#They Break Each Other and then Put Each Other Back Together | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

werezmastarbucks · 21 hours ago

Text

three hugs

idol!yoongi x f!reader oneshot

oneshot

oneshot!!!!

You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.

warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?

word count: 12652

music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga

author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls

"Shit".

"What?"

You slide the chapstick over your lips.

"It's mint".

Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.

"Let me try?"

He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.

Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.

"It's freezing".

He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.

The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.

The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.

Oh, shit, he's cute.

Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.

As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.

"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.

What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.

On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.

But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,

"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".

He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.

It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.

Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?

You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.

And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.

He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.

You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.

The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?

Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.

─────────────────────────────────────

Like now.

You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.

"Hm?"

Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.

"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".

"Berlin?"

"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.

"I can take you. I can go there earlier".

"Don't you have the show in May?"

"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.

"But we have to go for three days then".

"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".

"Tell them you're sick".

You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.

"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".

Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.

"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".

"Don't adapt for me".

"It's not a problem".

He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.

By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.

Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.

The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.

"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.

"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.

"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".

"Oh. The two us in one plane?"

He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.

He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.

You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.

You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.

"Can I have one, too?"

"I am putting star anise in".

His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.

"Why?" Yoongo hoots. Like it's a crime.

"Experiment".

"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.

"It tastes okay".

He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.

You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.

"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.

"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"

You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.

"He is upset. Is this content, too?"

You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.

"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".

You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.

You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.

"Who did this, Jiminie?"

The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.

"I'm alright".

"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".

The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.

"Beat them up?"

"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".

His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"Thank you".

"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".

Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.

As you see him, you stand up and give space.

Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.

"Don't be upset about it".

"I let you down, hyung".

"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".

You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.

Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.

"How was the concert?"

"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.

"Right. You caught any confetti?"

"No".

"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".

You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.

"You had coffee, didn't you?"

He shrugs.

"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"

A chuckle rumbles in your chest.

"You never show any weakness".

You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.

Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.

"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.

"Huh?"

"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".

In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.

"Are you serious right now?"

And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.

You nod.

"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".

With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.

"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"

It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.

"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.

"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"

"I am not".

"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".

"After we fuck".

"So let's fuck".

You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.

"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.

In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.

Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:

"Take that seat, by the window".

Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.

"You're scared of flying?"

He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.

"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.

"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".

His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.

"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.

"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".

"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.

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The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.

"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.

"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.

─────────────────────────────────────

Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.

Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.

"And for me? Me, hyung?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.

"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.

"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.

"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.

He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.

The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.

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Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.

You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.

Yoongi takes his place.

"Rematch".

He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.

"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."

"Shh. I have a strategy".

You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.

"The strategy sucks", he muses.

"I know what I'm doing".

It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.

"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"

You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.

"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".

Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.

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For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.

For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?

Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.

He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,

"I figured".

Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.

There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.

"Hm?"

He shakes his head nothing.

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He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.

That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.

Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.

"Read from here when you see the green light".

"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.

"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.

"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".

He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.

"Tsk".

He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.

"What?"

"That's such an asshole move".

When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.

"Huh?"

"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"

You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.

His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,

"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"

You cock your eyebrow shortly.

"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.

"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".

"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.

You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.

Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?

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Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.

When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.

"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.

"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".

"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.

"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".

"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.

"Okay?"

"Continue".

"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."

"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"

"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.

"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."

You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.

"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.

"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.

"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.

"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.

You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.

"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.

"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".

You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"

Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.

"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"

You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.

"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.

You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.

"And you replaced me?"

It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.

"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.

"I don't casually go around telling that to people".

His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.

You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.

"I want you".

"No, I want you more".

You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.

"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.

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A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.

Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.

You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.

Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.

"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.

"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".

He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.

"He never found his glasses?"

"No".

"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.

"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.

"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".

"That's an unorthodox review".

"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".

"I already have a rich inner world".

He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.

"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"

He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.

Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-

"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.

You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.

The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.

"Sorry?"

Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.

"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".

Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.

"It's there for a reason".

"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".

Taehyung doesn't even hear him.

"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.

"I'm working. I'm fine".

His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.

"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.

"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.

"Huh, CEO?"

In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.

"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.

"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".

He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.

The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.

What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:

"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".

"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.

"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".

"Sounds like it's your fantasies".

"That's all I have".

You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.

─────────────────────────────────────

He points his finger:

"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".

"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"

He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.

"You'll fly for around seven seconds".

His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.

"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi angst #suga x reader #yoongi smut

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xomakara · 2 days ago

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linda my bb!!! congrats on 1k again, you're incredible and im so happy for you ilysm 🩵

now you know i need #1 with san please pretty please with a cherry on top (again ILYSM!!!)

Still Loving You [Hearts Unfolded: XOMAKARA's 1K Event]

SUMMARY | Two high school sweethearts reunite at a mutual friend’s wedding after years apart. PAIRINGS | San x Reader RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked GENRE | smut, slight pwp, romance, old flames, reunion CONTENT/WARNINGS | wedding vibes, romantic sex, literally lovemaking, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), vaginal penetration, riding LENGTH | 1,801 words TAGLIST | @heechwe, @lovetaroandtaemin, @pars-ley NETWORKS | @illusionnet @cromernet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @winerys-collection @cosyhomenet @keopihaus @ksmutsociety @k-vanity AUTHOR’S NOTE | thank you so much lexi! ilysm too and once again, congrats to the 3k 🥰 I know you didn't specify nsfw but I know your mind haha. It's not as filthy or as long as my other fics but I know you'll still love it. Much love 💛💚

Want to join the event? The rules are here → Hearts Unfolded: XOMAKARA'S 1K EVENT

event masterlist here → HU: Masterlist

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

Everything felt right at this moment.

You in his arms, the romantic music of the orchestra filling the whole place, bodies pressed against each other as couples swayed and twirled, lost in their own worlds. All you wanted to do was melt, completely melt, in the comfort that was his arms, never again to be torn apart from one another.

When you parted ways during your high school graduation to live different lives, to go on to college, promising to always stay in touch through text, phone and video chats, a lot of time had passed. Despite your promise, letters weren't written, texts and calls were short and few, and it eventually became an old habit of neither party, much to both of your regret. It was only a stroke of luck that put you both back in the same place at the same time.

By coincidence, or some force of destiny, at this very wedding of mutual friends, was the man you had fallen in love with all those years ago, now having grown and matured from the youthful teenager you remembered and even grown to have the mature features of a fine-looking, eligible man.

"San?" you whisper his name into his ear. "This is really happening, right? You and me together again?"

"Yeah," he smile. "If...that's what you want, of course..."

You smile in the embrace of your shared dance. "No way am I letting you slip out of my fingers again."

As the song drew to an end, so too did the entire ballroom. The DJ put his disc on a brief break to enjoy the evening, and most guests stepped outside onto the expansive patio to get some fresh air and chat more freely. Taking your hand in his, San leads you outside the large venue into the bright night time, and there wasn't any other way to describe the feeling except for heavenly.

It had been so long. His touch felt just like back when you were kids – gentle, sweet and loving.

The two of you had a lot to catch up on, but as fate would have it, fate also had plans in store as you stared out towards the sunset. You both walk into a flower patch, your eyes shifting towards him to notice how his brown eyes watched your every move, but still walking silently in step with one another, savoring the sight of this wonderful moment.

His mind was swimming, filled to the brim with memories and emotion as well as a deepened admiration for the woman walking beside him. He adore everything about you: how kind you were, your beauty, everything. This reunion was something straight out of a dream.

In one smooth movement, San pulls you to his chest, catching you off guard as you're smothered in his scent of masculinity and warmth, then finally feeling his soft lips on top of your hair. "You...remember, right? The first time you kissed me?" he murmur against the crown of your head.

Slowly, you nod and let out a gentle giggle. "Of course. How could I forget? We were both sixteen...and sitting under that giant tree by your house in the moonlight," you remember, moving his palm to press it to your beating heart.

"Can we start this over?" He says, tipping your chin up gently. His eyes were locked on yours, and it took everything he had not to cry right here and now. His thumb ran circles against your lower lip, watching in amazement as they naturally opened up, as if welcoming him to have his fill of what he wants to do most. "I never stopped loving you..."

You never stopped loving him too, and you only needed a brief nod of confirmation before his other hand settled firmly on the nape of your neck, your breath hitching the very second his soft lips made contact with yours. He kissed you deep, sweet, his arms circling around your body and pressing you closer to his, desperate to be rid of the space and distance between your bodies.

"S-San..." his name escapes you as you come up for a much needed breath, gasping at the feeling of his erection poking at you through the fabrics of clothing.

The boy you used to know was no more – he had become a man now.

"Did I go too far?" His eyes were gentle, face worried, hands held up in apology. "We can stop if you're uncomfortable—"

"No...I..." your hands gripped tightly at his sides. "Let's not...stop."

"Mm..." His smile was wider than his kiss and the touch of his hand as it grabs your own and pulls you somewhere else, away from the prying eyes of other wedding-goers.

The only thing on San's mind was the urge to pick up right where the both of you left off years prior, as if nothing had changed. His lips went back to yours in an instant as you had moved indoors, towards his hotel room that was thankfully adjacent to the venue.

Your back hits a closed door behind the privacy of your surroundings and San's arm nudges the doorknob open without ever breaking contact, stumbling inside as he latches his mouth back against yours, trying to soothe the burning of the kiss you had shared together earlier.

"Do you want to continue?" He asks you, bringing your lips away from his again. Both of your breaths were harsh, but there was no other way you'd rather have it. "Tell me you want this as much as I do. As much as I've wanted...I want to love you the way I should have before we split apart."

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling his mouth close to yours. "Make love to me," you plead.

It didn't take a word. The command itself was understood, and by a simple nod of his head, his lips had you. You melt at the slow strokes of his lips moving over yours, slowly kissing and tugging at the edge of your lower lip as he softly pushes you onto the bed.

His lips parted from yours momentarily, just long enough to give him a moment to look at you through half-lidded eyes and then he let out a sigh when you cupped his cheek, wanting desperately to capture your lips again.

You pull his face down, guiding it until your mouth connects with his in an affectionate kiss. Your hand slips lower to brush along his jaw, and when you reach his neck you grab the back of his shirt, leaning backward slowly, prompting him to lay his weight over you. Your mouths had moved, the soft suckling and breathing noises filled the room and as his hands groped for the zipper at the back of your dress.

Suddenly, you laugh.

"What's so funny?" He peered down at you. You grin, unable to help the peals of laughter spilling from your throat as you tap his shoulder.

"Oddest thing," your laugh turns into a smile that reaches your eyes as you gaze fondly up at his face. "Remember that you used to have a difficult time getting me out of my uniform? Always tugging on that button of my blouse, never able to do it because you were too nervous," your smile turns coy when you roll him over onto his back, and crawl on top of his form. "Too bad, I just always ended up being the one who did it for you. Must've been awkward for you when I kept taking my own clothes off, right?"

"Hey, that was your choice..." he lets out a small chuckle.

He allows you to roam his body with your touch, wondering how many lovers he might've taken since your years of absence, but deciding to push the thoughts out of your head. No matter how much time had passed or how many others San had embraced before, all of that didn't matter, you were here with him now, ready to be one with him once again.

It felt like things were moving too fast as your dress was thrown into a careless heap somewhere to the side, along with his trousers, and your upper bodies now laid bare, fully exposed to one another for the first time in years.

With a few more adjustments, it didn't take a minute, maybe even ten seconds, to line up and sink him deep, gasping and groaning softly the whole way, adjusting to the fullness of having him within you once more after so many years of waiting, yearning and hungering for each other.

San didn't move as he waited for you to adjust to his length, a deep grunt leaving his mouth the instant you wrap your arms around his head and bring your face near him to allow your lips to connect. He had craved and hungered for more of your affection all those years you've been separated and never forgotten, wanting to touch and love you more than anyone else, and you were his.

"Just give the word, baby," his lips spoke against yours, your thighs giving him a nice squeeze to spur him on as if to answer his request.

Slow and steady at the beginning, soon came with the intensity of both parties going into overdrive, hips connecting over and over to make you bounce on him, then flip you over onto your back as your head sunk into the comfort of the mattress with the springs creaking from the motion.

"I love you," he grunts. "So much. Every single day. Never stopped, not even once." His pace had gone rough and rapid.

He was pouring himself, body and soul, into you.

"Me too, San-ah," you whisper his name like it was a sacred chant, as you rode out wave after wave of euphoria, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper with every drop of your hips. "Please don't ever stop."

And he wouldn't. He wouldn't. Not ever.

You came at the same time, a rush of hot wetness in your belly that sent your legs into an uncontrollable tremble, his thrusts speeding up once he was about to burst, the erratic motions and speed soon sending you off into a climax not long after.

He collapses next to you after, watching in amazement the glow that cover your entire form, feeling nothing less than blessed in this moment. His lips met the corner of your jawline, nuzzling affectionately down the column of your neck before sighing. "Never gonna let you slip out of my hands ever again. Promise."

You gave a weak, contented laugh and pressed your lips to his before his weight settled next to you. "Guess you'll just have to show me, hm?"

He'd show you in a heartbeat.

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temis-de-leon · 3 days ago

Text

Can I trust you?

Characters: Lucifer x fem!MC

Main Masterlist

Summary: after crushing on each other for way too long, MC finds herself losing her patience and showing at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

C/W: very confident MC, since she's almost naked in this. Suggestive, and I say the word nipple once, but I left it at there because I'm not comfortable with smut.

This was going to be HCs with all the brothers, but if this alone is 776 words, then I don't want to imagine what it would be with another six people. Sorry

MC has been flirting with him for the last few months, but she isn’t able to make him break and pursue her. They’re good friends, but she knows damn well that the possibility of tarnishing their relationship isn’t his reason for not acting up.

He knows she loves him, just as much as she knows he loves her in return, but would he ever be the first to confess?

Not in a million years.

Lucifer wants her to break, to get so desperate that there is no other choice left but to forget her pride and fall before him.

However, one of those days where frustration hits the hardest, MC feels like she can’t deal with the situation anymore and crosses the line.

Mind you, naked.

Or half-naked.

But she hopes she gets him to understand the point nonetheless.

He’s alone, playing chess against himself next to the fireplace while one of his favourite vinyl plays the night away. It’s not cursed, for a change, and he’d invited you in hopes of sharing the piece and spending some time together, but you are too occupied reorganizing your closet after a shopping spree with Asmo.

He’s not hurt about it, so don’t bother asking; it would be childish to feel offended over something so trivial.

And it would be unfair to do so, anyway.

He had, after all, denied your hangout attempts multiple times in favour of his work, so he had to comply the very few times you put him in second place.

And the only time he thought you’d put him in second place.

It’s late enough for everyone else in the house to be already fast asleep when he starts hearing steps. They’re light, muffled over the carpets and quiet over the naked hardwood floor, so whoever is coming to visit him in the middle of the night isn’t wearing any footwear.

If only he could know which one of the morons living in the House of Lamentation is stupid enough to walk with no protection in the coldest temperature the Devildom can offer.

“Come in” he says at the knocking with a suspiciously mellow tone, curious about his visitor.

Your face is an unexpected, but welcomed sight.

The rest of your body, though, throws him out the loop.

You are quick to enter and close the door, but it’s enough time for him to morph his shocked expression into the seductive smirk you’re more familiar with. Sadly, he can’t do nothing about the blush over his cheeks, and knowing you, there is no way you are going to ignore it.

But what else can he do??

There you are, quietly standing in the middle of his room, showing yourself in almost all your glory. You are wearing matching underwear, black and red (his colours), and he can see your hardened nipples through your bra.

He’s half tempted to offer the second chair next to the fireplace, but he wants to keep looking at your figure a little longer. At least until you tell him your reasons for… this little stunt.

“Do you like it?” you ask, slowly giving a little twirl to let him see the back. Lucifer can feel his heart in his throat, and he gives himself permission to glance down before going back to your head. Your smile is devilish.

“You look delectable, MC” he answers, his voice low and gruff.

He’s fully clothed, minus his coat, and you’re standing right in front of him with little to nothing covering your body. His hands itch to take a hold on the plumpest parts of your curves and he licks his teeth, whishing it was your skin under them, but he stays where he is, looking down at you with starving flesh-eating butterflies roaming in his tummy.

“But I fail to see why my opinion on the matter would be so important for you to show up at the darkest hour of the night in my room” he mutters, taking a single step forward. Despite the cold in the furthest corners of his room, your body radiates warmth like a furnace.

He’s starting to sweat a little bit too.

“You’ve always been so respectful to me…” you say with an innocent voice that he immediately doesn’t trust, walking towards his bed before sitting down on its edge. He follows like a moth to the flame. “You know, respecting my boundaries, never grabbing too hard when you hold my waist and not even peeping when I bend down. I thought I could trust you to tell me if I look good. So…can I trust you? Do I look good, Luci?”

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x female mc #obey me x female reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #om! lucifer #obey me writing #obey me drabble #obey me fluff #obey me scenarios

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kilojulietsierra · 22 hours ago

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The scene with Ellis asking about the REBOA reminds me of when kids get older and they sit at the adult table and hear all the gossip.

Ellis is definitely Jack’s favorite resident. They have a caring but tough love attitude.

In Jack/Sam world, Ellis is like a younger sister to them and is invited over for holidays if she can’t make it to her family.

Ok so I put this all down stream of consciousness on my lunch break so if it’s weird so be it lol I had fun and that’s what matters!

If you haven’t already check out the other fics I have from this little universe I’ve created!

Save Me From Myself - Masterlist

- Night shift people were night shift people and day shift people were boring as hell. In Parker’s opinion. Day shifters were a little too type a, too put together, too buttoned up and by the book for her taste

- She’d struggled on days. Other residents took things too personally, too much micromanaging, too many patients with toe sprains and head colds asking for doctors notes

- Jack had covered a day shift for Robby and Parker had recognized it in him almost immediately. It was like the night shift attending wanted to crawl out of his skin anytime he thought someone wasn’t looking

- Parker had presented a case to Dr Abbot while he slouched back in one of the desk chairs. She had mumbled not really meaning for him to hear, but not meaning for him to not hear it either “probably don’t get all these pansies on nights. Nobody wants to come in at 3am just so they can get out of work”

- Jack had raised his brows at her tone, “keep in mind Dr Ellis, a lot of the patients in chairs at 3am have been there since shift change” he stood up and caught her eye as he went to step past. He dropped his voice with a smirk, “but, 3am is definitely when all the weirdos come out to play” then he had walked away

- That day there had been a mvc on one of the bridges, a car with 3 occupants had gone through the rail and into the water. Parker had fought to be on the first gurney through the door and Jack had noticed.

- He’d actually noticed a few things about Parker Ellis

- By the end of that shift he caught her by the lockers, “talk to Robby tomorrow. If you want to switch shifts, I’ll sign off”

- If Robby was the sarcastic and goofy but lovable father figure, Jack was the slightly weird, scary until you get to know him, uncle that would teach you how to make grenades out of a bouncy ball and an m80 firecracker

- Parker thrived on night shift w/ Jack. She had her moments sure, she doesn’t know everything, yet, but she’s a hard worker and admits when she’s wrong. She never shies away from Jack pushing her out of her depth. She figured out quick that if Jack didn’t push it was because he didn’t think you could handle it. And that made Parker want it more.

- Jack noticed. Jack liked it. Robby always tried to be fair, tried to never play favorites. Jack didn’t give a fuck, he absolutely played favorites.

- Being Dr Abbots favorite came with unexpected perks.

- Emails with a link and the simple explanation of “read this”

- The hard eye contact and nod when he took a step back “go ahead Dr Ellis”

- “You got this”

- Dr Walsh and Dr Abbot talking to each other in front of Trauma 2 and then Dr Walsh calls out “Ellis, wanna scrub in?” Parker looked to Jack who just gave her the tiniest nod. “Yes ma’am!” Dr Walsh and Abbot exchanged a little smirk and then Walsh was out the door “hustle up before I change my mind!”

- “What’s this?” Ellis looked at the white can of Monster that appeared on the desk in front of her. Jack shrugged “you don’t drink coffee so i grabbed you one of those. Wife drinks the same flavor. Shits terrible for you.”

- Shen bounced on his toes trying to peak over Jacks shoulder as he opened the Yeti lunchbox. “Tacoooos” Parker tried to see “tacos?” Jack looked up as he handed Shen a handful of foil wrapped tacos. “Sam dropped lunch off.” Before she even had time to be bummed Jack pulled out another handful and held them out to her, “Didn’t know what you’d want, she made brisket and fajita chicken.” When she looked confused he waved them in front of her “if you don’t want yours, boy wonder the garbage disposal probably does” he nodded towards Shen. Ellis takes them still cautious, “mine?” Abbot stared back at her, “yeah, yours. Eat fast.”

- The tacos are bomb.

- “going home for thanksgiving?” Jack asked as everyone packed up to leave. “Nah, tickets home are a bitch this time of year.” Ellis shrugs, “just be me and whatever takeout I can track down”

- Jack paused with a hint of a scowl like that was unacceptable “come to the house” “what?” He shrugged “we eat at like five, come over whenever though” Ellis just blinked “doc that’s really generous but you don’t have to” Jack gives her a look like it’s no big deal “Sam and I don’t have family around, so we have friends over. Robby will be there, Walsh, think Garcia is coming and bringing a new girlfriend so that’ll be fun.(sarcasm) Few of the girls Sam works with, neighbors, couple army buddies flew in for the weekend.” He looks up from his phone and smirks when he says “don’t look so scared, it’s not a trap.” Her phone vibrates in her hand with an address. Jack gives her a fist bump as he walks bye “Sam goes all out on the food just sayin’. Oh and if you do come don’t worry about dressing up or anything, we don’t do that”

- Her first thanksgiving with the abbots had been a trip.

- Parker felt a little bit like when she had turned 12 and her folks had let her sit at the grown up table the first time. Because Parker’s a grown up sure, she’s got responsibilities, but the people in this house for thanksgiving are like LEGIT grown ups.

- The house is awesome

- Jack and Sam are like in LOVE love and not shy about it, it’s strange at first but cute and encouraging. #goals

- Robby, Dr Michael Robinavitch ED Chief, gets tipsy and that man has some stories to share

- Everyone talks loud, over the top of each other and laughing. So much laughing.

- Sharing weird and outrageous ER stories because half the people there work in emergency. Pictures included

- Garcia and Walsh are actually nice to Ellis, which gives her a little whiplash but they’re fun and she likes them

- The dinner table is packed with food and people and she thinks it’s exactly how thanksgiving should feel

- She begins to wonder if everyone forgot she and Garcia were technically students because nobody Is treating them like they were. There just part of the gang

- Apparently Sam, Garcia and Walsh are friends. Like tight friends, like the kind that are basically sisters

- Ellis gets invited to girls night, “but don’t tell Jack”

- Everyone hangs out after dinner for drinks and Ellis is living for it

- One of Jacks army buddies makes a joke “if I’d been conscious we all know she would have picked me over Abbot” Parker thinks an argument might breakout but Jack just laughs into his whiskey glass and pulls Sam a little closer, “motherfucker you weren’t unconscious you were dead! I was pumping your heart for you” the guy laughs and rubs at his chest as Jack adds mumbled into his glass, “remember I can stop it just as easy”

- Walsh laughs from her seat on the floor, “first threat of homicide, now it feels like the family holidays I remember!”

- Parker stays to help clean up even though they told her not to worry

- Sam gives her a smile at one point while loading the dishwasher “you know you’re his favorite right?”

- When Sam finds out Ellis is from Long Beach she freaks out “you’re joking! I’m from Carmel Valley, like 2 hours south”

- “You know if you ever need anything you can call? Either of us okay?”

- Ellis can tell she means it

- She sends her home with leftovers, so many leftovers. Bomb ass leftovers.

- After that she spent every thanksgiving with them, it was tradition

- Ellis was beyond grateful she had switched to nights, where she belonged

- Because yeah Abbot was hard on her but she was a better doctor for it

- He also would change the oil in her car when he found out it was 2k miles overdue

- Abbot might pull her off a case for messing up, but he would still let her run point on the next one

- If Ellis had a rough night, almost without fail, she’d get a text from Sam the next morning to set up coffee or brunch

- Ellis had smiled to herself on Dr Kings first official night shift. It was fun to be on the outside looking in. To see Jack do what he does best.

- Because Ellis had been the R2 that just hadn’t felt like she belonged on dayshift

- So every time she saw that big smile and little bounce in Mel’s step after Dr Abbot gave her a “nicely done Dr King”, Ellis smiled to herself and wondered how in the hell Sam was going two fit 2 more chairs at thanksgiving dinner this year

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt headcanons #the pitt imagine #dr jack abbot #jack abbot x ofc #dr parker ellis #dr melissa king

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alabasterwasps · 20 hours ago

Text

Jay gets the key to Brian’s house from Alex’s place.

In several of Alex’s tapes featuring behind the scenes for his project, there’s instances where he mentions being in Brian’s house while Brian isn’t home, or he’s showering and they’re writing and stuff. It’s canon that Marble Hornets was a project Alex had been formulating since highschool, and based on how well Brian seems to know Alex in his audition tape there’s plausible reasoning to conclude these guys have been friends for ages.

And yes, there’s a shot where Brian is wearing Alex’s white and blue flannel while they’re at his place.

These guys were friends before Marble Hornets was even a film project, and even when Alex is under the operator’s influence he still thinks of Brian.

Brian is his first successful murder, however in the tape where it happens Alex attempted to kill Tim beforehand and first.

With Brian, he doesn’t cut to the chase. They hang out first, they do other things first. This will get into speculation and headcanon but it very much seems like Alex is trying to avoid it. And then, even in the hospital, they just walk around. We never see Alex kill Brian, we simply see the Operator. And we see something else too, Alex disappear. Alex gets taken by the operator numerous times in this series, for hours at a time. It’s easy to guess the Operator does with him what it does with Tim, that torture it drags him through in the woods. The Operator is actively breaking him down, and we see this, and we see it happen with Jay, I digress.

In entry 72, Jay and Tim are going through Alex’s pages.

There is one with the names of all the dead cast member’s crossed off. Brian’s is different though, as his has a little amendment. It says “Sees Me” next to his name.

It’s hard to tell because unfortunately Brian and Alex have the same handwriting when writing big scratchy letters, but it likely is a like… hint at the Brian reveal, one of the many before it happens.

We see in one of Hoodie’s videos that he films that Alex does see him. When he takes his hood off to drink water and Alex bursts in on him, he never puts the mask back on and the whole “wipe that smile off your face” from Alex (mind you it seems like Alex had been looking for him for awhile. These two are in a constant cat and mouse chase)

alex has known that Hoodie, totheark, is Brian for a long while.

So… that page was either an amendment by Alex, like he was in one of his… i don’t know how else to describe it other than an episode, when he gets absorbed in his scribbling and thoughts.

Where he’d written brian crossed off like normal, but then changed it because the two have seen each other.

Brian got to those pages before Tim and Jay did, which is very likely, and he dropped the hint himself.

Since“have you seen me” and “do you see me” and various iterations of it is a question that he asks Jay constantly.

I think it’s a genuine question, most the time, as it’s coupled usually with footage or stills of Brian stalking jay from a spot where maybe jay could’ve seen him but didn’t. But i think see could in this context also be like. defined as “do you know who i am”.

And then, there’s an answer. In alex’s scribbles of his name Brian writes “sees me”, both because Alex has seen him, and Alex knows who he is.

Which if jay had watched the tape uploaded to his channel (which we know Jay watches everything totheark posts, especially on his own channel) then if Jay *caught* on then he could’ve pieced together that hey maybe this is who this guy is. Jay did not though, because he’s a goober.

ANYWAY

Even towards the end, Alex is not at all surprised to see Brian, or to handle his body but I digress.

Even when these two are broken beyond repair they are almost always together. Every time we see Brian before his death, he is with Alex. Or his name is mentioned by Alex. He was Alex’s star role, his lead, his friend. Brian offered Alex to go to dinner with him and Tim and Alex said no and there could be a million reasons on why he lied.

To me, he sounded nervous. He lied about being busy, about having a ton of auditions when Brian was the only one. He wants to be successful and maybe he wanted to sound that way. But it was that night that he saw the Operator, and maybe if he’d gone to dinner he never would have.

thinking about how Brian was allowed into Alex's house whenever he wanted even if he wasn't home and vice versa.

Thinking about how Alex had a spare key to Brian's place.

Thinking about how Alex would just chill there and Brian would go shower.

Thinking about the time when Brian is literally wearing one of Alex's flannels.

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erwinsvow · 2 days ago

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same nonnie who said she loved teh angst of them seeing each other i just read ur hashtags and omg?!!!? i love it i usually love love angst but i love them being together too much to want this pairing apart but i think it would be so good… imagine her even saying she doesn’t want kids if it’ll worry him😭😭😭 like she just wants him so badly to understand how much she loves him

i really need to study and i gave myself chest pains by thinking more about that and like as someone who cannot handle angst without a happy ending i will try to give us the best of both worlds. night shift reader would 10000% plead with jack to not break up, feels so stupid begging him because she never thought she would have to, when everything in their relationship is like a fairy tale because they have so much mutual understanding. they just have always understood each other so well, from their first shift together, the first time they really got to know each other.

six months in is that comfortable spot where everyone makes jokes about your wedding and you go home together every night. you know in another six months you'll be moving in together and talking more about the future than you already have. so when jack has this whole crisis about your age (something set it off, i don't know what exactly yet. the comment from the waiter is one thing. it would take more, maybe he saw a patient come in with a young wife and they're bickering and fighting and he sees something he doesn't want to in their relationship.)

night shift reader would just be so sad. pleading that she doesn't care about kids if she can't raise them with jack. that maybe they can foster and adopt if it's really about that—though you've been dizzy with the idea of carrying jack's babies and being pregnant and having him dote on you more than he already does. you put aside the baby names you've been saving your whole life, the nursery you want to decorate, you'd get rid of it all if it meant keeping the life you want with jack from disappearing.

and he knows you!!!! he knows you want all of that! he refuses to take it from you. tells you that you need someone closer to your age who can give you all of that. he thinks this relationship was meant to happen because it's the happiest he's been in as long as he can remember, and then he thinks he's doing you a favor by breaking it off so you can have the sort of life you've always wanted. winter into spring into summer. you go back to the day shift, anxious at 7am and 7pm with the idea of seeing jack again. you try to talk to him but he says he's not gonna change his mind. you ask him if he ever loved you and he says of course i did, sweetheart. it's because i love you that i had to do this.

the worst part is while you're horribly depressed like this, jack would be justifying it and thinking that you'll get over him soon and get a new boyfriend and be fine. hears from robby and dana how sad you are and how different you seem and how you plunge yourself into work to avoid going home. there are no dates, no boyfriends. just you and your job and using all the skills jack taught you.

idk how they'd get back together. maybe one day you go to the roof after a bad loss and robby tells jack he saw you head up and that he's worried about you. you think no one can find you up there but then jack shows up and you'll be damned if you don't feel the enormity of his absence all over again. or maybe one day there is a date, a surgeon upstairs who has always flirted with you but you never paid any attention since you were smitten with jack since the minute you met him. hears about it from dana, who tells him he made a mistake until his ears bleed. you have a shitty date and jack has a shitty day and you both end up taking a walk through your favorite section of the park where you bump into each other. idk. maybe something like that.

#i just made myself sad #this is why i only write happy things but ahhhhh #jack abbot #📮 asks

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scribble-dribble-writes · 1 day ago

Text

The Void

Hey guys! I haven’t written anything in a long while, so I’m a little rusty but I just saw thunderbolts and I ship Bob with Yelena, they are soulmates 😭

Anyway, pls forgive any errors

——————

Bob x Yelena

No warnings - just soft yearning

——————

The loss of her sister had been the string that frayed all the stitches that held Yelena’s heart together. Her pseudo family had been the only real thing she had known and now even something that had been make believe did not exist anymore.

What memories could she replay if all of them were fake?

What moments could she take solace in when her life required her to be on the move constantly?

It felt rather grey. Nothing to laugh about or no company to do it together. All she could do was reminisce and that was not a great habit, cause you can’t control it. You reminisce the good and it reminds you of the bad.

She found her way back to the base, or so that’s what everyone called it instead of calling it what it was, their home. This suburban mansion that belonged to Bucky now had become a share house. The Red guardian’s snores could be heard in the living room, Ava and Walker were arguing about something as usual in the backyard as faint snippets of their conversation slipped through. Bucky was away trying to salvage votes for his campaign and she had just finished her shift at the local youth facility.

Purpose.

To reshape the life of young women and in a way slowly, pull away the years she had lost herself in the red room. But whatever said, it was heavy work. And now she held all this weight she had gathered through the stories of the lives of these girls.

She heard the shuffling of pots and plates in the kitchen and then followed by the single beep of a button. Which had gotten the dishwasher started. She didn’t want to startle him, but it was one of her favourite moments, to watch Bob do the dishes. He stood by the sink washing his hands and as though he could sense her, he found her gaze. The soft smile breaking through his rather placid expression, which only Yelena had the power to do. To get him to feel light.

“You’re back early.”, he stated but she could sense the happiness in the tone of his voice.

“Did you miss me?”, she asked sarcastically as she folded her arms, a smile forming on her face, one she couldn’t hide. To which he paused, wiping away his wet hands as he gazed at her. As though he was in awe and in peace at the same time.

“I did.”, he gave her a soft nod followed by a genuine smile.

Yelena drew closer, her weight slowly eroding away. Unable to look at anything else, his soft sweater adding colour to his complexion, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. What if there existed a world they had both met each other when everything was right? Would it have still worked? Would they have still connected?

“It suits you.”, Bob said gently as he looked away. His cheeks flushing pink.

“What suits me?”, Yelena furrowed her brows as he slowly drew close to her, putting away the cloth on the counter top.

“When you smile, your eyes light up.”, he stated as though it was a common fact but it made her feel soft. She never had the luxury to feel soft towards anything in her line of work. But with Bob it was different. It was as though they were the physical form of kindness they had once deserved.

“That’s cause you like looking at me.”, she said playfully to which he averted his gaze but found the courage to look into her eyes again.

How had they managed to close the space between them? She could never tell.

“Maybe I do.”, he said softly, as though it wasn’t for the world to hear, it was only for her.

Yelena wanted to stay in this moment, this softness, nothing in the world could touch it now. So she reached forward and pushed back a strand of hair to stand on her toes and place a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Then do it more often.”, she said quietly.

“I spent a lot of my life learning how to hide.”

The shy demeanour had faded from him as he heard her statement, his hand found her waist as he pulled her into a hug, burying his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

Yelena gripped onto his shirt as she closed her eyes and gave herself the chance to just be. Even without too many words, they understood each other, the weight of their past lives.

“Yelena..”, he hummed as though he had so much to share.

“I know.”, she responded as she held onto him tighter.

“I know you.”, she added and his hold tightened.

“You were the light in my darkness and now I cannot comprehend a life without you in it.”, he spoke as his lips brushed her skin.

Little did he know, that even in his darkest, he helped her see through the light and by doing so, become stronger. She pulled away and he reluctantly let go. Her eyes boring into his features that made his blush turn darker.

“What?”, he questioned as he fiddle with the ends of her hair.

“I’m just glad you’re not blonde anymore.”, she smiled to which he pulled her into his embrace again. But it meant more than that. She was glad he wasn’t controlled by anyone, glad that now he could just exist as he was.

His arms wrapped around her with fondness, sighing with content as he tucked his face into her neck.

His world was so much more bigger now, wasn’t just a little room he was confined in anymore, for the first time there was soft afternoon light flooding around him. He placed his forehead on hers and all he could feel was that void in him not exisiting anymore. Now he felt full. He felt light, maybe if he believed it thoroughly, he could become it.

But for now, he was here, not in a lab, not in a maze but with her. Where everything felt soft and real

The sentry was not there anymore. In its place was the love he had always craved, only now, he didn’t have to fight for it. She gave it to him freely.

———

Hope you liked it 🫶

#Bob x Yelena #bolena #bob x reader #mcu thunderbolts #thunderbolts #lewis pullman #mcu fic

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bisnes-socks · 4 hours ago

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Justice for Love yourself!!!

Can you please explain why it's clearly the superior Bojere moment

YES I CAN. THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

now listen up people, especially those of you who let love yourself lose in round two of the vote. because this is one of THE bojere moments of all time and y'all let a real one get away.

because let's look at some evidence shall we. let's break down what is actually happening here.

Bojan's Bieber Journey

look at this man back in ESC 23. who is he. this is a man who is nervous as fuck, because he is sitting next to his new crush and now his crush is saying something about being boyfriends ?!?!?!?! LOOK AT HIS FACE. HE CAN'T HANDLE IT.

oh but it was a justin bieber reference, i can do a justin bieber song, he thinks. and then his crush is saying keep me, keep me. and he melts, oh how he melts.

but when justin bieber became their thing the first time, bojan was not ready for it. he is holding back, he doesn't know how to act around jere, he doesn't know what to do, he is awkward and crushing hard.

but then!!! nordic tour comes around!! and so much has happened since they met. and the moment presents itself, to make another justin bieber joke.

and this time, BOJAN IS FUCKING READY.

he has been on his jere journey. (he has been on his knees too, where everyone could see.) he is no longer awkward around jere, no. he is ready to play and he is ready to FLIRT.

so when his justin bieber redemption moment arrives, he puts his all into it. jere wants justin bieber? justin bieber he shall get.

2. The Double Sunglasses Situation

bojan (and this is an actual real transcription of his actual words and also thoughts): khihihihi i got your sunglasses what are you going to do about it, kiss me? well you're not getting them back. you're gonna have to wrestle me to the floor and sit on top of me and take them. oh are you going to tickle me about it? oh are we going to be rolling on the floor, our chests pressed together? oh are you going to breathe hard into my face? oh noooooo how could this happen khihihihihi and also hehehehehe.

let us not sit here and pretend that bojan wearing not only his own sunglasses on top of his head, but jere's on his face, isn't the most classic move for playfully teasing your crush.

you know, in your heart of hearts you all know, that he pulled those sunglasses sensually off of jere's face. you know he gave him one of his signature looks at the lips. you fucking know this.

3. Have You Ever Seen Jere Smile Like THAT

look at his face?! literally go back up and watch the video again. focus on his face. do i have to say more?! HE LOVES HIS BOJAN.

4. The Joker Boys and The Very Inconvenient Crush That Interrupts Their Workday

because what the fuck are bojan and jere even doing here. in the middle of a work day. with, i promise you, the rest of the band on stage, setting things up, giving each other looks like can you actually believe these two idiots.

just picture it. bojan and jere rolling around on the floor, giggling and play fighting over sunglasses while the other joker out guys huff and puff and cough very loudly setting up their little (not so little) stage.

those lovebirds could not give two shits!! all of the equipment could have spontaniously combusted and they would have been like ok well let us know when you guys have fixed it, we'll be over here looking at each other in the eyes and stroking each other's di- hair. they like to stroke each other's hair.

EDIT: OH AND BOJAN IS WEARING JERE'S SHIRT SO THERE IS THAT.

IN CONCLUSION:

Love Yourself is one of THE Bojere Moments of all time, it deserved so much better in the vote, and anyone who doesn't agree is just plain wrong.

CASE CLOSED. BANG, BANG, BANG.

#käärijä #bojan cvjetićanin #bojere #sad bojere bitches support group #PROVE ME WRONG you can't

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skyward-floored · 2 days ago

Text

Lu encanto AU, dinner scene

I’m so good at making AUs and then writing dinner scenes involving them shdfbdhdgsbd

I don’t think this one needs much explanation, it’s the dinner/proposal scene from Encanto. Dot is Four’s Zelda, Mariano in this case, and I had to slip Hyrule in as another cousin, but I think it’s fairly obvious who’s who besides that. Voila.

————————————————————

He should have listened to the warnings.

Wind stared down at the image he’d finally pieced together, horror clutching around his heart like a vice as his own face looked blankly up at him.

He’d worked so hard to find his cousin Legend’s vision, gathered all of the pieces from his tower, hoping and praying they’d finally give him the answers he’d been so desperately seeking. And despite his family explaining in great detail why they didn’t talk about Legend, and how his visions were nothing but trouble, he’d ignored their words of caution and put the shattered vision back together again anyway.

And now he faced with the image of himself, standing in front of Casita with cracks spreading out around him.

Wind couldn’t look away from the terrible sight, heart in his throat. He’d wanted to fix things, figure out what was wrong with the magic, save the miracle, but this...

Is this all my fault? he thought with a thick swallow. Are the cracks because of me? Is the magic dying because of me?!

A knock at his door startled him, and Wind jumped as he heard his father call his name.

“Hey Wind, got your party pants on?” Time teased as he opened the door, and Wind hurriedly tried to hide the damning image on the dresser behind him, casita quickly bouncing the furniture behind him, Wind trying to act casual as he blocked it with his arms.

The faint amethyst glow was impossible to miss though, and Time’s eye quickly zeroed in on it, a rapid mix of emotions flickering across his face before finally freezing into shock.

Wind watched him, nearly shaking with nerves, and Time slowly walked over, gaze fixed on the vision. The seconds stretched on, and finally Wind couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“I broke into Legend’s tower,” he blurted out, and as his father looked at him, the rest of it all came spilling out. “I know I’m not supposed to but I needed answers and I found his last vision, the family’s in trouble, the magic is dying, Twilight’s gift is fading, and I think it’s all because of... me?”

Time didn’t react, apart from moving a little closer to the vision so he could properly see the terrible image in it.

“...Pá?” Wind asked in a small voice, and Time’s gaze flicked outside the room when the clear sound of the doorbell rang out.

Then he snapped into action, and quickly began snatching up the pieces of the vision.

“We say nothing,” he stressed, plucking up each piece and tucking them securely into the pockets of his pants. “Abuela wants tonight to be perfect. Until the Gustafsons leave, you did not break into Legend’s tower, the magic is not dying, the house is not breaking, and Twilight’s gift is not fading.”

He finished tucking the vision securely away, and took Wind’s shoulders in his hands, meeting his eyes.

“We can figure this all out afterwards,” he reassured, giving Wind’s shoulders a squeeze and lowering his voice to a whisper. “No one will know. We’ll just act normal. No one has to know.”

Wind started to nod, but then the door beside them creaked. He and Time slowly turned to look outside, and saw Four, frozen on the balcony on the other side of the second floor and obviously listening in.

“I know,” Four whispered, eyes huge.

Then he let out a small squeak before hurrying away.

Wind and Time watched him rush off, frozen, and Wind’s stomach turned itself inside out.

“He’s gonna tell everybody,” Wind gulped, and saw his father press a hand to his brow as Abuela called that it was time to eat.

“Miercoles,” Time muttered.

(...)

Somehow, Four didn’t tell anyone before they were all seated at the table together, and Wind sat across from him, refusing to take his eyes off his cousin for even a second. Four looked extremely nervous, and Wind stared at him, almost daring him to say something.

You know just as well as I do that we can’t mess up this dinner, Four!

They had to make a good impression on the Gustafsons, and Abuela would kill them if they ruined that by yelling about gifts fading and magic dying.

But that didn’t mean Four wouldn’t try and tell people sneakily. Wind didn’t trust him a single bit.

At the head of the table, Hylia was entertaining Mr. Gustafson with a cheery demeanor, seemingly unaware of the tension at the other side of the table. Or maybe she was just ignoring it. It was hard to tell.

“The Gustafsons and the Madrigals together will be so good for the Encanto,” Hylia said brightly, and Mr. Gustafson smiled back at her.

“Indeed. Let’s hope tonight isn’t a horrible disaster then, eh?” he said jovially, and laughed along with the rest of them. Wind felt a little like throwing up.

“To a perfect night,” Hylia said with a smile, raising her glass, and the others did the same. “Salud!”

“Salud!” the table echoed.

Wind kept staring at Four, not taking his eyes off of him to raise his cup or even put food on his plate. His cousin nervously held the edge of the table, and it was like Wind could see the secret on his lips, ready to be spilled. He wouldn’t take his gaze off of him for a second.

“Avocado?” Dot suddenly asked Wind, passing the bowl in front of his face. Wind startled, then scrambled to take it, but he was too late.

Four was already whispering rapidly into his brother’s ear, Wild’s eyes growing wider with every word. As Four finished, Wild’s face went wonky, features flickering rapidly between different ones as he coughed. His face finally went back to his normal one, but his eyes and mouth were shaped strangely.

Señor Gustafson and the rest of the family stared, and Hylia cleared her throat, quickly pouring him some wine.

“Wild, fix your face,” his father whispered beside him, and Wild hurriedly shook himself back to normal, looking at Wind in dismay.

Wind looked back at him in horror, but before he could try and stop him from spreading the news, Warriors passed Wind a pitcher of water, blocking his view of Wild.

Wind hurriedly took it, but Wild was already whispering quickly into his father’s ear. Sky spat out his drink in shock at the secret, Dot startling as a few drops hit her sleeve, but Sky hurriedly cleared his throat and wiped up what he could when Hylia gave him a pointed look.

Wind looked around the table in dismay, feeling like things were rapidly spiraling out of control. Nearly half the table was giving him alarmed looks they tried to hide, and the other half appeared rather confused.

“Wind?” Hylia said suddenly, and Wind froze, heart shooting into his throat. “The cream, please?”

“Oh! Uh, sí, Abuela,” Wind replied with a nervous laugh, and looked over at his father. “Papá? The cream?”

Time, who had been stone-faced the entire time, nodded, and silently grabbed the cream from beside him. Wind only looked over at him for a moment to take the dish and pass it, but it was long enough for Sky to hurriedly whisper into Sun’s ear. Her eyes went huge, and she stared at Wind in disbelief as a large cloud formed above her head the more Sky whispered.

“Sun, dear, the cloud?” Hylia said pointedly at the raincloud now covering the entire table, and Sun gulped, running her hands through her hair and whispering as she did her best to calm down.

Wind looked up as thunder rumbled, then back down in time to see Sun rapidly whispering into Hyrule’s ear about the vision. His cousin sucked in a gasp and choked on a bite of food in the process, and roughly hacked into his hand. Sun pounded him on the back, and the piece of food shot out of his mouth, hitting Señor Gustafson’s cup and cracking the side of the wineglass.

He startled, making a dismayed noise as a small stream of wine began to spurt out of the cup, but Hylia quickly replaced it with another, pouring what was left into the new glass.

All while Hyrule stared at Wind with an unreadable look on his face, one that was honestly kinda scary.

Wind bit back a frantic whimper, and Aryll squinted at him from her spot, briefly catching his attention. She looked like she wanted to say something, but then Wind saw Hyrule whispering into Malon’s ear about the vision. His mother looked at him, her expression somehow both worried and alarmed, and Wind swallowed, his stomach feeling like the shards of Legend’s vision were scraping around inside of it.

They’re going to think you’re even more of a failure—

Wind quickly drank from his cup so he didn’t have to see the disappointment that was surely on his mother’s face, then looked at his feet to further avoid her eyes. Then he startled, one of the cracks he’d seen the night of Aryll’s ceremony appearing right between his legs on the floor.

Oh no, not more!

Wind looked closer just to be sure, then straightened, accidentally banging his head on the table. He yelped as he sat up, rubbing his head, and Warriors gave him a look that warned him to knock it off.

“Wind? Are you okay?” Dot asked from a few seats over as he kept rubbing his head, and Wind quickly nodded, plastering a smile on his face.

“Great! Fine!” he squeaked unconvincingly.

“Everything is fine,” Time added, though he was still stone-faced, like he was afraid if he showed any emotion the secret would also be shown. “He’s merely excited.”

“...For Warriors to propose!” Wind quickly finished, grinning a little extra wide at his brother. “Which you should totally do! Right now!”

Warriors looked at him sharply, and opened his mouth to protest.

“I was going to—”

“You were going to! Great!” Wind said cheerily, and jumped up from his seat and turned Dot’s chair so it was facing Warriors’, her red hair nearly brushing the food it swept past.

“Well, eh,” Mr. Gustafson said, looking a bit confused, before patting Dot on the arm, “I suppose that works. Before we begin, since everyone here has a talent, my lovely Zelda wondered if perhaps she could sing before the proposal. Twilight my boy, would you get the piano?”

Wind looked at Twilight, who hadn’t said a word the entire dinner. He’d merely stared at his food, of which Wind noticed he’d barely touched, and only looked up from his plate at the sound of his name. His face looked like he was about two seconds away from bursting into tears.

“...Okay,” Twilight finally said in a watery voice, then slowly got up and went into the other room to fetch the piano.

An awkward silence followed him.

“Erm... actually, it’s family tradition to sing afterwards,” Wind lied through his teeth, and quickly shoved Warriors’ chair over so he stumbled down to a knee in front of Dot. “So go ahead and do your thing there... bro.”

If everyone hadn’t been looking at them, Wind was sure Warriors would have shot him the worst death glare he could manage. He managed to suppress it though, and cleared his throat, turning to Dot.

“Zelda Dorothea,” Warriors began, that annoying cheesy smile plastered on his face. “Lovely flower of our township...”

Wind listened with a relieved smile as Warriors prattled on, glad that things seemed to be back on track. But then he noticed a crack splintering its way across the floor, right in view of the entire table.

He lunged for it, flopping sideways overtop the crack to block it, and everybody stared at him.

“Doing great!” Wind said with a thumbs up, and this time Warriors did manage a sharp look at him before smoothing his face again.

“...gem of the Encanto,” he continued, a light blush falling over Dot’s face as he went on. Wind spared a brief thought that Warriors was laying it on awfully thick, before he saw one of the coatis that Aryll was friends with tug a piece of the vision out of Time’s pocket, looking at it in interest.

Wind gasped, but before he could try and do anything, Twilight came back into the room, struggling to push the piano more than a few inches at a time. Wind looked at him, and Twilight suddenly stopped and pressed his face down against it with a tiny, frustrated sob.

Warriors and the rest of the table stared at him in confusion.

Wind bit his lip in dismay as he looked at Twilight, then looked back at the coati, who’d been joined by another and was happily piecing Legend’s vision together beneath the table. They squeaked in excitement, and Wind looked wildly around the room for a way out of this disaster.

Warriors valiantly kept on with his proposal despite the rising tension, obviously doing his best to pretend everything was fine if the extremely fake smile on his face was any measure.

“Will you marry—”

“No!” Wind cried as the coati slotted the last piece in, and he leapt under the table, trying to snatch the vision away.

Twilight fell to the ground with a wail as his powers completely failed him, and Señor Gustafson ducked as a toucan shrieked past his head, his face panicked.

“What’s going on?!” he gasped, Hylia looking just as alarmed as he was, and thunder rumbled menacing from the cloud that had reformed above the table. Four finally couldn’t take it anymore as birds screeched and Wind scrambled to grab the vision, and he stood up from his chair in a panic.

“It’s Wind! He found Legend’s vision and he’s in it, he’s gonna destroy the magic and we’re all doomed!” Four wailed.

Wind finally grabbed the vision from the coatis, but they grabbed it back, the tray it was sitting on landing on the table with a clatter. Wind snatched at it as the coatis scrambled around him, and he accidentally slid the vision across the table to stop right in front of Hylia.

Where she could clearly see the image of Wind, standing in front of Casita with cracks spreading out behind him.

Hyrule and Malon both went pale as they took it in, Señor Gustafson blanched, and Hylia had a look on her face so mixed that Wind couldn’t even identify it.

He shakily straightened from where he’d been leaning over at the foot of the table, and he looked around frantically as a rumbling that wasn’t thunder shook through the room.

Cracks spread their way out in the wall behind Wind, and Aryll gasped as more birds flew shrieking through the room, Wild’s features going entirely wonky as Sky looked at him in alarm. A mirror on the wall behind Hyrule cracked, lightning crashed near Sun, Four slammed his hands to his ears, and someone cried out in fear.

Wind looked around in horror, and saw Warriors, still on one knee with a ring in his hand, looking unusually panicked. A thorny vine abruptly sprang up from the ground in front of him, and whipped around, smacking Dot on the nose and slashing Warriors’ cheek as well.

They both cried out, and the door nearby swung open, revealing a crowd of townspeople all prepared to congratulate the new couple. They all shouted happily, but then the clouds above them burst, sending a downpour onto everyone’s heads and silencing the calls.

A heavy silence fell with the rain over the table.

Wind looked around, his entire family soaking wet, hurting and fearful, and Hylia did the same, her face pure disbelief.

All because of Wind and the vision.

All my fault.

(...)

The spell that the shock of the moment had left over them soon faded, and before Wind knew what was happening, suddenly people were getting up from the table left and right, Mr. Gustafson rushing his daughter up and away faster than anyone.

“Señor, por favor!” Hylia begged as she hurried after them, Mr. Gustafson ignoring her as Dot winced and held her hands over her nose.

Wind stood frozen by the doorway as everyone ran by him, not sure what to do. Twilight hurried past him next with a distraught expression, their father going after him as he tried to escape to his room. Aryll and Wild both scrambled away with frightened looks, Sky going after them, and Sun briefly paused to look at Wind in sharp confusion and fear.

“What did you do?” she asked with a rumble of thunder.

“I-I didn’t— I’m not doing anything! It’s Legend’s vision...” Wind trailed off weakly, and Sun hurried off as Sky called her name.

Warriors didn’t even say anything as he swept by, just glared at Wind past the cloth he’d pressed to his cheek. He stormed up to his room, scarf flaring behind him, and Wind heard Abuela speaking to the worried crowd that had gathered outside in a firm voice, insisting that everything was fine.

Then Wind heard a squeak.

He turned, and saw a rat peering at him from behind a corner, an amethyst piece of vision held in its mouth. Wind startled, then watched in surprise as the rat skittered off, followed by a few others. They all held pieces of the vision, and Wind hesitated.

Then he heard Abuela call his name, her voice nearly as thunderous as the storm brewing outside, and he turned and followed the rats.

He would fix this. Somehow... he would fix this.

But first he needed to know what a bunch of rats wanted with the pieces of Legend’s vision.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu encanto au #oh boy #lu wind #lu Warriors #lu time #lu Dot #...and lots of others djfbfhddhd #linked universe fic #writing from the floor #Hyrule’s gift is luck in case it isn’t obvious

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elene78-blog · 8 hours ago

Text

Jeremy and Renee bump into each other in the Foxes Tower lobby after the match. They both look at each other with wide smiles and tense muscles until, in a friendly way, they simultaneously extend their hands.

"Hi, you're Renee Walker. It's nice to meet you. Jean's told us so much about you," Jeremy says, his smile so wide his jaw hurts.

"And you're Jeremy. I know you don't like being called by your last name because Jean told me so. I've heard so much about you too."

"I'm sure not as much as we do," Jeremy says.

"I'm sure it's not like that," Renee says with a bright smile. There's a tense and awkward silence for two such friendly people, and it's Renee who breaks it by loosening her smile. "To be honest, I'm a little jealous of how much Jean talks about you."

Jeremy's eyes widen.

"You, jealous? When you hugged before and after the game, I almost burst into tears. You look so great together. You… you pulled him out of there. You saved him."

Renee shakes her hand, shocked.

"No! You were the one who helped him out of that hole. When I saw him this morning, I barely recognized him. He's alive and happy, and it's all thanks to you!"

"Not at all, really. He did it all! We just supported him. You're the amazing person who worked the miracle."

Renee tilts her head slightly, pouting.

"Thanks, but I'm not that nice of a person."

Now it's Jeremy's turn to bow his head.

"Me neither. You're giving me credit I don't deserve."

"I'm just a bad person trying to be a good person," Renee says, deeply affected.

Jeremy puts his hand to his chest.

"Me too! I did something horrible. I was a cocaine addict, and my brother committed suicide because of me. I'll never forgive myself for that."

Renee hugs Jeremy, who's practically sobbing.

"Oh, Jeremy, I'm sure it wasn't your fault," she comforts him, and Renee starts to cry too. "I killed a man!"

The two of them continue crying until Jeremy realizes what Renee said. His eyes, still brimming with tears, widen, but he decides it doesn't matter and hugs Renee back.

"He would have done something wrong!"

As the two of them cry, Jean, Cat, and Laila watch them from a corner, stunned.

"This isn't how I thought things would turn out," Laila says.

Jean tilts his head slowly, at first surprised and slightly relieved to see Jeremy and Renee hugging and comforting each other between sobs. Then…

Cat sighs.

"Really, honey? We have to find a way for you to let out those raging hormones."

Jean purses his lips… but he keeps staring.

#jean moreau #the sunshine court #the golden raven #all for the game #tgr #aftg #jeremy knox #tsc #jerejean #jeanee #renee walker #catlaila #cat alvarez #laila dermott #That's how I think these two would react together. They'd be instant besties.

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aspenmissing · 10 hours ago

Note

I am so stupid and managed to send in my last ask without correcting it. Would you pretty please write that ask but instead of arcane characters do bucky, steve, tony, moonknight (both their reactions🙏) and loki.

I mean it's not like I'd get mad if you wrote the arcane character but yea I definitely get you getting burned out from writing so much for them.

❤️❤️

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ | ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ | ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ | ᴛᴏɴʏ | ʟᴏᴋɪ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 7711 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅɪᴅ (ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ) - ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ɪɴ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴊᴀᴀɴᴏɴ!! ɢᴇᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ, ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅᴏ ʙᴏᴛʜ (ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ), ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ 'ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ'. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ᴅᴏ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍᴏᴏɴᴋɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ, ɪ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ Qᴜɪᴄᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3 <3

STEVE

Steve Rogers and Y/N had been inseparable ever since they first met on the battlefield. They’d fought side by side, saving the world together, and had always shared an unspoken bond that felt stronger than any words could describe. Over the years, their connection had grown into something deeper, something only they truly understood. It wasn’t just about being teammates—it was about being two halves of a whole.

Y/N was Steve’s right hand, his partner in every mission. They were the strategist, the thinker, the one who kept him grounded while he led the charge. They were often the calm in the storm, the one who saw the bigger picture when Steve’s instinctual drive was to dive headfirst into the fray. They balanced each other perfectly, as though their very souls had been crafted to complement one another. If Steve was the shield, Y/N was the hand that guided it, the brain behind the operation, always one step ahead. Their connection was so seamless it felt as though they were a single entity, a force that no one could break.

Despite the intensity of their bond, their relationship had always remained professional. They had never put a name to it—at least, not out loud. Others often assumed they were married, the way they finished each other’s sentences, the way their eyes met across the room and spoke volumes without the need for words. And Y/N, ever the quick-witted one, was always fast to correct anyone who made such an assumption. They didn’t want to label it. They couldn’t. Not when the unspoken understanding between them was all that mattered.

But today was different.

The Avengers had just returned from a mission, the weight of their latest victory hanging in the air like a faint glow. They had survived another harrowing battle, and now, they were gathered in the briefing room for the usual debriefing. Y/N was standing beside Steve, both of them scanning over the latest intel. Their shoulders were close, but not touching—no need for that when they communicated so effortlessly without physical contact. It was as though their very presence was a conversation.

As the group discussed the mission’s success, Tony, ever the instigator, was the first to break the silence with his usual mischievous grin.

"So, when’s the wedding?" Tony asked, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. "I mean, you two are practically married at this point. Always together, finishing each other’s sentences, always on the same wavelength."

Steve chuckled awkwardly, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink. He opened his mouth to correct Tony, to deflect the attention with a joke or a comment, but before he could speak, Y/N, who had been standing silently beside him, simply smiled and spoke up.

"I think we’re already married in spirit," Y/N said softly, their voice playful but carrying a weight that made it impossible to ignore. Their gaze never left the data on the screen in front of them. It wasn’t a joke, not like the others they’d thrown back at Tony in the past. They said it as if it was an undeniable truth—something they had both known for a long time, but never dared to say aloud.

The room fell silent for a moment, the impact of Y/N’s words settling in like a calm after a storm. Steve’s heart skipped a beat. He was surprised—not by the fact that Y/N had said something so bold, but by the weight of what they’d said. They didn’t correct Tony. They didn’t laugh it off or brush it aside like they usually did. This time, they let the moment hang in the air, unchallenged.

The others exchanged knowing glances. Natasha raised an eyebrow, Clint smirked, and even Bruce looked over with a subtle, thoughtful expression. But it was Steve who spoke next, his voice softer than usual, laced with curiosity, uncertainty, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

"Y/N…" Steve began, his voice trailing off as he looked at them, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t expected this shift. It was different. And, maybe, he realized, that was what they both needed.

Y/N finally turned their head to meet Steve’s gaze, and when their eyes met, it was like a quiet understanding passed between them. No words needed to be spoken. They didn’t need to explain themselves, because Steve already knew. He always had, deep down. Their connection was something far beyond labels. It was something that couldn’t be captured in the words ‘partners,’ ‘friends,’ or even ‘lovers.’ It was something uniquely theirs.

Steve’s expression softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t upset. If anything, he felt a sense of relief. For once, Y/N had allowed their bond to be known, without deflecting it, without pretending it was anything less than what it was.

Tony, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, no need to get all mushy on me," he teased, though his tone was laced more with amusement than anything else.

But Steve couldn’t help it. His heart swelled. Maybe Y/N was right. Maybe, in every sense that mattered, they were already married—connected, not just in battle, but in life. They had fought for the world together, but more than that, they had fought for each other. And in that moment, Steve realized that their bond wasn’t something that needed to be explained to anyone else. It just was.

The moment passed, the conversation drifting to other matters, but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling of something shifting inside him. A realization was dawning on him, one that had been lingering beneath the surface for far longer than he cared to admit. Maybe it was time they stopped denying the depth of what they shared. Maybe it wasn’t just about being right-hand and left-hand anymore. Maybe it was something more.

As the team began to break apart, Steve lingered behind, waiting for Y/N to finish up with the mission notes. The room slowly emptied, but Steve remained, not wanting to let the moment go just yet.

When they were alone, the silence between them was different. It was heavier, filled with the weight of everything they hadn’t said. Finally, Steve spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"Y/N," Steve said, his hand reaching out to gently rest on theirs. The simple touch sent a wave of warmth through him. "You know that was… different, right?"

Y/N looked up at him, their gaze meeting his with that same quiet understanding they had always shared. There was no need for words to explain it—everything was already laid bare between them, everything that needed to be understood had already been understood. This time, they didn’t correct him. Instead, they smiled softly, the kind of smile that said everything Steve needed to hear.

"Yeah, Steve," Y/N replied, their voice full of unspoken affection, "I think I do."

Steve’s heart fluttered at the words. For a moment, he was speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so vulnerable, so open. The truth had always been there, but it had taken this moment—Y/N’s simple words—to bring it fully to the surface.

Y/N’s eyes never left his, and Steve could feel the pull between them, a magnetic connection that neither of them could deny any longer. He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts, but the words still didn’t come.

"You know," Steve said after a beat, his voice a little rougher now, "I’ve always known, you know? About us." He shifted, taking a small step closer. "I guess I just… didn’t know how to say it."

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and genuine. "Steve, you don’t have to say anything. We’ve always known, haven’t we?"

For once, Steve didn’t argue. He didn’t try to push back. He simply nodded, his hand still resting on theirs, fingers gently brushing over their skin. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with everything they had been too afraid to put into words before.

"You’re right," Steve finally said, his voice softer, but more certain than ever. "We always have."

And in that quiet moment, Steve realized that the bond they shared was enough. It always had been. And maybe that was the way it was always meant to be.

BUCKY

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes was many things: a soldier, a friend, a complicated man with a past full of shadows.

But to you, he was also something else—someone you couldn't imagine life without. From the moment you had been paired together, it had been as though fate had woven your lives together, one thread at a time. You were his right hand, his left brain, his balance. Wherever Bucky went, you were right there beside him. Whether in the heat of a mission or the quiet moments in between, you were always there, completing him in a way that no one else could.

It had taken some getting used to, the two of you always in sync, always working together. At first, it felt like you were trying to figure out how to best fit into each other’s lives. But over time, you’d learned how perfectly you worked together. You could anticipate his moves before he made them, just as he seemed to know yours. You could finish each other’s sentences, pull off complicated plans with ease, and calm each other’s nerves without a word. You were his anchor, and he was yours.

And it didn’t hurt that Bucky had a way of looking at you that made everything feel just a little more right, even when the world around you was falling apart.

People had noticed, of course. It was only natural for them to assume that you and Bucky were a couple. The way you complemented each other, the way you moved as a unit, made it seem like there was no one else who could possibly take your place. You were always by his side, whether on a mission or at the compound. You worked together seamlessly—more like partners than anything else.

Normally, when people commented on your closeness, you were quick to correct them. You’d laugh it off with a quick “we’re not married” or a wink, making it clear that, while you and Bucky were incredibly close, the title of marriage didn’t quite fit. But today, for some reason, you didn’t correct them. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t feel the need to.

It was a quiet moment in the common room of the compound, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the fading sunlight outside. You and Bucky were sitting side by side, poring over the details of an upcoming mission. The tension from the mission was light, just enough to keep your minds sharp, but otherwise, it was an easy rhythm between you both. Your voices were low as you discussed the mission, your conversation punctuated by glances, hand gestures, and quiet chuckles.

The door opened, and Steve and Sam walked in, exchanging a look as they noticed the easy atmosphere between the two of you. Sam couldn’t resist the opportunity for some light-hearted teasing.

“So, when’s the wedding?” he asked, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe.

You froze, your words halting as you glanced over at Bucky, your mind instantly on alert. Normally, you would’ve jumped in with a quick correction, a gentle reminder that you weren’t married. But today… you didn’t. Instead, you let the words hang in the air, unspoken.

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you. He didn’t move at first, simply letting his hand rest on the arm of the couch. There was a moment of hesitation, almost like he was waiting for you to react. His face, usually so controlled, softened just slightly as his gaze lingered on you, as though asking if you would correct them.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you gave him a small, nonchalant shrug, your lips curving into a faint smile, and his eyes softened further, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t that you didn’t care, it was just that, in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Sam’s grin widened, clearly seeing the tension in the air. “Wait a second. You two aren’t married?”

Steve glanced between the two of you, a knowing look crossing his face. He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because you two look like an old married couple.”

You couldn’t help the playful smirk that tugged at your lips as you glanced at Steve. You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms over your chest with a knowing look. “Old married couple?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Steve, you’re the one who’s over a century old. Maybe you should be the one talking about being ‘old.’”

Sam snickered, clearly enjoying your jab, while Steve shot you a mock glare. The twinkle in his eyes, however, betrayed the humour he found in your comment. “Alright, alright,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll give you that one. But seriously, you two are inseparable. It’s like watching a married couple bicker without the commitment.”

You laughed softly, feeling a warm comfort in the back-and-forth. But you didn’t correct them. What Steve didn’t know—and what didn’t need to be said—was that you and Bucky didn’t need to define your connection. It was perfect as it was, no matter what anyone thought.

Bucky gave a low chuckle, eyes still on you, his lips curling into a playful grin. “Guess that makes me the grumpy old husband,” he teased.

You raised an eyebrow, your smile softening as you shook your head. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have it any other way, grumpy old man.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s response. “Well, you guys are definitely something,” he said, glancing back and forth between the two of you, clearly sensing the unspoken bond.

You met Bucky’s eyes for a long moment, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to correct them. You didn’t need a title or a label to define what you were. What you had with Bucky was enough. It was perfect just the way it was.

Bucky’s expression softened, his eyes tender as they met yours. Slowly, his hand moved from the armrest to rest lightly on your knee, a simple, quiet gesture that spoke volumes. You didn’t need to say anything. He understood. No words were needed.

Steve and Sam eventually moved on, but Bucky remained still, his hand on your knee, his gaze lingering on you. The quiet felt sacred—like the two of you were the only ones who truly understood what was between you. Then, when the others were far enough away, Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice low and just for you.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’m okay with it. If they think we’re married.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard for a moment. Then, a soft laugh escaped your lips, the warmth in your chest undeniable. “Yeah, me too,” you replied, voice quiet but sincere.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you, the tenderness never fading. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, smiling gently. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And in that moment, you realized something important: despite the teasing and the questions from others, it didn’t matter whether you had a title or not. What mattered was that you were together, perfectly matched, right hand and left brain, now and always. You didn’t need anything else.

Bucky’s smile deepened as he leaned back into the couch, hand still resting on your knee. He didn’t need to say anything more. Neither of you did. The silence between you felt comfortable, knowing, and full of understanding. It was everything.

STUCKY

Y/N had always been the glue that held the trio together. Whether it was during intense missions, late-night strategy sessions, or just mundane days spent at the compound, they were never far from Steve and Bucky. The three of them had been inseparable since that first mission together. In the eyes of the world, they were a team—no, more than a team, they were family. But there was something else, something that everyone seemed to pick up on. Their chemistry was undeniable, so much so that everyone assumed they were all married, or at least in some kind of romantic relationship.

It was a regular mission debriefing when it happened. The room was filled with members of the Avengers, a quiet murmur running through the air. Y/N was leaning against the table, half-listening to Steve’s deep voice as he outlined their next mission. Bucky stood next to Y/N, his hand resting casually on their shoulder, their bodies almost fitting into each other like puzzle pieces. They moved together with an ease that was both professional and intimate.

“So, when do you two get married?” Tony Stark’s voice cut through the air, as his eyes flicked between Bucky, Y/N, and Steve. “It’s been long enough, right?”

Steve choked slightly on his coffee, and Bucky’s hand immediately slid off Y/N’s shoulder, though his eyes didn’t leave them. The room fell into an awkward silence, everyone waiting for Y/N to correct the assumption, as they always did.

But this time… Y/N didn’t say a word. Instead, they simply exchanged a look with Steve and Bucky.

Steve froze. His mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure of what to say. His blue eyes flickered between Y/N’s face and Bucky’s, confusion mixed with something deeper. It wasn’t anger—just surprise. “Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not going to correct him?”

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to stiffen next to them, his gaze intense, his features unreadable. He didn’t say anything either, but the way his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed showed his discomfort. He was used to Y/N setting the record straight immediately, but now… now something had shifted.

Y/N just shrugged nonchalantly, their eyes flicking around the room, before looking back at Steve and Bucky. “I don’t know,” they said, their voice smooth, almost playful. “What if we were married? It’s not like it’d change anything.”

Bucky’s chest tightened at the implication, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was Y/N trying to push some boundaries? Were they trying to tease them? Or was there something else going on that he wasn’t picking up on? His fingers flexed, itching to reach out and hold them again, but he stayed still, waiting for Steve’s reaction.

Steve blinked, processing the words. His lips curved into a small, unsure smile, though his gaze lingered on Y/N longer than necessary. “I mean…” He looked at Bucky. “I think I’d be okay with that.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to Steve. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low but steady, as if testing the waters.

Steve chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. “Well, we make it look pretty good.” He threw a glance at Tony. “I think we might be getting ahead of ourselves, though.”

“Yeah, but the way you three are always together?” Tony’s smirk grew wider. “It’s the way you’re always looking at each other, like you can’t get enough of one another.”

Y/N gave a slight, nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing to make a big deal out of. We’re just really good at working together. You know, complementing each other.”

It was clear to everyone in the room that something deeper was going on, but Y/N wasn’t offering any answers today. Steve and Bucky shared a look, both trying to figure out what had changed, but neither spoke their thoughts aloud.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I guess it’s not that important right now.”

Steve nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/N. There was a flicker of something—longing, uncertainty, a question he didn’t have the courage to ask. “Maybe not. But it’s hard to ignore.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world around them had quieted, the noise fading away. They gave Bucky and Steve a small smile, one that seemed to say everything without words.

Maybe, just this once, the assumption was right.

In the aftermath, as the meeting broke up, Steve and Bucky lingered in the hallway, still thinking about what had just transpired. Neither one of them knew what to make of it, but there was no denying the weight of the unspoken words hanging between them.

The sounds of footsteps echoed around the compound, and both Steve and Bucky found themselves walking in a slow, purposeful silence. Steve, ever the leader, tried to break the tension with a question.

"So..." He trailed off, glancing at Bucky. "What do you think?"

Bucky’s hands were shoved into his pockets, his expression unreadable, but his mind was working at full speed. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them act like this before.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, still unsure of his own feelings. “Yeah, me neither.” He paused, stealing another glance at Bucky. "But it's not like we haven't been thinking about it... I mean, not just today. It's been... building for a while now, right?"

Bucky's jaw clenched, and he let out a short, frustrated sigh. "I don't like how this feels, Steve. It feels like we're… I don’t know, leaving things unsaid."

Steve nodded, his tone turning more serious. "Yeah. I get it. It’s like Y/N is testing us, pushing us to see how far we’ll go, or maybe they’re waiting for us to make the first move."

Bucky’s expression softened a little as he glanced sideways at Steve. “You think we should?”

Steve’s gaze was steady, his blue eyes searching for something in the moment. “I don’t know, Buck. I don’t want to mess things up with them. With either of you.”

Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Same here.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them heavy with possibilities, their silence louder than any words could have been.

Finally, Bucky broke the quiet, his voice low but with a hint of humour. "I think we’ve been dancing around this for too long, don’t you?"

Steve didn’t answer right away, but his lips twitched into a smile, and he let out a short, quiet laugh. "I guess so."

As they continued down the hallway, neither of them had the answers, but one thing was certain—whatever they decided, whatever direction this took them, they were in it together.

And for once, they didn’t need to rush to figure it out.

The days that followed were quiet but charged with anticipation. The trio still worked together, still laughed together, but the dynamic had shifted. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Y/N noticed it immediately. There was an unspoken weight between Steve and Bucky that hadn’t been there the day before. It was like they were both holding their breath, waiting for something—waiting for Y/N to make the next move.

At the same time, Y/N found themselves becoming more aware of the subtle way Steve and Bucky looked at them, their touches lingering a little longer, their glances more intense. It was like they were all caught in a game they didn’t know the rules to, and yet, they were all playing it together.

One evening, after a long day of training and strategizing, the three of them found themselves in the lounge, a rare moment of downtime. Y/N was lounging on the couch, flipping through a book, when Steve and Bucky appeared at the door. They both paused for a moment, exchanging a quick look before stepping inside.

“You want some company?” Steve asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it. Something in his tone made Y/N sit up straighter, their heart beating a little faster.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “We were thinking... maybe we should talk.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, closing their book. “Talk about what?”

“About everything,” Bucky said simply. “About us.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back at Y/N. “About... what we didn’t say earlier.”

Y/N felt a knot form in their stomach. It was finally happening. The conversation they had been avoiding, the one they knew would come sooner or later. The question was—were they ready to face it? Were they ready to stop dancing around the truth?

Y/N met both their gazes, the air thick with unspoken words. “Alright,” they said, voice steady but their mind racing. “Let’s talk.”

TONY

Tony Stark’s eyes flickered over the headline in the morning paper.

"Stark and Y/N: Power Duo or Power Couple?"

The photo accompanying it was one of you and him walking out of one of his private meetings, side by side, both of you dressed in suits that practically screamed 'we own this city.' You were laughing at something he said, and he was looking at you like the world had stopped spinning just for that moment. The chemistry between you two was palpable, even in still images.

He snorted, holding the paper up to his face and waggling it in front of you, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Well, looks like we’ve made it. The world thinks we’re officially married now. I’m touched. Honestly, it’s a good look. I could get used to the headlines."

You, who had been working on an equation for a new tech prototype, didn’t even look up. You heard the sarcastic tone, but you were deep in thought—nothing new. You were often the one to correct people when they assumed you and Tony were a couple, mostly because the line between work and personal had always been blurry when you two were together. There was no distinction between "partner in business" and "partner in life" for the two of you. People always jumped to conclusions about your relationship. It wasn’t your fault. You just clicked, in every sense of the word.

"Tony," you said absently, adjusting your glasses and scribbling a new set of numbers. "You know we’re not married, right?"

Tony grinned, dropping the paper and leaning back in his chair, spinning it slightly as he watched you. "Well, that’s the thing, isn't it? We are married—in the sense that you and I are practically conjoined twins when it comes to running this whole operation. Hell, you’re probably the only one who can keep up with me. Maybe it’s time we start accepting it."

You sighed, rolling your shoulders back before finally looking up at him. "Yeah, but people will think we are. You’re not going to let them run with that idea, are you?"

Tony paused. His expression softened just a bit, but the cocky grin didn’t quite leave. It was replaced by something more contemplative—still playful, but with a deeper edge. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's about time the world knew how well we work together... in every way."

Your brow furrowed at his tone, unsure of where this was going. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering directly, Tony raised the paper again and pointed to a particular sentence: "Close personal relationships between Stark and Y/N have always been under the radar. Sources say the duo is inseparable, with speculation about a much deeper connection than just business partners." He lowered the paper and looked at you with that familiar smirk.

You stared at it for a moment, your face unreadable, then shrugged. "I mean... we are inseparable. It's true, but that doesn’t mean—"

Tony cut you off with a smile, his usual playful spark flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I think it’s cute they’re so invested in our 'relationship.' I mean, how many people can say they have a 'right hand' like you?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly, his tone teasing but not entirely lighthearted. "Maybe they just don’t understand how perfectly we complement each other. Hell, maybe I’m just tired of having to tell people you're not my wife every time they make that assumption."

You frowned, deciding to just let the whole thing slide for once. You hadn't expected Tony to bring it up like that, but his words made you pause. It was always you and him, always working side by side, tackling problems from every angle. You knew how much he depended on you, how much you relied on him. Maybe it was time to stop fighting the idea.

"Alright, fine. Let them think what they want," you said with a small shrug. You shifted in your seat, leaning back slightly as if to signal the conversation was over. You didn’t want to get caught up in something so trivial. There were bigger things to focus on.

Tony raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your sudden lack of rebuttal. "Wait—hold up. You're giving up that easily? You're not going to correct them this time?"

You gave him a deadpan look, not bothering to hide your exhaustion. "It’s a busy day, Tony. The world can think whatever they want." You returned to your work, hands flying over the keyboard and tablet in front of you.

For a moment, Tony stared at you, a little surprised by your uncharacteristic lack of correction. Then, a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn't one of his usual smirks or playful grins; it was something more... genuine, warmer. A look that lingered for a moment too long. Something unspoken passed between you two—something more than just partnership.

He placed the newspaper down and pushed it aside, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "I guess you’re right. Who needs the press to tell us what we already know, huh?" He sighed, as though coming to terms with something, a little smile still tugging at his lips. "I can’t deny it though. You and me? We’re a hell of a team."

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you felt that familiar weight of his gaze on you. It was comforting, yet there was something a little unsettling about it this time—like he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before. For once, neither of you felt the need to clarify anything. Maybe you didn’t have to. After all, you knew what you had, and so did he.

Tony tilted his head, just a little, as if testing the waters. "What I’m saying is—if we were a thing, I’d probably get a whole lot of attention. I’m talking movie deals, book deals—maybe even a reality show. You'd love that."

You let out a small laugh, the tension easing between you two. "Yeah, sure. We could call it Partners in Crime."

Tony shot you a look. "I like that. I think it's got legs."

Your smirk mirrored his, and for the first time in a long while, neither of you felt the need to correct the narrative. The world could think whatever it wanted—because what you had went beyond labels, beyond definitions. You were a team, in every sense of the word. No one had to understand it except for the two of you.

But maybe, just maybe, the world was onto something with that "power couple" business.

And Tony... well, he liked the idea more than he let on.

MOONKNIGHT (ALL 3)

It had become a routine.

You’d swing by the museum on your off days, usually bearing coffee or some odd snack Steven had been obsessing over that week. Turkish delights. Jaffa Cakes. One time, he’d mentioned Egyptian honeycakes offhandedly in the middle of a tangent about burial rituals, and you’d spent the whole weekend perfecting a recipe just to see the way his entire face lit up when you handed him the tin. He’d looked at you like you’d brought him treasure pulled straight from a tomb.

It wasn’t official, any of it. Not your presence. Not your role. Not even the dynamic between the four of you. You weren’t listed on any museum roster, and yet most of the staff had assumed you worked there at some point. That’s how often you were around. Always flitting between the break room and the gift shop, trailing behind Steven during lunch, slipping into quiet corners with Marc when the lights went low, waiting in parked cars with Jake in the late hours after the museum closed.

You were Steven’s right hand. Marc’s backup. Jake’s trusted secret. And somehow—despite all of that—never just a friend.

Even Donna had noticed.

Especially Donna.

So when you step into the gift shop today, two warm lattes in hand and your coat still speckled with spring rain, it’s no surprise that she clocks you the moment you walk in. Her eyes flick up from the register with laser precision. Her smirk forms before she even says a word.

Steven doesn’t notice right away. He’s knee-deep in a battle against gravity and a particularly rebellious tower of scarab keychains—the cheap kind that never sell, but Donna stocks religiously like they’re museum relics. His brows are furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly between his lips as he tries to wedge one more into the crooked stack without toppling it.

And then he sees you.

His whole expression transforms in an instant—like someone hit a switch. The anxious fog behind his eyes clears, the corners of his mouth lift, and something warm and open rushes into his face. His posture loosens, shoulders dropping with visible relief.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he breathes, stepping forward like you’re gravity itself, like you’ve pulled him into orbit.

He reaches for the coffee before you’ve even fully held it out. Your fingers brush his—just for a second longer than they need to—and something sparks in the space between you. Not literal, not cinematic. But real. Tactile. A quiet buzz under your skin that feels a little too intimate for something so casual.

“You say that every time,” you tease, your voice soft with fondness.

“Yeah, well. Still true every time,” he murmurs, casting a shy glance your way before sipping gratefully.

You smile, watching him relax around the first mouthful like he’s just been handed peace in a paper cup.

And then, right on cue, Donna calls out from the front counter—arms folded, tone smug as ever. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Grant. Come to rescue your husband again, have you?”

Steven freezes.

His eyes flick to yours, wide and blinking. You’ve both heard it before. Variations of the same joke. Donna’s favorite little jab. Usually, you roll your eyes. Laugh. Say the line like it’s part of the script.

We’re not married, Donna.

But today…

You don’t.

You take a deliberate sip of your drink. Let the silence stretch. Let it hang between you like tension pulled tight on a string. Then you shrug—easy, unbothered—and smile.

A small one. But telling.

Steven is staring. Absolutely stunned. His mouth hangs open like he forgot how to close it. You can practically see the error message flashing behind his eyes. Donna, meanwhile, blinks. Then cackles.

“About bloody time you two admitted it,” she mutters, ducking behind the register and vanishing with a rustle of receipts and bubble wrap.

What’s left behind is silence. Thick and tangled.

You glance at Steven again. His face is still frozen, but you see it—just a flicker. The tiniest shift in the way he holds his weight. Not outward. Inward.

You know that shift.

Marc.

You’ve never seen the changes in a mirror. Never needed to. It’s in the way they carry themselves. In the silence between one breath and the next. Marc is stillness where Steven flutters. A quiet density that settles into the room like pressure before a storm.

“You’re messing with us,” Marc says, his voice lower now—more grounded, laced with suspicion. There’s a guarded edge to it, like he’s circling the perimeter of something he’s afraid to want. “That what this is?”

You tilt your head slightly. Not backing off. “Am I?”

His gaze sharpens. Marc doesn’t just look at you. He studies you. Like he’s waiting for a tell that doesn’t come. You feel it in your chest—the way he’s bracing himself. Ready to be disappointed. Ready to dismiss it all as a joke or misunderstanding.

But then something shifts again.

You don’t see it. Not exactly. But you feel it, the way the air changes. Cooler. Calmer. Like a slow tide slipping in under the surface of things. A quiet control that curls at the edge of your awareness.

Jake.

You don’t hear him like a voice in your ear, but he’s there. Present in the way Marc’s sharp tension fades into something looser, more confident. In the way your skin prickles with anticipation, like you’re being watched by something careful and amused.

“Careful, cariño,” Jake murmurs in the back of your mind, smooth and velvet-soft, brushing against your thoughts like a gloved hand on bare skin. “We might take that seriously.” (Love)

Your lips curl into a smile before you can stop them.

“I’m not messing with you,” you say at last—quiet, but sure. Unshaken. You turn your attention back to Steven—because you know it’s Steven now, feel it in the nervous flutter of his hands and the way his eyes dart to yours like they’re afraid of what they might find there.

“You’re not?” he asks, voice tight, uncertain.

“I’m not.”

And suddenly, the stillness in the gift shop feels sacred. Like the whole world just took a breath and held it.

Steven looks down at your hand again—at where your fingers had brushed his earlier. He stares like it’s new. Like it means more now. Because it does.

You don’t rush to fill the silence. You let them—all of them—sit with it.

You know they’re talking in there. You can feel it. Quiet conversations in the corners of a shared space. Thoughts layered over thoughts, like echoes in a cathedral. You can’t hear the words, but you sense the shift.

Then Steven clears his throat. It cracks halfway through like a boy trying too hard to sound smooth, and you bite back a laugh.

“…Well,” he says, trying and failing to sound casual, “I suppose we’ll need to plan the honeymoon, yeah?”

You bump his shoulder with yours, grin blooming wider. “Only if it involves not organizing another scarab display.”

That gets him. A laugh bubbles out—relieved, genuine. And it’s not just Steven anymore. You hear the flicker of Marc’s low, reluctant chuckle beneath it. The deeper sound of Jake’s amusement, warm and unspoken.

For just a heartbeat, everything aligns. Like the world settles. Like you all belong—right here, right now.

Exactly as you are.

LOKI

The conference room on the Helicarrier was uncomfortably bright. Stark had insisted on LED renovations — something about reducing eye strain for the “lesser geniuses” who couldn’t handle prolonged screen time. It only made Loki’s headache worse.

He sat at the long metal table, gleaming under the synthetic lights, dressed in his usual sharp green and gold, fingers steepled under his chin in that calculating way that always spelled doom for whoever spoke next. His jaw was tense, his expression unreadable save for the faint twitch of an eyebrow every time someone said something particularly stupid — which, unfortunately, was often.

Beside him, you were the picture of calm efficiency. Eyes flicking across a folder of debrief summaries, pen tapping against your lips in time with the rhythmic bounce of Loki’s foot beneath the table. It was unconscious, the synchronicity between you. Like a song only the two of you could hear.

You were his right hand. His second brain. His strategist, his handler, his first and last sounding board. If Loki was all sharp edges and wicked smirks, you were clean lines and quiet precision. Where he wielded chaos like a weapon, you crafted control like armor.

And everyone knew it.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to assume you were together — romantically, domestically, secretly. The way you moved in step, answered questions he hadn’t spoken aloud, the way he leaned in when you whispered something only for him to nod once and completely pivot strategy without question. There was an intimacy to it. An ease.

So when Maria Hill strode in briskly, dark eyes scanning the room, and said without fanfare, “Do you and your spouse have anything to add, Loki?” — the room didn’t even blink. No one laughed. No one corrected. It was almost routine by now.

Usually, you would. Immediately. With a dry, “We’re not married,” or a breezy, “Just partners — professionally.” You’d always been quick to define the boundary, quick to draw the line before someone else drew it for you.

But this time?

You stayed silent. You raised your eyes from the folder — briefly, steadily — and met Loki’s gaze.

He had turned his head slowly, sharply, like something had snapped into place behind his eyes. Green met yours, narrowed slightly. Waiting. Calculating. And then, as if nothing had happened, you looked away again and flipped to the next page. Loki blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The silence stretched. Stark cleared his throat. Natasha raised an eyebrow. Somewhere across the room, Bruce gave you a confused side-glance, as if you’d forgotten a line in a well-rehearsed script.

Then, softly — almost curiously — Loki leaned in and murmured, “No corrections today?”

You didn’t look at him. “Seemed like a waste of energy.”

A beat. He tilted his head, watching you with the unnerving attentiveness of a predator smelling a shift in the wind.

“Ah,” he said. “Does that mean you’re finally admitting the truth?”

You raised an eyebrow but kept reading. “What truth is that?”

“That we function as one,” Loki said, as if stating a universal constant. “That you complete my sentences, counter my moods, sharpen my plans, and soften my rage. That we are, to everyone with eyes, the picture of unity. Undeniable. Inseparable.”

Now you did look at him. Slowly. Deadpan. “I didn’t say all that.”

“But you didn’t say not that,” he replied smoothly, and his smirk was unmistakable now — amused, delighted, but laced with something else. Something heavier. “Fascinating.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What is?”

“That I find myself… pleased by your silence.”

“Because you enjoy being right?”

“No,” he said, and the tone shifted. Softer. Lower. Real. “Because it means I might not be the only one who wants them to keep assuming.”

The air thickened. Your pen stopped tapping.

You stared at him — really stared — and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fall away. The murmuring agents, the flicker of the screen, the dull hum of machinery behind the walls. None of it mattered.

“…Loki,” you murmured, mouth dry, “are you flirting with me during a debrief?”

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned closer, voice a velvet purr meant only for you. “No, darling. I’m proposing.”

Your breath hitched.

You choked.

Across the table, Stark muttered, “Jesus Christ, just kiss already.” Natasha snorted. Bruce was too afraid to look up.

And then, as if on cue, Thor’s booming voice entered the scene, shaking the air as he strolled into the room with his usual easy confidence. He had clearly just finished with another one of his ‘heroic duties,’ his cape sweeping behind him in grand fashion. As he caught sight of the two of you, his face split into a grin.

“Aha!” Thor boomed, his voice filling the room. “I knew it! Well done, my dear brother!” He slapped a heavy hand on his brother’s back with enough force to make the chair creak.

Loki winced slightly, not from the slap but from the sheer volume. Still, he didn’t move from your side, even as his older brother all but towered over the table, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You finally put a ring on it, eh?” Thor continued, a gleam in his eye as he turned to you. “I always thought you two were too inseparable to just be ‘partners.’”

The room went still. Stark, still reeling from his own comment, looked at the two of you in a mix of disbelief and awe.

Loki didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head, eyes locked with yours once more — no trace of discomfort, only that familiar spark of something deeper. His lips twitched into a small, private smile.

“Seems they already assume we’re married, brother,” Loki said smoothly, addressing Thor, but his gaze never left you.

“Hmm,” Thor mused, scratching his chin. “Well, I do believe that means congratulations are in order.” He raised his mug of ale, as if toasting to something grand, his grin widening. “Finally, Loki, you’ve found someone who can match your brilliance.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling slightly. “And who says I’m matching him, Thor? It might be the other way around.”

Loki’s smirk deepened as he raised an eyebrow in mock affront. “What’s that, darling? Have I been upstaged by my own right hand?”

You chuckled softly, turning to him with a look that was both teasing and warm. “Oh, Loki, you know better than anyone that we’re the perfect balance.”

Thor clapped Loki on the back again, a booming laugh filling the air. “Ah, partner banter! I shall leave you two to your plans, but know this, Loki — I support this union fully.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Just don’t make it too official before I get to witness the wedding!”

As Thor left the room, Tony turned to you both with a smirk. “Well, that was a show.”

Loki shot a glance at you, that unspoken communication between you two louder than anything he could say. A brief moment of pure amusement flickered in his eyes before he straightened his posture and addressed the room again.

“Let them assume,” Loki said, voice cool but with a subtle warmth at its edges. “For once, they might be right.”

And you, for once, didn’t argue. You only smiled — slow, warm, and undeniably dangerous. Let them assume.

They wouldn’t be wrong.

#Marvel #marvel fandom #reader insert #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #steve x reader x bucky #tony stark x reader #tony x reader #moonknight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #loki x reader

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