#SHES THE ONE WHOS HAUNTING HIM NOT C

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Yeah, right!

The one who's haunting you is C. Bite me, Carmy!

Sydney is always on his mind, unconsciously.

For Carmy these words are synonyms:

Sydney = Menu = Star = Love/Passion/Purpose

All he fucking thinks about is her menu and how to get the bullshit star for her and of course, he's constantly freaking out about not being good enough trying hard enough to achieve it.

Syd's not just in the Polka dots sauce

She's everywhere because he created every single one of those dishes for her and for her bullshit star.

The colors of her headscarves inspire him too, she's all over

Everything she in the past said she likes, made the cut

He gives her flowers, he made himself for her:

He subtracted and pushed but only kept the ingredients she likes

He is connecting through food with her because it is the only way in which he knows how to show his love, he's not great with words, she's just not seeing it because she only sees he's not running stuff by her first, but in his head he doesn't have to because he's already following her wishes/tastes as it is.

Bonus track: Acid, as usual, in this context it means that he knows her the menu is imbalanced. He obviously doesn't perceive himself as the "acid" in her dishes, ofc, but Carmy is aware they are out of sync and is trying to fix it. Syd is being patient with him, because he's not the best communicator, which he conceded, btw. But she's also oblivious to the fact that he is giving her the control of changing it all if she wants to. She can't see past her frustration and he can't say the words. AWESOME! KILL ME NOW PLS!

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[rafey-baby]

stepdad!rafe being gross about his stepdaughter…

c/w: stepcest, kinda angsty, slight somnophilia & some dubcon fingering, use of dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 880

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her relationship with her stepdad has always been rather strange.  

But she’s never really minded, because it felt nice to have someone fill that hollow pit inside her, the one that’s always been there, haunting her ever since her father left when she was just a little girl. An itch she could never quite scratch.  

It didn’t help that her mother was never exactly present in her life either— always too busy with work or looking for solace from the bottom of a wine bottle or blaming her for everything wrong in her life.

She was sixteen when her mom brought Rafe home for the first time. And she never quite understood why he had married the woman in the first place— why he filed for divorce only after she’d moved out for uni, and not the moment he found out his wife wasn’t spending all those late nights in the office, but instead in the bed of a stranger.

However, she didn’t much care for his reasons because he’d always been more of a parent to her than the people who were supposed to. She always secretly wished he would’ve been her real dad— not just someone she assumed felt obligated to take her under his wing when he found out how horribly she’d been treated all her life.  

That’s why she never really paid too much attention to his lingering touches or the borderline controlling tendencies that always seemed to fizzle to the surface whenever she’d do something he deemed bad. She was just happy that she finally had someone who made her feel safe, protected. What more could she really ask for? 

It felt nice when someone cared. 

And now, even if she’s legally an adult and capable of making her own decisions, she prefers when Rafe makes them for her. After all, is it so wrong to just want to be taken care of?  

Because university was a lot. And the never-ending deadlines, assignments and all the late nights she spent trying to understand something she just couldn’t, had grown into this hurricane inside of her. It swallowed up everything that once made life beautiful and worth living; hiding them away from her, until she was crying to her phone nearly every night with her daddy on the other end, trying to calm her down, but to no avail.  

And she could only take it for so long until one day, she was knocking on the door of Rafe’s brand new house with tear-soaked eyes and a suitcase— his strong arms wrapped tightly around her the only thing able to placate her in months because with him, everything felt secure.  

And she liked spending time with him and living on the island, had even gotten a weekend job at a surf shop (despite his protests) because she wanted to do something useful, something other than loitering around the house that felt more like a spooky mansion whenever he was at work.  

The empty hallways and her spacious bedroom were especially unsettling at night when she’d had a bad dream— more often than not making her tiptoe over to Rafe’s bedroom with a pout, asking if she could sleep there instead. ‘Of course you can, sweetheart’ he’d always murmur; voice gravelly with sleep and already making space for her under the covers…

Then one night, as she’s peacefully snoozing off in his warm embrace, his fingertips slip past the waistband of her fleecy pajama bottoms— merely grazing at the smooth skin of her lower tummy, telling himself he’s just trying to do something with his hands so sleep could find him faster.

That’s until he notices she’s not wearing any panties, getting an insatiable urge to tuck his fingers between her soft thighs— already meeting a sticky mess there. After all, he only has so much self-control around the innocent little angel he swears was sent from heaven just for him to taint; to ruin.  

And it’s not like she seems to mind with the way she snuggles closer to him in her sweet slumber; the round of her ass pressing closer and closer against his crotch with every unconscious shift of her hips.  

Only when he begins mindlessly thumbing at her clit, does she stir— drowsy voice panicky when she mumbles out something inaudible.  

“Shh. S’just me, relax, yeah?” he hushes her, wet fingertips rubbing lazy circles over her weepy cunt when she whines— a complaint already blossoming on her tongue, something about him being gross, no doubt.  

“Is dad not makin’ you feel nice?” he coos, other hand dragging her closer with a grip on her thigh when she tries to pull away.  

“This is— you shouldn’t…” she stumbles over her words, trying to wriggle away from his overwhelming touch.   

“Shh, what do I always tell you, hm?” he clicks his tongue, his hold firm as he coaxes her to tell him what he wants to hear.  

Momentarily, she gets distracted from squirming around as she searches through her fuzzy brain before whispering out the answer. “…dad knows what’s best.” 

“There you go, that’s m’girl,” he breathes out, pressing a gentle kiss to the apple of her cheek as a reward— smiling against the skin when she lets out a muffled whimper, because his hands do feel nice.

[hsnlv]

caught in the act (of falling) | y.jw

req!: jungwon with fake dating trope (and like he wants to make it a real relationship or smth like that)

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: what started as a fake dating scheme to fend off jungwon’s ex turns into stolen kisses, lingering touches, and feelings neither of you expected. when “pretend” starts to feel a little too real, jungwon’s flustered confession might just change everything.

warnings/others: fake dating trope!, cute flustered jungwon🤭, jungwon’s ex is obsessive (i would be too if i were one actually)

w/c: 1.07k

here’s my masterlist!

you honestly can’t figure out how you and jungwon ended up here—tangled in each other’s arms in his room, no one around but the two of you. his chest is warm against your back, his chin perched lazily on your shoulder, and his hands are wrapped around yours, helping hold the comic you’re both supposed to be reading. except neither of you is paying attention. how could you, when you can feel his breath tickling your neck every time he exhales?

this whole thing started as a joke—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. jungwon’s ex had been haunting him like a particularly clingy ghost, and out of sheer desperation, he asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend. fake dating, he called it. to drive her away.

at first, you thought he was out of his mind.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

“jungwon, have you completely lost it?” you whisper-shouted, darting nervous glances at his ex, who was seated way too close to your table in the cafeteria. her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “she’s going to end me.”

“she’s not going to end you,” jungwon whispered back, though his tone wasn’t exactly convincing. “look, it’s a foolproof plan. a few hugs, maybe hold hands—just when she’s around! it’ll be fine.”

“fine? jungwon, she’s been staring at me like i ran over her cat.”

he winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, fair. but you’ll be doing me the biggest favor ever. i’ll owe you one. please?”

you crossed your arms. “and what exactly does fake dating involve? because i swear if this gets weird—”

“it won’t!” he exclaimed quickly, his face scrunching up in that stupidly cute way that made you want to throttle him and pinch his cheeks at the same time. “just little stuff. harmless things. like holding hands. maybe linking arms. y’know, couple things.”

you eyed him warily. “define ‘couple things.’”

<<<<<<<<<

“couple things” turned out to be… a lot. jungwon, in his infinite wisdom, decided you both needed to “practice” being a convincing couple. this involved a series of increasingly absurd activities that had you questioning his sanity—and yours for agreeing to any of it.

“okay,” jungwon said one afternoon, pacing in front of you like a drill sergeant. “let’s practice nicknames. couples always have nicknames.”

“we already have nicknames,” you pointed out. “you call me by my name, and i call you uwon to annoy you.”

“no, no, no.” he waved his hand dramatically. “those aren’t cute nicknames. i mean things like ‘baby,’ or ‘sweetheart,’ or… or ‘honeybuns.’”

you nearly choked. “honeybuns? jungwon, if you call me honeybuns in public, i will personally make sure your life is a living nightmare.”

“noted,” he said with a laugh. “okay, let’s keep it simple. i’ll call you… babe. and you can call me—”

“uwon,” you interrupted, grinning. “i’m sticking with uwon.”

he sighed but didn’t argue. “fine. but we still need to work on PDA. let’s practice holding hands.”

you raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, we’ve held hands before.”

“yeah, but not like this,” he said, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. his grip was warm and secure, and he gave your hand a small squeeze. “see? it’s all about the squeeze. it makes it look more real.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, though your cheeks felt suspiciously warm.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

present.

weeks passed, and jungwon’s ex finally got the message. her death stares became less frequent until she eventually stopped showing up altogether. mission accomplished. but the fake dating didn’t stop.

“uwon,” you call softly, the nickname slipping out naturally as you shift in his arms. he hums, his chin still resting on your shoulder, but his hold on you tightens slightly.

you put the comic down and turn to face him, his hands automatically settling on your waist like it’s second nature. “what are we doing?” you ask, your tone light but pointed.

he blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. “reading?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes. “not the comic. this.” you gesture between the two of you. “what is this, jungwon? because i’m pretty sure your ex isn’t spying on us anymore.”

jungwon freezes, his eyes darting away like he’s suddenly very interested in the corner of his room. “uh… practice?” he says weakly.

“practice for what?” you press, crossing your arms. “you said the whole point was to convince your ex. but she’s gone now. so why are we still… doing this?”

he scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “well, you know… just in case.”

“just in case of what?” you shoot back, leaning in slightly. “jungwon, are you hiding something?”

his face flushes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for an excuse and coming up empty. finally, he blurts out, “okay, fine! i like you, alright?”

your brain short-circuits. “you… what?”

jungwon immediately panics, his hands flailing as he starts to babble. “oh my god, i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to just—i mean, i did, but not like this! and i totally get it if you don’t like me back, but—oh no, wait, please like me? or don’t? no, wait, maybe you could? or we could just pretend this never happened? or—”

“jungwon,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral.

“yes?” he squeaks, his wide eyes meeting yours.

instead of answering, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. he freezes for a split second before melting against you, his lips moving softly against yours. the kiss deepens, and his eagerness makes you giggle into his mouth, causing him to pull back slightly, breathless.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, pouting.

“you,” you tease, your fingers still gripping his shirt. “you’re way too eager.”

his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t back down. instead, he grins mischievously and suddenly hovers over you, gently pushing you onto your back. “you stole a kiss from me,” he says, his voice low and playful, “so now you’re stuck with me. forever.”

before you can respond, he leans down and captures your lips again, this time with more confidence. his hands cradle your face, and the weight of him above you is both grounding and electrifying. when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his smile soft but radiant.

“so…” he whispers, his tone teasing, “can we drop the ‘fake’ part now?”

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “yeah, i think we can.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle’s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@marispunk @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @waves-against-a-cliff @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #10

It all started because Clockwork got bored. That was the only reasonable explanation Danny could come up with. One minute he was signing ghost realm tax paperwork—yeah, turns out being Ghost King came with bureaucracy—and the next, Clockwork was swirling his little time-staff like a smug ghostly Gandalf and muttering something about “character growth” and “you’ve gone soft, Daniel.” And then bam, vortex of neon green time-energy, and suddenly Danny Fenton—a.k.a. Danny Phantom, Ghost King, Defender of Amity Park, Sloppy Hot Mess™—woke up in Westchester, New York, in a bed that smelled like lavender detergent and severe academic trauma.

Also, there was a kid across the room with laser eyes. Like, literal laser eyes. Danny dodged the optic blast with a yelp, crashed into a dresser, phased through it out of panic, and immediately got tackled by some blue-furred acrobatic Shakespeare enthusiast named Hank McCoy, who tried to sedate him with a tranquilizer gun the size of a trombone.

The chaos didn’t end there.

After an hour-long misunderstanding involving accidental ghost-punching, a kid phasing through a wall and screaming about “this new spirit trying to possess my Xbox,” and someone named Jean calmly levitating him mid-air like he was a naughty kitten, Danny finally got an audience with Charles Xavier. That guy. The bald one. Professor X. Wheelchair. Mind reader. Wears a turtleneck in July.

And of course, as soon as Danny sat down, Professor X pressed two fingers to his temple and Danny felt his entire mental vault of trauma shatter like a haunted snow globe. “Ah,” the Professor said with the polite cadence of someone realizing they’ve just tuned into a true crime documentary instead of the weather channel. “You have a great deal of… unique experiences.”

Danny laughed. Hysterically. “I died at fourteen and now I run a death monarchy in an alternate dimension. Unique is so last week.”

Turns out Clockwork, that glorified antique grandfather clock with too much free time, had decided that Danny needed to “learn to connect with others his age again” and “gain allies outside the Ghost Zone.” So he dropped Danny off at a mutant boarding school like some sort of half-dead foreign exchange student. And Charles Xavier, either because he’s too nice or secretly thrilled to collect weirdos like Pokémon cards, welcomed him with open arms.

Now, Danny wasn’t a mutant. He made that very clear. He was a half-ghost hybrid from an accident involving his parents’ DIY death portal and a broken sense of safety regulations. But that didn’t stop the other students from assuming he was just a weirdo with very specific powers and a questionable haircut. The moment Rogue tried to absorb him and got an accidental flash of the time Pariah Dark tried to possess his left kidney, she screamed, exploded a tree, and refused to make eye contact with him for a week. Logan thought that was hilarious and called him “Casper with PTSD.” Danny called Logan “Hairy Ferret Man.” A rivalry was born.

Also, it turned out that mutants at Xavier’s School had no chill. None. Zip. Zero. When they found out Danny could go intangible and invisible? Prank war. Full-on, Cold War-style prank war.

Kurt teleported hot sauce into his shoes. Danny replaced Kurt’s shampoo with slime from the Box Ghost. Bobby froze Danny’s underwear drawer. Danny phased into Bobby’s room at 3 a.m. and whispered “I’m always watching” into his ear like a cursed Roomba. Scott tried to discipline them with a “team bonding” exercise. Danny phased his clothes off in front of the entire class during the obstacle course.

He did not know Kitty Pryde could scream that loud. Or punch that hard.

Things escalated.

One day, Jean and Ororo walked into the library to find Danny floating upside down while holding a book with his foot, chewing a pen, and muttering to himself in the Ghost Zone’s dead language. When asked what he was doing, he said he was “reverse engineering a spectral war code to crash the cafeteria’s menu algorithm so they’d bring back pizza bagels.” Jean left the room. Ororo gave him a high five.

That might’ve been the least unhinged thing he did that week.

Because Danny had fans now. The students—bless their hormone-fueled, superpowered hearts—thought he was the coolest thing since Wolverine got into a fistfight with a vending machine. He had followers. A literal cult. Called themselves “The Phantom Phreaks.” They made glow-in-the-dark hoodies with his face on it. One kid tried to dye their hair white using bleach and ghost peppers. It didn’t go well.

It got worse when Peter Parker showed up.

Apparently, he was doing some college-credit tutoring with Xavier’s School because of course the kid with radioactive spider powers and crippling anxiety was the designated Marvel mentor. Peter tried to explain the concept of “laying low” and “not being a public menace” and Danny just blinked, turned intangible, floated through a wall, and popped his head back in to say, “I once bench-pressed a building-sized ghost walrus. I am beyond menace, Peter.”

They became friends instantly.

Peter would swing by to help with science classes and would end up staying for hours, mostly because Danny was a magnet for eldritch ghost disasters. One time, a time-displaced pirate specter named Captain Bloodwhistle tried to possess the student kitchen mixer. Peter got covered in spectral marshmallow fluff. Danny laughed so hard he accidentally ripped a hole into the Astral Plane. Peter got dragged halfway in. Jean had to psychic-yank him back with what she described as “a migraine made of bees.”

Also, Danny started dating one of the Cuckoo sisters.

He wasn’t sure which one. They wouldn’t tell him.

One of them would show up to lunch, sit next to him, hand him a thermos full of ghost chili, kiss his cheek, and then disappear into the crowd. Danny asked once if they were just messing with him. The Cuckoo in question smiled and said, “Maybe. Or maybe we’re all in love with you. Isn’t that romantic?”

He nearly screamed.

That was before the Avengers got involved.

Apparently, Xavier forgot to tell them he’d adopted a literal half-dead godchild of the underworld into his school. So one day Tony Stark landed in the front yard in a red-and-gold panic and tried to “detain the supernatural threat.” Danny responded by phasing into the suit, taking control of it, and flying it into the sky while singing “Let It Go” at full volume. Tony had to eject mid-air. He landed in a bush. Scott filmed it. Jubilee added sparkles in post.

Then Nick Fury showed up and tried to recruit him.

Danny told him he was already King of the Dead and the living were beneath him. Then he tripped on his shoelace and fell into a bush. Same bush Tony had landed in. They bonded. Kind of.

And then Loki showed up, because someone (cough Wanda cough) told him that a teenage ghost king with ancient death powers was living rent-free at Xavier’s. Loki tried to seduce Danny into joining his side. Danny asked if his horns were compensating for something. Loki cursed his shampoo to turn his hair pink. Danny retaliated by summoning an actual ghost bull to chase Loki through the halls while yelling, “Fight me, Party City Maleficent!”

Charles suspended them both for 48 hours.

Danny used the time off to open a haunted lemonade stand in the Danger Room. It made five grand and summoned three minor demons. Hank was not pleased.

And look, Danny was trying. He really was. He went to his classes (when he remembered), tried not to make sarcastic comments during training (he failed), and even got a job at the school paper writing ghost horoscopes. (“Sagittarius: avoid mirrors this week. Capricorn: the undead whisper secrets to you, don’t trust them unless they have snacks.”) But trouble followed him like a clingy poltergeist.

One time a field trip to Central Park ended with a ghost bear rampaging through the zoo. Another time, he got possessed by a Victorian poet ghost and started writing depressing haikus on the bathroom walls. He once accidentally opened a mini-portal in the girl’s dorm by sneezing. No one knew how. Not even Clockwork.

And oh, Clockwork?

He’d drop in occasionally, hovering in midair with that smug look, sipping ghost tea, and muttering things like, “Growth looks good on you,” while Danny was being chased by a ghost goose that had eaten a cursed student ID.

It was chaos.

It was ridiculous.

It was unhinged, feral, terrifying, and oddly heartwarming.

Because for the first time since he’d become half-ghost, since he’d died and come back and been crowned a spectral king with too many responsibilities and not enough hugs, Danny had a home that was weird enough for him. A home full of flying kids, clawed professors, laser eyes, psychic meltdowns, teleporting blue elves, and students who didn’t flinch when he told them his parents once tried to dissect him in a lab accident.

He was just another freak among freaks.

And he kinda loved it.

Even if his bedroom lights occasionally flickered Morse code insults.

Even if Logan kept threatening to shave his head in his sleep.

Even if Peter Parker made a “Ghost King Survival Kit” and stuffed it with snacks, holy water, and emotional support memes.

Even if the Cuckoo sisters left threatening notes in his locker written in glitter glue.

Even if Xavier kept giving him polite but exhausted psychic lectures about “not weaponizing the garden gnomes.”

Even if the Danger Room now had a setting labeled “Phantom Mode” that was literally just a green portal, a pissed-off dragon ghost, and an army of flying textbooks.

Danny Phantom was home.

And Ghost King or not, these mutants had no idea what kind of disaster they’d just adopted.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Time changes everything. Interviews used to take place indoors, in studios, or in booked hotel rooms. The questions were serious—focused on economics, politics, or other weighty topics. Back then, only experts or public figures were deemed worthy of being interviewed.

But now, thanks to social media, interviews can happen anywhere. They’re no longer the domain of reporters or TV stations. Instead, anyone with a phone, a camera, and a microphone can conduct an impromptu interview in random places.

These spontaneous interviews often gain far more attention than their polished, scripted counterparts on TV. On the streets, people are asked silly, lighthearted questions, and their candid, often hilarious answers resonate more with viewers. They feel authentic and relatable, unlike the carefully curated responses of experts.

Some people never imagine their offhand comments will make them go viral. Take the girl who became famous overnight for her absurd response to a random question—she jokingly told someone to spit. It was ridiculous, but human nature is unpredictable. The absurdity drew millions of viewers, and just like that, she became an internet sensation.

Today, another viral moment is taking over the internet. The current trend? A simple, loaded question:

“If you were offered 1 million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Many people, interviewed alongside their partners, responded with sweet or heartfelt answers. But one woman gave a response that stopped everyone in their tracks:

“Give me 1 dollar. I’ll leave him this second.”

And the interviewer handed her the one dollar.

Her comment sparked chaos online. Most people laughed, seeing it as a joke and sharing it for its sheer absurdity:

“LMAO, this girl is my spirit animal!”

“She’s not wrong, though. 😂 Relationships are overrated!”

“The audacity! 😂😂😂”

However, not everyone found it funny:

“This is what’s wrong with society—no loyalty anymore.”

“Imagine being her partner and seeing this. Yikes.”

“If this is how people think these days, I’ll stay single forever.”

But there was one man who didn’t find it amusing at all.

He replayed the video, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. The room was silent except for the faint hum of his phone’s speaker. His piercing gaze flicked to the woman sitting across from him as the video looped again.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t paid attention to what was happening online. As the CEO of the Lena Group, a leader in car and chip manufacturing, his schedule left little time for distractions. It wasn’t until his secretary and his mother mentioned the viral uproar that he decided to investigate.

Watching the clip now, he felt a surge of disbelief. Shock. Anger. He had worked tirelessly to build his empire, and yet here she was, casually dismissing him with a joke to a stranger.

“So,” he said, his voice cold as he set the phone down on the table, “you think I’m worth one dollar?”

She didn’t flinch under his icy glare. Instead, she calmly lifted her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as if his words carried no weight.

Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that I think about it,” she said, her tone casual, “70% discount sounds fair.”

His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his voice sharper now.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m tired, Bucky. I’ve had enough.”

The room felt heavier, the unspoken words between them thickening the air.

His jaw clenched as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of humor, anything to suggest you didn’t mean it. But there was none. Only calm resolve.

He looked at you—the woman he had married two years ago. The truth was, this wasn’t an ordinary marriage. It was what people called a contract marriage. But to Bucky, it was just business. Marriages forged to benefit two businesses had existed for ages, after all.

The so-called marriage contract was simply a guideline—a formal agreement to ensure both parties understood the terms, what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Many people chose contract durations of three or six years before going their separate ways. But Bucky had kept it simpler: a one-year contract, renewable if his wife agreed.

The reason he opted for this arrangement was to avoid the casualties of love. He’d seen it firsthand—his parents, who had started with love, had eventually torn each other apart, not literally, but close enough to leave scars on everyone involved. It was enough to make Bucky swear off traditional marriage altogether.

But his grandfather had other plans. “If you don’t marry, you’ll never inherit the company,” his grandfather had declared, determined to ensure his legacy stayed within the family. Having watched his son—a serial adulterer—destroy the family’s reputation, the old man had become obsessed with the idea of keeping his grandson grounded.

Bucky, however, had no interest in marriage. He had no desire for emotional entanglements or the drama that came with them. Yet his grandfather’s ultimatum left him with no choice. If he wanted to lead the company, he had to marry.

That was when he turned to a matchmaker agency, one well-known among his wealthy peers. It wasn’t cheap, but the agency had stellar testimonials, and they assured him they could find the perfect partner.

And they did.

That’s where he met you. You, too, were looking for something unconventional. You weren’t interested in traditional marriage and came from a good family background, which made introducing you to his parents remarkably easy. Despite his parents’ separation, you navigated the introductions with grace, impressing his mother and, surprisingly, his father.

The wedding happened quickly. You were the ideal partner—easygoing, understanding, and undemanding. When the first year of the contract ended, Bucky asked if you wanted to continue. You had simply smiled and said, “Yes.”

To him, that was enough.

Two years had passed since then, and he thought everything was fine. You never complained, never asked for anything more than the life you had agreed upon. He thought you were content. He thought you were okay.

But now, standing before you on the last day of the contract, he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of your quiet satisfaction with your answer in that viral video.

He stared at you, confused and hurt. “Why did you say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Why give that answer? I thought everything was fine.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you glanced at your watch, casually checking the time. “I’m not,” you said, your voice calm, almost detached. “At 12 a.m., our marriage contract will be over. By tomorrow morning, I won’t be here.”

His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. He reached for the black tea you had placed in front of him earlier, taking a sip. It had gone lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, a temperature he despised. It mirrored the hollow, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his chest.

Finally, he set the cup down with a dull clink. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice firmer now, though tinged with weariness.

You said nothing in return, merely turned and walked away.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, when he woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains. His eyes flicked to the clock on his nightstand—10 a.m. He sat up abruptly, his head spinning slightly from the sudden movement.

He rarely ever slept this late. For years, he had trained himself to wake by 5 a.m., no matter how little sleep he’d had the night before. Even on his most exhausting days, he never overslept. At most, he might sleep in until 6 or 7 a.m., but 10? Never.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece it together. What had made him sleep like this? He thought back to the night before, to your calm words, to the tea…

His hands froze mid-motion. The tea.

A surge of realization hit him. You drugged him.

He swung his legs out of bed, his movements sharp and full of urgency. Throwing on a robe, he stormed out of the bedroom, his voice cutting through the quiet house. “Where is she?”

The housemaid appeared, her expression hesitant and unsure. “She left, sir. Early this morning.”

His jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And she didn’t say anything? Not a word?”

The maid paused, then held out a small item. “She left this, sir.”

He grabbed the velvet box from her hand, his chest tightening as he opened it. His breath caught at the sight of your wedding ring nestled inside.

For two years, he had worn his own wedding ring daily, thinking of it as nothing more than a piece of jewelry. But now, staring at your ring, it felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of your departure.

Inside the ring box, you left the same crumpled dollar bill. It sat there like a cruel punchline, mocking everything he thought both of you had built together—a final, silent reminder of just how little she thought he was worth.

He set the box down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on the wardrobe, he froze. It was still full. You hadn’t taken a single thing.

His mind raced. Where could you have gone? How did you vanish so quickly?

He reached for his phone, dialing his security team with shaky fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Where is she?” he barked, his voice tight with frustration, the tension unmistakable.

The security officer on the other end hesitated. “Mrs. told us… madam wanted to meet her.”

His brows furrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in another state.”

That meant only one thing. You had gone to the airport.

“Did she take the private jet or a commercial plane?” he demanded.

“Commercial, sir. It was a last-minute trip, and we hadn’t prepared the jet.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as frustration surged within him. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the sheer incompetence of his team. You fucking idiot. The words pounded in his mind, but he bit them back, forcing himself to stay composed.

“Who bought the ticket?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“It was Mrs. who purchased the ticket herself.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He wanted nothing more than to explode, but he kept his voice steady. “Find out where she went.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed his mother. The line connected after a single ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said briskly. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Did you ask her to meet you?”

“Me? No, I—”

He ended the call before she could finish. That ruled out her involvement.

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. If you had boarded a plane, he could easily track your destination. But the other option loomed: that the airport was a decoy. You had used his mother’s name as an excuse, ensuring your movements would go undetected by his security team, who clearly hadn’t been following you as closely as they did him.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. The confirmation from his team came through, and the news made his blood boil.

“Mrs. bought a plane ticket but didn’t get on the plane,” the head of security reported.

“Did you check the surveillance cameras?” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed the footage. There’s a woman with a similar appearance to madam who rented a car at the airport.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly to keep his temper in check. So, it’s option two. You’re still in the same state.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, pacing the room. He could feel the tension radiating through his body. “At least you didn’t go far.”

Without wasting another second, he barked into the phone, “Chase the car. Check every schedule she might have left behind, and contact her friends. I want updates—fast.”

Ending the call, he threw the phone onto his desk with a sharp clatter. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the desk, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. For someone who always had the upper hand, this was new territory. And he hated it.

Bucky sat in his office chair, staring at the empty ring box on his desk. His mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why had you suddenly left without a word? Both of you had been such a good team—practical, efficient, and untroubled by the complications that plagued most marriages. At least, that’s what he thought.

If he could, he would turn back time and relive the past few months, examining every moment you’d spent together. Had he missed something? Made a mistake? Or had something happened that he was completely unaware of? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“We found her. But…”

“What?!” he barked, standing abruptly.

“It’s not Mrs.,” the security team clarified hesitantly.

A chill ran down his spine. “Then who is it?”

“It’s her friend, sir.”

His stomach tightened, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt a flicker of fear. He thought he was closing in, that you were still within his reach. But now, you were out of his watch, slipping further away with every passing second.

“Secure her. I’m going to meet her,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

“Yes, sir.”

"Prepare the car," Bucky ordered, his voice cold and demanding.

"But, sir, you have a meeting at 2 p.m", his assistant replied, hesitant.

Bucky shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening.

The assistant quicklu nodded. "I'll reschedule it, sir," he muttered avoiding Bucky's piercing gaze.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Minutes later, Bucky arrived at a quiet café where Grace was waiting under the watchful eye of his security team. The moment he saw her, he recognized her immediately—your friend, the one who had attended your wedding. Grace was the only person you had trusted with the details of this marriage contract.

Bucky approached the table, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing inside him.

“Where is she?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t fully mask.

Grace avoided his gaze, staring down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I could raise my voice at you, but I won’t. Grace, please. Tell me where she is.”

Grace finally looked up, her expression guarded. “As far as I know, last night was the last day of your marriage. Today, she’s a free woman.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Bucky’s mask slipped. He stared at her, bewildered, the weight of everything sinking in. What had he done to make you leave? Had he overlooked something so significant? And why did Grace seem to despise him so much?

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again. He stepped aside to take the call, his jaw tightening as he listened.

“Sir, we’ve reviewed additional footage. Mrs. used Grace’s ID to purchase another ticket. She’s already on the plane.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened. His gaze snapped back to Grace, who was now watching him warily.

“Grace,” he began, his voice sharper this time. “I’m asking you again. Where is she?”

Grace shook her head, her tone calm but firm. “I don’t know.”

His frustration boiled over. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table as he stared her down. “Don’t lie to me, Grace.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. You don’t know anything about her.”

Her words struck a nerve, leaving him momentarily speechless. He straightened, trying to collect himself, but his mind was racing. Don’t know anything about her? He hated the implication.

“She trusted you,” he said, his voice low. “You were the only one who knew about the arrangement, the only one she confided in.”

“And that’s why I won’t betray her trust now,” Grace replied evenly.

Author Note: Do you found this interesting? Would you like it to be continued?

[rosesareredrosa]

There's a Difference

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo thinks he is not worth it and thinks he will hurt y/n because of his past but y/n doesn't think so shes ready to take a risk

w/c: 924

You shouldn’t love me.

Mattheo’s voice was laced with a mix of defiance and resignation as he spoke the words that had been haunting him for weeks. The dim light from the torches cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the hard edges of his jaw and the turmoil in his dark eyes. He stood just a few feet away from you, his usual confidence faltering as he forced himself to look away.

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him slip away so easily. “Well, why not?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder as if he could find an escape route hidden in the stone walls of the Hogwarts corridor. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, before he finally turned his attention back to you. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely let anyone see.

“I’m not worth it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I’m going to end up doing is hurting you.”

You could hear the sincerity in his words, the fear that drove them. But you weren’t one to be easily scared off, especially not by Mattheo Riddle. The boy who was always so confident, so untouchable, now stood before you with all his walls down. You took a step closer, refusing to let him push you away.

“Is that a promise,” you challenged, “or are you just afraid?”

The question hung in the air between you, daring him to confront the truth he was trying so hard to deny. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled with the emotions he usually kept locked away. No one had ever called him out like this before. He was used to people either fearing him or idolizing him, but you… you were different. You saw right through his carefully constructed facade, and that terrified him more than anything.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “But that’s all I know how to do. It’s in my blood, Y/N. It’s who I am.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept that as the end of the conversation. “That’s not who you are, Mattheo. It’s who you think you have to be. There’s a difference.”

His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign that you understood the darkness he carried, that you knew what you were getting yourself into. “You don’t know what you’re saying. My father… the things I’ve seen… the things I’ve done…”

You took another step closer, until you were standing directly in front of him, your eyes locked onto his. “I know who you are, Mattheo. I see the way you fight against what you think you have to be. I see the good in you, even if you don’t.”

His breath hitched, the walls he had spent years building up around his heart beginning to crumble under the intensity of your gaze. For a moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, you were right. But then the fear crept back in, reminding him of all the reasons why he had to keep you at arm’s length.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice shaking, “I can’t let you get close. If something happened to you because of me…”

You reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m not afraid of you, Mattheo. I’m not afraid of what could happen. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out, of you letting your fear dictate your life.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from your words. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe,” you replied softly, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Or maybe I just see something worth fighting for.”

Mattheo’s eyes fluttered open, and in that moment, the battle within him finally reached its peak. He could keep fighting against his feelings, pushing you away until you had no choice but to give up on him, or he could take the risk and let himself be vulnerable, let himself love you the way he so desperately wanted to.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Mattheo closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, as if he was pouring all of his fear, his hope, his love into that single moment. You responded immediately, your hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if you could hold him together by sheer force of will.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, but the tension that had been hanging over you was gone, replaced by a sense of calm that neither of you had expected.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” Mattheo said quietly, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a fierce determination. “Then we’ll hurt each other. But we’ll also heal together.”

He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. “You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Mattheo chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worth it after all.

[rozecrest]

hold out if you can hold out my sweet -> i am married just not to a man -> as you abandoned me. you did, don’t deny it, stop those lightning bolt looks at me, i won’t have it -> you were devoted to glinda you were everyone knew -> [the night elphaba is “vanquished”] lady glinda had a bad night, a night of shakes and regret and pain; she guessed it was the early signs of gout from her rich diet. but she sat up half the night and lit a candle in a window, for reasons she couldn’t articulate. the moon passed overhead in its path from the vinkus, and she felt its accusatory spotlight, and moved back from the tall windows. -> “tell me what you need, tell me why i should help, and i’ll see what I can do. in memory of elphaba. you knew her.” her head tilted again, but up, this time, and it was to keep the sudden wetness from spilling into her carefully colored false eyelashes. “you knew my elphie!” + her hands reached out hungrily for the cape and rubbed its hem, as if it were leaves of thyme or hyssop. + glinda reached out and took the charred broomstick and cradled it. -> “oh, oh,” she managed, “i don’t know that i’ll see you again…and you remind me so of her.” + “her power was only part of it,” said glinda. “she was brave, and so are you.” -> [at the mauntery of saint glinda] i suppose i shouldn’t be surprised to find you here. after all, elphaba was here for a while, you know. it’s one of the reasons i like to support it. + glinda raised her chin. “no, liir. she lives. people sing of her. you wouldn’t guess it, being you—but they do. there’s a musical noise around her name; there are things people remember, and pass on.” + you refuse to be consoled, don’t you? well, that’s as much proof as i could ever need that you’re kin to her. she was the same way. the very same way. -> “didn’t elphaba trust you once to try? it’s your turn.” / i don’t mention her name,” said glinda. not coldly, but in deference.” -> her thoughts returned to elphaba thropp. It was more than fifteen years since they had parted ways. what an uncommon friendship they had had—not quite fulfilling. yet nothing had ever taken its place. years later, when that boy liir had shown up at glinda’s house in the emerald city, she had known him at once for elphaba’s son, though he seemed in some doubt on that matter. (children.) he had had elphaba’s broom, after all, and her cape. more to the point, he had had her look: that look both haunted and thereby abstract, but at the same time focused. a look like a spark on a dry winter’s day, that staticky crackle and flash that leaps across the air from finger to the iron housing of the servant’s bell. -> she didn’t believe she dreamed of elphaba; she didn’t have the kind of aggravated imagination that loitered in dreams. maybe she dreamed of a door opening, and elphaba coming back from the afterlife. to settle glinda’s consternation; to save her. or maybe this wasn’t a dream, just a foundational longing.-> for a moment, or ten, she was back in shiz, darting up some alley of flowering quinces, racing elphaba to the fountain at the back of the quad. elphaba was glowing with the effort—glowing emerald!—and glinda, in her dream, was almost absent to herself, caught up in admiring her friend. it happened so seldom, vacating the prison of one’s limited apprehensions. even dreams seemed ego-heavy, she thought as she was waking. but oh, to see elphaba, even in dreams, is both reward and punishment, for it reminds me of my loss. -> “here i go.” please, lurlina, please. or the unnamed god. anyone who might be paying attention. elphaba. -> “besides, i was hardly a stranger. i had known your grandmother. we were like this.” she twinned her second and third fingers together as if they might strangle each other. -> her glasses had broken a year ago. she didn’t need them anymore, not really. she knew who was turning the door handle of her cell. she called her name sleepily, and added, “you wicked thing. you’ve taken your own sweet time, of course.”

[cupid-ghoul]

⋆˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆˚｡⋆ what the ghouls would get you/their mate for valentine's day ⋆˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆˚｡⋆

hello lovelies and happy valentine's day 🩷 since today's one of my favourite holidays I have a treat for you - I'm cupid ghoul after all - 🩷 once again this is just for funsies and not meant to offend 🩷 you're all deserving of love 🩷 xox

Aether: he's mature and obviously has the day written down in his calendar. his phone reminds him weeks in advance to get a good gift. I believe he'd gift his beloved flowers and an annotated copy of either his or their favourite book. all of the annotations also relate to the relationship and special moments he has with his love.

Mountain: he's calm, gentle, and a romantic even if he's not showing it outwardly a lot. Mount would create a unique and beautiful bouquet made up of flowers he grew himself. the showstopper of the bouquet would be a beautiful flower he crossbred just for his petal.

Rain: he gifts his starfish jewelry. BUT unlike those people that gift their partner one of these random heart necklaces (you hopefully know the ones), rain has taste. The jewelry matches the aesthetic and preferences of his partner perfectly, since he's so observant and in tune with his lover. also if his love is into it he will present them with a blood vial necklace (he even drew it himself).

Swiss: he's a bit of a wildcard and very passionate, so for valentine's he gifts his doll a lovely little lingerie set that he will also happily take off later. with that his partner gets a fun little sex toy which will also be promptly test driven in the evening. to round it out swiss will put a lovely little box of chocolates or sweets on top because what is valentine's without a bit of traditional gift giving.

Dewdrop: he will give his angel a mixtape that he made just for them. Dew likes physical media so it's either a CD or a cassette tape and he even customised the case just for his partner. he tries to act nonchalant when actually giving the gift because he has the emotional range of a teaspoon (in reality it was VERY chalant, he almost crashed out because his little project failed at least once) but it's fine, he's trying his best.

Phantom: he's a little confused but enthusiastic about the holiday. so he presents his starlight with a rabbit skull. he really likes oddities (he has his own little collection already) and what's more romantic than hunting for your partner? exactly! nothing. it might be an odd gift but his effort and general sweetness are just selling it. however next year he might buy a jellycat.

Aurora: she loves pink, she loves hearts, and she loves the holiday (she's just like me fr) so for her bunny she goes all out. chocolates, one of those giant stuffed animals that is just a bit taller than her (it's also a you problem to figure out where to store this plush monstrosity), and a couple sex toy that she'll gladly use with her partner once things settle down for the night. who knows maybe she even makes her bunny a bracelet. she just loves love.

Sunshine: their love language is quality time so instead of gifting their firefly something sunny wants to have fun, which makes an amusement park or carnival date an ideal vday activity. sunny loves fun and the thrill of rollercoasters or haunted houses. they will win their partner one of those stuffed animals and even buys a photo of them and firefly on one of the rides. they also have some candy for their partner afterwards.

Cumulus: as a romantic she wants to spend valentine's with her love bug, so she takes them on a picnic that she prepared herself in the kitchen. sandwiches, a little cake, fruit, whatever their partner's heart desires. Lus will read to their love bug with their head in her lap and if they're into jewelry she will gift them a little piece of jewelry (necklace/bracelet/anklet) with a C charm on it.

Cirrus: she loves to spoil her honey with a fancy dinner and a nice perfume that fits her partner's taste perfectly. Cirrus wants to see them all dressed up and take them out on the town. after the date she will stop at a park for a walk under the moonlight and some whispered love confessions.

divider by @/dollywons, mdni banner by @/anitalenia, pics from Pinterest

@cyb3r-st4rz - you wanted to be tagged lovely

[enchantedtomeetyou1113]

post war Levi! x reader

Let me down slowly

______________________________

Summery: you and Levi live in your own small home after the war ended years before. You’ve been distant and he doesn’t know why.

-

A/n : hi! So basically I think I’m slowly becoming a song fic enthusiast it’s honestly an obsession. this is inspired by ‘let me down slowly’ by Alec Benjamin. Yes I know blast from the past I seen Alec post him playing it on guitar on TikTok and it inspired me to listen which inspired me to write this-I hope you enjoy!!!

-

Warnings: sad Levi . Angst . Hurt/comfort . Sfw

———————————————————————-

One week. One week of y/n being distant towards him. Sure they talk but not like the usual quiet conversations they share. There’s no comfortable silences and there hasn’t been soft whispers in the dark. Why? A question Levi asked over 100 times.

“Sorry I’ve just been in my head..” she’d reply with everytime, promising to give him attention after she finished with whatever task she’s so busy with.

And everytime he’d find her picking up a new task,and then another and another until she claims she’s too tired to stay up. Everytime she ends up sleeping while Levi lies awake fighting with his own fears and overthinking.

‘Did I do something?’

‘Is there someone else?’

These thoughts haunted his mind along with countless more. Levi was never good at voicing his feelings especially when it was ones that deemed him as weak or vulnerable.

So he fell asleep on the opposite side of their shared bed,feeling more and more restless without her normal proximity. His usual routine of holding her close until they both snored softly now changed into her falling asleep first curled up in her own little ball and Levi staying up staring at her until flipping over with his back facing the sleeping girl.

Hours later he woke up hearing footsteps sounding like they were coming from the kitchen and into the small bathroom down the small hallway. He blinked away the remaining sleep noticing the empty spot beside him.

Levi stood up feeling the cold floor and dragged himself up and through the little hallway to the bathroom door.

He knocked softly “y/n?” His voice laced with sleep and worry. “Are you alright? Why are you up so late?”

He heard rustling in the bathroom before he heard her small voice. “Im fine-“ He didn’t believe her from the sound of her voice. He furrowed his brows “okay.. come back to bed when you’re done,yeah?” He didn’t hear anything else after that and he stayed a few moments before walking back to the cold bedroom that used to be warm.

He waited laying face up on their bed. Staring at the ceiling waiting for his girl to come back. His patience was growing thin as 15 minutes passed by until he heard the floorboards creek under her steps as she came around the corner into the dark room.

He took this as an opportunity,an open door of sorts to finally talk to her about what’s really going on.

“Hey,” he starts his eyes not looking at her figure as she crawled onto her side on the bed. He felt himself get choked up trying to think of the right thing to say to get her to open up.

“Hi..” she said back. His eyes trailed to her and he wanted to sink into a hole and hide from the unreadable look on her face. It also wasn’t helping that he felt his eyes burn with unwanted tears.

‘Of course she doesn’t love me, look at me. I’m missing an eye,I have 1 and a half of a hand ugly scars that take up half of my face-‘ Levi was thinking to himself his own voice feeling like a drum in his ears and before he realized his arms wrapped around her pulling her in tighter then ever.

He heard her soft gasp. A man who once had dignity and grace. Who many looked up to and feared,now sat slipping through the cracks of her cold embrace.

“If.. if you’re leaving will you let me down slowly? Can you not string me along? Show me some sympathy or something-“ he breathed out as the hot tears fell down his cheek. “If you want to go-I can’t stop you..but I’ll be lonely” he whispered the last part but she caught it.

He felt her arms wrap around him in return. And his eyes widened slightly. “Levi,” she sighs as he prepares himself for the worst. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” His brows raised and a hopeful but confused expression was plastered on his face. His lips parted slightly but he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“I’m sorry…I’ve been so worried that I’m not enough for you and.. and that I’m not enough for anyone that I became distant.” Her eyes don’t meet his when he pulls back to look at her expression.

“What?” His brows furrow for the 10th time tonight. “What the hell makes you think that?”

“It…it started when you had that..nightmare last week..” the memory flashed through his mind.

~

“Darling it’s okay-it’s not real wake up.” She shook him softly.

“Get-get off me!” He struggled in his sleep.

“It’s just me! Come on open your eyes-“

His eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly gasping. He felt his whole body shaking and in a cold sweat. “It’s okay..” she whispered as she rubbed circles on his arm. He shrugged her off as he plopped himself back down. She felt a little hurt but pushed it to the side. “Do.. do you want to talk about it?” “No.” “Are you sure?”

“You can’t help anyways.”

Oh.

~

“Y/n…” he trails off understanding her behavior.

“I just…I just want to be able to help you.. shouldn’t I be the one to?” She whispered

“You do-you are.” He puts his good hand on her cheek cupping her sad face. “You are the only one who helps. And the only one I want to help.. you do more for me then I can ever ask for.” his thumb pets her cheek. She feels tears well up in her eyes and Levi wipes the hot tear as it falls down her face.

“I wouldn’t want it from anyone else. You are the only one I’d ever need.” Her lips turn slightly up and his face mirrors hers.

She moved closer to press her lips onto his and he practically melts into her intoxicating touch. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his around her waist as he pulls her closer to him. When the kiss breaks he lays down pulling her onto his chest and his fingers find their way into her hair. She sighs in content and both feel the weight on their shoulders lifted.

“You’re not actually allowed to leave.” He says matter of factly.

“Lucky you that’s the last thing on my mind.”

———————————————————————

A/n: you know what I tried 😔 I don’t know how sucky this is but please like and comment your thoughts 🙏🏻🙏🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[writingjourney]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

!!! this fic contains spoilers for RHRN, do not read on if you wish to remain spoiler-free!!!

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Or: Copia is taking up his new position. It’s not an easy feat.

content: 1.8k words, gn!reader, angst, grief, hurt/comfort, some fluff and kisses, post!rhrn so spoilers, established relationship

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 – White dust sheets cover the furniture like ghosts of a life left behind. The path forward is hidden underneath layers of insecurity and grief but as he packs up years of work in pre-used cardboard boxes it almost feels as though he cannot see the path at all.

His new office is just down the hall. It is a fast job. Two trips and his desk has become another ghost. One more trip and he has emptied out all personal belongings from the dusty shelves. The rest stays, not useful to him anymore in his new function.

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Unlike his brothers he had no way to prepare who follows his footsteps and perhaps that is where the ache in his belly comes from – the uncertainty.

He cannot quite bring himself to unpack the boxes in his new office yet. But it is not his office anyway, Copia thinks. No, it is his mother’s office and he feels like an intruder placing his things on her desk. Her smell clings to the old fabrics, clings to him, a strong perfume that Copia has not been able to get out of his nose ever since he covered her body with yet another white sheet.

Yet another ghost.

It has not been long, he tells himself, a weak comfort. As he stands here with an old card she wrote him – Welcome Home, C! – he can hear the clicking of his mother’s shoes on the tiled floors like a faint echo that haunts the hallways of the Ministry. Everyone is busy preparing for this transitional period, mourning their Mother Superior, but now it is Copia who has to guide them, navigate them through this darkness.

He realises that he himself has footsteps to follow and that he is just as unprepared. A new era, for all of them.

“Love?”

He turns and his world lights up for a brief moment. You occupy the doorframe in a black mourning habit, the one all Siblings chose to wear in honour of his mother. Of course he finds that it suits you better than anyone else. But perhaps that is because he has felt the sturdy fabric against his wet cheeks so many times now that it means comfort, home.

“Do you still need help with the boxes?” you ask.

All he can do is shake his head. You approach and he wants to close the card, hide it away, not even sure why. You have seen the fallout, you have held him through the worst of it. Perhaps he is ashamed, in a way, that he cannot move on as fast as his new role demands of him.

“Was this from her?” you ask, nestling up to his side.

“Mhm.”

His hand is trembling lightly as you lay yours to rest on top of his. The swipe of your thumb against his bare wrist sends goosebumps down his spine and when you wrap the other arm around his waist his eyes are watering.

“Perhaps you can frame it, together with some photos,” you suggest.

He nods, leaning into your embrace as a solid rock forms in his throat. You hold him and he lets the silent tears run down his cheeks, gathering at the dip of his chin. Your thumb continues to draw slow crescents over his pulse. He can’t speak. He does not have to.

✦ ✧ ✦

2 – He is glued to the mirror.

You try not to fuss, he is nervous as is. It is first official day, after all.

“I didn’t know you had a new uniform,” you say with a lint roller in hand, joining him in the bedroom. The jacket is brand new, all black but unusual in its ornamentation, satin lapels that run from his neck towards his armpits. A clerical collar underneath sparkles against his Adam’s apple.

“I eh… splurged,” he says, cheeks dusted a bashful red.

He says it like he is wasteful, does it whenever he treats himself to something, but you also know he is wearing the same black winklepickers he wore as a Cardinal ten years ago, never replaces any pieces of clothing until he finds holes in the fabric, that he only bought new jackets when he could use them on stage to look his best for the audience. The suit is no different, it is as much a boost to his confidence as it is a display of his new status. A performance.

“It is a rather nice suit,” you note, running the lint roller down his back.

“Mhm.” He pauses, looks down at himself and tugs at the sleeves. “It is… unfamiliar.”

“You wear it well, Copia.”

He smiles and his confidence resurfaces. You find that he looks handsome in a completely new way. You have seen so many facets of him that you can tell he is beginning to mold himself into this role, even if he might not see it himself yet. In the mirror, a stranger is looking back at him through black-rimmed eyes but in time he will see himself again, a grown version.

“It is not all,” he says. “I… found something. In the desk drawer.”

He points to a velvety black box on the dresser. Inside, you find a beautiful ornament, two ruby brooches holding a bejewelled black grucifix, another ruby at the bottom. It is one of the most beautiful, elaborate pieces you have ever seen.

“A gift, I think.”

He looks uncertain when you glance up. But you have no doubt that it was meant for him, meant for today. You carefully take it out of the box, delicate as it looks it feels sturdy and well-crafted. One brooch to each lapel and the grucifix dangles over his heart. Light from the window catches in the gemstones, a prism splitting the ray into sparkles that reflect in the mirror, a spectacle of multicoloured beams flickering across the walls.

Copia watches the dancing lights, mesmerised, until the sun hides behind a cloud and the room is gloomy yet again. When you focus back on him a tear pearls from his left eye, running down his cheek and leaving a black streak in its wake. The piece is more than jewels – it is a memory, a promise, a token of trust.

“It is beautiful,” you say. “As are you, Copia. So beautiful.”

His smile is tinged with sadness but there is hope, now, too. You smooth out his jacket, admiring him for a moment, unconcealed, and he must see it in your eyes because the smile shifts until one corner of his mouth pulls into a lighthearted smirk.

“Do I get a kiss?” he asks.

You grab the satin and pull him close. One day you are going to peel him out of this jacket and it won’t feel heavy anymore.

✦ ✧ ✦

3 – You gently wipe at his under-eye. The black smudge is persistent and you stop when the skin turns red. Copia’s eyes are closed even as he holds you. Wrapped around you he feels hot to the touch, almost feverish. He has gone non-verbal since he came home and you give him the space he needs, soft touches, rest and quiet.

The tension of the day still sits in his muscles, you can feel the knots when you run your hands over his back. The hot shower did not help, nor did the pasta he barely touched for dinner. He did well, everyone said this to you today. Whether he feels it you are not so certain.

You lean in and press a kiss to the round tip of his freckled nose. He blinks at you through tired, reddened eyes, lips curving into a lazy half-smile. His hand tightens at your waist, slides underneath your shirt to feel your skin. He’s your whole world molded into the shape of a man. Love, stored in the crinkles of his crow’s feet, every line on his face, in the brushstrokes of grey at his temples, an endless supply.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, trailing the curve of his spine.

His eyes open and you feel guilty for disrupting his peace. But then he pulls you ever closer, squishing, the softness of your bodies mingling with a comforting warmth.

“I don’t…” He stops, brows pulled together. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I have no doubt that you can.” You study his features, move your hand to trace the lines of tension and smooth them out. He lets you, eyelids fluttering at the soft touch. “Every day from now on will be easier, Copia. My baby, I have such confidence in you. Unshakable.”

The words stir something in him. Some wetness gathers in his odd eyes but he blinks it away. You have to fight your own tears, good tears, for how far he has come. Then Copia nods, nods again but with more conviction. A deep exhale through his nose and he swallows the doubts away.

“You are right, always,” he says. “I was Papa Emeritus IV, eh? I did that.”

“You did.” A smile, proud and amused. “And now you are Frater Imperator.”

“Mhm, I am.”

“You are the head of this church, they are still your flock, adoring you, admiring you, trusting you. None of this has changed.” You cradle his face in both hands, a firm press of your thumbs to his cheekbones. “And you are still the man I love.”

“I am?”

“Forever.”

He closes the gap himself, a grateful kiss, seeking. You try to give him what he needs, firm and soft kisses, hands roaming, legs entangles. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, deeper still until all air escapes you and a dizzy fog fills your head. He is all you know, all you want for the rest of this life you live together.

The kisses slow down, not any less deep, and he cradles your head, keeping you pressed together. There is some need building, a languid wave that fades out in ripples. You feel him stir against your leg but he is not quite here with you, not entirely, and it subsides after a moment.

He breaks away with a heavy sigh, keeps his eyes closed.

“Perhaps not tonight,” you say, stroking his hair.

He nods and rests his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your nose, the embrace tighter than before. It feels easier now, somehow, and you can picture it so clearly. The future, him, and even in your head the world is quiet as you hold him close.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[raven-dor]

i'll be watching you

in which steve harrington can’t stop thinking about the one girl who believed in him

PAIRING: steve harrington x fem!reader, dustin henderson x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, realization, ANGST ANGST ANGST, nostalgia, CRAZY amounts of yearning, obliviousness

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

🎶 : every breath you take - the police

AN: this hurt to write... enjoy!! (also the 'present' is the mid 90's, so Steve and you are in your late 20's)

Steve was utterly confused. First, he decides, of his own volition, to apologize to Jonathan Wheeler. Then, he knocks on the boy’s door to find Y/N, panic evident in her expression and her hand bleeding. 

He bursts in, worried about her safety, to then find that his girlfriend is also there, with a gun pointed at his face.

He was then dragged through the Wheeler’s house away from some sort of creature before finally being ushered out by Y/N, her words haunting him as he opened the car door. “I don’t want you wrapped up in this, Steve. Just leave it alone.” 

Why would she care? And why could she be involved, but not him? No, Steve thought to himself as he grabbed his bat, she could not go through this alone. (He would later reference this moment as the second his feelings for her grew past friendship.) Screams rang through the Byers property, and Steve burst through the door once more, swinging his bat and slamming the monster square in the face. 

Y/N was on the floor, grinning wildly at the boy before her. “Steve!” He ran over, extending his hand and pulling her into his arms. “What are you-” 

“Don’t tell me to leave it alone ever again.” He whispered.

She nodded, hugging him tightly. “Fine.” 

A cough interrupted their moment, and they pulled apart, remembering where they were. Y/N laughed, nudging the King of Hawkins lightly. “You’re quite the hero.” 

A chill ran down his spine, and he clenched his eyes shut. She made him crazy sometimes.

Steve groaned, shoving his face further into his pillow. Not again, he thought. This had been the third time this week he’d woke up this early. Every time it was the same, it was almost like he was going back in time, his dreams exactly as they had been in real life. 

And every time it revolved around her. 

He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. Why couldn’t he have a dream about puppies or his dream job?

His alarm clock rang, and his heart dropped. “Shit!” Jumping out of bed, he sprinted to the bathroom, fixing his hair as best he could in two minutes.

His real shift at his very real job started in ten minutes.

“Y/N!” 

God, she forgot how dismal this gym could be. All the horrible memories of middle school gym class came rushing back. Over by the locker room is where Tracy C. tripped her ‘on accident.’ The bleachers were where she’d sit when she wasn’t picked for dodgeball. 

And by the exit door was where she would secretly cheer for Steve as he played basketball. 

She was sure some of these kids, at least the ones she knew, had had the same happen to them. The doors to the gym opened for the hundredth time, Dustin Henderson walking through with what Y/N could only identify as a Steve Harrington special. 

She waved at the boy, smiling brightly as he walked across the gym to meet her.

She hoped he hadn’t seen her space out.

“Are you okay?” 

So he had. Y/N smiled, nodding. “Of course I am, now that you’re here.” He blushed. “You look very handsome, Dustin.” 

“Thank you.” He grinned. “Steve helped me.” 

“Really?” She smiled, laughing to herself. “That’s really nice of him.” 

“We’re friends now!” Dustin was still grinning. “He drove me here.” 

Her eyes darted toward the entrance, and the young boy’s face fell ever so slightly. “He said he doesn’t want to come in because…” He motioned for Y/N to lean down, whispering in her ear. “Because of Nancy.” 

Of course, how could she forget about Nancy? She loved her friend, but her heart ached to think about Steve’s undying love for her. “Ah.” She locked her lips, figuratively throwing away the key. “Your secret is safe with-” 

“Henderson.” 

She looked up, locking eyes with Steve’s instantly. He was beautiful in that color, she realized. It brought out the gold in his eyes.

“Wow.” Steve smiled shyly, rubbing a hand on his neck. “You-” 

“Are you kidding me?” He murmured as his eyes peeled open. 

This had to stop. 

He already deeply regretted his life choices, and now he couldn’t even escape them in sleep. He drove to work grumpily, parked his car grumpily, and stood at the Family Video counter grumpily. Robin laughed, shaking her head. 

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” 

He glared, sticking his tongue out. “Good morning to you too, Robin.” 

“You’ve been pissy lately,” Robin said it like it was a fact like everyone in Hawkins had been talking about it. “What’s up, Harrington?” 

“I-” He couldn’t tell Robin, she would never let him live this down. No, this was the type of thing you kept to yourself, driving yourself crazy until- “Just had a rough night.” 

“Okay.” Her shoulders deflated, grabbing the cart full of VHS tapes. “Let me know when you want to tell the truth.” 

“Shit, shit shit.” Y/N’s eyes were glassy as she clung to Steve’s side, supporting him as he walked. “Why’d you have to be the hero?” 

“That’s part of my-” He winced, laughing as her face grew even more worried. “Part of my charm, babe.” 

Y/N ignored the way her cheeks flushed, leaning him against the giant boulder. “Just be quiet.”

He nodded, leaning his head back in pain. “No problem.” 

“Really?” She scoffed, muttering thanks as Robin handed her cloth to wrap around his (chiseled) abdomen. “You scared me, you know.” 

Her voice was soft, much softer than normal. It sounded weak; scared even. He frowned, reaching out and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t mean to.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you did, Harrington.”

“Can you just-” He sighed. “Can you look at me? You haven’t met my eyes since you’ve gotten down here.” 

She shook her head, trying her best to wipe away the dirt from his gaping wound. “I really hope this doesn’t get infected.” 

“Y/N, come on.” He smiled, forcing himself not to cry out in pain. “Look at me.” 

“I think Eddie’s-” Robin received a hard glare from Steve, and she nodded, walking away without another word. 

Her face felt hot, eyes watery as she looked up at him. He grinned, whispering so that only they could hear. “There she is.”

“Here I am.” She whispered back, tears falling down her cheeks freely. “Now can I-” 

“I’m so mad at you right now.” 

Her head cocked to the side. “What?” She must have misheard him. 

“You heard me.” His tone was tense, but his eyes told a different story. “I said to stay in the boat, didn’t I? Don’t follow after me.” He scoffed, flailing his arms, pain ringing through his aching muscles. “And what did you do? You followed me.” 

“As opposed to what? Watching helplessly as you were dragged into hell?” She stood up, glaring. “Would you rather have died down here?” More tears fell as she stared, hissing at him so the others couldn’t hear. “You don’t have to do everything alone!” 

“I know that-” 

“Then why can’t I follow after you? Huh?” She glared. “You’re not the boss of-” 

“I didn’t want you wrapped up in this!” He yelled, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin jumping at the sound. “You should’ve left it alone.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, last I checked, I was involved first.” She yelled back. “Now shut up so I can fix you.” She knelt again, tying the cloth Robin gave her earlier gently around him. An uncomfortable silence fell over them before she spoke once more. “Just be careful, alright? I can’t do this without you.” 

“Y/N…” His eyes were watering, from the pain or what she said, he couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry.” 

“Good.” She wiped the dirt from her hands. “I’m sorry too, I guess.” She stood up, muttering. “Even though I have no reason to apologize.” 

He laughed, reaching out for her hold. “Could I-” 

“Yes! Yeah, of course.” His arm expertly laid around her shoulders, and in another life, they could have walked through Hawkins High like this. “Please stop acting like the hero. I can’t bear it.” 

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes full of desperation, and his heart skipped. Shit. “Yeah.” 

He nodded, kissing her temple gently. “Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Hey!” Eddie’s voice interrupted whatever was happening between them. “Why don’t you take a break? I can take care of Harrington for a bit.” 

“Are you sure?” Y/N frowned, not even bothering to look at her best friend, still staring up at Steve with that dangerous look in her eyes. “I really don’t mind.” 

“Y/N.” Steve whispered. “You’ve done enough for me to last a lifetime. I’ll be okay.” 

She looked hurt, but let go of Steve regardless. “Alright, he’s all yours, Munson.” 

Eddie waited until she was by Robin and Nancy to speak. “She was the first one to dive in after you.”

Steve smiled. “Really?”

Eddie nodded. “You know she likes you, right?” 

“I know.” He laughed as he watched her jump on Robin’s back. “I like her too.” 

“Good, good.” Eddie placed a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Just, don’t hurt her, okay? She seems strong, but…” 

“I won’t.” Steve was so confident in it, so sure. “I would never do anything to hurt her.” 

His latest dream had thrown him for a loop. Eddie, a man he was never close with in school, died hours after that. God, he thought as he ran through the streets of his neighborhood, that had been the last time he’d talked to the metalhead. 

His shower was cold, and not because he forgot to pay the water bill. He’d made it cold on purpose, maybe this was how he would stop having these dreams. 

Lately, they felt closer to nightmares. This one, in particular, had reminded him of how close they'd been, of how hard Y/N had taken it when Eddie had died. It had never been the right time to ask her, he kept telling himself, even after she left, and he stayed. 

'Never the right time' had been his downfall. 

Work had been the same, a mother asking for a children’s movie, a teenager who was obviously not old enough to rent an R-rated movie asking where they could find one, and an older couple asking for Gone With The Wind. The door rang for the fourth time that day, and he recited the same old boring greeting. “Welcome to Family Video, do you need-” He looked up, his breath catching in his throat. 

It couldn’t be. 

“It’s been a while, Harrington.” She laughed, and his heart fluttered. God, her laugh was still the most perfect sound he’d ever heard. “Are you doing alright?” 

“I-” He grinned. Was this real? It had to be- nope, he had officially losing it. He should have opened up to Robin when he had the chance.

“Hello?” She stepped forward, giggling. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re spacing out on me. That’s my thing, you know. Not yours.” 

He laughed. “You look-” 

“Mama!” A little boy ran through the front door, clinging to Y/N’s leg. 

Steve’s head felt like it was spinning. 

“Hey, babe.” A man, around their age, walked up beside her, kissing her cheek gently. She grinned, leaning into his hold. “I tried to entertain him in the parking lot-” 

“It’s fine, honey.” She smiled, looking back at Steve with a sort of melancholy look. “This is Steve.” 

Steve waved, and the man waved back. Y/N’s cheeks were red, and in any normal situation, Steve would have laughed. She was cute when she was flustered. 

Right now, he couldn't find it in him to tease. He just wanted to curl up on the floor and die. “This is my husband Nick, and our son, Edmund.”

“No!” The little boy’s shrill yell livened up the place. 

Y/N laughed, looking down endearingly. “No, huh?” 

He nodded. “My name is Eddie.” 

Steve’s heart dropped, tears forming in his eyes as he stared at Y/N. Her husband laughed too, kneeling. “Kiddo, your nickname is Eddie. Your name is-” 

“Eddie!” 

‘Nick’ just laughed again, standing up. “There’s no convincing this one, I’m afraid.” 

Y/N stared back at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. He finally spoke, finally said a full sentence for the first time since she’d walked in. “It’s a good name, Eddie.” 

She nodded, her eyes growing teary. “It is.” 

She was just as perfect as the last time he’d seen her. Radiant, happy, glowing, all things she was now. He knew, deep down, if he had told her that he loved her, she would have stayed, put her life on hold to be with him. And that - that was Steve’s worst nightmare. 

She had an actual chance, to leave, to make something of herself, and he wasn’t going to be the reason she never achieved it. He hadn’t, as he stared helplessly at her family, heart officially breaking when her husband set his hand on her growing stomach. “I get to name the next one.” 

Y/N shook her head, smacking his chest playfully. “I thought you said you liked Edmund.” 

“Kidding, babe.” He looked at Steve, smiling awkwardly. “Did you two know each other well?” 

Steve shook his head before he could think. “Just knew each other from school.” How do you tell the love of your life’s husband that you fought monsters together? He was almost sure Y/N hadn’t told him, and Steve didn’t blame her. He’d never told anyone either. “She was always the smart one, no one could keep up.” 

She wiped the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, laughing. “I wouldn’t say that…” 

Nick, who was really a nice guy, Steve would later realize (even if he hated his guts at that moment) nodded. “You still are.” He looked at Steve again, laughing. “She runs circles around me. I wouldn’t have it any other way though.” He kissed Y/N on the cheek, staring at her the way Steve wished he could. “Keeps me young.” 

That had made Steve laugh. Damn it. Y/N had laughed too, rolling her eyes. “You're 29, Nick. Not exactly old here.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Nick clapped his hands, grabbing Edmund from his wife’s leg. “Have any cartoons for this one?” 

Steve nodded, leading them down the aisles toward the kid's section. “Aladdin’s a good one.” 

Eddie had lost energy as quickly as he’d gained it, Nick carrying him to the car with a haphazard ‘nice to meet you’ thrown in Steve’s general direction. 

Y/N stood in front of the counter, handing Steve the cash for the movie. Her tone was light as she spoke, almost like no time had passed. “He’s a good kid.” 

Steve smiled. “Takes after his mother.” 

“He-” Her voice sounded thick, and she stared at him with something Steve couldn’t quite place. “I hope you’re doing okay, really.” 

He nodded. That seemed to be all he could do now. “I am.” 

“Well…” She clapped her hands, walking back. “I’ll see you.” 

She pushed the door open, sparing one last look before disappearing from his sight.

Maybe, he thought to himself as his very soul began to die, it would have been better just to go mad. Go mad thinking about what could have been, rather than seeing her and realizing she had everything he'd hoped for.

Just not with him.

taglist: @kendallroydefender @beebeechaos

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls 10 2/2

Masterpost

Jazz’s roommate Tiffany was fine and all that, but Danny didn’t feel that he was missing out on much when he phased from the stairwell directly into the little ensuite bathroom that connected to Jazz’s bedroom. He could hear quiet conversation from the living room– the TV, maybe?

But Jazz had clearly locked her bedroom door before she left. Danny made a note that Tiffany definitely wouldn’t be finding him and then he starfished on his sister’s bed. He set an alarm for 1 am with a smidge of guilt. It probably wouldn’t wake her up. Maybe she wouldn’t even stay home for the night, she had a boyfriend, right? Or was she the one with the girlfriend who worked downtown?

Whatever. Danny slept like the dead. In fact, he slept through his alarm and woke up to see 7 messages from Jazz. The one showing on the screen was “DANIEL FENTON Tiffany thinks my bedroom is HAUNTED because someone is snoring in there.”

“Oops,” Danny said under his breath. He opened up the clock app and made sure that the alarm wasn’t going to go off again. He quietly pulled open Jazz’s drawers to find a clean pair of socks and a hoodie that didn’t have his university name written on it.

The first thing he pulled out was a baby pink hoodie that had SQUAT written on it in white all-caps print. “I sure do,” he said to himself, and changed into it. It was a lie. He did not lift weights. That was Jazz’s hobby.

He did enjoy the thought of how pinched her face was gonna get when she saw him in her clothes. Danny had a little chuckle over it before he phased back out and nearly fell down the staircase. His arms wheeled for balance.

When he caught himself he looked around to be sure no one saw. The zone was clear. Danny smirked.

“Another perfect landing for the Phantom.”

Oh, duh. That was a thought. He didn’t have to hoof it.

It was dark enough that he reconsidered his plan to walk to Arkham on foot and ducked back into Jazz’s place to transform where no one could see the light show.

He made good time across the stretch of ocean that separated Jazz’s dream job from the rest of Gotham City. He knew where to go, based off of insider information.

Jeremy Waters had landed himself in Arkham, rather than standard criminal housing, because he would not shut the fuck up about the debt the Ghost King was going to owe him and how he would repay it in the blood of everyone who crossed him or whatever. He was in the low security end, given that he was just some dude, but Danny still spend a moment steeling himself to wake Jeremy and (ugh) talk to him.

‘He’s going to take this as positive feedback,’ Danny thought glumly. ‘He’s going to think he’s gotten something in his obsession with me. He’s probably going to be even more annoying.’

He wasn’t entirely sure that Jeremy’s focus on gifting him spouses wasn’t projection. The guy was kinda obsessed.

The weight class difference between the two of them was just absurd, metaphysically speaking. Jeremy was a 52 year old Poli-sci graduate who had ditched a middle of the road career in the Foreign Service at age 40 and started pursuing immortality. Midlife crisis and all that. He had a bit of boxing experience, but that was it. He was just a human guy.

Danny was king of the dead and he could shoot lasers from his hands. He was strong even for a ghost.

‘It’s pathetic that he creeps me out still. It’s just such bad vibes to be pursued by this old guy who won’t take no for an answer.’

Still, gotta do what you gotta do. He blew frost into the room to set a mood and scramble the fuck out of any surveilance equipment. Then he grimaced his way through calling out, “Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy!” until the jerk woke up.

…and immediately started genuflecting. “My lord Phantom,” Jeremy whimpered. His whole body was shaking.

Danny wished it was fear. But no. It was excitement, like he was some freaky little purse dog. He shuddered. “What did you do differently in your latest summoning?” he asked. His voice somehow came out cold and superior.

He could see Jeremy’s dazed grin even when the guy was still looking at the cell floor. “I am so glad that you ask, my lord,” he babbled. “I increased the number of ritual participants from 7 to 12. I changed from Kosher to Pink Himalayan salt. I was initially going to offer my humble self as a sacrifice-”

Danny’s stomach lurched.

“But when the Red Hood burst in, I knew that it was a sign!”

The red what now?

“Surely someone whose aura is so soaked in death and brutality would be a flavorful meal for one so horrendous and deathly as you, my Lord,” Jeremy babbled on.

Danny made a face.

‘He thinks I’m going to eat the sacrifice spouse?’ Danny paused. ‘...Was he lying, or does he want me to eat him? What does he think will happen if death eats him?’

He had a morbid curiousity that made him want to ask. But it was probably best not to know. He needed to sleep at night.

“It was the Pink Himalayan salt that was powerful enough to draw my attention,” Danny told Jeremy, because he really didn’t need any good information. “I reject your offering. Stop trying.”

He left immediately in hopes of not hearing the wailing and gnashing of teeth behind him.

[wonilye]

i’m liquid smooth (come touch me too) | y.jw

“swear it. swear to me, that your lips belong to your heart, and your heart belongs to me. may i be the only object of your affection and obsession, and your promise to me consume your every waking hour, until you draw your final breath - and may that final breath be against my wanting lips.” or: in which you desperately harden your heart towards your classmate yang jungwon, but in the course of your own introspection you get a glimpse into his. — title from mitski’s liquid smooth

W/C — 2.5k

TW — graphic depictions of blood and body, severe trauma, depression, mentions of death and implied suicidal thoughts and tendencies. A/N at end with explanations.

you don’t believe in love - no, you can’t. what reason would you have to believe in stolen gazes and claimed hands? the whispers of sweet nothings are nothing more than muffled drivel to your closed ears. blood stains your palms, your sheets, your slate. caresses are sickening, a reminder of what they once were in your own innocence, while you still read the words “once upon a time” to yourself and believed them. 

really, you swear you don’t believe in love.

so when yang jungwon comes along, it’s like you are reminded of every notion of defense. at first, he reminds you of a sacrificial lamb, offered by those around him who tell him to “win her over, maybe it’ll remove the stick up her ass.” after all, he’s the golden boy, the perfect little student council head who’s got it all, never had to try his hand at something and not succeed. he has the disposition of a sweet cherub, rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes that know no evil - how can someone like him possibly know what it’s like to be irreparably ruined? it is with this that you resolve to lock down into the base of the shackles that define you, trap you, show him what resistance you have. you ignore him, prove to him that there is something he can fail at. that he cannot always win, and that lesson will begin with you.

why you? maybe it is because you see that innocent little girl in him, if only she had grown up oblivious to the depravity of your own flesh and blood. 

your undoing begins on the rooftop. he finds you one day, perched on top of the air conditioning vents as you eat your lunch. he sits by the base without his own. and he talks, as though you can actually hear him. he talks about fleeting things, like his student council projects or some silly joke his teacher told him. (something about a frog. you don’t laugh, but you find yourself returning to it for the rest of the day.) day by day, he inches closer until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you, eye to eye and heart to heart. although you’d much prefer he didn’t know that.

his smile disarms you, and with a kindness you come to know he did not learn from the world, he takes you apart. slowly, slowly, he reduces your walls to rubble by pushing his own debris apart, offering you each rotten part of his soul as though it is gold. and maybe in your mind’s eyes it really is unlike any treasure that has or will come into your possession. is it sick for you to find solace in another’s tainted memories?

sometimes he’ll just sit with you, as though the earbuds you have plugged in don’t even exist. he doesn’t even try to reach over the volume of your music. he’ll just gaze at the cloudy sky with you, says things he knows other people will never hear. because you can keep a secret, can’t you? (those words once haunted your nights until they spilled into the daylight, but somehow those same words out of his mouth don’t make your wrists ache the way they used to. and maybe you are a fool for it.)

the content of his confessions changes with each passing day. “my friends don’t really feel like friends.” or another: “it’s taking a lot more effort than it used to for me to wake up in the mornings.”

maybe he just wants to say things, without consequence or judgment or the expectations everyone else seems to assign to him. the sky is blue, the grass is green, yang jungwon has to be perfect - or so it appears. he makes it seem as though you are the only one privy to the existence of a less-than version of him. maybe in the beginning you didn’t believe that could possibly exist, but the indubitability of it all is starting to wear out.

and eventually you give him your ears. soon, the music stops playing, and you’re listening to him, muffled as it is. then it turns into one earbud down, and finally, one day, you’re hearing him with your own two ears, save for the crash of rain that pelts and stings your skin, dead eyes taking in the sight of yang jungwon’s red-rimmed ones. the sight of him, backed against the wall and into a corner by his own iniquity. he opens his mouth, and for the first time, he meets your gaze in a way that chills you. you have never seen that expression on him, never thought something so lifeless could come to possess him.

it is laughably ironic that it takes the unravelling of yang jungwon for him to receive you, undivided and entranced in a sick sort of way. like some sort of shattering mirrorball, captivating and haunting.

“want to hear the truth? i crave the attention. the excellence, the admiration, i wear myself to the bone because i’m addicted to the feeling of success, and anything apart from it leaves me hollow. i’m not quite whole, and i’m looking for something, someone i will never have nor want.” i knew, you reply. but you didn’t. you learn a lot from that one admission. that he is not the Mary you believed he was. that he is not pure white snow and ignorant bleating, rather, there is fresh hot blood spilled across the skin by his own knife - his own blood. he is the paradox of a sinner and a victim, just like you. and you find solace in that. and maybe the gravity of each of your sins is different, but sin is sin, no? he is as innocent as you are evil, and vice versa, mutatis mutandis. or any other word that will remind yourself of the evil that wars within your soul that reaches out to him. 

he flashes, turns, makes you want to keep looking at him as he puts one foot in front of the other towards you. “fair trade. your turn to make your confessions.” though this priest is as painfully human as you are, there’s something that just feels so…right, to take the plunge into shared self-denigration, face-to-face with a mirrored imperfection.  

the words drip like blood from your lips, a steady outpouring that is slow, yes, but one you cannot seem to stop. he has undone every last loose string you tried so hard to cut off, unravelled your web of lies and traps that distract from the centerpiece that is you, you. “love,” you say, before you can trap your own tongue. “love, and who should give it to me. i don’t know it, can’t understand it. i cannot love anyone who wants me, and yet-” 

you feel the words rapidly clot in your throat, like they are healing a gaping wound far too late. you stop, but he only nods, does not ask further. there is little left to say, when there is so much to be understood.

you speak in riddles, every subsequent exchange walking the line of falsehood and mystery, a lie or bait. after that day, he does not tell you any truth if it is not followed by the sardonic quirk of his lip. yang jungwon, like you, is well-versed in the dance around reality. and maybe it is denial that stops you. maybe it is the fact that he is so unwilling to show you any side of him that reminds you of the perfect boy you thought he was. and maybe it is the fact that you refuse to voluntarily soften your heart in a way that hurts, because it evades you as to why he could see the worst part of you, and still want more. it churns and turns your stomach inside out, and you begin to regurgitate the losses, all the missing pieces of the puzzle that seek to meet him halfway against your better judgment. you are out of control, drowning in waters more shallow than you have ever known, and yet the burn in your lungs is subsiding bit by bit.

so yes, he takes you apart. it’s gradual, as though he is trying to steal you piece by piece, shard by shard, and only when you are nearly there does he finally reveal his hand in full, bleeding and scarred, your fragmented existence in the heart of his palm.

one night. one night is all it takes, inebriated as the both of you are at someone’s party, somewhere or the other. it’s a coming-of-age party, the drinks flow and the glasses clink (because some high-schoolers are wealthy beyond comparison, and red plastic cups simply don’t cut it). but it doesn’t really matter that the house is big, nor that the music is soft and slow. all that you can think of is jungwon’s eyes on you. you, on the balcony’s railing, legs dangling as you beckon to him with a dazed grin. 

“first time i’ve seen you smile.”

“yeah, i have to be out of my own damn mind to give you any affection. and yet…” and yet he still comes back for more each time. it’s quiet out here, and he should be with his friends, drinking minimally and laughing abundantly. just like a good honours student would do. 

but he is not really a good person, however the rest of the world believes the facade. he is a masochist, and you are the carnal ache he’s looked for his whole life.

in other words, you are terrible for him; you are his lifeline. a paradox that should not be, but for him the burns blend into bliss. 

“it’s dangerous up there. you could fall right off.” a useless statement, because he sits right at your feet.

“and when has that stopped me?”  

he looks up and out, following your gaze to the sky above. in seoul city, the few stars you can see are dim like no other. no such grandeur of constellations and stories. “beautiful, aren’t they?”

“you can barely see them here. besides, they’re just big balls of gas.”

he snorts, head tilting to rest on your dangling shin. “a very you thing to say. but they remind me of you.”

“oh?” you slide down from the banister, sinking into the spot beside him. it is returning home. “how so?”

he’s silent for a while, as he usually is while he collects his thoughts. you know that sometimes, his headspace is a flurry of truth and lies, of the voices in his head and the voices seeking to silence the latter. you began to notice when he would pause for a second during his speeches, a sour look crossing his features for a split second when he stuttered, before he returned to the same cordial smile. but here, he does not need to pretend. here, by your side, there is no shame in not knowing what to say.

“distant, at first. but the warmth, though it’s lightyears away, still fills me up and keeps me wondering and waiting for a day i finally get a glimpse of you. beautiful in the most destructive of ways. rightly so, as they’re still ‘big balls of hot gas’ as you so nicely put it.”

his hot breath blooms across your cheek in the chilly night air, and it is at this moment that you realise how close he is - shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. when did he get so close? it occurs to you that he knows. he’s learned to read your scowling face, your shaking hands, your trembling heart.

and yet for the first time in your life, the absence of distance does not scare you. maybe it’s because he and you unlearned the fear together, by taking apart each wall brick by brick, relishing the way the debris sliced your fingers and stung your palms. selfish sacrifice. selfless actions to serve yourself. ironic, but for you and jungwon it is just so fitting. 

two self-worshipping sinners, finding a glimpse of redemption in each other.

you can’t turn away, not when his gaze is transfixed upon you, as though you really are the night sky. “you’re not afraid of getting burnt.” it’s less of a question than it is a statement, because you already know the answer. and when you meet his eyes, those big brown eyes in which yearning swirls and simmers, you think you know his before he even says it. “neither are you.”

there’s an unspoken promise between you and him, the moonshine a witness to the wordless declaration. the bleeding truth hangs bated in the air as he surges forward, and he kisses you with an intensity that sears your soul. he is close, closer than you have let anyone come, and as you lace your hand with his, returning the same yearning, you know you will never feel this way apart from him. yang jungwon is your undoing, and you are his. the brush of his skin on yours does not repulse you, the way it used to for everyone else. he makes a pathetic, strangled sound against you as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull. he is in love, yes, with the way you make him hurt. you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, a crashing storm at first, dulling to the river’s hasty flow, and finally the trickle of a stream. soothing, smooth. he is water that refreshes your parched soul, only to disappear and leave you thirsting for more.

when you finally pull away, you find that your free hand is splayed across his chest, his heart thrumming below your fingertips. alive, alive. the heat of his thumb running along your cheekbone, his steady panting that fills the midnight air, and the warmth of his legs now tangled with yours are reminders that he is truly alive with something else other than the desire for death.  

“are we in love?”

“maybe not. but i’m not so stupid as to believe i can live without you.”

you scoff. “sweet words for a sharp-minded boy.”

the firm press of his hand against yours is an assurance unlike any other. it is a covenant, and in your heart you hope the starless sky will bear witness to the bond of mind and flesh, of body and soul. maybe you will never forget your sins, and he not his own. what you need is not to erase the past, but live with the future. one step at a time, no matter how long it takes.

“on the contrary,” he muses. “sweet words for a sharp-tongued girl.”

A/N — so. it’s been a couple months of silence from me because of exams lmao sorry…whatever the case life is shitty. if you caught the references to SA i am so sorry. this entire fic was genuinely just a vent drabble disguised as fanfiction. if you relate to this i’m even more sorry, and you can please come to my dms and scold me for it/talk to me about it, either way just know you aren’t alone.

this was definitely not meant to be beautiful in any way, i’d say it’s more of a literary expression of trauma and how two people might possibly come together because of it. there’s a lot of religious symbolism, and there are motifs of bodily imagery and stars. it’s a little hard to catch but the subtext is that if their flesh is inadequate, they can transcend themselves by become a part of the universe. it’s a bit questionable and unlike anything i’ve ever done, so it’s definitely far from perfect. but still!

on a more lighthearted note, the frog joke exists! it’s very lame and my friend actually told me that joke, it’s basically about a frog who goes to a fortune teller and asks where he will meet his dream girl, and he’s told he will meet her in her biology class…yes you can probably infer the rest. yes now you can laugh.

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR PLS LEAVE FEEDBACK THANK YOU AND ILY !!!

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 1

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A short love story between a princess and her bodyguard, where their love is forbidden.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Alcohol.

Bucky didn't hate it. In fact, he drank it himself, though he never indulged to the point of blacking out. What he truly hated was receiving the inevitable call that began with, “She’s drunk again.”

With a weary sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and replied, “Bring her home.”

Standing at the entrance, he watched as three black SUV cars approached. The middle car, he knew, was the most important—it carried one of the country's most influential figures. A princess.

When the car door opened, a suited man approached Bucky. “She only allows you to carry her,” he said.

Bucky nodded and stepped closer. Inside the car, he saw a beautiful woman, half-asleep, the scent of alcohol clinging to her. It didn’t bother him.

Gently, he touched your shoulder. “Your Highness, you’ve arrived.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you smiled drowsily at the sight of your favorite person. “I’m so happy today,” you murmured. You had been out drinking with your friends.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said softly. He already knew because he had seen the pictures and had taken swift action to erase them from the internet. He couldn't let your image be tarnished.

As the princess of Veridian, any image of you being drunk and acting silly could ruin the kingdom's reputation.

You reached out your hands toward Bucky. “Carry me.”

The other guards exchanged glances, dumbfounded, even though they had witnessed this scene several times before. Despite knowing Bucky since childhood—his father was the head of security at the castle—did it really have to be this intimate?

Bucky chuckled at your childish request. He indulged you, lifting you gently and carrying you like a princess to your room. Being in his arms was your safest place.

Arriving at your room, he gently laid you on your bed. The other servants, accustomed to this routine, had already prepared everything and discreetly left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

Bucky brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked you in, making sure you were comfortable.

He wiped your face and hands with a warm cloth, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. He looked at you lovingly, a soft smile on his lips. Then he felt something wrap around his waist. It was your hands. You moved closer and rested your head against his stomach, whispering, “Let’s run away.”

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. “We can’t,” he replied.

“I don’t care,” you insisted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He lied because, deep down, he loved the idea. But he knew his place. He was just a bodyguard who had grown up alongside you, a princess.

You didn’t want to be separated from him. But you were terrified of your father, the tyrant king, who had forbidden your union. The only man you ever loved was out of reach because of royal decree.

In desperation, you had once given your father an ultimatum, “Let me marry Bucky, or I will never marry.”

You hadn't expected his response, “Never marry, then. If you run away with him, I will kill him.”

Those words haunted you. The tyrant king’s threat loomed large, and you couldn’t bear the thought of losing Bucky. Yet, you were trapped in a gilded cage, unable to be with the one you loved.

That’s why you turned to drinking. The numbness of alcohol allowed you to escape your harsh reality, if only for a while. In your drunken fantasies, you and Bucky lived a simple life, with a house surrounded by a white picket fence, building a family together.

In that fantasy, you found solace. But even in your dreams, tears slipped from your eyes, betraying the sorrow you couldn’t escape.

Bucky always noticed your tears. It pained him to see you drowning in sorrow, unable to change your fate.

This was why he hated it when you got drunk. Because in those moments, you cried over your impossible love, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

You were a princess, and he was just a bodyguard.

As he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his fingers, he leaned closer and rested beside you. “I’ll always be by your side,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination.

You clung to him, seeking comfort in his presence, even if it was all you could have. He watched over you as you slept, his heart heavy with unfulfilled dreams and the cruel reality that kept you apart.

But at this moment, at least, he could offer you the comfort of his presence, which would have to be enough for now.

Author Note: Should I continue this as a series?

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@chemtrails-club

@dexter99

@seresingirlie

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@tfatwsoldir

@itsteambarnes

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@sapphirebarnes

@thedonswife13

@angelbabyyy99

@cjand10

@esposadomd

@buckitostan

@wh0reforbucknasty

@bada-lee-ily

@evie-119

@mrsstuckyboo

@ghalouha

@iamasimpingh0e

@loki-laufeyson68

@buckybarnessimpp

@milllieeee

@stormy-stardust

@ashdoctor

@mushycore

@crazyunsexycool

@anixerz

@mcira

@touchstarvedforbuckybarnes

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[hollyoongs]

⤷ SINGLE DAD TAESAN FELL IN LOVE!

시놉시스 ┆𝘁͟aesan, ─────⠀f!reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +6k ꒰ ⌗ angst, mutual pinning and a lot of fluff ꒱ ↷⠀ ℰditoral ! 𓂂

“Come on, Dad! I’m going to be late for the recital!” Dohyun was dragging his young dad through the hallways of the school, his cute little elf costume already out of place due to the running from every member of the family.

“Dohyun, we are getting there! Just slow down a little for your grandparents!.” Taesan said, smiling when his son behaved and all three adults could walk slightly slower.

“God Lord, Dohyun! I’m putting you in track classes or whatever it’s called,” Taesan’s dad said, making his grandson Dohyun smile wide.

“Shut up and buy some snacks.” Now it was the turn of Taesan’s mom to talk out to him, giving him a few dollar bills so that he can have the food. The two adults and the kid went straight to designated places of the school theater. Once the kid was seated, his grandma fixed his clothes as Taesan got out his mom's makeup pouch to retouch Dohyun’s makeup. Once Grandma was finished and gave a good luck kiss on the forehead to his grandson, they ran to the back of the stage, saying “Sorry” every now and then to any person that he slightly pushed.

He looked for a seat that was available and thanked the person that left it hidden. Dohyun ran to sit, and Taesan followed behind, kneeling in front of the kid with the makeup pouch fully opened.

“Hold still, Dohyun.” Taesan whispered, carefully dabbing a bit of blush onto his son’s chubby cheeks as he learned from the moms of the class, making him scrunch his nose a little as he giggled.

“Dad! It tickles!” Dohyun squirmed, his tiny elf hat slipping over his eyes.

“Hey, hey, we can’t have the cutest elf in the recital looking like a clown, even more if it is my son.” Taesan teased as he gently readjusted the hat and wiped the stray makeup he did with his thumb. He looked around when his son asked for a bathroom break, noticing how the kids had their moms beside them and smiled with slight nostalgia.

Being a dad at 20 was no joke to him, but it was a responsibility Taesan was going to fulfill the moment he held the little body of Dohyun in his arms. At fifteen, he hadn’t known much about life; he was barely old enough to understand himself, let alone how to raise another human being. But of course, he was big enough to know where to place his dick, and it was not inside his underwear. 

His mind was not prepared for his girlfriend passing away in a car accident the day all the family was going to the delivery appointment. The memory haunted him like a vivid nightmare, one that he couldn’t escape. He remembered holding her hand. chattering about names and what features the baby might inherit, everything changing in a split second.

The air was not joyful as before, but heavy with desperation. The screech of tires, the deafening crunch of metal, and how everything spun out of control were etched into his mind. The moment he looked at his right side dizzy, it hit him like a punch; she was gone, and with her, part of his heart left with it.

Dohyun had to be delivered through an emergency C-section and directly to the NICU, hooked up to wires and monitors that thankfully beeped steadily. He remembered how he was clinging to that sound like a lifeline, being the only sign that something—someone—had survived. A part of her.

Her parents didn’t even let him come to the funeral, firm believers that it was his fault for her passing, or in her father's words that were covered in venom and grief, “You ruined her life.” And he still remembers the lack of strength he had to argue because, deep down, he believed it too. 

The hospital stay was a blur, exhaustion and paperwork that he needed to help himself with the phone and his parents. But he remembers the moment he was left alone with a days-old Dohyun. The nurses had wheeled the bassinet into his room, and he simply stared. Who could imagine a human could be so small, so fragile, and yet so heartbreakingly real?

When Taesan had Dohyun in his trembling arms, it was like a button had been pushed that made him break into tears. He cried a river—deep, gut-wrenching sobs that shook his entire body, not even caring how his parents saw, for the first time ever, him turning into pieces. 

He cried for her, for his ruined future with her, for the childhood he was about to lose, and for this new role he had to take alone. He cried until he felt his head hurt and both of his parents' heads on each side of his shoulder, hugging the two of them as they cried with them, watching the pacific face of the sleepy baby.

Dohyun was a piece of her, a tiny reminder of the girl he had loved. He wasn’t ready to be a father, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Taesan realized he had two choices: step up or let life swallow them both whole.

And he chose to step up.

He was already used to pitiful looks and disapproving words from every direction. He heard it all, whether the words were whispered or written on someone’s glance. At first, it stung like salt on an open wound, but he managed to make those people's words the background noise of their life.

His parents were no exception. When they first found out about the pregnancy, their disappointment was a physical barrier between them. They barely spoke to him; he felt like a stranger in his own home. But at the seventh month of her pregnancy, they had a change of heart. The small change involved raised voices and tears, deciding at the end that they wanted to be involved.

Even with the anger piled up, he would always catch her mom knitting tiny blankets in the evenings, and his dad began painting the extra room they had at home and searching for cribs.

Dohyun became their world. Taesan and his parents worked together like a family. His mom took care of Dohyun when Taesan had classes, a non-negotiable for the parents to keep living in the house; his dad taught him practical parenting skills he never thought he’d need, and he worked two part-time jobs to make enough money for him.

There were sleepless nights, endless worries about money, and moments when the grief was still present. But he overcame it; thankfully, he got a scholarship to the best university thanks to his grades and finally got a stable job that pays more than enough.

“Dad, I need help with my suspenders.” He slightly shook his head when he heard the voice of his son, smiling at how he was looking weirdly at the piece of clothing.

“To the rescue.” He took him by his arms and sat him on an empty table, making airplane sound effects. From the corner of his eye, Taesan noticed movement by the door, realizing it was you going in with a clipboard, ushering parents, and checking on the kids. The soft red cardigan gives you a beautiful glow, and your hair accentuates your features beautifully. He could feel his heart skip, like it always did when he saw you.

You were your mom's current replacement as a teacher; you were on college vacation, and you took that time to help out as your mother was on a trip until New Year. He didn’t know there was a change until he saw you for the first time, giving him his son after a small class picnic, being hooked by you.

Sure, he felt ashamed to start having a crush on his son’s teacher, a teacher that was the same age as him, but there was something about you that made him feel safe. It wasn’t just your beauty, though that alone could make anyone lose their breath. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you spoke to the kids with kindness. It was how you listened—not just heard, but truly listened—to the worries and small triumphs of every parent who came to you, as if their world mattered as much as your own. 

Taesan wasn’t even sure when it started. Maybe it was the day you knelt down to fix Dohyun’s shoelace with a smile that crinkled the corners of your eyes. Or maybe it was the first time he heard you laugh because of his clumsiness around you—a sound so warm that it felt like his own heart being full. He only remembers his mother pushing him after she realized his feelings for her when he went to a parents meeting with her favorite flowers.

Whatever it was, it was undeniable now.

“Dad, you’re staring.” Dohyun’s voice cut through his thoughts once again, dragging his gaze from you to the tiny smirk on his son’s face.

“I’m not,” Taesan replied quickly, his ears flushing pink as he clipped Dohyun’s suspenders in place. “I’m just making sure my favorite elf is recital ready.”

“No… You were looking at Miss Y/N again.” He raised his eyebrows several times, teasing him, and Taesan was about to hide under that table.

“Just be quiet, or you will not have hot chocolate at home.” He used his dad card, and the kid “zipped” his mouth. But not long after that, he dropped a sentence that felt like a snowball being smashed on his face.

“Can Miss Y/N be my mom?” 

“Dohyun, lower your voice!” Taesan’s voice was barely above a whisper, his face now fully red, matching the poinsettias decorating the room for ambiance. 

“Why? Grandma says she’s nice, pretty, and that you like her.” Dohyun was so unbothered, completely the opposite of his panicking dad. He had to finish working in the suspenders and put him on the ground. Kids really had the uncanny ability to expose your deepest thoughts without even trying.

“It’s… complicated, buddy,” he somehow managed to say, smoothing down Dohyun’s costume as a distraction. “And it’s not something you can just ask. She’s your teacher, and I’m—”

“Handsome, responsible, and funny!” Dohyun interrupted, and Taesan's eyes widened. “That’s what Grandma says. I say you make the best pancakes. She’d like you if you made her pancakes, Dad.” 

“You’re spending too much time with your grandma.” Taesan shook his head, trying not to laugh at the attempt of both his mom and his own son, trying to make him find someone.

“It's okay, Dad. I’ll tell her for you. Miss Y/N!” Never in a million years would Taesan have imagined his son screaming at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of everyone backstage. His face turned a deeper shade of crimson as he watched you walking to both of you.

You arrived in no time, smiling at Taesan before kneeling down to his eye level. “Yes, Dohyun?” you asked warmly.

“My dad wants to ask you to—”

“If the makeup is well executed!” Taesan came up with an excuse faster than the speed of light; he made a ‘quiet’ gesture to Dohyun when he saw you viewing the makeup.

“Yes, Taesan, it’s well done. You got better.” 

“Okay! Listen up, we are about to go to the stage. Please separate into groups: Santas, elves, and reindeer." The other teacher that was in charge of the choreography called out the kids, and Dohyun left them both alone. The parents of the rest of the kids were starting to leave, rushing to their seats to set all the cameras to record every moment of their child's recital. “Let’s rehearse before we go to the stage.”

A touch on his shoulder made him turn his sight from his son to you, the culprit. You smiled softly at him, and he couldn’t help but do the same.

“How are you, Taesan? You haven’t been around for a few weeks.” You said, going around collecting some trash left behind, him helping right away willingly. 

It was refreshing having someone the same age as you around, aside from your college friends, and you couldn’t lie to yourself that meeting Taesan was something that you would love to do in all your lives. 

He was not only handsome, but how he was a person spoke volumes about his character—gentle, attentive, and full of strength. He also had this goofy side of him; he only showed his son that you could catch a glimpse of it and laugh quietly without the duo noticing it; his clumsy side, however, was the one you saw the most.

“I’ve been good, just work and college. I got vacation from both, and that’s why I could come to see Dohyun.” Taesan replied, trying to keep his tone steady as he picked up a stray juice box.

“That’s amazing. He couldn’t stop mentioning every day how many days were left for you to be on a break.” Both of you laughed, going to the trash cans and depositing everything in your hands.

“He made me practice his lines, and not to brag, but his dance is amazing.” You give him a soft chuckle while Taesan scratches the back of his neck. 

“He’s adorable, and he’s lucky to have you. You’re doing a great job, Dongmin.”

Whenever you said his real name, it was like a warm hug to his heart; he felt reassured and couldn’t help but break into a smile with the words coming from you. “Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot.”

“Y/N, the kids are about to go to the stage; take the “reindeers.”” Another teacher caught your attention, and you remembered why you were there in the first place.

“I’m going! You should also leave backstage; seeing your son in the front is so much better." Because of the excitement, you grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, your fingers intertwined, that left him shocked. You looked down on what you did and immediately lost his hand from yours, embarrassed. “Sorry!”

He saw you running to your designated group, catching a small glimpse of how your ears turned red. Taesan stood there for a moment, his hand tingling where yours had just been, as if your touch had left an imprint. 

He walked out of the backstage area with a lovesick smile, a smile that was caught by her mom, who laughed quietly with her husband. He took the recording camera from his backpack when the place exploded with claps and cheers; the kids were slowly entering, and Dohyun spotted Taesan immediately. 

He waved at Dohyun with equal excitement when he realized he was front row and center, letting his parents know, and they also brought up their phones with the same excitement as him. His eyes went to you; you moved gracefully across the stage, gently guiding the kids into their spots with a smile, whispering encouragement to a nervous child—you were a natural at this; even if it was not your job, you still poured your heart into it.

The lights dimmed, and the music began to play. He couldn’t help but smile tenderly and chuckle at Dohyun’s acting and dancing. He was the best and stayed on beat, almost the same as he used to do when he was a child, or that’s what his mom told him. The room was filled with the sound of parents cheering and clapping as cameras flashed to capture the adorable chaos of mismatched choreography.

You could be slightly seen with two other teachers clapping along and mouthing the words to the song as you watched the kids with pride. The moment the performance ended, there was a burst of applause, and Taesan was so into the moment that he even stood up, cheering louder than anyone to make himself noticed to Dohyun, followed by his parents. 

Dohyun bowed dramatically, soaking in the attention like the tiny star he was. The curtain of the theater shut down slowly, and he watched his clock; he had time.

“Mom, can I ask you for permission for something?” His mother looked at him and nodded. “Can you help me next week in making Dohyun fall asleep early?”

“What day? You sound very specific.”

“December 24th.” His mom opened her eyes and gave him full attention.

“On Christmas Eve? You better give me a good reason.” She said, his arms crossing on top of her purse.

“I’m going to take Y/N on a date.” He could see how a happy face was starting to form on her face. 

“Oh my! Finally, I guess she accepted your date.” She said, her hands clapping together, and he just could scratch the back of his head. His mother's face lit down. “You didn’t even ask her, did you?”

“Yeah, I just want to grab the car keys to go to the flower shop, give her flowers to congratulate her on this show, and then ask her out.” His mom watched her watch and quickly analyzed a pamphlet about the show schedule that she was handed before it began.

“You have thirty minutes before Dohyun’s second act. Go, now.” Taesan kissed his mom's cheek and grabbed the car keys, walking outside the theater before running to the parking lot. Since he already gave her a bouquet of her favorite flowers, he will do it again but with her second favorite, and it will be something equally thoughtful but not repetitive. He drove quickly to the flower shop he had frequented since realizing his feelings for you, one that was near the school and was owned by one of his parents' friends.

“Another bouquet for the teacher?” Sungho teased, arranging the blooms when he saw his friend coming in.

“Her second favorite this time,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. Sungho picked out the flower after he gave him the name, and before he focused on decorating the present, he extended a white card.

“Write her something; you will not always give her only the flowers, do you?” Taesan quickly grabbed a pen from the counter and thought about it, writing almost immediately.

By the time he returned to the theater, his hands held a beautifully arranged bouquet of white lilies and soft pink carnations, neatly tied with a silver ribbon. Before he went inside backstage again, he looked around to see if there was anybody there, but knowing that in ten minutes it would start, Dohyun’s second act, they were rehearsing downstairs.

He spotted you near the dressing rooms, helping one of the kids adjust their Santa hat. He gathered every ounce of courage he had to approach you with the bouquet in hand. Not realizing there was a chair and hitting his leg with it, making some noise in the theater and catching your attention.

“Oh God, Taesan! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He stammered, rubbing his shin awkwardly and clutching the bouquet tightly in his other hand. “I, uh, didn’t see the chair there.”

“You have a talent for finding things to trip over, don’t you?”

“Guess it’s a skill,” he joked, his ears burning and looking at the flowers, extending his arms to you. “These are for you. I probably won’t see you after the show since I promised Dohyun to go to Lotte World as soon as this finishes. The show so far has been amazing; you did amazing. Congratulations.”

Your eyes widened as you took the bouquet, the thoughtful arrangement making you smile and the fragrance of the flowers shutting your eyes. “This is so sweet, Dongmin. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he was quick on his feet saying that, relaxing at that moment as he watched you admiring the flowers. “Also, what are you doing on December 24th?”

“Honestly, since both of my parents are on that trip and my sister is with her family, I was just thinking of binge-watching the Harry Potter saga and ordering food.” You said, and it was like a December miracle for Taesan. “Why the question?”

He inhaled deeply and tried to maintain his composure. “I was wondering if you’d let me take you out for dinner on Christmas Eve.”

Your pretty eyes went straight up to him, big and round in surprise and slowly melting into a softer look. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. But it’s okay if you don’t want it; probably me asking that question makes you feel weird. I’m so sorry; you can act like nothing—”

“I would love to go on a date with you.” You interrupted him, and that’s when he paid close attention to you; your cheeks were flushed, and an unusual shy smile was on your face. A pretty view for him.

Taesan just stood there, blinking a few times, processing your answer as his heart leaped at your words. “Wait. You would?” His question was practically whispered in order to not fool himself.

“Yes. I have Christmas activities with my sister’s family in the afternoon of the 25th, and I’d really like to spend my Christmas Eve with you.”

Taesan’s early awkwardness was a fast exchange for pure joy, a smile on his face exteriorizing what he was feeling at that moment. “Okay, great! I will text you what you have to wear and the time. I’ll pick you up.”

The sound of the bells announcing that the act will start in less than two minutes made you both flinch a little, popping the bubble you two created. You started stepping back, tripping with a table on the way and laughing because of your nerves. At least he was not tripping this time.

“Sounds amazing! I mean… yeah. I’ll be in touch with you.” you said, your voice trailing off and an embarrassed look on your face. “I got to go to place the kids. See you on the 24th!” 

This time you ran to the dressing rooms, noticing how you held the flowers so carefully it might fall. When he saw that nobody was around, he couldn’t help but jump in joy because he did; he got out of his comfort zone and decided to give himself another chance to love. He ran back to his place with his parents; his mother didn’t even let him sit.

“Did she say ‘yes’?” Taesan looked at his mom, the smile still on his face, giving her mom a nod; she slapped him on the shoulder in happiness. 

Taesan sat watching the curtain being opened again, paying close attention to his son but already feeling completely excited a week in advance.

Taesan checked himself in the full-length mirror located in the living room. Dohyun was deep in sleep after reading him a fairytale with his parents. The clock was pointing to 7 pm, and it was about time to pick up Y/N from her place; he sighed in a way to calm his nerves out.

“You look really handsome, son.” His mother's voice made him look at her through the mirror, giving her a side smile. She came next to him and moved him so both could be face to face. She fixed his son's tie and the collar of the long coat he was wearing to protect himself from the cold. “Why are you nervous?”

“I haven’t had a date in like six years.”

“It's because you were healing, son. Losing someone as precious as Dohyun’s mom was, it takes time to close that wound. But I’m proud that you’re ready to open your heart again.”

For the first time in a long time, his mom cupped his face; her eyes were watery, trying to keep her tears from falling. “Y/N is a wonderful young girl, and if Dohyun adores her, then you can bet she’s special.”

“Thanks, Mom, that means a lot.” He squeezed her hands on her face and gave her a kiss. 

“Go get her son.” She gave one last encouraging word, and she extended a small present that he bought for the girl. He grabbed the car keys, saying goodbye on the way out. 

The car ride to your house, he had to put on some music, distracting himself and only making a small stop at the flower shop once again, Sungho was already outside with another bouquet, this time with red roses and winter greenery, tied together with a pretty green ribbon resting on the passenger seat.

He shut down the car in front of your house, taking a deep breath before stepping out with the flowers. He knocked on your door with his heart beating faster.

“Coming down!” He started to look around; the streets were decorated, and the lights were as colorful as they could be. He listened to your heels and paid attention to the door being open, his mouth opened a little, taken aback by you.

You were dressed in a long, deep emerald green dress; a long coat was also draped over your shoulders, and your hairstyle framed your face like a picture he won’t forget. 

“Wow…” he couldn’t help but say that out loud, making your cheeks flush to the compliment. “You look breathtaking; I have no words.” 

Your smile widened at his sincere reaction as you stepped out onto the porch. “Thank you, Taesan. You look perfect; I love it.”

He held out the bouquet of roses with his signature shy smile. “These are for you.”

You took the flowers, smelling the sweet fragrance that made you calm your own nerves. “They’re perfect. Let me put these in water before we go.” You disappeared into the house briefly, leaving him to exhale deeply as he watched your figure respectfully from behind.

When you returned, he offered you his arm like a gentleman. “Shall we?”

You chuckled, slipping your arm through his. “We shall.”

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence at first, the soft hum of holiday jazz playing in the background. Occasionally, you couldn’t help but glance at him, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with the music, his focused view on the road, and even his focused pouts that made you smile without him noticing it.

He caught you looking once and shot you a quick, boyish grin that made your stomach flutter.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is it a surprise?” you asked.

“A little bit of both. Actually, we just arrived.” He pulled into the parking lot of a cozy, upscale restaurant adorned with twinkling fairy lights and garlands. The festive ambiance spilling out onto the snowy street caught your eye the moment you stepped out of the car when he opened the door for you.

“Taesan, this looks amazing.”

“I’m glad you think so. I wanted tonight to feel special for the both of us.” He paused a second before he showed the palm of his hand. “May I?”

You didn’t hesitate on putting your hand, interwining your fingers, “Yes, Dongmin.” 

Inside, the restaurant was even more magical. There were candles flickering on every table, a live jazz band in the corner giving amazing ambiance, and the waiter already pointing at your table. Taesan opened the chair for you, and when you sat, he went directly to his spot. 

Your table was near the fireplace, and you were thankful for that because of the cold weather. Your coats were being taken away, and you looked at him directly in his eyes.

“Be honest: how long have you been planning this?”

You could see his ears turning red, a sheepish smile making your heart skip. “If we speak about me building the courage to ask you on a date, a couple of months. If we talk about the date, it came all together this week.”

“Months?” Your surprise was genuine, and he simply nodded. He didn’t seem to be that shy anymore, a small amount of confidence in his aura. “I had no idea.”

“We were busy, and I wanted it to be perfect,” he admitted, leaning slightly forward, his hands resting on the table.

“Well, so far, it’s perfect. Probably the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had in all my twenty years.”

His gaze softened with relief. “That’s great to hear.”

“Good evening, I’m Jihoon, your waiter of the night. Here are your menus, and let me know what you would like to eat.” You two gave a small bow and opened the cards. Taesan sneaked a few looks at you when you glanced over the options.

“What would you recommend? You seem to know this place pretty well.” you said, setting your menu down.

He gave a low chuckle. “Their steak is fantastic, but if you’re not a fan of that, the salmon is also great. Or… we could share a couple of appetizers and try different things."

“Look at you, already planning for us to share.” You raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Just an idea,” he shrugged, grinning at you.

After placing your orders and receiving them, the conversations flowed effortlessly. From favorite holiday memories to even sharing facts about you two, Taesan is already doing mental notes for anything in the future.

“I can’t believe you were always selected for the school shows when you were little. No wonder Dohyun dances so well.” You laugh as you drink your glass of wine. Taesan raised his shoulders, feeling proud.

“It’s true,” he said, his new playful side shining. “I was a star back in the day. They couldn't resist my moves. And now Dohyun’s carrying my legacy.”

You laughed again, infecting him in the process. “I’d love to see old videos of that. I bet you were adorable.”

“Oh no, you’d never let me live it down.”

“Probably not,” you teased, swirling your wine glass. “But it’d be worth it.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I’ll think about it. Maybe if this goes well, I might show you.”

You decided to mess with him a little, so you tilted your head, faking curiosity. “‘If this goes well?’ You mean it’s not going well already?”

You saw how he froze for a moment before realizing your teasing tone. “Oh no, it’s going perfectly. I just mean—uh, you know, if you’d want to go out again sometime.”

“I think I’d like that, Taesan.” You let that grin escape from your lips naturally.

The plates were cleared in the middle of the conversation, being changed by a dessert—a shared crème brûlée that Taesan insisted you try first—he watched you with a soft gaze, a gaze that made your heart flutter.

“Want to know something?” You broke the caramelized sugar with your spoon as well as the silence. “I didn’t expect this night to feel so comfortable.”

“Really? How so?” he asked with his brow raising slightly with his curiosity peaking. You extend your spoon with a portion of the dessert in it right in front of him; he looks at you seriously, and you put on your best doe eyes.

Contrary to your belief, he took the spoon and copied your movements before. “I insist, Y/N. Try it first.” His voice was deep and warm. It made you feel a shiver down your spine, and, reluctantly, you took the spoonful of dessert, the creamy sweetness melting on your tongue. 

“Oh my God, wow,” he smirked, satisfied at your reaction.

“Told you. This place never disappoints.” He grabbed another spoon and ate a portion he picked himself. You two were still eating and talking when the waiter came.

“Sorry for interrupting, but it’s already late, and we need to close. Here’s your bill.” Taesan and you looked at each other, wide-eyed in disbelief. You grab your phone from your purse and gasp.

“Taesan, it’s 11 o’clock.” You put your phone back in your purse to grab your wallet but stopped when Taesan gave you a soft look, giving his credit card to the waiter.

“I’ll take you home right after this. No worries,” he said, caressing your hand with his free hand.

“Thank you, but next time, I’m paying,” you crossed your arms playfully.

“Next time? I’ll hold you to that.” The payment was fast, and you saw another waiter holding both of your coats. The female waitress put the coat softly over your shoulders and so did Taesan once he put the card back in his wallet.

The moment you stepped out into the cold night air, the crystal door finally had the “close” sign. As you two walked to the car hand in hand, snowflakes began to fall gently from the sky, settling on your hair and on the coat like they were feathers. “It’s snowing,” you murmured, your breath visible in the cold air.

Taesan glanced up and then back at you, his steps slowing down as he admired you. “It is,” his voice was almost like a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. “Kind of perfect, isn’t it?”

“It truly is.” When you reached the car, he opened the door for you; his hand brushed yours as you got in, and he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The drive back to your house was quiet but comfortable, taking your time driving since the streets were not completely full due to the people sleeping or celebrating either in a bar in Itaewon or in their houses. 

When he finally pulled up to your house after a beautiful trip watching the lights, he turned to you, his hand resting on the steering wheel. “We have finally arrived. I had a really great time.”

“Me too, Taesan. It was unforgettable.”

“But before we finish this night, I have one last thing.” Taesan stretches himself to open the glove compartment, revealing a small box wrapped in Christmas-designed paper. He took it and waited for you to react. “It’s 10 minutes till Christmas, but happy holidays, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at the gift in his hands; it had been a long time since you celebrated either the holidays or received something, the reason why your eyes were watering a little. “Taesan, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to. Go on, open it.”

You carefully peeled back the wrapping under his sight, and you actually couldn’t contain your happiness. Inside was a delicate bracelet; the center had a small charm of a sun that shimmered under the light.

“I picked the sun because, it may sound cliché, but you have this light that attracts people and makes everything warmer and brighter with just your presence. just like the sun,” he finished with a soft and genuine smile. His words settle over you like the snowflakes outside.

You blinked, a tear falling as you smiled. “Dongmin, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’ll wear it,” he offered with a small smile. His fingers brushed against yours as he gently took the bracelet from the box. “Here, let me.”

His hands were warm despite the chill in the air; they were as warm as your heart. You’ve never felt this loved by somebody aside from your family, and this dinner just confirmed that you had more than just a crush on Dongmin. Once it was secured, he turned your wrist, taking a risk to deposit a kiss on your hand.

“All done.” Your eyes met, and it was like time was running slowly, all to both of your favor to taste the moment. 

“You’ve just created an amazing Christmas Eve.” This time, you cupped his face with your free hand, feeling how his thumb traced imaginary figures on the skin of your hand.

“I’m happy to hear that. Should we call it a night?” he asked softly, though his tone hinted he didn’t really want the evening to end.

“Only if you promise there’ll be more dates.”

His grin was immediate; his confidence shines through his aura. “I promise. Many more.”

“Then, yes. We can call it a night.” You both laughed, the feeling of tenderness in every fiber of your body.

“Let me walk you through the door.” After Taesan said that, he stepped out of the car before you could even protest, quickly rounded the vehicle, and opened your door, offering his hand to help you out.

As you reached the small porch, you took out your phone, watching exactly that there was one minute till Christmas, and you smiled. You stopped your steps, and Taesan did the same, looking at you with tenderness.

“Everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head in an adorable manner.

“Yes, I’m just waiting for the midnight fireworks.” You pointed to the sky; the moon shined brightly, and you could see how he was focused on seeing the moment. “Taesan?”

“Yes?” His gaze went back to yours; his hair had some snowflakes that made him look adorable.

“I want to give you something; just close your eyes.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn’t hesitate to do it. Your gaze went back to the phone, then seconds.

You put your things carefully beside you on the floor, your eyes on his pretty pink lips, before closing your eyes and putting your lips on top of his. The fireworks decided to join as background noise and the cheer of some people in the street who were watching the show. But that truly didn’t matter.

The world seemed to pause in the warmth of the kiss. Taesan froze for a moment, startled, but quickly melted into the moment. His hand cupped your cheek gently as the other one snaked to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He wanted to cuss when you finally pulled back, breathless and cheeks flushed, your eyes found him staring at you with wide eyes with his lips parted slightly in surprise. “That’s… quite the Christmas gift.”

Taesan’s eyes caught something above your head and gave a soft laugh, pointing at the object. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

“In my defense, my sister decorated the entrance. But I’m grateful for it.” You both were now staring at the mistletoe.

“That makes two of us,” Taesan replied softly. his hand now holding both of your hands. You took his hands and kissed them before taking all your stuff from the ground, taking the key of the house, and opening it. You stayed in the door frame with a silly smile on your face.

“Merry Christmas, Dongmin.” You spoke, and he did a small bow to you.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he said. He started to walk away, and you closed the door. You left your stuff on the table beside the entrance as your back was resting on the door, your heart beating like crazy. A few seconds pass, and you get startled by a knock on the door.

You opened fully when you saw Taesan again.

“Is there something—” His lips crashed with yours, his hands on your waist with confidence, and your hands simply traveled to the back of his head. He lifted you from the ground without breaking the kiss, spinning in the same spot, smiling in the middle of the kiss.

When Taesan finally set you down, both of you were breathless with your foreheads resting against each other, shy and giddy smiles on your faces.

“I couldn’t leave without doing that,” he confessed, his thumbs gently brushing your sides and your hands on his shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

“And I couldn’t let you go without telling you why this date was so comfortable to me,” you sighed, feeling your heart rising as the nerves came back to you. “I really like you, Dongmin, and I would love to be your new chance to love again. I don’t care that you’re a single dad; I don’t care if you made mistakes in the past; what I care about right now is if you feel the same way as I do.”

With each word you said, you saw how his gaze got softer. “You’ve no idea how long I've been trying to find the right moment to say it, but I’m going to say the truth. I’ve been a little scared of what it could mean and of what might come next. But you turned my life upside down with just a smile and gave me the courage to finally do it.”

His hands grabbed yours, the tension beginning to ease away as your feelings were reciprocated. “I’m all in if you let me, Y/N. I’m ready to try and make you fall in love each day.”

“Dongmin, I’m already in love.” His hands slid from your hands to hold your face the second you said that, initiating a softer and slower kiss. You both could feel all the positive emotions in your bodies. Even more joy.

“God, I’m glad I didn’t leave,” Taesan whispered, making you chuckle, your heart swelling with warmth.

“I’m glad you stayed.” His smile was all you needed to confirm that this was right, that love had found its way to both of you in a way neither of you expected, yet both had been yearning for.

─── IT BEGAN TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS! and this present is for all my people in @onedoornet thank you for this amazing year and let's keep growing this community. forever grateful with @gluion for letting me in ❅