, but you come up blank. There’s not much else to be said in the fraught air between the two of you. Not now, anyways.

“I’m sorry, I should let you get back to work,” you say suddenly, eyes landing on his half shut laptop. “I didn’t mean to take time out of your day.”

“That’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m really glad I got to see you.”

“Have a safe trip to… wherever you’re going.”

He chuckles. “Just Jeju, but thank you.”

Before you leave, you reach for the scarf loosely wrapped around your neck — your favorite one you’ve had since college, the plaid cream-colored one — and you set it down on the table. He just looks at you questioningly.

“Why…?”

“It’s cold,” you say with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Thank you.”

You take the time to memorize him — the curve of his face, the soft look in his eyes, the one reserved for you and the ones he holds close. If you could etch his features in your brain here and now, you would.

“Well,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Don’t be a stranger, Han. The next time I see your name, it better be a call from you instead of another news headline.”

Jeonghan nods, eyes forming crescents. “I’ll do my best.”

And there is something to be said about the love in looking back, for sure, but there is also love in not looking back, in choosing to keep your eyes trained on the path before you. There is love in knowing your weaknesses, that if you turn around you might not be able to walk away after all.

You don’t release the breath you’re holding until you walk out the door. It’s raining, you realize with a start, the previously clear sky clouded over. It seems that your overcast heart has been mirrored by the earth.

The rhythmic droplets provide a strange sense of comfort as you let yourself get soaked, for lack of an umbrella. It works in your favor, anyway, because nobody will assume anything’s amiss if your face is already drenched.

Pit, pat. The smell of wet soil rises in your nostrils, and you let the tears fall.

no matter where i am in the world, i'll say it's you

FOUR YEARS LATER

The lights are blinding, and the sounds of the camera shutters are incessant. But this is the life Jeonghan has always dreamed of, so he doesn’t dare complain.

In truth, he doesn’t care for a lot of the interviews he’s been asked to do — he can’t be bothered by the mundane, mind-numbing questions he gets asked over and over again. Nothing ticks him off like the insensitive digs into his personal life they always ask him, searching for information he doesn’t wish to disclose.

But he does it, anyway, because what choice does he really have? It’s good for your image, Jihoon always tells him, adding another event to his schedule. It’s for your public platform.

“So, you’ve come out with another hit single,” the interviewer starts, beaming at him. His teeth are so artificially white, they seem to reflect the bright studio lights. “How does it feel to accomplish such a success yet again?”

“It’s really great,” Jeonghan answers honestly. “I’m very grateful to my manager, producer, and my beloved family. And, of course, all of the wonderful fans. I couldn’t have done any of this without them.”

“A touching answer as always, Jeonghan-ssi.” The man flashes a smile at the cameras. “Your new single To You was really well received by fans, especially for its fresh and passionate take on what it feels like to be in love.”

The blazer feels stiff now, under the heat of the lights. Jeonghan tries not to dwell too deeply on the true inspiration for the song he’d written late at night a couple years ago, overcome by his own heart.

“I’m really glad that everyone’s been enjoying it so much. That really was the intention,” he says, “to have a song that makes you feel like you’re floating.”

“And it does!” the interviewer laughs. “A lot of viewers really appreciated the sincerity of feelings that was conveyed through the song. Which raised the question; have you ever been in love before?”

Something akin to a late realization suddenly hits Jeonghan right there in the hot seat, under all those lights and cameras. His hand comes up to toy with the end of the scarf he’s wearing, a keepsake of treasured memories.

“Maybe,” he says with a wistful smile.

Wherever you are in the world right now, there’s a small part of him that dares to hope you’re watching.

“Maybe I have.”

thank you for reading! if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear it :) much love, ashi xx

#jeonghan x reader #svt #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt one shot #svt fics #svt jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #jeonghan friends to lovers #jeonghan one shot #jeonghan fics #kpop fanfic

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grandline-fics · 10 hours ago

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id like to request something - desperate kiss prompt with kid💗 love how you write him hihi

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Desperate Kiss

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Kid

WORDS: 822

A/N: Thank you for the request! I also didn't realise it's Kid's birthday until I was finishing this. I hope you like what I came up with for Kid and this particular prompt

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

Kid was always so self-assured, confident to the point some would call it arrogance. He was a true pirate, he wasn’t going to just roll over and let someone else take something he wanted. He also wasn’t going to just give up on pursuing something he wanted because someone was there first. Life was too short in his eyes to live anything but how he wanted and he did it unapologetically. Kid thought he was unshakable and never considered himself capable of hesitation. Then you had to come along and throw a wrench into his perception and the worst part? You had no idea what you did to him and with every passing moment of being around you he felt like he was slowly losing grip on the situation and going mad.

On the calm, dark waters the Victoria Punk idly sailed through Kid had settled into his watch for the night. Knowing how bored Kid could get you decided to join him at least for a little while. To pass the time you shared a drink and idly chatted, mostly reminiscing about past adventures and tavern brawls. Which led you to talk about the most recent trip on shore that had gotten out of hand.

“That poor guy didn’t have a clue what was happening.” You laughed with a small shake of your head. “Did you really have to punch him with your metal hand though?”

“Why not? Fucker had it coming.”

“Maybe it was the drink I had that night but I can’t remember him really doing anything to warrant a fight until everyone got involved.” You tired to focus your memory but still nothing came to mind. “I mean one minute he was boasting about his own crew then you appeared.”

“You forgot the part he tried to recruit you to his crew.” Kid explained and you gasped, reaching out to grab Kid’s arm as the memory sharpened.

“That’s right!” You laughed, how could you have forgotten? Then you grinned broadly. “Were you scared I’d be sweet-talked into switching crews?”

“Don’t be a moron.” Kid scoffed, doing nothing to move away from your touch. “I wasn’t letting some nobody think he could take what’s mine.” Your smile stretched at Kid’s choice of words. You were part of the crew long enough to interpret what he’d been trying to say. You were his crew, a member of his family and he was a very possessive person and violently protective of the things that were important to him. To think his motivations went beyond looking out for a member of his crew wasn’t even in your mind to consider.

“That’s what makes you the best Captain there is.” You smiled before finishing your drink. With a sigh you got up from your seat, taking his empty mug into your hand as well. Kid watched you carefully, his mouth falling into a scowl as he realised you were turning in for the night and he still had a handful of hours to endure a boring watch. You spotted his sour expression and mistook it for the earlier topic of conversation. Playfully you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing a kiss against your Captain’s forehead. “Promise I’m not going anywhere Captain. Stop worrying okay?”

You smiled and as much as you wanted to head straight to bed, you instead began to head for the kitchen to leave off the mugs you’d both been drinking from. The last thing you wanted was a lecture from Killer about the deck being left in a mess needlessly. Behind you, you could have sworn you heard Kid mutter ‘fuck this’ and thought he was cutting the rest of his watch short because of of how quiet it was. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. What was unexpected though was when you heard his rushed footsteps drawing closer. As you reached for the door to the galley you were sharply turned and your back pushed against the solid wooden door. “Kid, what the-”

Before you could finish your question, Kid’s hand secured itself against your hip and his lips pressed hungrily and eagerly against yours. Fuelled purely by the desperate need for you to see him as more than just a Captain and desperate for you to finally see how he felt about you he couldn’t help but act the way he had. Against your lips, his arrogant grin crept in when he heard you drop the mugs in your hands as your mind caught up to what was happening. As the clattered loudly against the floor, you grabbed his arm and the back of his neck, returning the kiss at last with equal need. Inwardly he berated himself for doubting himself and hesitating making a move, because had he known kissing you would be like this he would have done this a long time ago.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya , @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut

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were-all-idjits-here · 1 day ago

Text

Accidental "I Love You"

Pairing: Sam Winchester x gender neutral reader Summary: While enlisting Sam's help to prank Dean, you may or may not blurt something out in the moment that seems to strike an unexpected chord with Sam. Warnings: some cussing; teeny, tiny bit of angst in that Sam and reader are two idiots who don't realize the other is in love with them. A/N: dipping my toe back into writing after some time off with this one. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam growled as the three of you returned to the motel room. He gestured for you to enter in front of him before slamming the door behind him and holding his hands out in a what the fuck gesture.

“Yeah, seriously,” you grumbled, taking your backpack—now full of loose Skittles thanks to the elder Winchester—towards one of the two beds in the room. “I don’t even like Skittles.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dean said, just as irritated. ��Look, I thought it was Sam’s backpack. It’s not my fault you two have the same one!”

You set your backpack down on Dean’s bed. “Mine’s blue!”

“Navy blue!” Dean corrected. “Sam’s is black, it looks…almost…the same.”

“No, it doesn’t!” you and Sam cry in unison. Although you were no stranger to watching the brothers’ prank war, they’d never targeted you. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t really a big deal; it wasn’t as if it was hot enough to melt the candy and create a sticky mess. But after that particular hunt, you just weren’t in the mood and appreciated Sam’s rage on your behalf.

Dean sighed. “Well, Y/N—I’m sorry. I was aiming for Sam and promise I’ll be more careful next time.”

You flopped down on the bed you and Sam had claimed. “Least you could do is buy us some grub.”

“If I go to that sandwich shop in town and get you a five-cheese grilled cheese, am I forgiven?”

“Only if you get the artichoke dip with it.”

“You got it. Sammy, I’ll get you…something much more boring, don’t worry.” With that, he fled from the room.

You sighed as the Impala’s engine growled to life outside, exchanging annoyed, drained glances with Sam as he sat down at the small, round table in the corner.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I can help you clean your bag out—”

“Nah.” You stood and took the offending object from Dean’s bed. “Now that he’s gone, I’ve got a better idea.” You ripped back the comforter (if it could be called that) off the bed before shoving back the top and fitted sheet, unzipping your backpack and upending it onto the mattress.

Sam laughed so hard, he scared you. You glanced over at him, smiling mischievously as you used your hands to spread the candy out more evenly.

“Well, here, at least get it across the whole bed in case he rolls.” Sam shot up out of his chair and tore the rest of the blankets and sheets off the mattress, helping you pour more Skittles until a fair amount covered the whole mattress.

You groaned as the two of you put the fitted sheet back on carefully over the minefield that was now Dean’s bed. “Oh god, the poor cleaning lady.”

Sam chuckled. “We’ve left behind worse messes, believe me—oh, actually…”

As you finished re-making the bed, Sam ran over to his backpack on the table and pulled out a whoopie cushion. He gave you a wicked grin as he grabbed the pillow off the side Dean usually slept on, stuffing it into the bottom of the case.

You cackled. “That’ll be right in his ear! He’s gonna go deaf!”

“Exactly.” Sam gave you a big, toothy grin and you couldn’t help but stare. He had such a nice smile that was so rarely on display, and you took pride in being one of the few to draw it out of him.

He stared back for a long moment before clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pockets. “You know this is gonna initiate you into the prank war now though, right? Dean won’t hold back.”

“Oh, I look forward to it.” You held out your hand across the bed. “We could be allies though and not tell Dean, really mess with his head. Truce?”

Sam smiled and shook your hand. “Truce.” He glanced back down at the bed. “You don’t happen to have any glue, do you?”

“Oh god, for what?”

He shrugged. “Could glue some Skittles to his stuff.” He joined you on your side of the bed to riffle through his duffle bag on the floor behind you. “Oh! I might have some superglue left from forever ago.”

“Do I even wanna know what you used that for?”

He pulled his bag up onto your shared bed and sat as he riffled through it. “We had a bit of a prank war a while back and I, uh…might’ve put super glue all over his beer bottle in a restaurant so he couldn’t put it back down.”

You threw your head back and laughed, giving Sam a playful shove to the shoulder. “Oh god, I love you.”

Sam’s head suddenly snapped up, the smile half-frozen on his face as he stared at you with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He gave you a breathy laugh before quickly returning his attention to his bag. “Uh…yeah, I—um…”

Your face fell. “Sam?”

“I’m okay,” he said a little too quickly before pulling a small tube out of one of his bag’s front pockets. “Ah, damn, it’s empty.”

Awkwardness still hung thick in the air, making you wonder if your joking I love you had revealed too much about how you actually felt. You suddenly felt a little dizzy at the thought of having just given yourself away only to have your and Sam’s friendship slowly start to crumble in the face of inevitable rejection. You two had always been close and even though the stares had been a little longer lately, if he felt the same about you, you would’ve known by now��right? And surely he wouldn’t have had that reaction just now.

You tried to hide the shakiness of your breath. “We’ll, uh…have to make sure we get more next time we’re at the store then.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you nervously before giving you a quick smile that disappeared in a hurry.

You hovered by him awkwardly for a few moments, trying to glance at him without catching his eye while he was suddenly very interested in the depths of his bag, empty superglue tube in hand.

“I’ll just—” he started.

“I’m gonna—” you tried, beginning to move out of the aisle between beds towards the bathroom just as he stood up, bumping straight into you. With his speed and bulk, however, he almost knocked you over and quickly grabbed your forearms to stop you from tumbling back into the nightstand.

“Sorry!” he cried, finally meeting your gaze.

You had grabbed some of his shirt in your fists on instinct and for a moment, you stood transfixed again. Up close, his eyes really were pretty—they were so versatile: some days, they were a deep, dark brown that reminded you of chocolate and looked so warm and inviting, you wanted to just sink into him. Others, like today, flecks of green popped out in just the right lighting, reminding you of a sunflower field. You didn’t realize he was staring back at you with just as much intensity until his thumbs began rubbing gentle circles into your forearms.

You shook your head slightly to clear it. “I’m, ahem, gonna use the bathroom while it’s free.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course! I—yeah!” He quickly let you go, stepping out of your way and gesturing for you to move first.

You quickly yanked a change of clothes out of your now clean bag before hurrying to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door and whatever had just happened away behind you.

Later that night, after you and Sam had already settled in bed, Dean finally emerged from the bathroom. Being on the side closest to his bed, you turned away to face Sam to hide your smile. You found him with his eyes open as well, biting his lip to avoid laughing.

Dean made a contented sigh as you heard the covers thrown back, followed by several cracking and popping noises, then the loud flbbbpppppttttt of the whoopie cushion. “Son of a bitch! Oh, god, ow—fuck—what the hell!”

You covered your mouth with your hand in a vain attempt to hide your laughs, seeing Sam do the same out of the corner of your eye.

“I know you two assholes are awake,” Dean grumbled before climbing back out of bed and checking under the fitted sheet. “Oh, this is war, Y/N.”

“Enjoy your Skittle bed, dickhead,” you said over your shoulder, pulling a loud guffaw from Sam.

“I’m sleeping on the damn couch,” Dean muttered before you heard him move across the room.

You closed your eyes, smiling to yourself, and tried to focus on evening out your breathing. After several minutes, right before you crossed the threshold of sleep, you could’ve sworn you felt warm fingers brushing your cheek.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x gender neutral reader #sam winchester x gn!reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fluff #my writing

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waytoobsessed · 2 years ago

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You could always buy a generic gator plush and add stuff?

I have one I’m scared of doing it though :((

#I love him so much i’m scared of messing something up #plus it means i have to take out his sunglasses because I T BOTHERS ME THEY ARE APART OF HIS FACE—

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floral-hex · 8 months ago

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me… sad boy

#I was going to whine a lot but why lot word when few word do trick?#I have been… soooooo anxious and depressed and I feel like I’m going to die soon & the world is ending the world is empty & I’m alone in it #I feel so sick #I need to get out and do something. I always need to get out and I never do and I’m dumb #so maybe I’ll just get messed up and stay in my room #I can’t sleep. I wake up tired and hurting. I can’t do anything.#woe is fucking me amirite?#also I just finished Black Sails and I cried a lot. why did I think getting emotionally attached to a show and finishing it was smart?#that’s not important. I mean it is but not really. what’s important is I constantly feel like the end is always looming over me #I miss my therapist but I’m scared to ever see him again.#same reason I’m scared to be around anyone outside of my immediate family: I’m a failure & I can’t bear to see that reflected in their eyes #so he joins a long list of people I can’t talk to anyone along with my dad and countless old friends #hey wait why did I segue to this?#boo hoo #analytically. logically. I can look past this and see how irrational these thoughts are #but goddamn if there’s not something chemical that just makes me feel sick and scared and I’m having a doozy of a time living with it #because Ian you need to work on long term goals. not just quick fixes like I dunno fucking eating pizza or playing video games #sorry. just wanted to vent. it’s been building up in me for days and I needed a quick whine #I shaved. I’m gonna get a haircut maybe tomorrow. if only to stave off my unhealthy feelings of ‘just shave your head at 3am’#my mom is finally reaching the point where she doesn’t need me to chauffeur her around all the time #and my brothers are finishing their semesters at school and also both have licenses now #so I think I can stop using those as excuses and try to… I dunno. live for myself now. that sounds cheesy.#gonna go get a low paying job doing something mindless so I can have extra cash for being alive #god I need a hug so bad #that’s not even… like… not even a lighthearted joke. I think if someone sincerely held me for a few minutes it would fix me. a little bit.#this is too much information #sorry I love you goodbye forever #but hey… really… I love ya… I mean maybe. not really. kind of. I appreciate ya and I’m here for ya… in spirit. like a ghost. a cool ghost.#you can ignore this #text

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maskedbyghost · 4 months ago

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jealous!Simon is on my mind 24/7

even better if the two of you are secretly fucking bc he is scared of feelings, commitment, relationships, and blah blah blah…

and simon wasn’t used to feeling jealous. he had trained his emotions out of him long ago, or so he thought. but as he stood in the doorway, watching you stroll across the shared kitchen on the base, your back turned to him, the name "mactavish" boldly displayed on the long-sleeved shirt you wore, something twisted in his chest.

the sight of you wearing his shirt, so casually, stung in a way simon hadn’t expected. he cleared his throat, trying to sound indifferent, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. "that’s johnny’s shirt."

"i know." was the only thing you said, smirking since he couldn't see your face. you knew exactly what you were doing, but in that moment, you didn’t care.

"why is johnny's shirt on you?" simon asked, his voice low but tight with tension. he tried to keep his tone neutral, but the undercurrent of jealousy and frustration was hard to hide. seeing you in johnny’s shirt stirred something uncomfortable deep inside him, a mix of possessiveness and insecurity that he wasn't used to feeling. he hated how something so simple made his chest tighten, how the sight of you in someone else’s name made him feel like he was losing control of the one thing he was afraid to admit he cared about.

"oh, he gave it to me because i was cold," you said, pouting slightly as you turned around to face the only man you ever wanted "he is such a nice guy."

simon managed a slight nod, his mind blanking from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. everything felt too much, too fast. meanwhile, you casually turned your back to him again, giving him another clear view of soap's name stretched across your shoulders as you began making your tea. the tiny grumble that escaped simon’s lips didn’t go unnoticed—it sent a wave of satisfaction through you, a small victory that made your day. you loved torturing him. and, after all, he did deserved it.

frustrated, he walked over to the sink, grabbing a glass of water, hoping it would cool the fire raging inside. but as he turned, his grip slipped, and the water splashed across your front. simon froze, watching the water drip down your shirt, half-shocked and half-relieved for the excuse to make the shirt disappear.

simon froze, his eyes glued to the water dripping down your shirt. after a beat of silence, he muttered, "well, guess you’ll need to take that off now. what a shame."

shocked, you watched as he put the glass down and left the room, still feeling the cold water seeping through the fabric. did he seriously just accidentally splash you and then walk out like nothing happened? that bitch.

later, as you slept in your bed, wearing your shirt this time, you stirred slightly at the feeling of someone’s arms wrapping around you. you didn’t even need to open your eyes or turn around—you already knew who it was. that familiar warmth could only belong to simon.

"simon?" you muttered groggily, barely able to make out the shape of him in the dim light. "what are you doing here?"

"shh, just sleep, pretty girl," he whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. "i just wanted to apologize for how i acted earlier."

"i'm listening," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

simon’s arms tightened around you as he spoke. “i’m sorry for earlier. i know i’ve been pushin' you away and acting like an idiot. seein' you in johnny’s shirt... it just brought out this jealousy i didn’t want to admit i had. i hate feelin' like i’m not enough, or that someone else might have a piece of you. the truth is, i want you to be only mine. i can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone else. i just wanted you to know that, even if i messed everythin' up.”

“well, isn’t this a surprise? i didn’t realize it took me wearing johnny's shirt for you to admit your feelings.” you said with a hint of a smile, turning around to kiss him softly. simon sighed into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of relief and affection.

simon pulled back slightly, his eyes intense as he rested his forehead on yours “i mean it, you know. you’re mine—only mine. no one else gets to touch what’s mine.” his voice was firm, yet tender, which made his words more meaningful.

"did you have a similar conversation with soap?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

simon grinned, leaning in even closer. “yep, told him to keep his wardrobe to himself unless he wanted a 'property of simon' label slapped on everything he owns.” he sealed his words with a gentle, lingering kiss, his lips tenderly brushing against yours as if to mark his claim in the most intimate way.

soap: so, i guess it worked?

y/n: your shirt got wet, but i got what i wanted. thanks, bestie.

soap: i think i got worse treatment from simon than the shirt did, but anything for my two lovebirds.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost x you #simon riley

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jaylaxies · 7 months ago

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TEASER: ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (please say yes)

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst.

word count: estimated 15k words. (currently 8k)

teaser wc: 748 words!

synopsis: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, but having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roomie friends had their club’s exchange program? that was your final straw.

warning: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

a/n: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is getting longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish writing. also, the given teaser is unedited, changes might be included in the fic <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl)

With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.

“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.

“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”

“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.

“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smirk present on his face.

You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.

“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.

With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.

You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.

“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.

“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.

“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”

“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”

You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.

Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.

“Can’t move?” He teased.

“I’m just tired, move.”

“Or, you’re just weak.”

“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.

“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.

“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.

“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.

Messing with you was one thing.

Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.

But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.

“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.

He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.

“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.

You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt.

“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.

“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.

Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.

#teasers!#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #kpop smut #enha smut #enhypen scenarios

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pastryfication · 3 months ago

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Can you do another Piastri family fic where the reader is in pain or smth and Oscar can’t be there to help her so his family does xx

PAIN, MORE PAIN

pairing: oscar piastri x reader warnings: mentions of appendicitis & reader being in terrible pain.

the apartment you share with oscar in melbourne feels impossible big and lonely. the bed feels cold and strangely empty despite the humongous amount of throw pillows you have laying around.

the loneliness is something you’ve grown used to, but the loneliness mixed with this terrible pain in your stomach is too much to bear.

it hit you suddenly, no warning signs in sight, and now you lie curled up in the middle of the soft sheets, clutching your stomach as waves of unfamiliar, sharp pain hit, relentless and terrifying.

your hand trembles as you reach for your phone. oscar is thousands of miles away, getting much needed rest before the race. you know it’s late where he is—too late to be calling. you hesitate, your finger hovering over his name in your contacts. you shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t steal away his focus—what could he do either way?

but as you curl even further into yourself, helplessness consuming you, it becomes too much, and you feel so weak. weak, helpless, and scared.

scared enough to press the call button. shame, guilt, pain, and more pain fills you as you watch your phone ring in silence.

oscar—your absolute angel of a boyfriend—picks up after a few rings, his voice groggy from sleep but instantly alert when he hears the panic in yours. “hey, love. what’s wrong?”

“i didn’t want to wake you,” you start, the guilt gnawing at you. “but something’s really wrong. my stomach . . .” you let out a involuntary whimper. “it hurts so bad, osc. i don’t know what to do.”

there’s a brief pause, and you can practically hear him sitting up in bed, a deep frown taking over his features. “how bad is it? have you taken anything? should i call a doctor?”

“i don’t know,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your side, trying to breathe through the pain. “it’s getting worse. i can barely move.”

“damn it,” oscar mutters angrily under his breath. “i wish i was there with you. but listen, i’m calling my mum. she’ll come and take you to the hospital. you need to get checked out, okay? don’t argue with me.”

you start to protest, your instinct telling you to handle things on your own. “oscar, i don’t want to bother her—”

“you’re not bothering anyone,” he cuts you off firmly. there’s no room for argument in his voice. “you’re in pain. we’re not messing around with this. i’m calling her now, and i’ll stay on the phone until she gets there. promise me you’ll let her help.”

you’re too exhausted to argue anymore, the pain blurring the edges of everything and you desperately want to cry. “okay,” you mumble, feeling a small wave of relief knowing help is on the way despite everything.

oscar keeps talking to you—for once, he’s the one doing the most talking—trying to keep you calm as he calls his mum. within minutes, she’s on her way, and oscar is back on the line, his voice soft but urgent. “she’ll be there soon, love. just hang in there.”

his words are comforting, but the pain is becoming unbearable, and by the time you hear the soft knock on the door, tears are slipping uncontrollably down your face. you barely manage to shuffle to the door, clutching your side, and open it to find nicole standing there, her face etched with worry. she takes one look at you and immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, guiding you toward the couch. “you don’t look good at all. let’s get you to the hospital.”

even more tears spill over at that. it’s not just the pain, it’s the overwhelming sense of being cared for. nicole doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask if it’s too much trouble. she’s just there, steady and reliable.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, hesitating to meet her eyes. “i didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

nicole shakes her head, already helping you into the car with a comforting arm around you. “don’t be ridiculous, love. you’re part of the family now. we look after each other.”

her words settle over you like a warm blanket, and you blink back more tears, grateful for the maternal gentleness she offers.

the ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and exhaustion as nicole speeds toward the emergency room. her hand reaches out to squeeze yours at every chance she gets, the worry in her eyes almost overwhelming.

when you finally arrive, nicole is by your side every step of the way, holding your hand as you’re wheeled into the exam room and after what feels like hours, the doctor finally returns with a diagnosis: appendicitis. you’ll need surgery, and soon.

oscar’s voice cracks through the phone when he hears the news. “i’m so sorry i’m not there. i feel useless.”

nicole gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. “she’s in good hands, oscar. i’ll be with her the whole time, don’t you worry.”

you try to smile, though the pain is still gnawing at your insides. “i’ll be okay. just focus on your race.”

“not a chance,” he replies, his voice softening. “i can’t concentrate when i know you’re in pain. you’re more important than any race.”

as they prep you for surgery, nicole stays by your side, never letting go of your hand.

the last thing you hear before drifting off is her voice, quiet and full of love. “i’ll stay here the entire time, sweetheart. just relax.”

when you wake up after surgery, very groggy but no longer in pain, nicole is still there, sitting by your bedside. she smiles as you blink awake, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“there you are,” she says softly. “everything went perfectly. you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

you blink away the tears that well up, overwhelmed by the care she’s shown you. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything.”

nicole shakes her head, her smile warm and full of love. “no need to thank me, love. we’re family. that’s what family’s for.” she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead before tugging your duvet up, helping you get more comfortable in the hospital bed. “hattie is here somewhere, too. came as soon as she woke. think she wanted to buy you some snacks first.”

her words hit you in a way that feels almost foreign. the casual way in which they came out feels weird. to you, it isn’t casual. family is a concept you’ve always struggled with, never having had one that felt like this. but now, with oscar, with nicole and the rest of his family—who are buying you snacks and worrying—you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were missing.

as you drift back to sleep, comforted by the warmth of the bed and something else—something warms from in your heart—you realize that for the first time in your life, you truly have a family—and it feels like home.

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heartthrobin · 5 months ago

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all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

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metalarmsrcool · 1 month ago

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bookworm blurb

pairing: bookworm!reader x rafe

synopsis: you’re trying to read your book but a certain someone can’t help but distract you

warnings: fluff, smut, daddy kink, pet names, MDNI

something about books always calmed you down. you were an anxious mess ninety nine percent of the time but reading always helped shut your mind off. it made you stop thinking about all the what ifs and kept you from overthinking. you could get so into a book sometimes hours would pass when in felt like only minutes. you could completely focus in on the words on the page and completely forget everything around you. which is why you didn’t notice him standing there watching you.

rafe thought it was cute how you could talk about books all day. he didn’t have the attention span to read that much but he always admired you for it. the way your face would light up when you discovered a new favorite. sometimes you would even cry when one of your favorite characters died. he hated when you cried of course but he found it so fucking endearing how connected you could be to these characters.

he shook his head and slowly walked towards you. your stomach was against the cushions, you knees bent with you feet in the air. your hair in a messy ponytail on the cusp of falling out. they’d spent the whole day home. the weather outside one of those rare cold, rainy days. you always said you loved listening to the rain as you read. it was the perfect background noise.

“hey sweetheart.”

you jumped, quickly closing your book. a blush already rising on your cheeks. you knew you shouldn’t be embarrassed but you always were. your thighs rubbed together as you turned your head to look up at him.

“you scared me!” you let out a laugh as you made to get up but his hands pushed your back down. “what’re you doin’? don’t you wanna sit with me?”

“ ‘course I wanna. but you look comfy, keep reading I just wanted to see you.”

he lifted your legs and slid under you. his hands immediately going to massage your thighs. he could never keep his hands off you for long. Whether it was holding your hand or playing with your hair.

you went back to your book. quickly getting immersed in the words again. it wasn’t uncommon for rafe to sit with you while you read. his hands mindlessly rubbing up and down. occasionally his fingers would drift a little too far up. fingertips grazing your underwear. you hadn’t bothered getting dressed this morning. simply throwing on a shirt and pair of panties.

you’re not sure how long has passed but you were a little more then halfway done with your book.

“baby?” his fingers stopped just below your underwear. tracing the fabrics edges but never straying to your center.

“hmm?”

he knew what he was doing. you’d manage to block him out for the most part. but he’s been getting touchier the longer you read.

“you’re so pretty.” both his hands came up to squeeze your ass and you let out a little moan.

your face was burning. you’d been together for a while now but you’d never get used to this. his words. his touch.

“my pretty girl. you’re reading one of those scenes aren’t you? think i didn’t notice you clenching your thighs? don’t know why you read ‘em when i’m right here.”

you were dripping. it only took a few words and touches from him to have you soaking through your underwear. you tucked your face into your arms. your book falling onto the floor with a little thump.

“so wet. this for me or your little book?” his fingers were teasing. dragging back and forth over the material separating you from him. the material thin. his fingertips catching on your entrance every so often.

“for y-you. always for you.” god he was barely even touching you and you were a panting mess. “please rafe.”

his fingers stopped. his warmth gone in an instant. your head popped up about to ask why he stopped before you felt a sharp sting on your ass.

“tsk tsk. what did i say about you calling me that? try again sweetheart.”

his hand was massaging you over where he slapped. the skin sure to have a pink mark.

“p-please daddy. teasing too much.” you were shocked when he first asked you to call him that. you didn’t realize you’d liked it until you were a moaning mess beneath him, the word slipping out like you’d said it thousands of times before.

“see? that wasn’t so hard baby was it.”

your thighs clenched with his words. his voice alone could make you wet. he knew how to talk in a way that had you melt against him.

“you want my fingers sweet girl? your body’s tellin me ya do. so wet f’me. i don’t know why you bother wearing these. ‘m just gonna take them off.”

sure enough you felt him pulling the fabric down your thighs. you flushed as you felt your wetness trailing down your leg. his fingers coming back up to rub you. trailing up and down your slit. his fingernails catching on your clit making you whine.

“daddy. please.”

you could feel his gaze on you. you’d imagine a smirk lining his lips. you could feel how hard he’d become beneath you. the sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. your hips trying to rub up against him.

“so needy. c’mon baby i wanna hear you say it.”

your face was flushed. you could feel sweat dripping down your neck. his fingers avoiding the one spot you needed him to touch.

“please. p-please fuck me with your fingers.”

his middle and pointer finger immediately dipped into you. you were so wet there wasn’t even any resistance.

“yes. yes. ohmygodplease.”

before you’d met him you’d tried touching yourself. but your fingers were too slim. too short to reach that one spot inside of you. rafe’s the first one to make you cum. his fingers thick and long enough that he barely has to try.

you hear him chuckle. his fingers dragging against your walls. in and out. in and out.

“god baby. you’re dripping down my fingers. feel good yeah? i can feel you gripping me. so fucking tight.”

he lets out a groan as your walls squeeze him. you’re so close. so fucking close. tears brim your eyes and you can’t help but buck against his fingers chasing that feeling. your stomachs tightening and you’re so close you slam your eyes shut. whining and moaning incoherent words. all you can feel is his rough fingers slamming inside you.

“god please i’m about to cum. please i-i need-“

“don’t worry baby. i know what you need.”

his thumb finds your clit. running tight and fast. you throw you head back.

“ohmyfuckinggod”

you feel that spot in your stomach snap. stars dance behind your eyelids as your body slumps on the couch.

you feel him move beneath you. he’s so hard beneath you it makes you whimper at the thought of how he feels inside you.

rafe’s hand, the one he wasn’t using, comes and and grabs your head. tilting your face to look at him.

“eyes on me baby. there she is.”

you’re blinking. your eyelids fighting the heaviness that weighs down your body. yet you feel your body clench as you watch him lick you off his fingers. his eyes never leaving yours.

you feel yourself dripping onto him. no doubt leaving a wet patch on his pants.

“so fucking sweet. here, taste yourself. lick my fingers clean.”

you weakly lean forward and take his fingers in your mouth. gagging slightly as he pushes them in farther.

“there you go. good girl, cleanin’ me up so well.”

um so hi. this is my first attempt at smut and omg what do you think.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe x you #outerbanks rafe #obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe fic

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giannaln4 · 7 months ago

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Sleep

lando norris x fem reader

summary: You always had a hard time falling asleep, but it seems like all you need is Lando to give you a little help. (1k words)

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: this is just a little something i wrote when, of course, i couldn't fall asleep. i hope you like it! also, i don't know why these are so short; i'm really trying to write longer fics. anyway, please send some requests!

↺ back to navigation— send me a request!

You were not sure how long it had been, but it felt like you had been tossing and turning for hours. You opened your eyes for a moment to make sure it was still dark outside, letting out a sigh of relief when you confirmed it was.

You forced your eyes closed again, getting closer to your boyfriend, hoping his warmth would relax you enough to make you fall asleep. But, of course, that wasn’t the case.

It was like this sometimes—actually more often than not. You never had the best relationship with sleep, your mind forcing you to stay wide awake until the sun was peeking through your window.

You opened your eyes again, finding the clock that rested on your nightstand. 2:40 AM. “Fuck,” you thought to yourself. Slowly, you started to kick the covers and get off the bed. You tried to be as quiet as possible, knowing you couldn’t wake up your boyfriend. You knew how exhausting it was to travel as much as he did, as well as how much his job wore him down; he needed to sleep.

You looked back at your bed before carefully opening the door, admiring how peaceful and pretty Lando looked as he slept, his breathing slow and calm. Then, you finally exited the room and closed the door behind you.

A cup of tea always made you feel better, even if it didn't necessarily help you sleep. You hoped it would happen tonight, though.

As you gathered everything you needed for it, your mind started to wander. A lot of things flooded your mind, but mainly what you needed to do before leaving for the next race, mentally making a list of what you had to pack.

You were so distracted that you didn't notice the milk carton falling off the counter until you heard the loud noise it made when it hit the ground. Although the noise wasn't particularly loud, the silence in your shared apartment was so intense that even the sound of a hairpin falling could be deafening. You quickly bent down to pick it up, stopping it from spilling completely.

Before finding something to clean up with, you stayed still for a moment, looking back at the hallway and mentally praying you didn't wake Lando up. When you didn’t hear anything, you proceeded to clean up the mess, relieved that you didn’t disturb his sleep.

You continued preparing your tea, and when you were finally done, you took a sip to make sure it was good enough. It wasn’t, but you didn’t feel like starting from scratch, so you just made your way to the couch.

A few minutes went by, and you were just scrolling on TikTok, your hand still holding the hot cup of tea as you occasionally took little sips. That was something you were used to doing this late at night, killing time until your body was tired enough to go back to bed. You looked at the time again, sighing loudly at the fact that you weren’t as tired as you hoped you would be.

“Hey,” you heard behind you, pulling your attention away from your phone. You put the mug down and turned around, spotting a sleepy Lando walking towards you, his eyes tired as he yawned.

"Hi, baby,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder would scare away the sleep he still had. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” “No, you didn’t. I just… I tried to reach for you, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled softly at you, sitting next to you and making you scoot over. He was aware of your sleeping issues, so he knew what this was about. “Can’t sleep?” You shook your head as you remembered the endless tossing and turning before getting up. “No, it’s one of those nights again.”

“Everything okay?” He asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I just can’t seem to fall asleep... I don’t know; I guess I was hoping the tea would help,” you answered, signalling the mug now resting on the coffee table.

“Can I?” He asked as he reached for it, but you quickly shook your head.

“It’s not very good.” Giggling a little, he took it anyway and took a small sip. He didn’t want to make you feel bad about your tea skills, but his face gave it away. “Told you.”

He laughed again, making you smile “I’ve had worse.”

“I really doubt it.”

“Oh, believe me, you’ve gotten better.”

You paid attention to how he leaned back on the couch, his hands pulling you to his lap and embracing you. You relaxed into his arms, feeling at ease for the first time that night.

“You need to sleep.”

“I know, but so do you.” He just hummed in response as he caressed your back. “I’m serious, Lando; you need to rest as much as you can before going to Silverstone. I’ll be okay.”

“I care more about you getting enough rest.” His words warmed your heart, but you really needed him to go back to sleep.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here?”

“I’m comfortable here.”

“Lando-” You started, but he interrupted you.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit, yeah?” You knew there was no point in arguing with him, so you just nodded and hugged him back. Your head was on his chest, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat; your mind focused on it as if it were your favourite sound in the world.

You didn’t notice at first, but the way your breathing was syncing with his made you fall into a much calmer state. So much so that you started to fall asleep in his arms. He, however, was well aware of this. His hands kept soothing the skin under your sleeping shirt until he felt you completely drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally.

He waited just a few more minutes until he was sure he wouldn't wake you up. Slowly, he started getting up, trying to be as careful as he could as he carried you to your room.

Once he got there, he laid you down in bed, happy that his plan had worked. He laid next to you and pulled you into him again, kissing your temple softly with a smile. “Good night, baby,” he whispered, falling asleep almost immediately.

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 #formula 1 #mclaren #giannaln4 writes #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris oneshot #lando norris one shot

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fastandcarlos · 2 months ago

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First Newborn Moments : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: the first moments for you both after the emotional arrival of your daughter

No words could describe how you felt as your eyes glanced down to the little girl in your arms, everything that you had ever wanted. Charles was sat by your side, leaning across with wide eyes, studying the features of your daughter in awe.

“Can you believe it?” You whispered across to Charles, unable to hide the smile on your face. “She’s just so perfect, so small, and beautiful, more than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Charles nodded in agreement with you, brushing his hand over the top of her head. He didn’t know where to look as he took it all in, her brown eyes, the little dimple in her cheek, the way her mouth was slightly parted as she slept, it was all too much like a dream.

“I feel like someone’s going to come in soon and wake me up,” Charles spoke, “tell me this is all some sort of dream, I feel so lucky right now to have all of this.”

“I promise you that it’s all real,” you whispered, resting your head down against Charles’ shoulder.

It was the moment the two of you had talked about for so long during your pregnancy, wondering how it would be and how overwhelmed you’d feel. Neither of you had prepared yourselves for quite how incredible it would feel though to finally have your daughter with you.

“Can we swap for a moment?” Charles asked, desperate to have a hold of your daughter too. You nodded, watching as he nervously stretched his arms out to take her. “What do I do?” He grinned as you placed her down, scared for you to let go and let him hold her alone.

“Just make sure you support her, body and head,” you told him, placing his hands exactly where they needed to be before letting go. “See, you’re a natural.”

As you moved away, Charles’ eyes were still full of worry, slowly bringing her in towards his chest. “She looks so frail and tiny, like she could break at any moment. I can’t believe I’m actually trusted to take care of such a little human being.”

Charles had made no secret of the fact that he was scared, terrified of messing up or doing the wrong thing. You’d spent many late nights wide awake talking about his worries together, with you constantly being on hand to reassure him, reminding Charles that you both would be learning for some time, after all, no parent was perfect.

Your smile was wide as your eyes stayed with Charles, admiring how fondly he looked down at her. “She’s already relaxed in her daddy’s arms; you must be doing something right.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Charles sniggered, momentarily looking up and across at you. “I can’t wait for everyone to get here later, my brothers are going to crazy when they see how beautiful she is, they’re already slightly obsessed.”

“She has no idea how lucky she is, does she?” You chuckled, watching as your daughter’s eyes fluttered shut. “She’s got the most loving family in the world, and yet she’s got absolutely no idea who any of us actually are yet.”

Charles leant across and pressed a kiss against the side of your head. “I’m going to make sure that she grows up knowing exactly how incredible you are and how hard your body just worked to bring her into this world,” he proudly told you.

To say things didn’t quite go as well as you expected was an understatement, labour had been nothing short of a nightmare for you both. It had left Charles terrified, constantly wondering what was going to happen as midwives ran around you until your daughter arrived.

“I wish I could sleep like this,” Charles chuckled, “without a single care in the world.”

“I feel like I could sleep as well as she is right now, I’m absolutely exhausted.”

Charles’ concerned eyes immediately looked across at you, weakly smiling as he met your eyes. He could tell how sore you were, even if you weren’t going to admit it, wanting to savour every moment that you could of having your daughter there with you.

A sigh came from Charles as you let go of a yawn, trying your best to disguise it behind your hand. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll wake you if anything happens,” Charles suggested, nodding in the direction of the pillow behind you. “You need to be looking after yourself right now, you’re just as important as this one is.”

“I’ll get some rest soon, I promise. I mean, we should probably get used to the lack of sleep now, right?”

A quiet chuckle came from Charles, not wanting to disturb your daughter. His worried eyes still watched you, only relaxing when you propped yourself up and rested in the bed again, stretching your legs out to try and wake your body back up again.

“I can’t wait to take this one to the paddock, show her all the cool things that her daddy gets up to.”

Your smile was wide as Charles’ eyes lit up, excited for all the things he had to look forward to with her. “She’s going to be absolutely spoilt by everyone at that paddock, I think you’ll be a forgotten man when we take her, no one will want to pay any attention to you, just to her.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Charles proudly shrugged. “Just as long as she knows that no matter how much anyone in that paddock tells her they love her, they don’t love her anywhere near as much as we do.”

“Trust me, with the way I know you’re going to spoil her, she’s definitely going to be a daddy’s girl,” you teased, resting your hand against Charles’ shoulder. “I can already tell from the look in your eye that our little girl is going to have you absolutely wrapped around her little finger.”

Charles nodded, there was no doubt about it that your little girl was his new weakness, knowing that he would never be able to say no to her.

He couldn’t believe what he did to get so lucky, not just to have his daughter, but you as well. It was the sort of thing Charles always dreamt about, but knew would probably never come true. Only for him, it did, and it was better than he could have ever imagined.

As your daughter settled, Charles leant over once again and pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking you by surprise. “Thank you for everything, for loving me, taking care of me, and giving me the greatest gift in the world. Nothing will ever be good enough to show you how appreciative I am that you’ve just made me a dad.”

Your smile was wide as you glanced back across at Charles, “you don’t need to thank me Charles. I should be thanking you for being here, right by my side, and getting me through the last nine months. I love you.”

“I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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I want more mob bucky teaching a shy bambi to touch him cause she’s scared and hesitant and his sweet little princess has never touched a man before, not until she met him. (Disclaimer: all consenting adults here, reader is naïve and inexperienced but absolutely wants him just as bad)

“Are you sure?”

“Of course Bambi” Bucky purred, keeping you in his lap while sitting in his office chair. “You’re not doing anything wrong”

“But-

Your eyes flicked to his thick erection, the bulge in his pants making your stomach flip. You’d never admit out loud how many times you’d secretly glanced over, heat pooling between your legs whenever you’d catch a glimpse of his length pressing painfully hard against his pants.

You instinctively pressed your thighs together, biting back a whimper, struggling to ignore the pulse you felt between your now very soaked folds. Your parents told you over and over again that was a no no area. No one was ever to touch you there ad you definitely were not to touch someone’s private’s.

“I was told I’m not allowed” you shyly whispered, blinking innocently.

“Not allowed to what” Bucky smirked, knowing what you were talking about but he loved to make you squirm, “what are you now allowed to do baby”

“Touch-touch you there” you stuttered out, avoiding his darkened gaze.

“Awww princess, but daddy gave you permission, remember?” His nose nudges against your cheek, “I told you you’re allowed to touch me right here baby”

He guides your hand down to his clothed cock, letting you feel how hard he is for you. He presses your shaky palm against his length, holding it there while your fingers twitch with uncertainty. What if you did something that hurt him accidentally? Bucky could see the wheels in your head turning, tilting your face to kiss your lips.

“You won’t hurt me Bambi” he cooed, working at his belt buckle, letting it hit the floor before pulling his cock out. He was so thick and leaky, his silky pink tip wet with his arousal.

“But daddyy” you whined, worried you’d do something wrong, too nervous to touch him there. “That’s- we’re not allowed to touch that place, it’s your p-

“I’ll teach you, Y’know it feels good when you touch me there, C’mon, daddy’s cock is so hard baby, stroke it better, it’ll make me feel good” He’d told you countless times he’d love when you play with his cock and no one else but you is allowed to anyway. Only his Bambi can see and touch him there. You let him wrap your hand around this throbbing length as he guides your hand up and down while keeping you on his meaty thighs, the warm skin of his cock pulsing with each stroke.

“Fuck bambi” Bucky moaned, his head hitting the head of the chair, thrusting his hips up while he helped you jerk his cock, loving the way your eyes were fixated on his length, experimentally gripping him harder, "That’s it babygirl, stroke it nice and hard”

You whimpered at his words, the combination of his heavy breaths and raspy moans making that spot between your legs throb. Which didn’t go unnoticed by him the slightest. He let go of your hand letting you take over for a bit before moving you off his lap to stand between his legs.

“Daddy?- before you could finish, he hushed you, lifting you with ease to sit on his table in front of him. “Daddy, what are you-

“Shhh baby. Why are you all squirmy, hm? Are you all wet now Bambi?”

You whined in response, torn between wishing he’d do something and feeling conflicted over if this was okay. Bucky kissed up your thigh, sensing your hesitation.

“You’re not doing anything wrong baby, let me see princess” he moved you to lie down on his table while he spread your thighs apart, pulling up the dress of your skirt to reveal your cotton panties. “You’re such a good girl” he whispered, rubbing the soaked material up and down the middle of your clothed cunt.

“You made a mess in your panties baby” Bucky smirked, pushing them aside, the sight of your soaked folds too much for him to bother with restraint. He needed your pussy fully exposed to him, pulling them down your legs and shoving your thighs apart. "Look at that Bambi, my poor baby is soaking"

You pouted at him while he groaned at your sweet scent, leaning down to part your folds, pressing a soft kiss right onto your clit making you gasp. His warm lips were soft on your most sensitive parts, the sensation addicting as he kissed you there again. "Your little button is so precious baby, are you gonna let daddy play with you there?"

"P-please" you nodded, choking on your words when he sealed his lips around your bud, suckling with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the table.

He's actually such a menace though. Cause imagine he gets you to touch his cock whenever he wants. Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. He'll push his hips forward letting you know how hard he is for you, pulling it out and helping you stroke him till he's cumming all over your hand. You're always so shy about it and he gets off on the way you try so hard to not stare even though your mouth is watering.

He plays with your clit like its his own personal toy. Whenever you're in his lap, he's sneaking his hand into your panties, rubbing lazy circles around your silky skin. Sometimes its not even fast enough to make you cum. He just loves the moans you make when he's touching you somewhere no one else is allowed to, rubbing your most intimate parts like he owns you.

Imagine the day he lets you to put your mouth on him. His precious Bambi scared to suck cock but he's there to help her, parting her little pouty lips to slip his swollen tip till it hits her throat.

Don't even get me started on the day you first have sex. How much he's gonna coddle you in bed, reassuring you theres nothing dirty about the fact that his dick is stretching your cunt apart, all while playing with your clit making you squeal. Theres nothing filthy about how much cum he's going to flood you with. Nothing debauched about the way his heavy balls hit her ass or about the way it all feels so good, he's gonna fill you up again.

"D-daddy, are you sure?"

"Very sure Bambi, you're still my good girl"

After all how can something that feels this good be wrong?

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aakeysmash · 8 months ago

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college!sukuna + the first time he asks you to watch yuuji for him :)

“Yes mom, everything is okay- no I don’t need you to send me food- ma, please-“ you try reasoning with your mother, phone between your cheek and your shoulder, while trying to cook something up.

It’s been a month since your arrival and she’s worried you might not find the comfort she so desperately wants you to have. You love her, but she can be a little too much. You manage to hang up and then you’re deep in thought, not knowing if you should add pepper or not to your pot, when a deep voice near your ear makes you jump.

“Yo.”

“For fuck- hi?! Couldn’t you, I don’t know, make any kind of noise before scaring me shitless?” You say to college!sukuna, who is looking at your pan from behind your shoulder.

“That looks like a mess,” he responds, ignoring your outburst. He's so nonchalant, almost as if judging negatively something is his natural behaviour towards strangers.

“Get out,” you whine, trying to push him away by putting your hands on his chest. He doesn’t move an inch, merely resorting to stare at you from below his nose. Your breath almost hitches: his eyes are piercing red, and the fact that he has a pair of them tattoed beneath his real ones makes him look-

"You look like a serial killer, should I call the cops on you or are you going to step back?" you say, raising one eyebrow. He blows in your face and gives you space only when he hears you whine. Asshole. Your hands fall from his chest and you slightly touch his torso. Oh, the boy has muscles, that's for sure.

"I need you to watch the brat for me," he tells you straightforwardly.

You're confused. "You need me to watch who?"

He rolls his eyes. "My brother, I need you to watch my brother."

You gape up at him, then raise your shoulders and move around him to get to the fridge. "No thanky youuu."

"Come on. They need me at the studio, a client requested me for a tattoo," he says following you, hands in his pockets.

“Not surprised you’re a tattoo artist. I’m sorry for your clients,” you mumble.

“The fuck did you say?” He snarls.

You huff. “I said, what’s in it for me?”

You turn around closing the fridge door with your hip, and you find him staring at you, again.

“Pal, you have a serious staring problem-“

“I’m ordering take out for ya.”

“Huh?” You respond, a little baffled.

“Are you dense?” He starts, a bored tilt to his tone. He thinks you’re kinda cute, but the fact you talk back makes him want to shut you up. With his own tongue down your throat, possibly. “I said I’m ordering you food. Take care of my brother and you can ask me for whatever you want for dinner. It’s not like you’re a great cook, anyway,” he adds, pointing towards the pan you still have on the stove.

You lightly slap his arm and he fights back the urge to slap you back on your forehead. Affectionately! Maybe.

“You’re so rude. Go, I’ll watch Yuuji. I want seafood boil, thanks,” you singsong. In your peripheral vision you see him stretching out his hand.

“Shake on it.”

You put your hand in his and try to grip him as strongly as possible, but he notices and it feels like he’s trying to crush your bones when he grips your hand back.

“Ow! Okay! Deal!” you say stepping back and massaging your hand, frowning.

“Thanks,” he says smirking.

#does this give ‘pining’ or ‘incredibly cringe’ LMFAO I CAN’T DECIDE #anywayyyy ^.^ lmk what you think about it in the comments thx #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #college au

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clarii · 14 days ago

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Operation ‘Fix Eddie’s Screw-Up’

Summary: A year ago, Eddie Munson made a mistake he’s regretted ever since. When you walk into the video store where he works with Robin and Steve, old wounds resurface, and Eddie’s left grappling with the past. It doesn’t take long for Steve, Robin, and the kids to notice—and they decide to take matters into their own hands to fix things.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Author’s note: Good morning guys, I felt like Tumblr was lacking on some good old angst and fluff stories of him without any smut. This one is kinda long.

Eddie Munson’s job at Family Video wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady. After everything with the Upside Down, normalcy was a welcome relief. The place was rarely busy, which left plenty of time for him, Steve, and Robin to mess around behind the counter and argue over who was more tolerable to customers.

“Come on, Stevie,” Eddie said one slow Thursday afternoon, lazily spinning a VHS tape between his fingers. “Don’t act like you don’t love when middle-aged moms ask you to recommend a rom-com.”

“Better than you scaring them off with your metalhead charm,” Steve shot back.

Robin snorted from the counter. “Please, you’re both terrible. I’m the only one holding this place together.”

The three of them fell into easy banter, their laughter echoing through the empty store. Eddie had just started recounting a ridiculous D&D campaign he’d run when the bell above the door jingled.

“Welcome to Family Video!” Robin chirped without looking up from her inventory list.

Eddie, however, froze. His voice caught in his throat, his grip tightening on the tape in his hands. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you. He’d recognize your presence anywhere.

A year. It had been a whole year since the last time he’d seen you—since the night he’d screwed everything up.

You didn’t even glance his way as you walked toward the shelves, your focus entirely on the rows of tapes. Your hair, your stance, the way you moved—it all hit him like a freight train, dragging memories to the surface that he’d tried so hard to bury.

“Uh, Eddie?” Steve nudged him, eyebrows raised. “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbled, though his voice was tight. He forced himself to turn away, but he couldn’t stop glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

When you finally approached the counter with your rental, you placed it down without a word.

Robin, picking up on the tension, stepped forward to help. “Oh, this one’s good! Classic rom-com—”

“Just the tape, please,” you said curtly, cutting her off. Your voice wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t warm, either.

Eddie didn’t dare speak. He kept his hands busy with the register, avoiding eye contact. When you paid and took your receipt, you turned on your heel and left without so much as a glance back.

The bell jingled again as the door closed behind you.

Eddie’s eyes, however, stayed fixed on the door long after you were gone.

It didn’t take long for Steve and Robin to notice.

“Okay, spill,” Robin said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. “What was that?”

“Yeah, dude,” Steve added. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Eddie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel their eyes boring into him, and he knew there was no getting out of this.

“That was her,” he said finally, his voice low.

“Her who?” Robin asked.

“The girl,” Eddie clarified. “The one I told you about. The one I…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

“The one you majorly screwed over last year?” Robin guessed, her eyebrows shooting up.

Eddie winced. “Yeah, that one.”

Steve and Robin exchanged a look, and Eddie groaned.

“Don’t start, okay? I already know I’m an idiot. I’ve known for a year.”

Robin leaned forward, her expression curious. “Okay, but what exactly happened? You’ve never given us the full story.”

Eddie hesitated. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but he knew they weren’t going to let it go.

“She and I were… close,” he admitted. “Really close. She came to Hellfire sometimes, we’d hang out after school—she even helped me set up a few campaigns. But then, right before graduation, I panicked.”

“Panicked about what?” Steve asked, genuinely curious.

“About her,” Eddie said, his voice bitter. “She was everything I wasn’t. Smart, grounded, going places. And me? I was just the town freak. I thought if I pushed her away, it’d be easier for both of us. So I said some… things.”

Robin frowned. “Like what?”

“Like how I didn’t care about her the way she thought I did,” Eddie said quietly. “That she deserved better than some loser like me. It wasn’t true, but… I said it anyway.”

“Dude,” Steve muttered, shaking his head.

Eddie shrugged helplessly. “I thought I was doing the right thing, okay? But I messed everything up. She hasn’t spoken to me since, and I don’t blame her.”

Robin and Steve shared a look that could only be described as scheming.

“You know,” Robin said slowly, “this feels like the kind of thing we could fix.”

“Definitely,” Steve agreed. “I mean, it’s basically a rom-com setup. Guy screws up, realizes he’s an idiot, wins girl back with grand gesture.”

Eddie groaned. “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I don’t need you two meddling in my love life.”

“Too late,” Robin said with a grin. “Operation ‘Fix Eddie’s Screw-Up’ is officially a go.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the gang to get involved.

When Dustin heard the story, he was immediately on board. “Eddie, you idiot,” he said, smacking him on the shoulder. “You’ve been pining over her for a year and didn’t tell me? I could’ve fixed this ages ago!”

“I don’t need fixing,” Eddie muttered.

“Clearly, you do,” Max said, rolling her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

Even Lucas, Mike, and Will had ideas, though most of them were wildly impractical. (“Write her a song,” Mike suggested. “Girls love that stuff.” “She’ll just think it’s cheesy,” Lucas argued.)

Through it all, Eddie tried to protest, but deep down, a part of him hoped they could pull it off.

The plan came together piece by piece, each member of the group contributing ideas that were somehow both chaotic and oddly brilliant.

“What about a mixtape?” Dustin suggested as he sprawled across Steve’s couch.

“A mixtape screams ‘80s romance,” Robin said, nodding. “But it needs to be personal. Like, songs that mean something to you and her.”

Eddie groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You guys don’t get it. She doesn’t even want to look at me, let alone listen to some cheesy mixtape.”

“Then don’t make it just about the tape,” Max said from her spot on the floor. “Make it part of something bigger.”

“And where’s this ‘bigger’ happening?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

The group fell silent, all eyes turning to Eddie. He frowned, tapping his fingers against his knee. Then it hit him—an idea so crazy it might actually work.

“The Hawkins Carnival,” he said.

“What about it?” Dustin asked.

“They’re setting it up this weekend, right? She used to love going to that thing. We’d sneak off after school and blow all our money on funnel cakes and rides.” His voice softened as the memories flooded back. “Maybe… maybe I could meet her there.”

“Okay, but what’s the actual plan?” Robin pressed. “You can’t just show up and expect her to swoon over you.”

“Yeah,” Steve added. “You need a moment. Something big. Something unforgettable.”

Eddie thought for a moment, then smirked. “I’ve got just the thing.”

The days leading up to the carnival were a whirlwind of preparation. Dustin helped Eddie pick out songs for the mixtape, while Robin and Steve coached him on what to say.

“Apologize first,” Steve advised. “Don’t try to justify what you did—just own up to it.”

“And be sincere,” Robin added. “No sarcasm, no jokes. This isn’t the time for your usual deflection.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but took their advice to heart.

Meanwhile, the kids worked on the logistics of his grand gesture. Lucas and Max snuck into the carnival grounds to scope out the perfect location, while Will and Mike brainstormed backup plans in case things went south.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Eddie was a bundle of nerves. The mixtape was finished, his speech was rehearsed, and the stage was set. All that was left was for you to show up.

The Hawkins Carnival was alive with lights and laughter, the scent of fried food wafting through the air. Eddie stood near the Ferris wheel, his heart pounding as he scanned the crowd.

“You’ve got this,” Dustin said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just stick to the plan.”

Eddie nodded, though his palms were sweating.

Then he saw you.

You were standing by the carousel, looking effortlessly beautiful in the glow of the carnival lights. The sight of you took his breath away, and for a moment, he almost lost his nerve. But then he remembered why he was here—why he’d spent the past year kicking himself for letting you go.

He squared his shoulders and approached you, his heart racing.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the carnival.

You turned, your eyes widening in surprise. “Eddie?”

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice pleading.

You hesitated, your expression guarded. But after a moment, you nodded. “Fine.”

Eddie led you to a quieter spot near the edge of the carnival, away from the crowds. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the mixtape, holding it out to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing it warily.

“It’s… an apology,” he said. “And a thank-you. And a promise to do better if you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your fingers brushing the edge of the tape but not taking it. “Why now, Eddie? Why after all this time?”

“Because I’ve been an idiot,” he admitted. “I thought I was doing you a favor by pushing you away. I told myself you deserved better, but the truth is, I was scared. Scared of how much I cared about you. Scared of screwing it up.”

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling. “But I did screw it up. And I hate myself for that. I just… I needed you to know that I’m sorry. And that I never stopped…”

“Never stopped what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“Never stopped loving you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You really hurt me, Eddie.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, and Eddie braced himself for the worst. But then, slowly, you reached for the tape, your fingers curling around it.

“I’ll listen to it,” you said softly.

Eddie’s heart soared. “That’s all I’m asking.”

But the night wasn’t over yet.

As you turned to leave, the Ferris wheel lit up behind you, the carnival music swelling in the background. Eddie hesitated, then called out.

“Wait!”

You turned back, your brow furrowed.

“Will you ride the Ferris wheel with me?” he asked, his voice trembling. “One last time?”

Your lips curved into a small smile, and for the first time in a year, Eddie felt hope.

“Okay,” you said.

As the two of you climbed into the Ferris wheel carriage, the world below seemed to fade away. The lights, the noise, the crowds—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of you suspended in the night sky.

And as the Ferris wheel reached its peak, Eddie turned to you, his eyes searching yours.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “I love you. I never stopped.”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, closing the distance between you, and kissed him.

The world tilted, the stars spinning above, but Eddie didn’t care. For the first time in a year, everything felt right.

The Ferris wheel creaked softly as it came to a stop, grounding you and Eddie back in the bustle of the carnival. But neither of you moved to get out of the carriage right away. Instead, you stayed seated, your hands still intertwined, your heads leaning close together.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “if you mess this up again, I’m never speaking to you.”

Eddie let out a breathless laugh, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “Fair enough. But I won’t. You’ve got my word.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. His dark eyes, once filled with nervous energy, now held something softer. Something earnest. You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll hold you to that, Munson.”

The Ferris wheel operator coughed awkwardly from below, snapping you both out of the moment. “Uh, you getting out or planning to rent the thing for the night?”

Eddie grinned and hopped out, offering you his hand to help you down. The two of you wandered back into the glowing chaos of the carnival, your shoulders brushing with every step.

The next morning, the story of your reunion had spread faster than Eddie anticipated.

When he walked into Family Video for his shift, Steve was already smirking behind the counter, Robin perched on top of it with a knowing grin. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas had apparently stopped by, too, judging by the excited chatter echoing through the store.

“Look who’s finally not single!” Robin announced loudly as Eddie stepped inside.

Steve threw an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, ruffling his hair. “How does it feel, Romeo?”

“Like I should’ve kept my mouth shut about all this,” Eddie muttered, though he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“C’mon, man, don’t be shy,” Dustin said, grinning ear to ear. “We did help, after all. You should be thanking us.”

“Oh, thank you, wise sages of Hawkins,” Eddie said, bowing dramatically. “I couldn’t have done it without your meddling.”

Robin snorted. “Damn right.”

Later that week, you stopped by Family Video, much to the delight of the gang.

“Look who it is!” Robin sang as you walked in, nudging Eddie.

You shot her a mock glare before turning your attention to Eddie, who had abandoned all pretense of professionalism to lean against the counter with a wide grin.

“Hi,” you said, a little shyly.

“Hi,” he replied, his tone soft and warm.

Robin and Steve exchanged a glance, then bolted for the back room, dragging Dustin and the others with them.

“Hey, we weren’t done!” Dustin protested, but Robin slammed the door shut behind them, leaving you and Eddie alone.

Eddie leaned closer. “They mean well, but they’re the absolute worst, I swear.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “They’re not so bad. I think I owe them, actually.”

“For what?”

“For convincing me to give you another chance.”

Eddie’s smile faltered slightly. “Do I… deserve another chance?”

You reached across the counter, taking his hand. “You’re earning it. And so far, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

The weight that had been pressing on Eddie’s chest for a year seemed to lift entirely. He grinned, his fingers curling around yours.

“Well, then,” he said, his voice playful but sincere. “I guess I’d better keep it up, huh?”

You smirked. “You’d better.”

As you left the store, mixtape in hand, Eddie watched you go with a goofy grin on his face. Steve emerged from the back room just in time to catch him staring.

“Still gazing after her like a lovesick puppy?” Steve teased.

“Absolutely,” Eddie said without shame.

Robin grinned as she joined them. “Well, looks like Operation ‘Fix Eddie’s Screw-Up’ was a success.”

“Don’t ever call it that again,” Eddie groaned, though his smile didn’t waver.

And as the group broke into laughter, Eddie realized something: he wasn’t just grateful to have you back in his life. He was grateful for all of it—the chaos, the meddling, the friends who refused to let him give up on love.

Because this? This was a second chance he wasn’t going to waste.

The End.

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #will byers #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #stranger things

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