#I’m genuinely just going to combust entirely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iyoonjh · 9 days ago

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Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 15: Over 1,000,000 Heartbeats Per Second, but Jesus Christ who let the dogs out?

wc: 6536 words

Soobin was going to pass out.

Like, not metaphorically. Not the oh, I’m so nervous I might faint, ha-ha kind of thing. No—he was genuinely preparing himself for actual loss of consciousness.

Because she was coming over. To his apartment. The same apartment where he had cried over Your Name, kept an unopened One Piece figure on the bookshelf for three years out of fear of “ruining the box,” and owned exactly zero furniture that could be classified as “adult.”

And she—Y/N—was coming here voluntarily. After the kiss.

Which had haunted him every waking second since it happened.

Soobin stood in the middle of his living room, staring at his bookshelf like the books had personally betrayed him. Why had he alphabetized them? That was insane, he was insane. No normal person alphabetized their manga by author and series title. That was the behavior of someone who paid taxes with a sword and lived in a moss-covered cave.

His hands flew to the shelf. No time. Chaos was more human. He began to de-organize everything with the urgency of someone erasing a crime scene. Then paused. Was chaotic worse? Would it scream “this guy hasn’t emotionally evolved since Digimon”?

Truth was, Soobin had cleaned his apartment like he was preparing for a government inspection.

Not just a “wipe down the counters and hide your socks” kind of clean—no, this was a full-blown crisis intervention. He vacuumed. He rearranged the manga shelf three times. He googled “how to look effortlessly cool but emotionally available through interior design.” He wiped down the inside of the microwave. The inside. Who even notices that?

He had picked out three shirts. Tried all of them on. Hated all of them. Went back to the first one – the Gojo one. Changed again. Now he was in a soft grey hoodie because “low-stakes and huggable” felt like the safest vibe.

And still, as he paced his too-small living room—hands tangled in his hair, heart clawing its way up his throat—Soobin was certain of one thing: He was going to die. Or combust. Or dissolve into the floor. Or something equally dramatic and deserved.

Then his phone buzzed, and for a split second, he was genuinely convinced it was the end. A stroke. A heart attack. Divine punishment.

Y/N: omw :)

Oh god. She used a smiley face.

Not an emoji. A colon-parenthesis smiley. The old-school, no-frills kind. The kind that meant warmth. Familiarity. The kind that made Soobin feel like maybe she wasn't coming over to say "hey, about that kiss, let's never speak of it again, it was the worst kiss of my life."

Maybe.

He stood up so fast he got dizzy. Checked the mirror. Immediately regretted it. His hair looked like he’d tried to style it in a wind tunnel. His hoodie was riding weird on his shoulder. He looked exactly like he felt: insane.

The buzzer rang.

Oh my god. It’s her. Okay, this is happening, this is life.

Soobin walked to the door like a prisoner walking to the gallows, heart on his throat and sweat running down his spine.

He opened it.

And there she was.

Backlit by the low golden sunset, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, her lips pulled into a soft smile that made his brain completely short-circuit.

Soobin stopped functioning.

Like, genuinely. His entire body just—froze. It was like he was seeing her for the first time all over again. As if seeing her like this had triggered some biological override. As if his nervous system had taken one look at her and whispered, Nope. We’re out.

She was right there. Real. Warm. Wearing the kind of expression that lived in the spaces between his daydreams, the kind that looked too soft, too fond, too much for his heart to take.

And she was smiling at him.

God. That smile.

It wasn’t big or dramatic. It was quiet, just a curve of her mouth and a slight crinkle near her eyes, but it hit him. Like some hidden part of him—some vulnerable, unspeakable center—had been waiting for exactly this moment without realizing it. And now that it was here, now that she was here, he couldn’t breathe.

His heart was thudding hard. Loud. As if trying to escape his chest and throw itself at her feet.

Because she looked like something out of a dream he’d never have the nerve to describe out loud. The way her hair caught the last light of day. The way it moved ever so slightly in the breeze. The worn tote bag hanging from her shoulder, the edge of a book peeking out like an accidental detail from an indie movie. Her shoelaces a little uneven. A necklace he’d never seen before. Her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater.

Every detail was devastating.

Because it was her.

Because she'd kissed him.

And now she was standing in front of his apartment door like it was nothing. Like this was casual. Like his world hadn’t been tilted off its axis since the last time he saw her.

And for a second—a full, long, crushing second—Soobin wasn’t standing in a doorway.

He was standing on that porch again, her face just inches from his. Her hands in his hoodie. Her breath brushing his cheek. The kiss, soft and surprising and all-consuming, like a secret he didn’t know he’d been keeping.

He’d replayed it in his head every night since.

Except “replayed” didn’t even cover it. He’d relived it. Obsessively. The angle of her chin. The way her hand lingered near his jaw. The moment her lips met his and the rest of the world just faded out.

It had wrecked him.

It had remade him.

And now she was standing here in golden light, eyes lit up with that mischievous glint, and Soobin had never felt more like a character in the wrong genre of movie. The best he could hope for was to not pass out before offering her water.

His throat was dry. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. His palms were clammy. His knees felt like they might betray him at any moment.

She said, “Hi.”

And he thought, I would memorize every version of your voice just to keep this one forever.

He said, “Hey.”

And wanted to punch himself immediately.

But she just smiled wider. Tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. And he nearly had to lean against the doorframe to stay upright, because how was this his life?

She was really here.

And she had no idea. No idea how hard it was not to tell her everything. Not to say, I haven’t slept because I keep imagining your mouth on mine. Not to blurt out, I’ve been thinking about you every second of every day and I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Not to confess, you ruined me a little. And I liked it.

Instead, he swallowed hard. Shifted his weight.

Let her in.

Prayed to every god that had ever existed that he wouldn’t do something monumentally stupid.

Because the girl who kissed him under a starry sky was now walking into his apartment, and Soobin had never been more aware of his own heart than he was in that golden hour light.

“Hope I’m not too early,” she added, stepping inside. “I brought candy. And emotional baggage.”

Soobin let out a nervous breath. “I’ve got a whole closet for that.”

Y/N laughed—soft and easy—and kicked off her shoes. “Oh thank god. I was worried you were going to pretend to be emotionally healthy tonight.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, following her into the living room. “I’m very committed to my internal chaos.”

They sat on the couch—on opposite ends, naturally. A respectable, excruciating distance. There were exactly twenty-four inches between them. Soobin knew because he’d measured it earlier, just in case she sat next to him and he had to pretend he wasn’t hyper aware of how close they were.

And now here she was, cross-legged, tossing a gummy worm into her mouth like she wasn’t the sole reason Soobin’s entire nervous system was in flames.

She looked around his apartment. “You rearranged your manga shelf.”

Soobin blinked. “W-what?”

She smirked. “In that picture you sent me yesterday, Bleach was next to One Piece. Now it’s on the bottom.”

Holy shit. She noticed?

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought I’d switch it up.”

“You panicked.”

“I definitely panicked.”

She smiled, and something in his chest ached.

Y/N looked perfectly at ease, legs tucked under her on the couch, her face lit up with quiet excitement like this—being here, in his space—was the most natural thing in the world. She glanced around the room like it was familiar, like it didn’t even cross her mind that this was a big deal.

Meanwhile, Soobin was coming undone at the seams.

His brain couldn’t keep up with reality. She was on his couch. In his apartment. Eating the gummies she bought for him. Smiling at him like this wasn’t the single most terrifying and thrilling moment of his life. A silent, internal scream echoed through him as he tried to act normal—like his heart wasn’t trying to launch itself into orbit.

It hit him like a rogue wave: sudden, cold, and disorienting.

What was she doing here? How had this happened? Did she know what she was doing to him?

He blinked once. Twice. She was still there.

“Movie?” she asked, scrolling through the options on the screen like she didn’t just shatter his entire nervous system.

He nodded—too fast, too eager—and managed to form a word. “Yeah.”

They settled on Dune without much debate. It was an easy choice, safe and cinematic. A little pretentious in theory, but somehow a comfort movie to both of them. Neither of them mentioned they’d already seen it. Maybe because it didn’t matter. Maybe because this wasn’t about the movie at all.

Soobin knew every line, every cut of the camera. He couldn’t recall a single frame.

“So,” she said, popping another gummy into her mouth, eyes diverging from the screen, “tell me something dumb you believed as a kid.”

Soobin blinked. “Like… I used to think if I drank soda and chewed gum at the same time, my stomach would explode?”

She gasped. “Same! I was terrified. One time my brother gave me Coke while I had a mint in my mouth and I almost cried.”

He grinned. “A shared trauma.”

“What else?” she nudged his sock-covered foot with hers. “C’mon. Let me into the mind of young Soobin.”

“Oh no. That’s dangerous.”

“Do it.”

He sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. I used to believe that if I didn’t say goodnight to my stuffed animals in order, they’d fight each other while I slept.”

Y/N nearly choked. “What kind of Toy Story warzone were you sleeping in?”

“They were competitive! Especially the penguin and the dragon.”

“It doesn't seem like a fair fight to me.”

Soobin laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that felt real—the kind that cracked through the nervous haze and made room for something softer. Something that said: she’s here. She’s here and she’s laughing and this is okay.

“What about you?” he asked. “What dumb kid belief did you cling to?”

She smirked. “Okay, this is embarrassing. But… I thought actors lived inside the TV.”

Soobin blinked. “Like, just waiting?”

“Yeah. Like they had little apartments in there. And they’d come out when it was their turn. I once whispered to the TV during Lizzie McGuire to let Gordo know I thought he was cute.”

Soobin snorted. “Wow. Poor Gordo never knew.”

“I had to move on.”

They laughed again, the kind of shared laughter that slowly eased the weight in the room. They kept talking, forgetting about the movie, —about their friends, their childhoods, Soobin’s unfortunate incident with a Slip ‘N Slide and a pinecone (“I don’t wanna talk about it”) and Y/N’s brief, cursed phase as a magician’s assistant at a third-grade birthday party –which Soobin told her that Taehyun would love.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation—right after Y/N finished explaining how Jungwon once accidentally texted her “I love you” instead of “on my way”—the distance on the couch changed.

Soobin didn’t know how it happened. It just… shifted. Slowly. Like gravity was in on something he wasn’t.

Their knees touched.

Just a light brush. The smallest point of contact. But it hit him like a shockwave, like someone had flicked on a switch in the dark corner of his chest that hadn’t seen daylight in years.

And she didn’t move.

She didn’t apologize or shift away or act like it was anything at all. She just kept talking. Calm. Unbothered. Like she wasn’t currently rewriting the molecular structure of his body just by being there.

Soobin’s breath caught in his throat.

His heart—already a mess from her smile, her laugh, her whole being here—now decided to go into full DEFCON 1. Blood roared in his ears. His lungs felt too shallow. He tried to focus on what she was saying—something about Jake’s tragic karaoke renditions of emo songs—but all he could think about was how close she was. How real. How soft her voice sounded from here. How her knee was still touching his.

And then—then—she leaned a little closer.

And that was it. That was the moment he actually, truly, almost lost it.

Because she was here, right here, and she was so effortlessly herself. And he was Soobin—sitting so still it felt like his bones were buzzing. Trying not to explode. Trying not to mess this up.

He didn’t know how to sit anymore. His back was stiff, like if he moved the wrong way the moment would shatter. His hand was resting awkwardly against his thigh, fingers twitching like they were aching to reach for her, to trace the lines of her hand, to prove this was real.

Because it didn’t feel real.

Not after the past three days.

Not after the way he’d gone to bed that night and just stared at the ceiling in stunned silence, hand over his chest, replaying the kiss like it was on a loop in his brain. Not after he’d walked home from the porch half-dazed, like someone who had just stepped out of a dream and wasn’t sure which reality was the real one.

He hadn’t slept that night. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face lit by the porch light—her expression right before she kissed him. Like she wasn’t afraid. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And Soobin?

Soobin had been wrecked ever since.

He’d woken up the next morning thinking it might’ve been a hallucination. His brain had immediately gone into overdrive: Did I imagine it? Was it an accident? Did I dream the entire thing? What if she regrets it? What if she thinks it meant nothing and I’m just sitting here making friendship bracelets out of feelings she doesn’t even know I have?

And now she was next to him.

Real. Here. Knees touching his.

Leaning closer like it was nothing.

He could smell her shampoo—something citrusy and warm, bright and sharp like the rest of her. He could feel the way the air between them tightened, thickened, like the universe itself was holding its breath.

Soobin wanted to scream. Or sob. Or kiss her again. Or all three in rapid succession.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see her profile.

She was now focused on the movie playing on the screen. At least, she was pretending to be. Her lashes flicked downward, slow and deliberate. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. And the corner of her mouth twitched—like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

She was close enough that if he turned his head just a little more, he’d be able to see her eyes. Close enough that if she looked back, they’d meet in that space where no words were needed and everything would suddenly be too much.

And Soobin...

Soobin had never wanted anything more than he wanted to know what would happen if she looked at him right now.

Because this was worse than a crush.

It was gravity.

It was weeks of lingering glances and half-smiles and oh-god-does-she-know.

It was his fingers twitching with restraint.

It was the ghost of her lips still etched on his.

It was how good she had felt kissing him. The warmth. The softness. The way she had cupped his face like she’d been thinking about it just as long as he had.

He remembered that moment like a favorite line in a book he wasn’t allowed to reread. And now, here she was, turning pages again, breathing the same air, and not pulling away.

And it hurt. In the most ridiculous, hopeful, beautiful way.

Because maybe she remembered it too.

Because maybe she wanted to kiss him again just as badly.

Because maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t one-sided after all.

And so, Soobin sat there, heart thundering, body frozen, wishing he had the courage to close that last inch of space.

Wishing he knew for sure.

Wishing he could tell her that the kiss hadn’t ruined him.

It had remade him.

And now he didn’t know how to exist without her this close.

“Soobin,” she whispered suddenly, her voice soft but enough to make his heart lurch.

He turned, trying not to look too startled. “Yeah?”

She leaned her head back against the couch, eyes still on the screen. “What would your dragon stuffed animal think about us sitting this close?”

He blinked. Then laughed, nervous and breathless. “He’d be jealous, probably.”

“Oh?”

“He was very possessive.”

“Over you?”

He looked at her then. Really looked. And for once, she was already looking back.

A beat passed. Then another. And her smile shifted—gentler, softer. “I don’t blame him.”

Soobin swore the air in his lungs turned to static. “That’s, um. Bold of you to say.”

“I’m a bold person.” She popped another gummy into her mouth, her tone far too casual for the way his chest was currently caving in on itself. “You just never noticed before.”

He wanted to say, I notice everything about you. The way she chews her bottom lip when she’s thinking. The way her laugh always comes half a second after she covers her mouth like she’s still trying to hide it. The way she never finishes her coffee but always insists on making a fresh cup. The way she kissed him and ruined every song that used to mean nothing.

But his brain wasn’t functioning. Not with her sitting this close. Not with her warmth brushing against his side like she belonged there. So instead, he swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and said, “Not true. I’ve always noticed you.”

She turned to him again, eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile. “Yeah?”

Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were hopeful. Curious. Like she wanted him to keep going.

So he did.

“I mean… freshman year?” Soobin shook his head with a soft, breathless laugh. “You used to walk across campus with your headphones in and that laser-focused expression, like you had a secret mission to complete.”

“I did,” she said, smirking. “It was called: avoid human interaction at all costs.”

He grinned, but there was something quieter in the way he looked at her now. Something almost reverent. “You were kind of intimidating, honestly. Not in a bad way. Just… you always seemed so far away. Like you were in a different world. Like…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like someone like me wouldn’t ever be in yours.”

She tilted her head. “Soobin…”

“Y/N, really, how could I not notice you?” he said, eyes meeting hers now, voice a little steadier. “Even when I tried not to. You were just—there. Always. In your own orbit. And I’d see you in the library or walking past the café and I’d feel like I was watching a movie I wasn’t in. Like I wasn’t supposed to talk to you. Just… admire from a distance.”

Her breath caught, and the playful spark between them simmered into something softer.

“And last semester,” he continued, barely above a whisper, “when we had that one class together? I used to wait an extra minute before leaving so I’d run into you by the doors. I timed it. Almost every week. Even though I never said a word.”

She blinked, her voice just as quiet now. “You noticed me like that?”

He smiled, a little shy, a little proud. “I always noticed you like that. And now,” he added, voice quiet, “now it’s like—I walk into a room and I look for you without even realizing it.”

There it was.

The truth, not just in his words but in the way he said them—gentle and careful, like he was offering her something fragile.

Y/N stared at him, blinking slowly, like maybe her brain was catching up too.

“I didn’t know,” she said after a moment. “I thought I was the only one who… noticed.”

“You weren’t,” he said, almost in a whisper. “You never were.”

Silence stretched between them, golden and warm. The movie played in the background, forgotten.

“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “hypothetically speaking… if someone were to want to kiss you again—like, let’s say they did it once, and it was sort of unexpected but really good—would that person be totally out of line if they… wanted to do it again?”

Soobin’s brain blue-screened. Rebooted.

“I—uh. I mean. Hypothetically?”

She nodded, pretending to study the credits now rolling across the screen. “Mhm. Totally hypothetical.”

“I think… that person would be very, very in line.” He smiled, shy but sure. “In fact, they might even be doing the universe a favor.”

Y/N turned back to him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “Because I’ve been dying to kiss you again.”

Soobin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, all tension and disbelief. “Then you should.”

She tilted her head, playfully skeptical. “Just like that?”

She didn’t say anything right away.

He nodded. “Just like that.”

Just looked at him, really looked — the way someone might look at a constellation for the first time, like connecting the stars finally revealed the shape of something they’d been trying to understand all along.

Soobin felt suspended in that gaze, like the world had narrowed to this one fragile thread between them.

And then—

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?” he echoed, blinking.

It took him a second to believe it.

And another to move.

But then he was leaning in, just a little — so slowly it almost hurt — like he was afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast. His eyes flicked to her lips and back up again, searching for any sign that this wasn’t real. That maybe he was dreaming on his too-small couch and any second now his phone would buzz and shatter everything.

But she was still there.

Closer now.

And when her eyes fluttered shut, he closed the space between them.

The kiss was careful at first. Soft. Like the moment you dip into warm water — tentative, unsure, until it wraps around you and makes you forget you were ever cold. Her hand found the side of his neck, featherlight, and he melted under the touch. His fingers barely brushed her jaw, scared to startle her, but needing to hold on to something, anything.

She tilted her head just enough and deepened the kiss, and that was it — Soobin forgot his own name. Forgot where they were. Forgot how to breathe.

She tasted like the strawberry gummies she’d been eating earlier, sweet and a little tart, and Soobin knew—knew in the deepest, most irreversible way—that he would never eat one again without remembering this. The soft press of her lips. The warm weight of her hand on his chest. The way everything else had gone quiet.

And then her fingers moved.

Slowly, deliberately, from his collarbone to the curve of his shoulder, tracing the fabric of his shirt like she wanted to memorize it. It was barely a touch, really—just fingertips. But to Soobin, it might as well have been a lightning strike. His breath hitched, and suddenly every nerve ending he’d ever had was tuned only to her.

She shifted closer, knees bumping his, and the couch dipped slightly beneath her weight. Her palm splayed gently across his chest now, grounding him, and he realized with a dizzy sort of awe that she could probably feel his heart trying to punch its way out of his ribcage.

Still, she didn’t pull away.

Soobin’s hand moved almost without thinking. He touched her waist first, tentative, unsure, but she didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned in, her hand sliding up the back of his neck and curling into his hair. That single, confident tug—barely even pressure—made him exhale, made him melt.

Every new point of contact felt like a secret shared. Her thumb brushing the hinge of his jaw. His fingers trailing along her side until they rested at the dip of her spine. Her knees tucked closer to his thighs now, her body warm and real and so incredibly close.

Soobin pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded but watching him with something soft and certain.

“You’re really here,” he whispered, like the words might help him believe it.

She smiled, fingers still in his hair. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer. He just leaned in again—this time with a little more urgency. Like he couldn’t bear the space between them. Their mouths met again, and this kiss was messier. Fuller. Her hand slid down from his hair to his cheek, then lower, tracing the line of his throat, and he shivered at the contact. He held her tighter now, one arm wrapped fully around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

And maybe she was.

Every move felt sacred. Like permission. Like a promise.

The kiss deepened slowly, a lazy build of heat and gravity, like neither of them wanted to rush what was happening but couldn’t stop leaning closer, falling harder. Soobin’s thumb brushed over her waist, back and forth, anchoring himself to the soft curve of her. Her fingers were tangled in his hair again, guiding him, holding him there like she couldn’t get enough either.

And then—A sound.

Barely audible. Just the faintest, breathy moan against his mouth. Soft and helpless, like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

It shattered him.

Soobin stilled for half a second, heart thudding wildly in his chest. Every thought, every carefully constructed dam of restraint he'd built in the last five minutes cracked at once. His pulse roared in his ears. That one sound had lit a fire low in his stomach, something raw and wanting and entirely new. It was the sweetest thing he's ever heard.

His hand tightened at her waist. The other cradled the back of her neck, tilting her head just slightly to kiss her deeper, fuller, like he was starving and she was the only thing that could keep him breathing.

She didn’t pull away.

If anything, she clung to him, fingers curling tighter in his shirt, nails grazing the back of his neck. Her lips parted willingly beneath his, that same quiet sound escaping again—and he swore he felt it vibrate straight through his bones.

He made a sound then too, low and nearly a groan, something desperate and reverent all at once. He pulled her impossibly closer, their chests pressed together now, her legs shifting to hook around his, as if she couldn’t stand another inch of distance either.

“God,” he whispered against her lips, voice wrecked and shaking, “you’re gonna kill me.”

She smiled, flushed and a little dazed. “Not unless you kill me first.”

And then she kissed him again.

And again.

And Soobin, hopeless and breathless and completely gone for her, let himself fall—hands everywhere, heart wide open, tasting strawberry and summer and everything he’d ever wanted in a single moment that felt like it might never end.

After five or maybe five hundred kisses, they were still tangled up on the couch, sunk into the cushions like gravity had given up on them. Her legs were draped over his, one of her hands absentmindedly playing with the drawstring of his hoodie, and Soobin was pretty sure this was the happiest he’d ever been while doing absolutely nothing.

But also—he was dangerously close to combusting.

His brain was short-circuiting from the way she kept looking at him, from the way she was still holding onto him like she didn’t want to move. Like maybe she liked being here just as much as he did.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly beneath her.

“So,” he started, trying to sound casual and immediately failing. “Um. I know the couch is… like, peak couch. Very comfortable. Lots of personality. But… uh. Do you… maybe wanna see my room?”

Y/N blinked at him, eyebrows lifting. “Your room?”

He panicked. “Wait. That sounded like a line. I didn’t mean it like that. Not—not in the ‘hey baby, wanna see my room’ kind of way.”

She grinned. “So not in a ‘Netflix and chill’ kind of way?”

“I mean… Netflix is already playing,” he said, eyes wide, heart pounding. “And there’s no chill. I’m literally sweating.”

She burst out laughing, collapsing a little more into him, her forehead landing lightly on his shoulder.

“I just—” he tried again, helpless. “You’ve never been in there, and I—I thought you might want to see my shelves?”

Y/N tilted her head up at him, biting her lip to hold back her smile. “Your shelves.”

He nodded solemnly. “Very elite shelving. Tastefully curated. Zero dust. An emotionally significant penguin figurine.”

“You had me at emotionally significant penguin.”

He grinned, then stood up, offering her his hand in that awkwardly formal way of someone both pretending not to be nervous and simultaneously vibrating with nerves.

She took it easily, lacing her fingers through his.

“Lead the way, Mr. Curated Shelves.”

As he guided her down the hall, Soobin could feel his pulse in his ears. He almost tripped over his own slippers, bumped into the wall once, and still managed to keep talking, because silence would be worse.

“I cleaned it recently, by the way,” he babbled. “Not just because you’re here, but like, maybe a little because you’re here. But also because I spilled ramen on the rug. That’s unrelated.”

“So this is a room of mystery, drama, and noodles.”

“I contain multitudes,” he said, eyes wide. “Please keep expectations low. There are Funko Pops.”

She squeezed his hand. “Soobin. I’m excited.”

That made his heart do a strange flip.

He opened the door and stepped back dramatically. “Behold. My domain.”

Her eyes immediately scanned the room, and her entire face lit up. “Oh my god, it’s so you.”

There were books, game controllers, a surprisingly well-made bed, and a color-coded manga shelf. And on top of it all sat a small, slightly lopsided pirate penguin.

She gasped. “Is that Captain Waddles?!”

Soobin groaned. “I can’t believe I didn’t hide him.”

“You better not have. He’s perfect. Does he still fight dragons?”

“He’s retired. Writes memoirs now. Very private.”

She giggled and walked further in, taking it all in like she was in a museum. And all Soobin could do was watch her.

Because she was here. In his room. Holding his penguin. Smiling like she meant it.

And Soobin couldn’t remember a single time he’d been this happy to share a part of himself.

He’d always kept this space kind of sacred, honestly. Not in a “no girls allowed” kind of way–because it's not like any girl would've wanted to go there–, but more like… this was the one place where he could be entirely himself. No social filter, no worries about fitting in or looking cool. Just him, his comics, his odd collection of trinkets, and the quiet.

So the fact that she was standing here—in her little hoodie and mismatched socks, looking around with open curiosity and warmth instead of judgment—felt like someone had cracked open a window in his chest and let the light in.

“Your bed’s made,” she said, mock-suspicious.

He flushed immediately. “Okay, yeah. That was for you.”

“Busted.”

“I panicked!” he cried, flailing slightly. “I’ve never had anyone in here before! Especially not someone I’m—uh, I mean—”

She looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “Someone you’re…?”

“Fond of,” he finished weakly, like that was the word his brain landed on in sheer desperation.

“‘Fond of,’” she repeated, walking over to him slowly. “That’s such a Soobin word.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re ridiculously cute and kind of tragic.”

“I—wait, tragic?”

“In a very charming way,” she added quickly, eyes dancing.

Before he could defend himself (he was working on something involving honor and slander), she sat on the edge of his bed and patted the spot beside her.

He went, obviously.

And when their shoulders touched, the silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward at all. It was full of electricity. Of things not said. Of all the tension that had been slowly building like steam in a kettle.

Y/N reached over and picked up a small, laminated Pokémon card from his nightstand.

“Is this... holographic?” she asked, holding it up to the light. “Oh my god, is this a first edition Charizard?”

Soobin lit up. “Yes! Yes, it is. I kept it in a binder for years. I traded like three Digletts and a shiny Eevee for it in eighth grade. Honestly, daylight robbery.”

She looked at him like he’d just handed her a national treasure. “I love that you still have this.”

“I love that you don’t think I’m a total loser for it.”

She smiled, softer now. “How could I? This is… you. All of this is you. And I really like you, Soobin.”

That was it.

The sentence that rearranged everything inside him.

He turned to face her fully. His hand brushed her knee—lightly at first, but when she didn’t pull away, he left it there, grounding himself.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly, voice a little hoarse. “You like me?”

She leaned in just enough for him to feel her breath on his cheek. “Yeah. A lot, I thought I've said this already.”

He didn’t know what to do with that except feel it. All of it. The butterflies, the warmth, the urge to throw himself out the window in a happy spiral. But also—he couldn’t let the moment go without being Soobin about it.

“So like, on a scale from ‘appreciates my book organization’ to ‘would still talk to me if I told you I cried during Spirited Away’…”

She grinned. “You cried during Spirited Away?”

“That scene with Chihiro’s parents! They’re pigs! It’s devastating!”

She was laughing again, tipping into him, and this time when their noses bumped, neither of them moved back.

“Okay,” she whispered, her fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie. “So what’s next, Mr. Curated Shelves?”

He looked at her mouth. At her eyes. At the girl sitting on his bed, who somehow made him feel less alone just by existing.

“I think I kiss you,” he whispered.

And she smiled like she’d been waiting for that.

Just as Soobin was about to lean in—heart thudding, eyes locked on her smile, hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek—the front door slammed open.

“GUYS. SOUND THE ALARMS. SOUND THE ACTUAL, LITERAL ALARMS.”

A beat of silence.

Then—thunder. Pounding paws, frantic snuffling, and then—“WHAT THE—” Soobin yelped as a blur of fur and chaos charged into his room at the speed of light and body-slammed them both on the bed.

Y/N shrieked. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

“I FOUND A DOG,” Beomgyu announced, bursting dramatically into the room, panting like he’d just run a marathon. He was holding a lightsaber in one hand and a half-drunk can of Monster in the other. “HER NAME IS RONNIE. SHE IS MY DESTINY.”

“WHAT?!” Soobin was being smothered by floppy ears and enthusiastic dog kisses. “WHY IS SHE ON MY BED?!”

“She chose it,” Beomgyu said solemnly. “She chose you. She is imprinting. Like in Twilight.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N wheezed, trying to sit up as Ronnie, tail wagging wildly, climbed over Soobin’s chest to lick her face.

“She’s licking me!” Soobin cried, flailing helplessly. “She just stepped on my neck!”

“She’s asserting dominance,” Beomgyu nodded wisely. “You must accept her leadership now. You are part of the pack.”

“I was about to kiss Y/N!” Soobin shouted, still being steamrolled by a very excited Ronnie.

Beomgyu gasped. “Oh my god. Did she ruin the moment? That’s so Ronnie-coded.”

“She full-on flew into the room like a missile,” Y/N laughed, petting Ronnie’s head. “How did she even get in?”

“I gave her a dramatic speech about how sometimes in life, we find what we weren’t looking for. Then she followed me home. I think we’re soulmates.”

“She’s a dog,” Soobin muttered, now sitting up with his hair sticking in eight different directions.

“She’s a vision,” Beomgyu corrected, absolutely starry-eyed. “Also, she chewed through my phone charger, so now I think we’re trauma bonded.”

Ronnie barked once, loudly, like you’re welcome for the vibe check.

“She’s kind of cute,” Y/N said, giggling as Ronnie shoved her snout under her arm and curled up next to her.

Soobin looked at them both—Y/N, smiling and relaxed, Ronnie snoring now like she owned the place—and sighed dramatically. “Great. Replaced. By a dog.”

“Oh come on,” Y/N grinned, nudging his knee. “You’re still in the top two.”

Beomgyu flopped onto the edge of the bed, somehow holding a bag of chips he hadn’t had five seconds ago. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been. The gang’s all here. I’m starting a group chat called Ronnie’s Guardians. Soobin, you’re emotional support. Y/N, you're her style inspiration.”

“I am none of those things—” Soobin began.

“Shhh. Let it happen.”

Ronnie let out a contented sigh, tail still thumping lazily against the comforter, as if to say this is my bed now.

And even though the moment had been completely derailed, Soobin couldn’t help but smile.

Because Y/N was still next to him. Laughing. Petting a dog neither of them knew existed ten minutes ago. Looking at him like maybe, just maybe, that kiss would still happen later—

Even if they'd have to work around Beomgyu and his emotional support goblin dog to make it happen.

And Soobin? He had never been happier.

prev | masterlist | next

profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: HI I'M BACK! i know it was overdue, but here i am with yet another cute CUTE c u t e chapter hehe. I got my dog bc she followed me home and jumped on my bed just like ronnie did to beomgyu so i guess i got inspired by that! also, y/n is the coolest i cant!!! i hope you guys enjoy it, what do you all think?? a little spoiler: the gangs are going on a trip hehe

ALSO adult life is no joke, i'll tell you that! i've been so busy and tired that when i get home i just fall sleep! i'm so upset i can't update as often as i'd like to, i'm really sorry guys thank you for understanding! i'm trying my best bc it brings me so much joy, and i can tell makes you guys happy too!! i'll reply to everyone now hehe anywaysss thank you so much as always <3

taglist: @heejamas @mingyustar @wintereals @mimimiloomeelomi @wonderstrucktae @delirioastral @gomdoleemyson @i03jae @irishspringing @bunniwords @kirbrary @sirenla @saladgirl @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @uvyuri @imlonelydontsendhelp @haechology @sanriwoozzz @stormy1408 @soobinieswife @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobskz @jkeydiary @imnotsureokay @nyanzzn @lostgirlysstuff @lilbrorufr @beomgyusluver@lveegsoi@pagesoobinie @catpjimin @t-102 @sh0dor1 @i-am-not-dal @bbeomgyucafe @damn-u-min-yoongi @https-yeonjun

#txt au #txt #txt fluff #txt x reader #soobin #choi soobin #txt x female reader #txt smau #soobin smau #soobin x reader #soobin x you #txt fake texts #txt imagines #soobin imagines

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lelengerine · 3 months ago

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pairing. lee sohee x reader

synopsis. sohee has plans of confessing his feelings, but not all plans ever go as planned.

tags. lab partners au, the entire thing is inspired by zb1’s doctor! doctor! song (so good highly recommend), a lot of being a loser and downbad from the man himself, no specific prns used!

wc. 1.1k words

notes. guess who’s writing for riize again 😌 that one sohee snowboarding vid will forever live in my mind rent free 😭😭 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list ꒱

sohee thinks he’s sick.

not in the way that can be fixed with a couple of days off or a visit to the doctor’s office. no, his condition is far more complex—something that lingers under his skin, makes his heart race at the slightest glance, and causes his palms to sweat uncontrollably every time he’s near you. it’s a sickness of the heart, slow-burning, and entirely humiliating.

and the worst part? you’re his lab partner.

three times a week, he’s trapped beside you in that small, sterile space where every shift of your body, every glance in his direction, sends his nerves into overdrive. you stand there, focused and graceful, your hands moving deftly as you manipulate test tubes, writing calculations down on the whiteboard as you speak softly to yourself, and every time, he pretends to be fine. but really? he feels like he might combust any moment.

it started small—just a little lightheadedness whenever you walked into the room, an occasional shortness of breath if you so much as glanced in his direction. normal symptoms of something, right? maybe low blood sugar. maybe he needed more sleep.

but then it got worse.

every moment near you felt like his chest was constricting, every glance exchanged left him breathless. he swore his heart was going to burst through his ribs one day if this didn’t stop.

and now? every time you pass him a piece of equipment or your fingers brush against his by accident, his body freezes in a mix of panic and longing. he genuinely can’t tell whether he’s going to faint or spontaneously combust.

no, this isn’t normal. he’s not sure what to call it, but it’s definitely not just his nerves anymore.

"you need to get a grip," anton says, barely glancing up from his phone, not even aware of the monumental inner turmoil his friend is facing.

sohee groans, his face falling into his arms. "no, i need a doctor. preferably one who specializes in mortal diseases.”

anton doesn’t even blink. “you need to stop acting like you're dying every time you see them. it’s... embarrassing."

sohee pushes his face harder into his arms. "you don’t understand," he mutters, barely able to say the words aloud. “i am dying."

anton snorts, shaking his head. "that's one way to say you got a crush."

sohee’s head jerks up as he glares at his friend, a mix of frustration and desperation flashing in his eyes. "don’t you dare pity me."

anton shrugs, unfazed. "you're down bad, man."

sohee lets out another tortured groan. he’s always known it was bad, but today? today, he’s had enough. he’s going to do something about it.

his plan is simple.

step 1: wait until class ends, and everyone clears out so it’s just the two of you left in the lab, the space echoing with quiet after the chaos of students rushing out. step 2: say something charming—something that’ll make you see him as more than just sohee, the guy who can’t seem to hold it together whenever you’re around. step 3: confess. clearly. smoothly. like a guy who knows exactly what he’s doing.

in his head, it goes a little bit like this:

"hey, can i talk to you for a second?"

"i know this might be out of nowhere, but i really like you."

"i don’t expect anything, but i wanted to be honest—because every time i see you, i feel like my heart is running a marathon, and it’s getting exhausting pretending i’m not affected by you."

it’s perfect. it’s foolproof.

it’s also completely impossible to say out loud.

ʚɞ

“sohee, can you pass me the flask?”

your voice—soft and easy, like you don’t even realize the effect it has on him—cuts through the chaos in his mind.

he blinks, suddenly aware of the fact that he’s standing by the counter, holding a flask like his life depends on it. his hands are shaking. his throat is dry. his brain is a foggy mess, completely locked down by the pressure of having you so close, looking at him with that focused, calm expression.

“oh—uh, yeah.” he fumbles with the flask for a moment, almost dropping it before handing it to you. his chest tightens, heart thundering in his ears, like it’s trying to escape his body.

say it. just say it.

his breath catches. “hey—”

and there it is. the perfect opportunity.

but the words? they get stuck in his throat, tangled in a web of fear, nervousness, and pure panic. it feels like a truck slams into him. his heart is beating too fast. his palms are sweating.

"i like you."

no. too blunt. too desperate.

"i think you’re amazing, and i’d like to take you out sometime."

no, that sounds like he’s asking for a job interview. too formal. too stiff.

"every time i see you, i feel like i’m on fire, and it’s driving me insane."

no. no. what the hell was he trying to say?

his brain shuts down completely, and his mouth moves before he can stop it. and then, in the most soul-crushing, life-ruining moment of his entire existence, the words leave his mouth—

“i think i have constipation.”

a deep silence follows.

sohee’s body goes rigid with embarrassment. he feels his face burn as if it’s been set on fire. oh my god. did he really just say that?

you stare at him. blink once. twice.

and then, out of nowhere, you laugh.

it’s not a little giggle. it’s not even a chuckle. it’s a full-on, head-thrown-back kind of laughter, like the world’s funniest joke has just been told to you. your hands grip the edge of the sink as you try to catch your breath, body shaking as you try to contain your laughter.

"sohee," you gasp, between fits of laughter, shaking your head. "that was... insane."

he groans, sinking his face into his hands. "i know. i know."

your laughter settles, and you look at him, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "wow," you tease, your voice teasing, but still light. "that’s gotta be the worst crush confession i’ve ever heard."

sohee freezes, heart stopping for a brief second. “that wasn’t a confession—”

but before he can finish, you step a little closer, your eyes still twinkling with amusement. “oh, really?”

his brain completely shorts out. he can’t think. he can’t speak. he’s lost. completely overwhelmed by the warmth of your smile, the closeness of your body—because in that moment, instead of feeling humiliated, he feels something he didn’t expect:

hope.

outside the lab, anton’s loud, echoing laugh filters through the door. “somebody get this man some fiber!”

sohee slumps against the counter. great. he’s never going to live this down.

but when you nudge his arm and say, “hey. if you ever wanna try that confession again… i wouldn’t mind hearing it,” sohee believes he’s dreaming cause there’s no way you’d give him another chance after fumbling so bad in front of you, but the sweet smile on your face is all he needs for reassurance.

maybe not all is a lost cause, he thinks.

#riize fluff #riize angst #riize fics #sohee #riize scenarios #sohee fluff #sohee angst #sohee fic #sohee scenarios #sohee oneshots #sohee x reader #riize x reader #riize imagines

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iwaoiness · 9 months ago

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This is entirely and exclusively Hanamaki’s fault. If he hadn’t planted that ridiculous idea in his head—that you can tell how someone kisses just by the way they bite into an apple—Oikawa wouldn’t be staring so intently at Iwaizumi devouring a fucking apple.

He also wouldn’t be completely mesmerized by the way Iwaizumi’s teeth (and those sharp canines) sink into the fruit, by how his lips close around the piece, by how his strong jaw tightens with each bite, by how a bit of juice drips from the corner of his mouth as he chews, or by the way his thick Adam’s apple moves when he swallow

And, without a doubt, he wouldn’t be thinking over and over about how good Hajime must be at kissing, or how in the world he wishes he were that apple, and how—

"Ouch!" Tooru blinks as if waking from a dream, his train of thought abruptly cut off. He immediately brings his hand to his forehead where he felt the impact, narrowing his eyes at Iwaizumi, who meets his gaze with an expressionless look, his knuckles still raised. "What the fuck was that for, Iwa-chan?!"

"You were staring too much. Did you put something in the apple?" Iwaizumi asks suspiciously, gesturing to the half-eaten fruit in his other hand.

"How rude!" Oikawa pouts. "I would never do something like that, I’m a being of pure light!" But Iwaizumi keeps staring at him blankly.

Tooru tries to hold his gaze. He really does—he even furrows his brow and lifts his chin. But Iwaizumi is as unyielding as he is during arm wrestling, and it doesn’t take long before Oikawa feels the crushing intensity that forces him to look away first with an annoyed huff and flushed cheeks.

"So? What is it?" Iwaizumi insists, amused now that he’s won again.

"Nothing," Oikawa mutters.

"Oikawa."

He groans, rolling his eyes before scowling at Hajime. He’s embarrassed, but there’s no way he’s going to show it—his pride comes before anything.

"Makki told me you can tell how someone kisses by the way they bite into an apple."

Iwaizumi blinks, glancing from the apple to Oikawa and back to the apple again before raising an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued.

"Really?" Tooru nods, feeling like his cheeks are about to burst. "Then? Am I a good kisser?" He smiles again, genuinely flirty in a way Oikawa has only seen a handful of times, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to combust any second now.

"...You're a bad kisser," he mutters a bit too quietly, swallowing hard as his ridiculously stupid best friend leans in just a little closer.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Mmh." Iwaizumi hums, not breaking eye contact for even a second as he slowly takes another bite of the apple.

And fuck Makki, and fuck apples, and fuck the stupid kissing theory, and fuck apples again, and fuck his impulsiveness that makes him snatch the apple from Iwa-chan's hand before grabbing him by the collar to pull him in and kiss him right on the mouth.

...

now we're +200 followers thank u so so so much!! 🫂

and guess what i changed the layout pray that lasts long enough lol

u can find me on my ao3 🍉

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serenastark-official · 3 months ago

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✨🩵08: Serena’s 101 for Socially Awkward People Who Wanna Make Friends but Also Kinda Wanna Hide in a Hole🩵✨

Alright, Tumblr gremlins, listen up. You wanna make friends but feel like an absolute mess of awkwardness and insecurity? Been there, done that, stole Tony’s prototype T-shirt. So, here’s your guide to getting over yourself (with love) and actually letting people know you think they’re awesome.

Step 1: Accept That You Are, in Fact, Cool Enough to Have Friends

Yes, you. Right there. The one reading this and thinking, “Haha, but not me.” WRONG. You are exactly the kind of person who deserves friends. Your brain is lying to you. Tell it to shut up.

Repeat after me: ✨ I am not as weird and unlikable as my overthinking tells me I am. ✨ People will not spontaneously combust if I talk to them. ✨ It’s okay to like people without being terrified of them.

Step 2: Initiating a Friendship Without Self-Destructing

You see someone cool. You want to talk to them. Your brain immediately goes: “Ah, yes. Time to panic.”

❌ DO NOT overthink the perfect first message. ✔️ DO just say literally anything remotely friendly.

Some ideas:

Compliments Work Wonders – “Hey, I love your posts/art/vibe, you’re super cool!” (Boom. Instant serotonin boost for them.)

Mutual Interests Are Your Friend – “You like [insert thing]? I ALSO like [insert thing]!” (Look at you, starting a conversation.)

Chaos Can Be Effective – “Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?” (Trust me, this works.)

The key is you do not have to be perfect. You just have to exist in their direction.

Step 3: Handling Responses Like a Functional Human Being

So they reply! Yay! Now what?

Don’t stress about being interesting. You don’t need to be a one-person comedy show. Just talk.

Ask questions! People like talking about themselves.

If you panic and overthink, breathe—no one expects you to be flawless.

If they don’t respond, IT’S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD. They might be busy. It’s not a personal attack.

📌Here are some DOs and DON'Ts:

DO: Reply to posts, add comments, send memes, react with emojis—exist in their general vicinity.

DON’T: Stare at their content like a cryptid in the shadows, overthink a single reply for five hours, then panic and delete everything before they see it.

DO: Send a casual “Hey, your posts always make me smile!”

DON’T: Write a ten-page essay apologizing for existing before you even get to the compliment.

Step 4: Let People Know You Appreciate Them Without Imploding

Okay, so now you’ve been mutuals for a while. You think they’re great. But your brain is like, “What if I say something and it’s weird and they think I’m creepy and I ruin everything forever?”

❌ WRONG. ✔️ Here’s what you say:

“Hey, I love seeing your posts on my dash, they make my day better!”

“You are genuinely such a cool person and I’m really happy we’re mutuals.”

“I hope you’re having a good day because you deserve one.”

“You exist and that’s pretty damn awesome.”

Friendly reminders: 🔥 Saying nice things is not creepy. 🔥 People LOVE knowing they make you happy. 🔥 You are not a burden for appreciating someone.

Step 5: The Art of Controlled Fangirling��

I repeat: COMPLIMENTS ARE NOT A CRIME. You are not “bothering” someone by saying something nice. If someone told you, “Hey, I love your vibe, and you make me laugh,” would you recoil in horror? No! You’d be happy! So apply the same logic to others.

DO: Hype them up like the supportive gremlin you are. “OMG I love this!!!” is always welcome.

DON’T: Write an entire Shakespearean sonnet about how they’re the sun and moon and stars and you would die for them—unless you already have that kind of friendship, in which case, go feral.

Step 6: Dealing with the Inevitable ‘Oh No, They Secretly Hate Me’ Spiral

Ah yes, the classic “They’re just tolerating me, aren’t they?” intrusive thought.

🔹 FACT: If someone didn’t like you, they would not talk to you. 🔹 FACT: Just because they don’t respond immediately doesn’t mean they hate you. 🔹 FACT: Your brain is meaner to you than reality is.

How to handle the spiral:

Pause – Are you making assumptions, or do you have actual proof they hate you?

Reality Check – If they didn’t want to interact, they wouldn’t. They have a BLOCK button.

Distract Yourself – Go do something fun. Your worth isn’t determined by one person’s response time.

Step 7: Just Be You, Because You’re Already Pretty Great

Friendship isn’t about impressing people—it’s about connecting with them. You don’t have to be the funniest, smartest, most interesting person in the room. You just have to be there.

✨ People like you for you. ✨ You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of friendship. ✨ Let people know when you appreciate them.

Step 8: Socializing = Exposure Therapy

Talk to people. Regularly. Even if it’s just sending a dumb meme or commenting “mood” on a post. The more you interact, the less terrifying it gets. Exposure therapy works.

The only way to get better at socializing is to actually do it. Yes, even when you feel like your soul is going to evacuate your body from sheer awkwardness. Yes, even when your brain is screaming, “BUT WHAT IF THEY THINK I’M WEIRD?” (Spoiler: everyone is weird. It’s fine.)

Step 9: Just Do the Thing™

Type the message.

Hit send.

Don’t overthink it.

If they don’t respond, it’s not a personal attack.

If they do respond, congrats! You’re socializing!

Repeat until you have a cool internet friend.

Look, I hate to break it to you, but most people are just as awkward as you are. That “cool, untouchable person” you’re scared to interact with? Yeah, they probably spent ten minutes debating how to phrase a text like, “Hey.” Nobody actually has their life together. We’re all just pretending.

So go forth, awkward Tumblr human, and make some friends. You got this. 💙

#marvel #mcu #serena stark #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu rp #iron gal #serena stark speaks #serena stark 101 #socialising 101

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batsovergotham · 17 days ago

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Wait omggggg for The Night Remains, is there gonna be some sort of love triangle/ past relationship w/ dick??? Whether there is or not I’m soooo excited for this new fic. Batman comics are literally my ONE THING so this is kinda a dream come true lmao. It’ll be fun to see how Mark chooses to navigate through Gotham and work with The Bats, learning that, though they may not be powered, they are NOT to be underestimated

WAIT STOP SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE EXCITED you don’t even KNOW how unwell i am over The Night Remains rn it’s literally renting out my entire brain and it’s NOT leaving any time soon

OK OK LISTEN I NEED TO YAP REAL FAST

• FIRST OF ALL no love triangle shit with dick i SWEAR

dick is literally just baby robin here full chaos mode like he’s actually batwoman reader’s son at this point i don’t make the rules

reader’s super young too like EARLY twenties, 23-24 tops, MAX, she’s more bruce-coded than barbara-coded honestly the only thing she shares with barbara is the batwoman name and even then it’s hanging on by a thread

so like. dick?? practically HER KID. we’re safe.

• now the actual messy history??? it’s with SUPERMAN. and it’s DELICIOUS

so batwoman reader meets clark super early like 18 years old mask barely broken in cape still fresh she clocks him IMMEDIATELY

because hello giant walking god weapon with a moral compass, gotham-trained brain goes study that immediately

and guess what. feelings happened. oops.

they ended up dating. they WENT PUBLIC (mistake??? yes. iconic??? also yes.)

and the media tried to TEAR THEM APART bc the vibes were so crazy gotham’s billionaire orphan and a literal nobody reporter from nowhere?? the tabloids had a FIELD DAY

but they stuck it out bc they’re stubborn idiots and clark? was her first everything. first kiss. first love. first body. first person she let really see her behind the mask.

BUT of course trauma said no happiness allowed and guilt and gotham and vengeance ate her alive so she pushed clark away not bc she stopped loving him BUT bc she genuinely thought she didn’t deserve anything soft until she fixed everything broken in her world

they broke up (around 20yo) but LIKE the love did not evaporate bro it was STILL THERE

so sometimes when it got Bad (capital B) and she couldn’t breathe from the weight of everything??

she’d go to him. physically. because it was the only time she could open up without collapsing

clark (being clark) let her. no questions. no pressure. just love in whatever way she could accept.

eventually he moved on with lois (clark/lois endgame YESSSS) but clark never dipped out on her completely bc he KNEW she needed someone even if she’d never ask

ALSO during this clown fiesta she adopted dick and clark was THERE for that too and dick loves clark so bad like uncle/big brother energy it’s disgusting and adorable

CUT TO MARK GETTING THROWNNN INTO GOTHAM

not for a good reason not for field trips

he’s there because he needs to learn how to think before punching the sun in half he’s learning detective work. critical thinking. how to be careful. actual stealth. how to work a crime scene without leveling a city block.

and the bats??? they humble him IMMEDIATELY it’s beautiful

AND THEN...

AND THEN CLARK SHOWS UP LMAOOOO

just being normal checking in like “hey kiddo how’s it going” and mark???

mark on the outside: “haha nice to meet you dude :) love your work :)”

mark internally: screaming. vomiting. spontaneously combusting. fetal position in his brain.

because it’s one thing to KNOW your girl had a life before you and another thing entirely to STAND ACROSS from the man who was her first kiss first love first touch first EVERYTHING

and act like it’s fine mark TRUSTS her he LOVES her he KNOWS she’s with him now but that old gravity between her and clark??

that unspoken thing that exists between people who have been broken together and survived it??

he FEELS it

and it makes him wanna rip his hair out and scream into the void

and the best part

THE BEST PART

is that all that jealousy and panic and need is just simmering under his skin

and when it finally cracks ohhhhh bestie

it’s going to be FILTHY. it’s going to be DESPERATE.

he’s going to grab her like he thinks she’s going to vanish if he lets go for even a second and it’s gonna be messy and raw and perfect

and none of us are going to survive it

i’m not going to survive it

you’re not going to survive it

we’re all going to cry and throw up together

thank you for giving me the excuse to scream about it i love you forever <333

DISCLAIMER ITS NOT ANGSTY OR ANYTHING I SWEAR THEY TALK THROUGH IT

ー 🦇

#batcomputer entry

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daisiescreations · 1 year ago

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BROZONES BACK- new positions

Okay so I’ve seen the movie 9 times in theaters(as of like 20 minutes ago lol) and since the band is back together I was thinking about what roles the boys would have now that they’ve grown up and are completely different from when they were kids!

(These are my opinions don’t be mean to me I’ve been thinking of this movie nonstop the past month and a half)

JOHN DORY - the fun boy(man)!

Hear me out! That man is goofy. From the ways he tried to break Floyd’s diamond prison to the way he runs up to branch during the wedding(seriously why did he hop towards him?). Even his expressions are silly! Plus being the old sibling IS really difficult. I think he deserves to shut his brain off and run around for a bit. As a treat!

BRUCE- the baby(daddy)!

LISTEN I KNOW THAT SOUNDS WEIRD. But like Bruce has so much responsibilities outside of the band, I think he’d love a position without any responsibilities or rules(i.e. heartthrob 💔)

CLAY- the sensitive/serious one!

This is not surprising at all, but Clay thrives when people respect him and he’s helping people. He literally was co-running an entire town of trolls. Also his sad book club where he cries and hugs the whole time!?!? If he was in a Kpop group, his fans would go WILD. (also he gives me Wonwoo vibes cuz he’s funny, but serious Yanno?)

FLOYD- the heartthrob!

I’m not gonna say it, but y’all get what I mean. Actually I will say it he’s literally emo with pink hair and leather shorts… if he were a person and I saw him irl I’d combust. Plus he’s genuinely such a sweetheart, he’d knock everyone off their feet!

BRANCH- the leader!

Also not surprising I think! Branch has already stepped up in leadership roles in the past movies(got poppy her colors back in first movie, standing up to the clown in tbt, standing up to poppy in twt to protect the pop trolls). Leaders have to be understanding and branch was the first one to start accepting the other trolls music and grooving with it in trolls world tour. He also recognizes that being different isn’t a bad thing and his talk was the reason him and his brothers were able to sing the perfect family harmony! He’s also basically the king of the pop trolls(just waiting on the wedding<3). Also ALSO he’s always in the middle. Like when they’re performing they give the others a spotlight for a second but the main choreo has branch front and center.

#I LOVE THE TROLLS!!!!!!#daisy talks #trolls #troll #trolls world tour #trolls 3 #trolls band together #brozone

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television-overload · 1 year ago

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 25/34 - rosebud lips

[Read on AO3]

Below them, the baby starts to fuss, her eyes shut tight against the bright lights as she squirms in Scully’s arms.

“Shh, it’s alright,” she hushes, rocking her back and forth. Mulder’s hand drops from Scully’s arm to cup the baby’s back, rubbing soft comforting circles there. She’s so soft and warm, it’s like touching a warm loaf of bread. Not that he’s about to compare their newborn baby to something as silly as a loaf of bread minutes after meeting her, but that’s where his head’s at.

The baby quiets, settling into the crook of Scully’s arm again. She’s a natural, just like he’d known she’d be.

“Oh, you’re gonna love your mommy, hon,” he coos, marveling at the way she’d instantly calmed her.

“Mulder, look at her!” Scully says in awe, tugging down at the blanket so her face is fully visible for the first time. “She’s so perfect!” The image of their daughter blurs through another bout of tears, and Scully clutches her close. The baby sleeps peacefully, her tiny pink tongue peeking out through her little rosebud lips every so often.

“She’s beautiful,” Mulder says, laughing a little at his own inability to hold it together.

Scully looks up at him again, finally beginning to compose herself.

“Do you want to hold her?” she asks.

There’s quite literally nothing in the entire world that he would like more, right now.

He reluctantly lets go of Scully, lifting his arms to accept the transfer of the baby. His hand cups the back of her downy-soft head and he pulls her oh so carefully into his chest, laying her in his arms. Something shifts inside him and falls into place.

It takes his breath away.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to her tufts of wispy dark brown hair. “I’m gonna be your daddy.” Scully hangs on to him, her hands resting on his shoulder so she can keep staring at the precious little face now cradled in his arms. “She’s so small,” he chuckles, glancing at Scully for a second, then back to the baby as a few more tears escape. He’s blinking rapidly in an effort to be able to see her through the sheen of tears, but his efforts are proving fruitless. “I didn’t know anything could be so small.” Ten tiny little fingers. A button nose. Perfect fluttering eyelashes. Rosy red cheeks.

Scully leans her cheek against his bicep. “We have a daughter,” she says in awe, the full weight of those words hitting them for the first time. She rests her arm along Mulder’s, feeling the subtle rise and fall of the baby’s chest under her hand. “Oh, we love you so much already.”

It’s then that he turns to look down at her, and it hits him. He can’t hold back anymore. Not only does it not make sense, but he feels like he genuinely might spontaneously combust if he doesn’t do something.

And there’s only one thing to do, really.

He tilts his head down and pauses. She catches his movement out of the corner of her eye and shifts her gaze up to his, her eyes swimming with joy. He sees nothing to dissuade him.

Resolved, he adjusts his hold on the baby, then ducks his head and presses his lips gently to Scully’s for their second real kiss since their wedding. It’s different than the one they’d shared on New Year’s. Her lips are soft and salty with tears, but she kisses him back, eyes closed and relishing in the moment. When they break, he swallows thickly, feeling more fulfilled than he has in his entire life. He’s reluctant to open his eyes, wanting to live in that moment forever.

He loves her. He is absolutely, undeniably in love with Dana Scully, and by some miracle, she’s gone on this incredible journey with him. He still doesn’t know exactly where she stands. The plan never involved love of this kind. She didn’t sign up for this. But he hopes she might feel the same way—if not now, then someday. He wants to believe.

She’s smiling up at him when they part.

“Congratulations, Fox and Dana,” Brenda says, a beaming smile lighting up her face. “I’ll be back again before you're discharged to finalize some paperwork. Until then, you enjoy getting to know one another. I know you’ll do great.”

-.-.-

The silence in the wake of the ladies from the agency leaving is almost deafening. There’s still a ringing in his ears from when he’d kissed Scully, losing all sense of time in the few moments that their lips touched.

A tiny gurgle escapes the baby’s mouth, and it draws both of their attention back down to her. Mulder chuckles at the sight of her smacking her lips, rooting around for something to satisfy her most basic needs.

“She’s hungry,” he says, proud of himself for being able to recognize her signals already. He had worried that he wouldn’t know what he was doing, or how to take care of her, but it’s true what they say. Instincts kick in pretty quick, and your baby will tell you what they need if you know what to look for. “You want to feed her?” he asks Scully. He knows it would mean a lot to her, even if she can’t do it with milk from her own body.

She nods and gracefully takes the baby from him, settling into a rocking chair. He grabs a pillow from the bed and puts it under her arm for support, handing her a ready-made bottle of formula that one of the nurses had left for them. Then, he crouches down in front of her and just watches. The baby suckles greedily, pausing every so often like she’s falling asleep, before the motion picks back up.

“Mulder?” Scully says after a moment, her eyes not straying from the baby’s face.

“Yeah?”

“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

His lips curl upward in a smile, and he places a hand on her knee.

“I’ve had some pretty brilliant ideas over the years, but I think you might be right.”

She’s going to be the best mom, he thinks. It’s such a relief that they were able to make this happen. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if this, too, had failed. She’s had enough heartbreak because of this—her infertility, Emily, the IVF… Then at some point, he’d realized his fate was tied up with hers, and if she was never destined to be a mother, then—well—he’d never be a father either.

To that, he had said, “Never give up on a miracle,” and this might be it. Scully’s God works in mysterious ways, after all.

“We don’t have a name for her,” Scully says, her voice tinged with just the slightest edge of sadness.

He had tried to bring it up to her once before, but he could tell Scully hadn’t been ready for that conversation yet. She may not be a superstitious person, but when it came to their prospective parenthood, it was like she was afraid they’d jinx it if they got too excited too soon.

But they can’t put it off any longer. As much as he likes the sound of “Baby Girl Mulder,” that can’t stay her name forever.

“Well, are there any you want to rule out?” he asks. “What about your mom or your sister?”

Scully shakes her head, gazing contemplatively at the baby’s face. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Missy… well, she was one of a kind, I don’t think it fits anyone else.”

“Mmm,” Mulder hums in agreement.

“As for my mom,” Scully continues, “she means so much to me. But I want her to have her own name, not just a copy of someone else’s.”

“It could always be a middle name,” Mulder suggests, and Scully blushes, focusing intently on keeping the bottle upright.

“I’ve– um…” she starts. “I’ve actually got a middle name in mind already.”

Mulder’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, do you?”

“Yes, but she needs a first name first.”

He breathes out through his nose, pursing his lips and nodding in thought.

“I’m assuming small woodland creatures are out?” he says, waiting for the expected eye roll from her, and he’s not disappointed. “Well, how about this? Something that starts with an ‘M’, that way you can honor both your sister and your mom, while still giving her something new.”

He sees her mull over the idea in her head, testing it out probably a hundred different ways in the span of a few seconds.

“I’ve always liked Madeline,” she says thoughtfully. “Maddie.”

“Maddie,” Mulder says, trying it out on his tongue.

He looks down at the baby in her arms, and tries to imagine that name belonging to her. Her mouth loses suction on the bottle for a second and she coos adorably while flailing her tongue around in search for the nipple. He takes that as a sign.

“I like it. I think it suits her.”

“Maddie,” Scully repeats.

“And the middle name?” Mulder asks, looking curious. She’s got him in suspense now. He has no idea what name might be on her mind.

She bites down on her lip, cocking her head as she observes the tiny infant. “I was thinking… Samantha.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes flashing up to hers in an instant. She’s serious, of course she is. This isn’t something she’d joke about, like he’d joked about the woodland creatures.

“Really?” he asks.

She nods. “It’s a beautiful name,” she says, forcing her eyes away from him shyly. “But—only if you like it. Only if you think your sister would approve.”

His sister… She’s been on his mind a lot lately, to no one’s surprise. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have known how to answer this question. What would his sister think of all this? He’d been in denial back then, unable to move on with his life and his search for the truth. They couldn’t have used her name, because it would mean admitting to himself what he’d denied all along. He hadn’t been ready to let her go.

But now, he does have an answer. He’s seen her. He thinks back to the way she’d smiled at him in the forest when he told her he was going to be a father—how thrilled she had been to know he's happy and in love.

He knows without a doubt that she’d be honored to have this child carry her name.

“I think she’d like that,” he says, his voice strained by a sudden influx of tears. “She’d like you, too.”

Scully gives a wobbly smile, then ducks her head to compose herself.

A minute passes before either of them is able to summon up the strength to form coherent language again. Mulder stands to his feet, settling his weight on the side table next to the rocking chair, not wanting to part from them even for the time it would take to pull up another chair.

“Madeline Samantha Scully,” he says aloud, looking down at the little girl who would carry that name.

“Not Scully,” his partner says quickly, glancing up at him seriously. “Mulder.”

For the second time in as many moments, he’s shell shocked by the words that she says.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. This was her dream originally, after all. He's just riding her coattails.

But she nods, her gaze unwavering. “There’s plenty of Scullys already,” she says. “The world needs more Mulders.”

Something blooms like a sunrise somewhere beneath his ribcage, and he suddenly wonders if it’s possible to die from the sheer force of the love you have stored up inside you.

“Scully… this is– this is your baby. You’re the one who’s wanted this for so long…”

“What I want is a Mulder,” she says, smiling sadly at his own self doubt. “I thought with the IVF, that was obvious.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thinks she’s saying. But then again, he recalls a time several years ago when she’d asked him about his genetic makeup.

Well, this child doesn’t share his DNA, nor Scully’s, but she’s theirs in all the ways that matter. Of course, he’ll be happy to give her his name.

“Madeline Samantha Mulder,” he amends, marveling at how it sounds spoken aloud. It’s perfect. And it means more to him than Scully will ever know.

“You know what else starts with ‘M?’” Scully asks, in a lighter tone than before.

He senses she’s about to tease him, so he beats her to the punch. “Mothman?” he guesses sarcastically.

She smiles in fond exasperation. “You, Mulder.”

“Hmm,” he hums happily, then pokes her in the shoulder with his elbow. “You know what else starts with ‘S?’”

“Please don’t say Skunk Ape,” she says, drawing a genuine laugh out of him. Her quickness of wit is one of the things he loves most about her. He doesn’t need to give her the correct answer to his question. They both know his favorite word of all time is ‘Scully.’

“A lovely name for a lovely little girl,” he says, reaching down to play with her tiny socked feet. “Welcome to the world, Maddie.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#how are we feeling?#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 6 months ago

Note

🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲 🌲

(Is this the max? I’m trying for max. I can’t remember how many to send. I just need this story so bad 😭🩵)

The limit is 1k so 1k for ya <3

Putting it under the cut for NSFW content:

---

He grabs Eddie’s waist, peppers kisses down his neck. Eddie shivers. He forgets his concerns. Following an instinct to just do whatever he wants, Eddie slips his hands under Buck’s shirt. He wants to feel all of him. As much as he can.

“Let me make you feel good,” Buck says, voice tickling Eddie’s throat. “Please.”

He already is. He already is making him feel so good. Any better, and Eddie might genuine combust.

“Yes,” he says anyway. “Yes, god. Please.”

Buck pulls his head back and grins a little wickedly. Like he knows exactly how good he’s making Eddie feel even before whatever he’s planning. Eddie is terrified and desperate to know, all the same.

Buck kisses him again. He touches his tongue to the sharp edges of Eddie’s teeth, completely unbothered by their inhuman points. All the while, he’s fiddling with the drawstring of his own sweatpants that Eddie is wearing. Eddie moans a little, into Buck’s mouth, practically squirming, desperate for more.

Before he knows it, the pants are around his ankles on the ground. He’s not wearing underwear, thanks to the damn tail. So he’s just kind of… All on display. Harder than he’s been in a long time, and jutting his hips out in a way that is just begging to be touched. Luckily, Buck doesn’t leave him hanging. Or, well… Not hanging. Buck doesn’t waste any time, is the point. He starts with his hand, gentle and a bit exploratory. But it’s enough to make Eddie’s thighs start to shake. He’s had a hand job before. Of course he has. But something about whatever his body is experiencing right now makes it feel like this is an entirely novel sensation.

When Buck switches from his hand to his mouth, kneeling on the floor in front of Eddie, Eddie thinks he just about blacks out. His brain turns off entirely. He exists entirely in this moment. Knees trembling, Buck’s fingers pressing into his thighs.

He doesn’t feel like a monster. He doesn’t feel like a failure. He just feels good.

iv.

Buck wakes up the next morning before sunrise. His hearing aids are out. He’s in Eddie’s bed, mostly naked. Eddie is sleeping pretty much on top of him, entirely naked. They didn’t go much further than the blowjob. Buck remembers that much. They’d stumbled into bed, kissed some more, fallen asleep holding each other. Then clearly passed out pretty heavily, because it was pretty early in the evening.

Unsure how to proceed, Buck just lays in bed for a few minutes. He just enjoys Eddie’s weight on top of him. Maybe Eddie will wake up, say he was just doing his Huldra thing, say that he’s still straight, and ask Buck never to touch him again. Maybe he’ll be off put by what happened and want Buck to leave. Maybe Buck will never get to kiss him again. Maybe they ruined their entire friendship.

Eventually, the panic rising in his chest over all the unknowns outweighs the comfort of Eddie’s skin against his. He can’t be patient or still any longer.

“Eddie,” he says, shaking Eddie slightly. “Hey, wake up.”

Eddie makes a muffled sound of frustration and only seems to tuck his head more tightly into Buck. Buck’s heart aches.

“Eddie? Come on,” Buck pleads.

“What?” Eddie mumbles.

“We uh… We should, uh…”

Suddenly, Eddie scrambles off of him. Buck mourns him immediately. Wants to grab onto him and keep him in place.

“Oh my god!” Eddie exclaims.

Yeah. Fuck. He’s repulsed.

“Eddie, I-”

“I’m so sorry, Buck!”

Wait. What?

“Why are you sorry?” Buck asks.

“Because I completely took advantage of you! I am literally a monster made to seduce and kill people, and I… I did half of that to you!”

“No,” Buck shakes his head. “Eddie, no. If anything, I took advantage. I-I know you’re straight, and-”

“Am I?” Eddie asks, loudly and deliriously.

“Uh…” Buck trails off, unsure what to say. “I mean, I thought so. But I guess I’ve been wrong about that in the past.”

Eddie sighs. “I don’t know, Buck. I really don’t. I just hate feeling like I magically compelled you or something. That’s… That’s wrong, even if I didn’t mean to.”

“You asked me,” Buck says. “You asked me. I said yes. I was in control of myself. It just felt… I mean, everything felt so much more intense than usual.”

“Than usual?” Eddie asks.

Buck’s cheeks heat. “Uh… Is that really surprising after what we did?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “It is.”

Oh.

“Sorry,” Buck mumbles. “Uh… Yeah, probably wrong of me… I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it,” Eddie says. “Not wrong of you. I just… I guess I’m surprised you would ever feel that way in the first place. Especially like this.”

“Like a Hulra?”

“Well, yeah. It’s fucked up, Buck.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t change… I mean I still just see you,” Buck explains. “And maybe… I mean, I don’t really know. I didn’t know myself… But I’ve probably… Uh, I’ve probably had these feelings for kind of a while.”

Eddie is silent for a moment.

Buck immediately regrets adding on that last part. Holy shit. What was he thinking?

“I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t,” Eddie says quietly. “That it wouldn’t be a thing that came up between us.”

“Well… Yeah, I mean. I thought you were straight. I had a boyfriend,” Buck says. “I wasn’t trying to think too hard about it. It just hurt.”

Eddie is quiet again.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” Buck sighs, scratching his head. He feels like a total idiot. “I’m not even compelled to tell the truth anymore.”

“What?” Eddie asks. “When did that happen?”

“When I had my hearing aids on. It was your voice… Anything you asked, I felt I had to answer honestly.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Eddie says.

“Not your fault,” Buck replies.

“But so… You meant everything?”

“Yes, Eddie. I meant everything. I wanted everything.”

#daisies and briars writes #firelight fic

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crazylittlejester · 3 months ago

Note

Just finished binging your FH9 au, I honestly didn’t think I would be interested in an au like this one but it’s SO GOOD!

I have a few thoughts about the latest chapter, mainly that it’s like… biblically accurate…

Reading this is super fun because I also have a little brother who’s almost 7 years younger than me, so I immediately understand Wars’ and Mask’s relationship dynamic- which you’ve written perfectly btw. Also the flashback is EVERYTHING because I felt that fear and guilt that Wars felt when he lost Mask (GOD the feeling when you lose your younger sibling, you got that spot on). That bit where you wrote about how Wars felt that guilt longer than Mask did is so important when writing about older siblings because in the end, they will always feel most responsible/at fault, and bc Wars and Mask don’t have parents, it’s even heavier on him :(

The ending was really interesting because at some point I thought Wars was hallucinating, but honestly, with how weird time travel is in context to this au I wouldn’t be surprised if he really DID spontaneously combust.

Also the way you subtly incorporate everyone else’s traumas is really cool (bc at the end of the day, Mask and Wars are the main two, so you can’t focus entirely on the others- subtlety is what makes those details special imo). Twilight’s insecurity when it comes to friends and family (especially Wild) is super interesting to think about given that (if I’m not mistaken) he’s a foster ‘kid’, but also the way Hyrule and Legend interact together and their own shared experiences are so deep :’)

I have so many more thoughts but for now I’ll keep to myself, sorry for that mini yap LOL 😭 (feel free to ignore this).

Anyway, have a great day and remember to take care of yourself!

(I’m gonna go read the mini fics now since I haven’t already)

I'm so glad you liked it!!

I too am an older sibling so i have first hand experience with some of that older brother guilt alhldhd. And while Wars and Mask DO have their aunt who loves and supports them so much, a huge part of Warriors feels like he alone is responsible for Mask because he carries around this feeling of "our parents would want me to look after him"

time travel IS very weird in this au, and the whole chapter 19 situation is also just incredibly strange. I'm not sure when ill be able to post the chapter that explains what is going on, but this au is NOT abandoned so it WILL come at some point!!

No need to apologize!! Genuinely it makes my day when people bring up this au alkdhlh, it was my first big project for this fandom and it still means quite a lot to me. I wanna spend some time combing through it and editing a few things (since the VAST majority of it was not beta read and i'm positive there are spelling errors in it alkkjhdk) before I post the next part, but im absolutely not done with it and techinically this is still the like 'act one' phase of the story

if you have any more thoughts you wanna share or any questions, feel free to leave an ask :) you have a great day as well!!

#jes ask #fierce hero 9

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separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

Text

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3

Elain was brought to Nesta, standing in a little alcove that offered them the illusion of privacy. Nesta looked exhausted, eyes ringed with dark circles and her face paler than Elain remembered. She watched Elain approach, nostrils flaring and lips thinning.

“I don’t know which of you is worse,” Nesta hissed when Elain reached her. “Tell me the rumors aren’t true.”

Elain should have known Nesta hadn’t come to hug. “What rumors?”

There were so many possibilities, and Elain didn’t dare to admit to anything. Nesta narrowed her eyes, but said, “You killed a High Lord?”

“That was Eris Vanserra,” Elain said automatically, just like Cadmus had instructed. Nesta looked like living flame just then, like she might combust entirely. “I was only in the room.”

“That’s not what Killian has said. He’s frantic.”

“Why?” Elain genuinely could not fathom what would have Killian so worked up. If Eris wanted to hold Elain accountable, surely he would have called in the troops by now.

“Because you assisted in killing a High Lord,” Nesta hissed, speaking slow as though Elain were simple. “Why aren’t you more concerned?”

“Because Eris Vanserra isn’t going to share any of the credit,” Elain replied snappishly. “And this is just another attempt on Killian’s end to drag me home. I’m not going.”

Nesta stared at her for a moment, blue eyes unreadable. “Feyre said the same thing,” she mused, more to herself than to Elain. “No one wants to return.”

“Why are you here, Nesta?”

“Because the rumors circling you are concerning. Shacking up with a Day Court Prince—” Nesta’s nostrils flared again, lip curling in triumph when she realized that must be true.

“Assassinating High Lords. Three of them are dead in the span of a day, and our family is at the center of all three. Not to mention Hybern is in Spring—”

“What?” Elain breathed, trying to recall if Lucien had told her that.

Nesta’s amusement died again. “Tamlin is a fool. His father had some bargain with their king—one that was broken when he died, and should have remained broken. But Tamlin…Tamlin invited their general in anyway, and has been giving them tours of the wall.”

“Why would he do that?” Elain demanded, heart frantic in her chest. There were defenseless humans on the other side of that wall. Not to mention, her family was centralized in Spring, left to the whims of Hybern. Maybe her father would be fine, but would everyone else? Nesta waited for Elain to have the same realization she must have had.

“Because he truly believes Rhysand has kidnapped Feyre and is holding her mind, and nothing short of a thousand years married to her will convince him otherwise. Lucien Vanserra’s assertion that she was not spelled and quite herself didn’t matter. Tamlin is willing to sacrifice everything to get her back.”

“So what do we do?” Elain asked, stepping a little closer. “I could talk to the High Lord—”

“We need to go home,” Nesta said, reaching for Elain’s shoulders. “All three of us. We need to go back, and I can’t convince Feyre this is the right thing.”

Elain blinked. “You want me to…”

“To talk to her? Yes. I want you to tell her that Tamlin isn’t listening to reason. He needed to see her, hear it from her own lips.”

“And what then? What if he doesn’t?” Elain demanded, pulling from Nesta’s grip. “What if you’re right and he won’t believe her unless she marries him. Are you asking me to convince Feyre or that, too?”

“No. There will be no convincing her, not when—” Nesta pressed her lips together tightly, arms crossed over her chest. “If Tamlin can’t be convinced, there is still one brother who could rule. Killian has some sense, at least. He hates Amarantha.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Elain murmured.

“You’re the only one who has seen a High Lord die,” Nesta disagreed, eyes pleading. “And I can’t do this by myself. I don’t want to go back either, Elain. We have to. Spring has been our home and the thought of letting it fall…I…”

Elain knew if she told Lucien this plan, he’d intervene. He’d come up with a hundred reasons for her to wait, or for him to accompany her. She thought of her promise—she wanted to make things permanent between them.

“How much time do I have?”

“I’d like to leave right now,” Nesta said gently, as if she guessed Elain’s thoughts. “It’s not forever. That mate of yours will survive a week without you.”

Elain didn’t bother asking how Nesta knew. Of course she did. She must have scented it the moment Elain walked into the room.

“A week?” Elain questioned, sliding the ring on her finger in circles. Nesta nodded her head, though Elain thought it was smart not to make any promises. A week could become a month, or even a year if they weren’t careful.

“What happens if Feyre says no?”

“Then we go back and you can explain to me exactly how you ended up in a room with the High Lord as his son murdered him.”

Nesta’s eyes glittered with promise—she knew Elain was lying. Elain didn’t bother to correct her, even as she thought the plan was awful. Beron had been seduced by a younger, prettier female and put in a compromising position. Elain very much doubted she or Nesta could tempt Tamlin into the same.

He likely would have heard the details, besides. The only person who was going to ever get close enough to Tamlin was Feyre. And if Feyre was smart, she wouldn’t agree to go back. She’d say no and stay safe in Night with the new High Lord and whatever friends she’d made.

“Did mother write to you?” Elain asked, thinking of her things dumped wordlessly into Lucien’s bedroom. What kind of welcome was waiting for her at home?

“She did,” Nesta said, her voice laced with pity. “She is…unhappy, but not unswayable.”

“She’ll never approve of him,” Elain insisted, her voice thin and reedy.

“It’s not her life,” Nesta said fiercely. “She made her choices with father, and you get to make yours, too. What male wants another male’s mate, besides? Killian thinks he will but the scent coming off you makes my hair stand on edge. Mother had a life planned for us all, and we’ve wrecked it.”

“Sorry about Atticus,” Elain murmured. Nesta had always been slated to marry him just as soon as she finished her studies.

Nesta smiled—a genuine thing that made her far more beautiful than she already was. “Why? The High Lord of Night did me a favor. Atticus, too, if we’re honest. I don’t think he ever wanted me as a wife, either.”

“If we’re going to leave, we should go now,” Elain murmured, looking behind her sister toward the window and the rising sun. Lucien would eat breakfast and meet with his father before coming to look for her again.

He’d understand, she reasoned. Lucien wouldn’t like the deception, but he’d understand. And he’d be careful, too. Rationalizing that if things went so wrong, Elain could take refuge in nearby Autumn, she reached for Nesta’s hand and began leading her through the palace. Her home.

I’ll be back, I’ll be back, she chanted in her head. Careful to keep her heart rate steady so she wouldn’t alert Lucien that anything was amiss, Elain managed to get Nesta through the palace without much notice. Courtiers and scholars still fluttered through the halls, glancing her way before returning to their conversations. She was nothing interesting anymore—a princess, so commonplace most of them just barely inclined their heads.

Later, when Lucien was looking for her, this moment would be cited. He’d know she left intentionally, that she avoided him to keep him from convincing her to stay. It would take no effort on his part—Elain didn’t want to be parted from him. Not today, not ever. Her vision still loomed heavy in her mind. Was she walking straight into it? Or had she derailed just enough that Lucien would honor their marriage vows, deception or not?

Elain simply had to trust that whatever Lucien swore he felt, he meant. That it would take more than one small act of defiance—one made to try and save her home from utter ruination—to sour his feelings for her. Lucien had said he would want her, bond or not.

And though it was so deeply unfair to make him prove it, there was no other choice. Elain stepped into the humidity and the bright light, tilting her head against the warmth while Nesta hissed in disgust. Elain closed her eyes against the cold wind of Nesta’s winnow, wishing that when she opened her eyes, she’d be back in bed with Lucien.

That she’d find this had all been a dream.

Elain opened her eyes to a city made of moonstone and marble. If Day was burning sunlight, this place was glittering starlight. Elain had never given much thought to the Night Court, and never truly considered what it might look like. This, though, with its shining, clean streets and neat buildings lined up in elegant rows, was beautiful.

There was no screaming, no pleading or rivers of blood. There was even sunlight, hazy up above and far colder than Elain was used to. She wished she’d grabbed a cloak on her way out. Nesta smiled for a moment, unbidden and bright before she caught herself and replaced that smile with a scowl. A male was striding toward them. He was handsome with his thick, dark hair that fell in waves around truly massive shoulders. Elain didn’t think she’d ever seen someone as broad and muscular as this person. Tattoos crawled up his neck, vanishing dark leathers conforming to his powerful body. Red gems glinted in the light, flaring with what Elain suspected to be excitement when he saw her sister.

His massive wings, once tucked tightly against his back, flared out for a moment. “Hey, Nes. She came.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snapped as Elain turned to look at her elder sister. Nes?

“I’m Cassian,” the large, impossibly tall male told her as he extended a hand. “Elain?”

“Elain,” she agreed with a broad smile. “How do you two know each other?”

“We don’t,” Nesta insisted as Cassian, still holding her hand, replied, “I’ve been training her.”

Training her in what? Judging from the flush staining Nesta’s cheeks, it wasn’t just a sword. There would be time to untease all that later—maybe when Elain had Feyre to herself and they could giggle like they were children again, far out of Nesta’s earshot.

“We’re here to see Feyre,” Nesta interrupted, spine impossibly straight. Cassian’s grin merely widened, as though he were used to these sort of displays and enjoyed them immensely.

“Lucky for you, she’s at the town house with Rhys. I’ll walk you to her.”

“There’s no need—”

“Oh, I insist,” Cassian interrupted smoothly. “It’s my job to welcome your sister into our court.”

“Well. Welcome her, then,” Nesta snapped. Cassian’s grin was just as sharp, just as lethal as Elain’s eldest sister. Had Nesta met her match here?

Cassian turned to Elain, sweeping into a half bow. “Welcome to the Night Court, Elain Archeron.”

LUCIEN:

“You wanted to see me?”

Lucien’s father turned from his place in front of the window, his study in disarray. “I did. Elain is with her sister for the day, and I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

Anything to pass the time, he thought to himself. Lucien was unreasonably excited that when he returned to his bedchamber later, Elain would be waiting with food. She was going to accept the bond and they’d have a private celebration. No one could take her from him, then. No matter where they went, no matter how they were separated, she would always belong wholly to him.

Lucien needed something else to think about while he waited or he’d be too tempted to track her down.

“Of course.”

“I need you to meet with your brother.”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, sighing heavily. “What has Eris done this time?”

“Nothing,” said Helion, turning to face his son. “That’s the problem. War is on the horizon and Eris has all but closed his borders. I thought we could count on him…but…”

But Eris was self-serving above all else. And if he felt the risk was too great to himself personally, he’d stay out. Just like his cowardly father. Lucien was trying so hard not to hate his half brothers, especially after what they’d done for Elain. He owed them for that—Eris and Cadmus could have locked Elain up and held a trial, could have used what she’d done as an excuse to march into Spring or Day, depending on their mood.

And instead Cadmus had brought her home while Eris gleefully announced to the world that he’d killed his father and then pardoned himself for crimes of treason, all while sitting with a Day Court courtier on his lap. Presumably. Lucien couldn’t picture Eris putting Arina on his lap—that’s just what he would have done if he’d killed Beron and had his mate with him.

Eris probably had Arina stand at the foot of his throne in one of those dresses that buttoned to her neck, penciling in when they ought to have sex based on some ridiculous calendar of her courses so he was certain to get his precious heir.

“I’ll go. I want to see Arina, anyway.” That was true. Lucien wanted to offer her an out if she’d changed her mind. He knew how overwhelming the mating bond could be and how heady an experience it was. Surely the fog would be clearing, her senses returning. Assuming she hadn’t done anything stupid—like accept the bond and married his brother—Arina could still come home.

Even if she hadn’t, Lucien might try and smuggle her out anyway. He could always lie and say she’d run away. His parents would kill him for it, but Lucien thought it would be quite fun to steal Eris’s wife right from under his nose just as his father had done to Eris’s father.

“Take your time,” Helion instructed, unaware that Lucien was itching to get back to Elain. Or maybe he did, given his eyes slid to the mating band on Lucien’s hand. “Keep that from your mother. You’ll break her heart.”

“She’ll get her big celebration,” Lucien promised, though he ducked his hand behind his back all the same. Disappointing his mother was one of the worst things he could imagine. “This was just for us.”

A soft smile slid across his father’s face. “I know the feeling well. Keep it to yourself.”

Lucien nodded, making his way back into the palace. He did go checking after Elain, unable to help himself. He wanted to tell her he was leaving without her, and that it had nothing to do with her abilities or skills. A servant informed him she’d taken her sister into the city and Lucien thought it was best not to bother them given how sad she’d been about her mother and father’s rejection. Maybe Nesta Archeron could smooth things over for Elain’s family so by the time he visited, everyone was on better terms.

Lucien dressed himself, unable to take his eyes off the still rumpled bed in the center of the room. Elain’s trunks were still scattered about, half opened with clothes spilling out. He knew when he arrived, all her things would be neatly stored, the trunks put away. Maybe, having spoken to Nesta, Elain would feel better about where she’d left things with her parents, too.

Assuming, of course, Nesta hadn’t come to drag Elain back home. Lucien wasn’t willing to entertain that possibility, twisting the mating band around his hand nervously. She was his wife—he could go into Spring and bring her back, kicking and screaming if he had to.

And Lucien suspected he would. If Elain went home under some misguided belief she needed to do right by her family, Lucien would flex his muscles as heir of the Day Court, bring that signed scroll with Elain’s uncoerced signature on it, and put her right back in his bed.

Shaking his head, Lucien shoved the thought out of his mind. Elain wouldn’t—she’d wanted to get married, and she wanted to accept the bond. She wasn’t going home, barring some unforeseen disaster. She was safe in the city, likely showing her sister all the best parts of Rhodes. He’d meet them for dinner if he was home in time and hopefully charm the eldest Archeron into loving both his home and himself, and then have Elain moaning beneath him before the night was through.

It was too hot to have a jacket buttoned to his neck. Lucien opted for a hunter green tunic with a white shirt beneath. Lucien used gold sleeve garters right above his elbows in lieu of his usual armband, and picked out his nicest pair of trousers and a gleaming pair of boots. That ought to satisfy Eris and his ridiculous court would be looking for anything to pick apart—Lucien didn’t intend to let them find it in his appearance.

Still, for the moment he stood outside, the outfit was unbearably hot. Itchy, too. Lucien winnowed quickly before sweat could cling to his skin and make a mockery of him, landing on crunchy leaves just outside the Forest House.

Beron is dead, he reminded himself. It did little for his crawling anxiety, especially when the guards surrounding the palace watched him, arrows pointed straight at him as he walked to the entrance.

The smell of cinnamon and wet soil slammed into his senses, far stronger than it had ever been outdoors. Lucien frowned, already missing home. A guard was waiting in a crisp red and white uniform, beckoning for Lucien to follow after him. The palace seemed thinner than Lucien remembered—fewer courtiers meandering the winding halls, watching for something to gossip about later.

Absently, Lucien wondered if Eris hadn’t culled them. It was possible they’d also fled for another court, though Lucien wouldn’t fathom who would want Autumn’s set living within their walls.

Familiar golden doors were thrust open when Lucien approached, though there was no Beron Vanserra sneering at him as he entered. No open insults, no hateful eyes. Only Eris, casually positioned in that wooden chair made of twisting branches. Arina was propped on his knee, crowned in a burnished laurel leaves and draped in a pretty, burgundy dress that cut far lower than anything Lucien had ever seen on an Autumn Court female. Rubies adorned her throat, a match for the pretty ring on her finger.

She shot upward the moment she saw him, gathering her skirts as she jogged the four steps to the wood floors. Lucien kept his eyes on his brother, waiting for that flash of anger his father would have given.

Eris merely seemed amused. Indulgent, even. Lucien didn’t know what to make of that.

Arina flung her arms around his neck, and Lucien, still testing her brother, hugged her back with a little too much intimacy. He caught Eris’s expression shift to irritation, lip curling over his teeth before he smothered it.

“Where is Elain?” Arina demanded, pushing back just enough to peer around him.

“Busy, unfortunately,” Lucien replied, scanning his friend for any tell-tale signs of bruises or other harm. “How are you?”

He expected Eris to jump in, furious at the insinuation. True, his brother stiffened on the throne, gripping the arms so tightly Lucien heard the wood creak beneath his grip. But he kept silent so Arina, bubbly and vivacious as ever, could say, “I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that—Eris could only dream of getting one good hit in.”

“I don’t dream of that,” Eris said, his first words since Lucien had arrived. “I am content to let my wife speak for me.”

Arina rolled her eyes with affection, looking over her shoulder as Eris stood.

“He had to make such a show of it. Did you know he’s High Lord?” she teased as Eris rolled his neck before slowly making his way toward them. “He reminds us all no less than ten times a day.”

An affectionate smile spread across his brother's face, so at odds with the male Lucien was accustomed to seeing. What had Arina done to him? It was impossible to consider that Eris may have always been this way.

“Brother,” Eris said by way of greeting, sliding one arm possessively around Arina’s waist. Was Lucien also that obnoxious? Arina reeked of Eris’s scent, the bond between them nearly overpowering. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a warning not to get too close unless he wanted his throat ripped out.

But Eris was keeping it together, given Lucien had just been rubbing his hand up and down Arina’s spine.

“Have you come to ensure I’m not mistreating my mate?”

“Among other things,” Lucien replied, not bothering to deny it.

Eris exhaled. “Spend as much time with her as you like.”

Lucien didn’t think he could stand to, though it certainly put some of his fears to rest. If Eris had things to hide, he surely wouldn’t hand her up on a silver platter. Not when the mating bond was still riding him so hard, at any rate. “It’s tempting. A sleepover, like old times?”

Lucien relished the growl that slipped past Eris’s throat. It was too easy to rile him up now. Arina poked Eris in the ribs, leashing Eris before he could do or say something that might start an incident between Autumn and Day.

“Why are you really here, brother?’

“You know why,” Lucien retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “This potential war. Father wants to know where you stand.”

Arina looked up at Eris, eyes wide. “War?” she asked.

“How poorly you inform her,” Lucien sneered, earning a smack in the chest from Arina.

“Knock it off,” she warned, looking between the pair of them. “What war?”

“Maybe war,” Eris interrupted, pushing the words through his teeth. “As far as I can tell, Tamlin is merely giving Amarantha a tour of his home.”

“Of his borders,” Lucien clarified. “Why would she possibly need to know that? And ships are pouring in from Hybern in the dozens. I doubt it’s all goods for trade.”

“What do you want, then? A promise I’ll march with Helion if Amarantha decides to invade?”

“Yes,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Eris held Lucien’s gaze. “Fine. I’ll agree—on one condition.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucien replied, “What is it that you want?”

“For you to stay two nights. Here. With your brothers,” Eris clarified, perhaps guessing Lucien would merely waste his time hanging out with Arina. “Otherwise tell Helion he can get fucked.”

“Are you serious?” Lucien seethed, well aware his father would not be so forgiving if he returned home without securing this alliance all because he wanted to sleep beside his wife. Eris must have guessed, eyes sliding to the band on Lucien’s hand.

“It’s time to put the past behind us,” Eris said, slinging his arm around Arina’s neck. She beamed, clearly loving this plan and wholly unaware of what a bastard her mate was.

“Oh, Lucien, you should. Things are so different—you’d love it. Invite Elain to spend some time here, too.”

“I’m sure Cadmus would love to see her,” Eris added. Lucien swallowed the urge to beat Eris to death with his fists.

“Fine,” he gritted out. He’d write Elain and explain himself. “Two days, and you agree to support Day if Spring lets Amarantha use their territory as a base.”

Something dark flickered over Eris’s face. “And Day will agree to house any refugees from my court should she come over our borders.”

Lucien would need to talk to Winter, too, but it was reasonable enough. Extending his hand, he nodded.

“Deal.”

#elucien #chapter 27 if you can believe #seems like only yesterday and now we're getting close to the end

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itsthestutterforme · 1 year ago

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“The Look of Love” 2/2

Summary: After Steve got back from D.C., he made a decision he would soon regret. Now he wants to try and out the pieces back together.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, sexual themes (lots of oral, fingering), story is set in Avengers: Age of Ultron, MINORS DNI

Steve watches you attentively as your face mellowed with sleep. He rested his head on his inner forearm, his gaze falling to the singular twist that’s peeking out of your bonnet. He was half tempted to take one into his hand and rub his thumb over it but he didn’t want to wake you. He replays the last few hours with you.

He took your back to your place and you invited him inside to have a talk. You poured the two of you a coffee and Steve first started talking about what happened in D.C. and his best friend, Bucky. He told you everything he could without giving away Fury’s cover. Then things progressed from Bucky to you and how he wanted to try again. He regretted ever ending things in the first place.

By the time he was finished, you had drank the entire cup and it was three in the morning.

Not liking the idea of him going back home so late, you insisted he stay with you until sunrise. The two of you had changed into something comfortable and you refused to let him sleep on the couch. You trusted him. The two of you didn’t have sex until the sixth date.

It was a long waiting game between the two of you. He wanted to wait as long as possible for you to be comfortable around him. And you waited for him to make the first move. He respected you so much. He didn’t want to taint any of that.

You stirred a little in his arms, turning so you were laying on your back. A yawn left your lips and you stretched your arms out, freezing when you collide with a warm chest. “Oh! Sorry,” you brought your arms back but he caught your hand. You watched as he pressed a soft kiss to the palm of your hand. “Good morning,” he greets. You lifted your hand to hold the side of his face.

He sighs at your touch and turns his face into it.“Morning,” his eyes flickered to your lips and your mirrored his movements. He slowly leans in and ghosts his lips over yours. “No,” he says, pulling away. “No?” “I have to earn it. Earn you back.” He cups the back of your head and presses a series of kisses to your forehead before standing from the bed.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” he offers. You found yourself reaching for him to pull him back. But he was adamant about earning you back. In your eyes, he already did that when you watched him walk away. Your gaze fell from his muscled back in his white tank top to his thick legs in those grey sweatpants you kept of his. You’re really glad you kept those

Maybe you needed a cold shower.

Steve has been pursuing you like when the first time you two started talking. He would send flowers and swing by your job with your favorite sandwich every week. The dates were genuine and thoughtful and never the same date twice.

This time you two had just come back from a botanical garden in New Jersey. He was walking you to the front door of your apartment. You had a gorgeous bouquet of tulips in your hands and Steve’s jacket draped over your shoulders. “I can’t believe a butterfly landed on your nose. You must have felt like a princess,” you said with a chuckle. “Do you feel like a princess?” He intercepted.

“No,” you stood in front of him so he would stop walking, “I feel like a queen,” you could visibly see the worry melt from his features and you smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Here you were once again, faces inches apart right in front of your door and not one kiss. You felt like you were going to combust so you decided to bring out the big guns.

“Oh! I just remembered that I have something for you,” “Oh really?” You hummed in response, brushing your nose against his before turning to open your door. You had bought tickets for the Yankees game for him to take whoever he wanted. You weren’t particularly into sports but you knew him and Sam have been meaning to go to see a Yankees game for a while.

You unlocked the door and went into your bedroom to get them. Steve waited by the door like the gentleman he was. “Y/N, no, you didn’t have to do that.” Once he noticed the blue and white colored tickets. “You deserve to be spoiled too, Steve. You should definitely take Sam. He would love it.” You handed him the tickets and he looked at you with longing.

“Y/N, I..” he trails off when he notices you reach under your dress and pull down on the straps on your navy blue thong, Steve’s favorite color. The thong dropped to your ankles and you maintained eye contact. His eyes darkened and he licked his lips when he sees the thong on the floor. His breathing picked up when you reached to take off your bra.

He snaps out of whatever spell you put him under when he heard the door from down the hall opened. Steve immediately walked through the door and closed it. You took a few steps back, a smile tugged on your lips when he swiftly locked the door. You resumed taking off your bra when his back was facing you and tossed it on his shoulder.

He slowly turned to face you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, noticing you moving away from him. Taking your bra into his hands, he sets it on the counter along with his keys and the tickets before making his way towards you. You kicked off your flats in anticipation the closer he came to you. Lifting you into his arms, you pressed a long kiss to his lips. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, your hands pulled at his hair.

He groans against your lips as he pulled away. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He says, slapping your ass before setting you on the counter. “Exposing yourself with the door wide open? Tsk tsk. Not very queen like is it?” “I just missed you. Please just touch me, Steve.” You plead, grinding yourself against the bulge forming in his slacks.

His hands slide down to your hips so you couldn’t move. “Take off your dress,” he says to you, his lips sucking on your neck. You lift the dress over your head and dropped it to the floor. Pressing another kiss on his lips to which he deepens, you gasp when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Reaching for his belt, he caught your hands and pinned your hands above your head. Inhaling sharply when you burning skin pressed against the cool tile of the counter. “Steve,” you said in surprise. He made eye contact with you as he kisses from your neck to your chest.

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth while one of his fingers gathered your slick curling a finger inside of you. You shudder when he presses into a g spot. He moved to your other breast, curling his fingers harder until your body twitched from the stimulation. “Steve, please,” you whimpered, squirming away from him but he held you down.

Rubbing his palm against your clit, your body seized with an orgasm. You finally felt like you could breathe when you came down from your peak. He lets go of your wrist and pries your legs open, spreading your folds and licking up your stripe. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucked harshly.

Your fingers raked through his hair as he bobbed his head to kitten lick you and draw figure eights with his tongue. Rolling your hips against his face, your mouth fell open when he punctured your pussy with his tongue. Your legs closed around his head the closer you got to the edge. He nipped at the skin on your thigh before spreading your legs and holding them open.

A final lick sent you through another earth shattering orgasm. Your hand shot up to push him away, tears building in your eyes. He smooths a hand over your stomach, occasionally pressing kisses to your pelvic bone. He waited for your twitching to subside before sending another broad lick to your throbbing pussy. Your legs were starting to go numb from the constant pressure of Steve holding you down.

“Break- please, I need a break!” You croak, sighing when he kisses up your stomach and until he reached your lips. “I thought you wanted me to touch you.” He teased. “I didn’t mean suck the soul out of me,” you giggled, sliding off the counter and landed on your feet. Your knees gave out but Steve caught you and held you close.

He kisses you warmly, smiling into the kiss when he feels your legs shake involuntarily. Lifting you in his arms, he carries you bridal style into the bedroom. Gently setting you down, you sat up to unbutton his shirt and drag it down his arms. You tossed it somewhere in the room and he kicked off his shoes before you pulled him down to the bed by his belt loops.

He landed in between your legs, catching himself so he wouldn’t crush you. “Looks like someone missed me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I did miss you. Now take off your boxers,” you commanded. “Yes ma’am,”

BONUS 🫡 (you’re welcome)

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Sam asks Steve, who was one of the last to join the group. Once Tony heard Sam and Steve got tickets to the Yankees, he figured why not get tickets for him and Rhodey. The more the merrier.

Steve wears the Yankee’s hat you got him and a white button up with black slacks. And more noticeably, a grin stretched from ear to ear. “Just woke up on the right side of the bed this morning,” Steve says, causing Sam and Rhodey to give each other a look. Yeah, right.

You had spent the night over his place and you tried to get up to make him breakfast in bed. Steve had other plans as he pulled you back to the bed and sat you on his face, licking you until you came. Getting his rocks off was the last thing on his mind. He just loved watching you try to squirm away. It look little effort to hold you in place, but it was cute to see you try.

However this time it resulted in a competition of who will come first. Steve was more than happy to compete and you didn’t realize how much of a natural he was at it. The game was over before you even started. He looked proudly over at your sleeping form. One of your legs propped up, making his shirt rise up over your ass.

He covered your lower half with his blanket and kissed your forehead before getting ready for the Yankees game.

#black!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x reader

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nocoffeeforoldmen · 9 months ago

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Just a lil tidbit

I know I already have something in progress, but in classic ADHD fashion, I couldn't help but start writing a wicked long one-two shot with lil snippets of their more canon romance.

And not for nothing but y'all keep posting the most wonderful oneshots with your Tavs and Gale (specifically Keldae, I cannot stop thinking about Devi what a fucking queen, and janemeteoric, whose fic Incandescence I literally cannot get out of my brain, on AO3).

At the far end of camp, Shadowheart and Halsin had their hands full with healing a horrifically battered Astarion and a relatively worse for wear Karlach. This left him at the cliffside Orla had set her tent up at, his injured hand in hers. “Te curo,” she mumbled, holding her palm over his. He could feel the tickle of the healing magic taking effect, though not enough to close the wound. “Hells.” She frowned but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m going to have to stitch you up.”

The air between them had been light, perhaps even a little giddy, since the night of the celebration. She had made her interest clear with the image of their embrace. Of their kiss. He had thought of that very image every night since, wanting nothing more than to fall into her arms and let her have her way with him before quelling the orb in whatever way he could manage. There had been jokes and laughter shared as well as real genuine conversation. Back and forth that gave him more to chew on than any singular person had in many years. He pressed forward every now and again. A hand lightly touching her back as he followed through a doorway. Brushing dirt off her face after a hard fought battle. Moving her hair out of her eyes as she assisted Astarion in another lockpicking fiasco. It all felt so startlingly right that he couldn’t help himself.

But she had barely even looked at him since Elminster had stabilized the orb. Now that he didn’t feel as though his entire being would spontaneously combust when she came near, she wouldn’t even meet his eyes. “This is going to pinch,” she informed him as she readied a needle at the top of his still open wound. It pierced his skin, and perhaps it was because it was his palm or perhaps she had really pressed that hard with the needle but he sucked in a breath, wincing in pain. “I’m sorry.”

When their eyes finally met, the cold in hers still glittered in the light of the full moon, but there was something more in them than usual. A certain longing and dread he wasn't accustomed to. “Think nothing of it,” he hissed as she once again went in and out of his skin with the needle. “My pain tolerance, or lack thereof, is no fault of yours. If anything, I’m grateful for your willingness to help mend my recklessly acquired wound.”

It was silly when all was said and done. Maybe she would have turned around in time to grasp the Githyanki guard’s wrist and stop the blade from entering her back. Perhaps she had a spell of shield ready to go at a moment’s notice. When he saw the glint of the blade in the light from the brazier, he moved before he could think. He muttered something quick and mindless under his breath. An incantation that would send the guard repelling backwards, which did end up working. However, not before the blade slashed across the palm of the hand that he had thrust between them, leaving blood gushing onto the stone floor of the creche. Orla would not only end up leaving the finishing blow on the guard, but she also wrapped up his hand on the cleanest piece of cloth she could find to manage the flow of blood.

The stitching she did on his hand was delicate and skillful. The work of someone who was already very adept at sewing. He watched in awe in spite of the pain, watching fingers tenderly handle his skin. Taking the very best care of him that she could. “My mother was a cleric,” she divulged to him quietly. It wasn’t often that much of anyone was privy to her sharing any information that wasn’t imperative to give. “But she died when I was very young.” He felt himself leaning towards her warmth despite himself. This was no way to do things. There was limited time left for him, and though he had learned she was just a few years older than he was, she deserved better than regret with the time she had left. “My father was a tailor, and he passed only but a few years ago. I suppose I’m better with a needle than I am with a healing spell due to the amount of time I spent learning alone.”

She released his hand, which had a roughly closed wound now. Within a day or so, the magic would catch up, the stitches would be removed, and they would move on like they always did. He stared down at her careful work with awe. She handled him as carefully as she could. There was no vengeance in her movements with the needle, only sadness, which was also present in the gaze she was still holding to his. “You aren’t really going to go through with it, are you?” she whispered. They were impossibly close. Closer than the orb would have allowed.

There was just a breath between them now as her eyes scanned over his face, desperately seeking out the answer she wanted from him. “I don’t see what other option I have, Orla,” he responded just above the whisper she had addressed him with. Mystra’s charge was clear: he was to sacrifice himself by way of the orb to destroy the Absolute. There was no fine print. There was no alternate ending. There was no third door. This was it. “Her will is–”

“There is always an option, Gale,” Orla urged, leaning forward on the ball of her hand. “There is always a choice. What do you want?” What a strange question to be asked on the precipice of such a monumental point of his life. “Not what your goddess wants. I frankly could not possibly give less of a damn what she wants. You, what do you want?”

Of course, given the option, he wanted to live. He wanted to be rid of the orb and take this beautiful strong half-elf in front of him into his arms and hold her all day and all night for as long as she would let him. He wanted to kiss her senseless and learn her entire history. He wanted to see what would happen to their merry band of misfits. What would come of Shadowheart’s longing to become a dark justiciar. How the reunion with Astarion’s vampire master would go. If Dammon would be able to fix Karlach’s engine and give her freedom over the land. What the rescue mission to save Wyll’s father would entail. How Lae’zel’s revenge mission would play out. If Orla would truly drag them through the shadow cursed lands and bring them to Baldur’s Gate. But it all seemed unlikely for him to see. The fact that he had made it this far was a miracle in and of itself.

“Because, if it has any weight at all, I would rather you didn’t blow yourself to smithereens,” she told him. “I would–not that my wants matter even a fraction in this situation–would be thrilled to hear about the misadventures of the notorious Gale of Waterdeep without the looming threat of the end of the world.” Trying to picture the two of them chatting over a relaxed dinner with mostly consumed bottles of wine was far easier than he had anticipated. Easy smiles and genuine laughter. Full bellies and fuller hearts. He imagined kissing her ring clad knuckles, smiling at the sight of her bejeweled fingers. “You deserve more than to be a tool to destroy an enemy we could all overpower together.”

He couldn’t recall the last time his thoughts had been taken into account the way she wanted them to be. The best he could think of was with Tara, but even so, there was so much suggestion of what he needed to do, leading to the everpresent implication of what he was doing wrong. “I…” words began to spill out of her mouth, but she clamped her plush lips shut. “I adore your company, and think the world could use a bit more Gale in it.”

With those words, he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. The relative calm in his chest was enough to push him forward. The knowledge that Mystra had sent someone as trusted as Elminster to stabilize the orb was enough to propel him to Orla. Their lips met in a whisper. A prayer. A plea. Soft and barely there at first. He couldn’t even be entirely certain if she still had any interest in such an act after all that she had learned. All she had seen. All he had said.

Even with all that had happened, she stayed. She pressed closer to him. His uninjured hand lifted to rest against her cheek. It was a bliss unknown to him, kissing her in the privacy her cliffside provided. Her needle and thread had been discarded as she pushed herself into him. Both hands landed on either side of his face. The move was clinging to something he couldn’t name. Her moves were eager and quick and filled with angst. Every inch in his direction was desperate as she scrambled into his lap.

#bg3 oc #bg3 fic #tav x gale #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #snippet saturday #??? is that a thing #I'm old and not with it #also

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