#and I don’t know if he cares about birthdays

[mochacoda]

night d(r)ive | yjh

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Jeonghan is the kind of guy who would drive 40 minutes out of his way just to pick you up, but also wouldn’t yield the last ramen at the local convenience store to you. He’s also the kind of guy people are quick to fall for, only to get crushed by his indifference for dating. As a close friend of the most sought-after man on campus, you’d like to think that you know Jeonghan well enough to predict his thoughts on romance and his territoriality over ramen. (Spoiler: You don't.)

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Friends to Lovers | College AU

Tags: short hair jeonghan, extreme pining, liking ramen as a plot device, crying, being losers for each other, insecure reader, lots of konglish w/ translations, overly indulgent kissing, no "y/n,” this is for everyone who voted jeonghan in the poll <3

Word Count: 5.8K

Masterlist

You‘d like to think that you know Yoon Jeonghan well. Surely, you do! Over the years, you‘ve come across—and committed to memory—dozens, if not hundreds, of his little oddities. You’ve witnessed his personality change with the length of his hair, and learned the hard way that cheating at card games is like second nature to him. At this point, you can recite more information about his pet rock than ramen, which is somewhat terrifying if you dwell on it for too long, considering that ramen is your favorite food. 

But despite Jeonghan’s chaotic personality, you also know that he’s incredibly smart, having sat next to him in countless college lectures and trivia events. 

Honestly, it can’t possibly be a stretch to say that you know the man too well, can't it? And at times, it feels a bit unfair that you can only reply, “oh, I know him,” when people fleetingly mention him in conversation. It hurts that you can’t clarify that you know him—that you can’t ramble on about how he made the stupidest joke to make you laugh when you were upset about your most recent midterm, or handmade you the sweetest present for your birthday, or let you choose your favorite film for movie night for the third time in a row—because no one wants to nor needs to hear about it.

But, unfortunately, that’s all you can think about these days. 

Because, unfortunately, Yoon Jeonghan is simultaneously the funniest, weirdest, kindest, and most devastatingly handsome man you’ve ever met. 

Yoon Jeonghan is the kind of guy who would drive 40 minutes out of his way just to pick you up, but also wouldn’t yield the last ramen at the local convenience store to you. Though he gives into his internal demands for petty possessiveness quite often, he cares deeply for his friends. 

He’s also the kind of guy people are quick to fall for, only to get crushed by his nonchalant but somewhat firm indifference for dating. You’ve witnessed him casually turn down far too many objectively gorgeous and incredibly intelligent people, which has convinced you that his standards are impossibly high. And if you were honest with yourself, based on the people he’d already rejected, it would be laughable for you to even think about confessing to him.

And so, as a close friend of the most sought-after man on campus, you’d like to think you know Jeonghan well enough to predict his thoughts on romance and his territoriality over ramen.

In fact, you’re sure about the ramen issue, because you’re witnessing it happen right now.

You’re staring at his smirking face in the instant food aisle of the convenience store, both of you gripping the last Neoguri cup like it’s a trophy.

“You gotta learn patience,” Jeonghan tuts, his lips upturned infuriatingly at one corner. 

“No, you should learn patience. 손 빼, [Take your hand off,]” you demand, grasping the cup tighter.

“싫은데? [Don’t wanna,]” he says in a sing-song voice, raising his chin in defiance.

The ramen cup creaks slightly under the pressure of your combined grip, and a terrible thought forms in your head. Your hand is sandwiched between his hand and the cup, making you feel the heat radiating from his body. It’s something you’re afraid you could get used to. 

You narrow your eyes, targeting his ridiculous, perfect lazy smile. “Take it off while I’m being nice.”

“Nah,” he replies immediately, smiling wider, his tongue sliding to the right. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. 

“치사하게 진짜 이럴 거야? [You’re so petty, are you really going to be like this?]” You chew on your bottom lip, eyes flitting between his face and his hand. 

Jeonghan tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes sharp and steady on yours. He’s not really looking at the ramen anymore, and the intensity of his gaze makes your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“내가 여기서 이 옷을 입고 있는데, [I’m wearing these clothes here,]” he says, using his free hand to pinch the fabric of the expensive suit he always wears at his internship. “굳이 라면 하나 때문에 나랑 싸운다고? 그냥 빨리 가자, 음? [You’re really gonna fight with me over just one ramen cup? Let’s just go now, hmm?]”

You press your lips together and jut your chin in defiance. 

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. His shaggy, dark hair flows with it, and you can’t help but think that he looks princely like this, standing in the middle of this convenience store with his stupidly gorgeous face, and that dumb suit and tie. 

“양보해. [Give it up.] I’ll give you whatever you want,” he says, his voice dipping lower. It feels less like an offer and more like a taunt, a challenge. His tone sends a small shiver through you, and for a second, you’re not sure if he’s teasing or serious.

You have to take a slow, deep breath to calm yourself down before even considering what to say next. You’re grateful for the ride (and his company), of course, but that doesn’t mean he can steal your rightful claim under your nose, in the same casual manner he has when letting one of his fans down. 

You’ve always given into him. Because he means everything to you, of course. 

But you’ve had enough of letting him have his way so easily, not with your precious ramen at risk.

You boldly step closer to him, cutting the distance between the two of you in half. You’re close enough to see your reflection in his eyes, now. 

“I’m not letting go, 하니 [Hannie].” You firmly shake your head. You wouldn’t let him win this time. “I don’t want anything but this,” you add, stubbornly.

Tugging hard, you try to pull the cup toward you, but it frustratingly remains stuck on the shelf between the two of you. Looking back up, you see that he isn’t even straining to keep the ramen in place! You frown, wondering when your best friend got so strong.

He leans in just a fraction closer. “Keep trying,” he murmurs, and he’s so close that you can feel his warm breath tickling your face. 

The world narrows to Jeonghan, and the faint scent of the cologne he only wears on weekends. It’s dizzying.

“야아아! [Hey!] I was here first!” you weakly defend, voice embarrassingly squeaky.

And then Jeonghan does something that completely short-circuits your brain.

His free hand lifts and brushes your hair away to your back, before resting on the divot between your neck and collarbone, where his thumb caresses the side of your neck. Feather-light, his touch is gentle, and his fingers are impossibly warm, a stark contrast to this slightly chilly convenience store. You just about choke on your surprise, your heart kicking into overdrive at the sheer intimacy of the gesture. 

God, how is it that you never get a rest day with Jeonghan? How is it that he’s always flirting, always disregarding the boundaries of platonic and romantic love, always making you confused? And how is it that you just let it happen, that you just take whatever affection he gives you? How is it that you’re drawn into his dangerous touch like a moth to a flame? Except that analogy doesn’t really work, because at least moths don’t know that they’re in danger when they reach fire—you know what you’re getting into, and you know all too well that Jeonghan will never be yours. 

“Please?” he whispers.

Your breath hitches, suddenly aware that even for your overly-touchy friend, this level of skinship is extreme. 

Does he know? Has he found out that you’re in love with him, that you’ve been keeping this ungodly secret from him for far too long? Does he know that every time he lets someone down, that every time he complains to you about people confessing and crying over him, you give him superficial laughs as you swallow your own feelings? 

Does he know that you feel like sinking into the ground every time he entertains a random girl flirting with him, and that every time he crosses boundaries with you, it hammers in the fact that he thinks you’re a joke? 

Does he know that you’ve spent over a year trying to convince yourself that you don’t have feelings for him, only to fail miserably, because there is no such thing as cutting Yoon Jeonghan out of your life, because he makes you feel so, so alive? 

He must know. He must be making fun of you, now.

Your eyes widen, frantically searching his face for an ounce of malice. And you expect to see the look he always has when shredding the hearts of the brave people who confess to him, the face he makes when he casually tells someone that he doesn’t feel the same way. You expect to see an almost-cruel, blank stare paired with apologetic lips pressed together. 

You expect him to crush your heart. 

But instead, he’s staring at you with a gaze so, so, very soft, you wonder if you’ve hallucinated it. Shining eyes, raised eyebrows, mouth parted—he looks devastatingly beautiful. 

You can’t even bring yourself to blink, afraid that it might disappear before you can commit it to memory.

Technically, he’s looked like this before—you’ve seen it a handful of times on movie nights when you leaned against his shoulder, sleepily rambling about the bad decisions the main character had made. You’ve always figured that it was just the face he made when he was running on eight percent battery, tired and only half-registering the words coming out of your mouth. 

But now, seeing this version of Jeonghan out of its usual context, your heart stops. 

Your grip slackens.

In an instant, Jeonghan takes advantage of your daze. He snatches the ramen, links his arm through yours, and drags you to the counter. Your feet stumble, but his hold on you is firm, keeping you stable throughout the entire sudden exchange. He sets a bill on the counter, and then you’re being ushered out of the convenience store. 

The freezing cold bites at your cheeks as you stand in a haze of confusion by the passenger seat of Jeonghan’s car, unable to do anything but just watch as he starts the engine and unlocks the door. He stares at you through the window, waiting. 

If you could move a muscle on your face, you’d furrow your brows, wondering what he’s waiting for. But you’re still frozen, and before you can really think about it, Jeonghan gets tired of waiting. 

He gets out of the car and walks over to you, squeezing your shoulders as he shifts you a little to the left. Withdrawing one of his hands from your shoulders, he opens the door, and then maneuvers you inside, using the same hand to cover the top frame of the door. You bump your forehead slightly against it, and he buckles you into the passenger seat—all without a word.

When you blink owlishly at him, he just ruffles your hair and shuts the door carefully, then walks over to the driver’s side. 

Dazed, you literally have nothing to say. 

When Jeonghan gets back into the car, he looks over at you with an unreadable gaze, then reaches his hand over the console to you, this time holding an object out. Your eyes flicker downward, then shoot up at him immediately.

The ramen?

You squint at his outstretched hand, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. 

Jeonghan never yields. 

“Take it,” he says simply, airily, as if his giving up was obvious all along.

You hesitate, finger lightly tracing the top of the cup. 

“Come on,” he insists, his eyes still intensely trained on yours. “I… it was always yours.”

Your fingers close over the cup, brushing his hand. He exhales softly, the corners of his lips twitching.

Averting your eyes from him and his strange actions, you drop the ramen in your lap, then settle for staring outside the window at the night sky, finding it unbearable to look at him. Drumming your fingers against the border of the window, you get lost in thought. You’re not sure you can handle it if Jeonghan tries to flirt with you again. Every time he does it, it just hammers in the crushing idea that you’re nothing but a friend to him. That you’re just someone to practice on while he waits for the goddess of his dreams to appear, or something.

And then a strange thought occurs to you. A silly thought, really. When Jeonghan said that the ramen was always yours, he didn’t use the “ih” sound that the word “it” has. No, he used the pronoun “I” first, before correcting himself. A faint, pitiful smile makes its way to your lips as your heart pangs. 

Just what would you give to hear him say “I was always yours” someday?

Oh, maybe everything. 

────୨ৎ────

The gentle hum of the car engine fills the silence from the lack of conversation between the two of you. The moon and the stars are beautiful tonight, and you’re content with staring at them instead of the man driving the car. You prop your head up with your elbow against the window, closing your eyes with every lull of the engine. If Jeonghan ever looked over at you at a red light, you wouldn’t know, preoccupied with pretending to be asleep. 

When you feel the car come to a complete stop, you’re still feigning sleep, but you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows slightly. Surely, 40 minutes haven’t already passed? It seems way too soon. Had you actually dozed off at some point between staring out the window and faking sleep?

You peek one eye open, only to startle at Jeonghan’s gaze trained on you already, immediately opening the other. He seems completely at ease, with one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. He stretches his fingers, accentuating the veins on his forearms, and you have to avert your eyes for a moment. 

“잘 잤니? [Sleep well?]” he asks casually. 

You look back at him, and see a strand of his dark hair fall into his eyes. Fingers twitching, you fight the urge to brush it behind his ear. 

You answer him with a nod and flush, wondering if he could tell you were acting the entire time. Hands itching for something to do, you fiddle with your seatbelt.

“야, 나 좀 보고 말해봐, 음? [Hey, can’t you look at me and talk, hmm?]”

You glance at Jeonghan out of the corner of your eye, then shy away again. He looks too good right now, too much like a doting boyfriend. You pick at a loose thread from the bottom hem of your shirt.

“자꾸 나를 안 보니까 섭섭하네. [You keep not looking at me, I’m sad.]”

You faintly laugh. In all your years of knowing the man, you’ve yet to see Yoon Jeonghan truly sad. He’s always, always composed. He never says anything without thinking about it first, and he doesn’t have to lift a single finger that he doesn’t want to, because he knows that people will jump just to fall at his feet. It’s funny that Jeonghan now just assumes that with a few pretty words, he’ll get his way. 

But your resentment is growing. It started with the ramen, and built up with how he won at the end of the fight. And it peaked when he gloated under the guise of kindly yielding the cup to you, leaving you stranded in your confusion, leaving you to sort out your racing mind and heart. What’s worse is, he has a history of doing this to you. But you never learn. Because he also has a history of giving the best, warmest, longest hugs. And he tells you all the time that he wants to be with you forever, that even when you’re 80 and wrinkly, he’ll come over every day to sing duets using your karaoke machine. And he has a bad habit of staring into your eyes with so much adoration, that you mistake it for real love. 

He has a history of making you think that his flirting might actually mean something real to him. But he never confesses any feelings, because they don’t exist, and you feel the pain of being used as romantic practice all the same. 

You’ve tried to convince yourself to just accept his affections as platonic love, but it has become increasingly more difficult to ignore it. How can you, when you get a rush of serotonin from seeing how bright his smile is when he whispers an inside joke to you in the middle of your fatally boring math discussion? How can you, when Jeonghan insists on picking you up from work even though it’s a waste of time and gas for him to make the far drive here and back? Your heart has grown to accommodate, and even expect, the constant fluttering it feels in his presence. 

So, to be exact, it’s not that you feel resentment toward him—it’s resentment for your lack of a backbone when it comes to all things Yoon Jeonghan. It happens all the time; you get mad at him, and the consequences last for all of five seconds before your will caves. 

“근대, 안 섭섭하잖아, [You’re not sad, though],” you softly say, eyes now tracing the glow of the crescent moon. 

Jeonghan shifts in his seat, questioning your words. ”What? Why would you say that?”

“아니야, [No,] forget it.” You sigh, eyes falling to your hands again. Picking at a hangnail, you inhale deeply. 

“Why wouldn’t I be sad? I love talking to you.” He removes his hands from the wheel and gear shift, then reaches out for yours.

You flinch, and he freezes. 

“Hey, did I… do something wrong?” His voice shakes, suddenly sounding strained. It’s the complete opposite of how he was just three seconds ago.

You swallow thickly. No, he didn’t do anything wrong. “아니, [No,] it’s my fault.”

He frowns. “What did I do? Please, tell me. I’m sorry, whatever it is, I can fix it, I promise.” He looks at you so earnestly, your heart sinks. 

“그건 불가능해, 정한아. [That’s not possible, Jeonghan.]” The words come out slowly and breathily, as if it’s taken you half of your life force to say them. You stare out the window again, this time at the stars, and add, “We should really get back, now. Why’d you stop here, anyway?”

“I figured you didn’t eat yet,” he says carefully. “I thought you’d want to get Thai. When you’re hangry, you yell at the TV more, and I get complaints from my neighbors.”

You blink, turning your attention down to the stores lining the street rather than the night sky. Jeonghan really had driven to your favorite Thai restaurant. “Oh. I didn’t know I did that, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replies softly. “I never liked my neighbors anyway.”

Your eyes close, remembering when one of your classmates, who happened to be his neighbor, confessed to him. He had vented to you about friends needing to understand when not to cross lines. The memory makes you smile weakly again, acknowledging how strong you’ve been for managing not to confess so far. 

Jeonghan continues, “But hey, your neighbors don’t like me, either. Remember when they banged on your door because we were singing too loud?”

You laugh this time, and it’s fleeting but it’s not forced. “언제 쯤 얘기야? [How long ago was that?] That was like two years ago.”

Jeonghan smiles. “You were wearing those teddy bear pajama pants, and I had my Cookie Monster pants on. They were like 70, and told us to stop being childish and grow up.”

“Maybe they had a point,” you say with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know that you paid attention to those things,” you add offhandedly. 

“Pay attention to what?”

“You know, just… the stuff I wear, the random shit I do,” you say, picking at your split ends. 

Jeonghan’s wide eyes narrow, and you feel too hot under his intense gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, voice deep and tinged with something you can’t quite put a finger on. The question feels strangely charged. With what, you don’t know. 

You gnaw on your lip. 

“Answer me. Why shouldn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, feeling put on the spot. “I’m just your friend. Shouldn’t you be spending your energy remembering weird stuff about a girlfriend? Like a serious romantic partner, or something?”

Jeonghan groans, running a hand through his hair, before it comes down on the console with a light thud. Your eyes widen at his unexpected physical display of emotion, taking in his clenched fists and heaving chest. 

“하니? [Hannie?]” you say softly, concerned. He doesn’t normally resort to physical exertions when frustrated, probably because he doesn’t get frustrated very often at all.

Your hand reaches out to his right bicep, where you rub the muscle soothingly. 

“Now you’re calling me 하니 [Hannie] again,” he says with a marginally more relieved, deep sigh. 

You furrow your brows. “What?”

“Now you’re calling me 하니 [Hannie] again,” he repeats. “Please, don’t call me 정한 [Jeonghan]. Only 하니 [Hannie].”

“Okay?” you say tentatively, unsure where this is going.

“You know I love you, right?” he says suddenly, staring at his hands. 

You blink rapidly. “Of course. I love you, too.” He’s your best friend, but you’re probably not his best friend. 

Jeonghan jolts, looking at you directly in the eyes now. “You know I love you more, right?”

He looks a bit crazed like this, his frantic chocolate brown eyes searching deeply for something in your face. At a loss for words, you gape your mouth at him like a fish out of water. 

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you manage to say. “I bet I love you a lot more.” 

The statement is accompanied by a rather self-deprecating laugh from you, the kind that digs deep into your heart even as you try your best to seem casual. 

“No, no,” he says, reaching with his left hand to grasp the hand you’ve been patting his right bicep with. This time, you don’t pull away. “You don’t get it. I love you.” 

What?

Your heartbeat begins to beat so loudly that the sound of it pumping overwhelms your thoughts. Your chest tightens, and you’re half-sure that you just hallucinated it.

“뭐라고? [What did you just say?]”

“사랑한다고, [That I love you,]” he chokes out, his voice thick with the one emotion you’ve been dreaming of him reciprocating. 

You gasp.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Oh.

Crestfallen, your heart drops. You pull your hand away from him. 

This must be his new way to get you to relieve your “anger.” He doesn’t actually love you romantically, he just wants you to go back to acting like you normally do. He’ll never feel the same way that you do, in the crushing way that drives you insane every day, in the way that—

“설마, 나 지금 무시하는 거야? [No way, are you ignoring me right now?]” Jeonghan’s wounded gaze strikes you like lightning. “아니면, 나 못 믿는거야? [Or, are you not believing me?]”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. 

Is this real? A dream, maybe? The real Jeonghan would never say this. He would never, ever entertain the idea that you could ever be more than—

“내가 사랑한다고 했는데, 왜 아무 말이 없어? [I just said I love you, why won’t you say anything?]” Jeonghan’s voice quakes, and you’re taken aback by his pained, strained eyebrows and glittering eyes. 

Jeonghan’s eyes well with tears. He swallows thickly, “나… 아니야? [Am I… not it for you?]”

Your breath catches. He’s crying. Yoon Jeonghan—Yoon Jeonghan is crying? You’ve never even seen him sad, let alone crying. He’s always been untouchable, effortless in the way he teases and flirts with you, so sure of himself. So nonchalant and casual with his affection, that you’d always thought he never truly meant anything by it. But here he is, raw and vulnerable in front of you, holding his heart out with both hands—eyes rimmed red, voice breaking, mouth trembling. All because of you? 

He really means it, huh? The realization slams into you so hard you feel like you can’t breathe, let alone speak, your chest constricting like you’re having a heart attack. All those lingering touches, all these years. The way he’s always made you the center of his jokes, how he has the softest shifts in his voice when someone mentions your name—it wasn’t all a game to him? It was never just practice for someone else, for someone better? 

It was love?

God, you had been so overwhelmed with self doubt and insecurity that you’d convinced yourself that you had no chance, all while he was giving you clues through his proud affections, every day.

The man in question looks at you like you’ve just shattered his fragile heart, tears fully trailing down to his chin, now.

Feeling like your entire body has been engulfed in flames, you reach a trembling hand out past the gear shift. It trembles despite yourself as your arm extends to caress his cheek, where you carefully rub his tears away. 

Jeonghan shudders when your hand touches him, and he shuts his eyes. More tears fall.

“하니, [Hannie],” you breathe shallowly, still feeling an immense pressure in your chest. “Look at me.” When he doesn’t open his eyes, you swallow roughly. “하니, [Hannie], please?”

Stubbornly, Jeonghan keeps his eyes closed, and you shakily sigh. You want to tell him—no, you need to tell him that you love him with every fiber of your being, but you need to see his eyes to register whether he understands you. He needs to open those beautiful, brown eyes of his. 

You’ve never told him that you love him in Korean before. Something about it always felt too intimate, while “I love you” in English felt less charged. But you think he needs to hear it now.

Withdrawing your hand from his cheek, you unbuckle your seatbelt at last. Finally freed, you shift your legs until you're sitting on the back of your calves, facing the stunning, devastated man in the driver’s seat.

“하니야, [Hannie],” you say softly, his name a prayer on your lips, your face coming near his. 

You raise your hands up to tenderly brush the tears away from the soft tissue right under his eyes. Trembling, your right hand brushes a strand of hair out of his face, then rests on the back of his neck. 

Heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you hesitantly move closer, and closer, until your lips gently meet his forehead in a kiss so light, you foolishly wonder if he even feels your lips there at all.

“하니야, 사랑해. [Hannie, I love you.]” 

Jeonghan stills immediately. You can feel his hot breath catch against your neck, and you feel a shiver come down your spine. 

“I don’t want anyone else. Just you,” you say choppily, each word spilling out before you can think about what you really just said. 

When you retreat an inch or two back from his forehead, you can see that he has finally opened his eyes. 

“You mean it?” he asks, voice high-pitched in disbelief. 

Not trusting your voice, you nod three times. 

“Say it again,” he begs, his red-rimmed eyes downturned.

“사랑해, 하니야 [I love you, Hannie]. I tried so hard not to. 내 마음을 접고 다른 사람을 바라보고 싶었어. 싶었는데… [I wanted to let go of my feelings for you and search for someone else. That’s what I wanted, but…]”

Jeonghan inhales sharply. Distressed, his Adam's apple bobs up and down. Your heart aches at the sight of him so exposed, and your thumb moves to rub soothing circles by his collarbone. 

You assure him, “근데 그게 진짜 그냥 안 된거야. 도저히 너를 포기할 수 없었어. [But that really just didn’t work. There was no way I could bring myself to give you up.]”

Your fingers close to his neck, you feel Jeonghan’s pulse racing. Trying to help his heart settle down, you press another light kiss to his forehead, cradling the back of his head with your other hand. His breath shudders against your cheek. 

“마음이 하니한테 만 끌리니까, 뭐… 포기하려고 노력을 했는데 소용이 없었어. [My heart was only drawn to you, Hannie, and well… no matter how hard I tried to give you up, it was no use.]”

Jeonghan blinks up at you with watery eyes. 

“You’re it for me, 하니 [Hannie]. Okay?” Sheepish, you feel a bit embarrassed at having been so honest. 

Now that you’ve bared your heart and soul to him, you take the opportunity to really look at him, since you were distracted with telling your part for the past few minutes—and, oh. 

His pupils are so dilated, his eyes look almost black. His breathing has slowed down compared to earlier, but his fists are still clenched, like he’s holding something back. 

In a low voice, so deep that it wouldn’t have been audible if you weren’t practically pressed against him, Jeonghan finally responds to your confession. 

“You love me,” he says hesitantly, like he’s asking to confirm. 

The corners up your lip turn up, and he grins. “You love me,” he says again, only louder this time, and then he’s leaning forward into you. 

His hands find you first, clinging to your neck and waist sweetly yet firmly, like he’s afraid to let you go now that he finally has you.

When his lips meet yours, you melt into the kiss. His lips are warm, softer than you expected, moving against yours with an aching tenderness. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs down your spine when his thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw. The touch is so careful, so reverent, like he’s memorizing every part of you.

Then, he pulls back just an inch—just enough for his breath to fan across your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes, dark and unreadable, search yours as if needing confirmation.

"You love me? 진심이지? [You’re serious, right?]" His voice is barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightens at the sheer vulnerability in his expression. You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his damp skin, and nod. "사랑해, 하니야. [I love you, Hannie.] 진짜, [Really,] I always have."

A sound escapes him—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief—before he leans in again, kissing you with more urgency this time. His hands tangle into your hair, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he presses you impossibly closer. The kiss is deeper now, more certain. He parts his lips slightly, and you do the same, the heat between you growing into something undeniable.

Your hands wander—one slipping into his hair, the other trailing down his shoulder. He shudders under your touch, and you feel the tension slowly unraveling from his body, like he’s finally letting himself believe this is real.

When you finally part for air, he lets out a shaky laugh, thumb ghosting over your kiss-swollen lips. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this," he murmurs, his voice husky.

Your heart swells at the confession. "Actually, I think I do," you whisper back before pulling him into another kiss, this time knowing—without a doubt—that neither of you are going anywhere.

────୨ৎ──── 

“하니, [Hannie,]” you say, leaning against him on the sofa in your apartment, drawing random shapes on his chest with your right hand. “We should go on a drive again.”

“Mm, a drive?” he says, distracted by his fascination with observing your left hand, holding it like a precious gem. 

“Yeah, 바람 좀 새자 [let’s get some air]. A night drive.”

His hands stall, lips curling up at the corners. “Oh, a night drive, huh? 역사적인 거네. [How historic.]”

You bury your face in his chest. “Mmh,” you say to his shirt.

“You know, you said 사랑해 [I love you] to me for the first time on a night drive,” he says casually. His hands let go of your left hand, then make their way to your head, patting your hair gently. 

You prop your chin up on his stomach, expecting to see Jeonghan’s pure smile. But instead, he’s smirking at you. 

“You wanted me so bad.” He sighs dramatically. “What else could I do, but accept your love?”

You can’t help but smile. “I think you’re misremembering things a little, 하니 [Hannie].”

“Oh, am I?” he gasps, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

If he were anyone else, he’d look stupid feigning ignorance. Fortunately for you, though, he isn’t anyone else—he’s the love of your life, and he makes everything look good. 

“Ugh,” you say, eyes shining. “You look dumb, stop it.”

“You love it,” he says cheekily, arms falling from your head to wrap around you in a big hug. 

“Mmfph,” you say in response, relishing in the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Not denying it, I see,” he says. “Overwhelmed by your love for me, you dove at my poor, innocent self in the car, kissing me all over!”

“Pfft,” you laugh. “No, that was you!”

“No,” Jeonghan pouts.

“I happen to remember a little crybaby confessing first,” you say with an upside down smile, hugging him tighter.

Jeonghan’s eyes look up at the ceiling. “무슨 말인지… [I don’t know what you’re talking about…]”

“야아! [Hey!]” your hand slaps his chest lightly. “나 좀 봐봐, 음? [Look at me, hmm?]”

“싫은데? [Don’t wanna,]” he says, pouting. 

“사랑해도 안 볼 거야? 섭섭하네… [Even if I love you, you won’t look at me? I’m sad…]” you huff, burying your face into the sofa pillows instead of Jeonghan’s chest. “하니가 안 사랑해주면 난 갈 거야. [If you don’t love me I’m gonna leave.]”

Jeonghan laughs, “가긴 어딜가, 여기 너네 집이잖아. [Leave? What do you mean, leave? This is your house.]” 

Jeonghan hugs you tighter, then suddenly sits up, taking you with him. 

“사랑해, [I love you,]” he says earnestly, staring deeply into your eyes, as if he wants to dive into the depths of your iris. Your name leaves his lips fervently, like a prayer.

“사랑해, 하니야, [I love you, Hannie,]” you say back, and you mean it. 

Because Yoon Jeonghan is simultaneously the funniest, weirdest, kindest, most devastatingly handsome man you’ve ever met. And he’s yours.

Masterlist

Author's Note: here’s a big literary hug <3

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone - @fragmentof-indifference - @junniesoleilkth - @woncheecks - @peachypie97 - @viciousdarlings - @11zzyy

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act III

“Firstly, happy birthday. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Hint: Mis-Directed was released on February 4.

"’I’m making some changes,’ Hattie sipped from the glass. ‘And I’ve updated my skincare routine.’"

"‘Is that actor-code for hooking up with my costar,’ [Hattie’s] sister asked with great interest."

"And Hattie swallowed her drink, wincing as it burned down her throat. Looks like a liquified Barbie Dream House, tastes like one hundred proof vodka."

“’He’s the absolute bane of my existence,’ Hattie said.”

“’And I’ll stake my entire and beloved earring collection.’"

"Dee’s eyes went covetously to today’s selection. A miniature Victorian inkpot and quill.”

“’The entire family’s been reading the tabloids, have they?’"

"‘Reading, discussing, dissecting in a private WhatsApp chat.’”

“They’d touched each other before under the heat of cameras and watching eyes, but this was different. It was them and them alone. It was for them alone.”

“They watched where he entered her, where she enclosed him.”

“’I’ll never be a person who courts tabloid speculation about my private life,’ [Hattie] said at last. ‘But I understand the role that the press plays in this industry and the present attention is likely to be short-lived.’”

“’That might be true,’ he said in a slightly unreadable tone. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily make it easier to deal with in the moment.’ A point she couldn’t argue, especially since they’d remain hot headline property for quite some time yet, if their names were linked. The Victor and Iris affair hadn’t even hit screens yet. They were doing their first joint promo on Monday, at which point the speculation would fire up considerably.”

“’And when did you know it was more than a friendship you felt for Mr. Rafe?’"

"Despite everything, Hattie couldn’t repress the bubble of humor. ‘I don’t recall ever being friends with Mr. Rafe,’ she said, her gaze switching to her other side. Anthony was watching her with utter blandness in his expression and an emotion in his eyes sent all the butterflies in her stomach spiraling. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s infamously insufferable.’”

“But at last, the show’s PR manager stepped in and brought the prying to an end.”

“’I love you.’ They were Iris’s [played by Hattie] words but the slight crack in her voice wasn’t scripted nor was what she saw in Anthony’s eyes. Their fingers tightened on each other as he leaned forward, and his lips touched hers and the ground dropped from under them.”

“’Do I,’ her voice cracked again, ‘have your heart?’"

"‘Do you,’ his body was incredibly tense, ‘love me?’"

"Her eyes burning with sudden tears. She couldn’t speak. She simply nodded as he said with a thick rasp and as little composure as she’d ever seen from him, ‘For a long time now.’”

“Anthony also looked to the nosy reporter before his gaze returned to hers. She read the question in his eyes."

"‘I don’t care,’ she said and realized it was true, with no longer even the slightest twinge of anxiety or reservation. This was the right person. The right time. And she was ready for all of it and it was worth everything and anything. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore. This means so much more.’"

"A last tear slipped free."

"‘This is everything. That’s just background noise.’"

"His arms tightened.”

P.S. “She just wouldn’t touch the fan fic or the fan art of Leicester Square with a ten-foot pole. The idea of people writing sex scenes while picturing her face or sketching not safe for work drawings in her image was unsettling at best.”

[matchpointfaist]

a love like religion ˚₊‧꒰ა♡໒꒱ ‧₊˚

sheltered! art x flirty reader pt iii

the third time he saw you, art couldn’t decide between happy and horrified. he’d been doing his best to stay focused on his studies, his faith, and his training; on anything but you. his thoughts drifted, sure, but for the most part he thought he was doing pretty well. an entire week passed, and he managed to avoid you on campus, ignoring his fleeting thoughts of wishing to see you, even for just a moment.

he knew, in the back of his mind, that attending his teammates birthday party was a mistake. he knew you were in the same social circle, that you’d probably be there, all gorgeous and flirty and drunk and- it was just best if he didn’t see you.

he told himself he wasn’t taking extra care in his appearance for you; he just wanted to look good, that’s all. a birthday party is a big deal. so he got dressed in a button up and jeans, made sure his hair was perfect and his cologne wasn’t too strong, and tried to keep his head high as he entered the already too loud party.

almost immediately, his eyes fell to you. everyone’s did, though, he couldn’t blame himself. you were a vision of pink and silver shimmer, your hair falling down the dangerously low back of your dress. his breath quickened, his mind racing with excuses on how to get out of here before you noticed- and then, your sharp eyes were on his, a dangerous little smile on your glossy lips.

“donaldson!” your voice carried over the music like a melody, like some sort of siren call crafted just for him, rendering him helpless, “cmere!” and he practically floated to your side, a nervous smile on his lip, “uh, hi, hey. i didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping he didn’t think too stupid.

“course id be here,” you grinned, “what’re you drinkin? i can get you a refill,” he shook his head, “no, i don’t drink, i can just get a water,” “you don’t drink?” you laughed, like it was the most insane thing in the world, “cmon, artie. come with me,”

so he followed you to the kitchen, let you pour him a cup of stale beer even though he knew it was wrong, it was stupid, it was a sin. “it’s cheap shit, but it’s fine,” you sounded almost apologetic as he sniffed it, trying to keep his nose from scrunching, taking a shy sip. “you look pretty,” he said after a moment, choking down the beer with what he hoped was only a slight grimace.

“you too,” you smiled, and for just a brief second, it seemed real. not like that fake, mocking smile you gave everyone else. in a flash, though, it was gone, replaced by the coyness you showed the rest of the world, “nice shirt. green looks good on you,” you trailed your fingers over the collar of his shirt, and he almost lost it right there in the crowded kitchen, his head swimming. “my grandma got it for me,” his cheeks flushed, acutely aware that was not the right thing to say, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“cute,” you just smiled, “here, finish that and i’ll make you another, kay?” he shook his head, already regretting the first round, “no, i really can’t, i’m sorry,” he rambled, “i have class tomorrow and i don’t drink anyway and-“ “don’t worry about it,” you rested a hand on his shoulder, “it’s fine, artie. we’ll have fun anyway, yeah? you can just watch me drink,” you teased. and oh, he did watch you. all night, you practically dragged him around the party, inches from you at all times.

he watched you laugh, watched you dance, watched you drink and smoke and all the things he’d always be too afraid to do. he watched you in rare moments of your true form as you interacted with your girl friends, watched you shut down the guys that tried to dance too close to you. he watched so intently he felt like he had learned who you really were in just a few short hours, like he’d cracked some sort of code he must have missed before.

at 11, he debated leaving without even saying goodbye, just leaving you to your dancing and talking. but as he turned to leave, you were calling his name, a little pout on your lips that sent him reeling. “i’ll walk you home,” you offered, and he took note of your heels in your hand, your bare feet on the floor. “no, that’s alright,” he smiled slightly, “thank you, though. that’s kind of you,”

“let me,” you pressed, “at least let me walk you out, art,” so he did, of course, like he did everything else you asked of him. you walked with him to his dorm, and when you asked to come in, he let you do that, too. even when his head was screaming at him to stop, that this wouldn’t end well, that temptation was the gateway to sin.

you just looked so fucking pretty, sitting there on his bed, your heels tossed in the floor and the skirt of your dress on his comforter. he wished he could memorize the moment, bottle it up and save it for when this night ended. surely you’d never be back there, he told himself, this was just one time. a lapse in judgment, on both your parts.

but then he was sitting beside you, and your perfume was so sweet, and your words were even sweeter when you asked him about his hometown and his family and the pictures on his bookcase. you sounded like you really cared, like you thought he was interesting. you, of all people.

“you can relax,” you told him, and his heart nearly stopped as you pressed your leg to his, scooting closer on his bed, “jesus, you’re so tense. i’m not gonna bite you, yknow. not unless you like that,” you winked again, and his cheeks were flushed, his mind working overtime to form words that just wouldn’t come.

“you shouldn’t be in here,” he finally blurted out, his eyes wide with fear of the way it sounded, like he didn’t want you there when that could not be further from the truth, “sorry- that came out wrong. i just- i can’t be with anyone, and you’re in my room and it’s late-“

“you can’t be with anyone?” you repeated, a laugh on your lips, “why not, hm? is the devil gonna getcha if you slip up?” and then your hand was back on his necklace like all those days before, touching it, burning into his skin, “live a little, art,”

and then you were kissing him, and oh god, oh god, oh god. it was heaven and hell and a mistake and bliss and burning and soothing and everything he’d been too afraid to admit he’d ever wanted. you tasted like vodka and cotton candy and sacrilege and he couldn’t get enough, couldn’t hold back the sounds leaving him from the simple act of your kiss, couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and fuck, you were so warm and so soft and he could’ve died right there when you climbed into his lap, kissing him dizzy, tipping his jaw open with your fingers and dipping your tongue into his mouth.

he would’ve let you do anything in that moment, would’ve let you ruin the path he’d been on for so many years, would’ve let you dismantle all his plans and his faith and anything you wanted if you just kept grinding against him, kept kissing him so sweetly, so dangerously.

and then you sank to your knees off the bed, your hands pulling at his belt and your eyes shining as you blinked up at him, a sultry little smile on your swollen lips. “you’re so hard,” you hummed, sounding content as you pulled down his jeans, “has a girl ever touched you like this, hm?”

“no,” it came out like a whine, his hips bucking into your hand as you ghosted your fingers over his cock, “jesus- no, no one has,” you made a little noise, like you were pleased, and your eyes widened as you pulled down his boxers, taking him into your hand. “this is so- oh, this is so bad,” he hissed in half-pleasure, half-anguish as you pumped him slowly, your lips parting. “why’s it bad?” you asked, so innocently, so sweet, “just making you feel good, art. that’s all,”

“a sin,” he panted, eyes screwed shut, knowing full well if he looked at you he’d finish right there, just from your hand, “this is- sex before marriage is a sin and,” he trailed off, fucking into your hand despite himself, a little whine leaving his throat.

“oh, no,” you tsked, and when he dared to open his eyes, you were pouting up at him, “it’s okay, art. i’ll be good, yeah? i’ll make up for it,” he didn’t have time to question how before your tongue was on him, licking at the tip like a lollipop, and his eyes rolled back, his hands fisted in his sheets.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned,” you murmured, and he choked out a moan as you took him into your mouth fully, so warm and wet and close- fuck, he was so close. you pulled away with a pop!, “holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners,” and then his cock was down your throat, and you were humming around him and he was so fucking close- his hands were in your hair before he could think to stop himself, his hips bucking into your mouth, your name leaving his lips between moans and pleas.

he didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly. forgiveness, release, for you to slow down so this never stopped, but for you to make him cum down your throat like he’d imagined so many times before. one hand was in your hair, the other clutching his sheets as he came, panting and moaning and whining he opened his eyes in just enough time to see you licking your lips clean, wiping your chin with a grin, sucking your thumb into your mouth.

you leaned down, kissing him until all he could taste was salt and sweat and you, god, you, and then you were gone, his lips still hot. “amen,” you whispered against his ear, gathering your heels and pausing at the door, “see you around, art,”

and then, for the second time, you were gone. he looked down, and nearly fainted when he saw what was left in his floor. your pink lacy panties, complete with a little wet patch, bundled up just for him.

“forgive me father,” he mumbled to himself, picking up the lace and tucking it into his nightstand, not even bothering to clean himself up before curling up and drifting off, his mind busy with thoughts of you.

[chancloud8]

Picture Perfect

Part 1 * Part 2

Pairing: jeongin x reader

Word count: 2,1k

Summary: when Jeongin has a proposition for you, who are you to turn him down? Tags: suggestive maybe, but its mostly setting the scene for the smut in part 2

a/n: Happy birthday to our beloved Innie!! This was supposed to be a one shot, but because I'm not finished yet I decided to upload it in 2 parts. Part 2 will be smut ;)

Everyone in the studio has been excited about Yang Jeongin's shoot today. It’s all anyone could talk about this week, you included. You’ve been a Stay for a while now and when the call came that you’ve been chosen as the intern to work with the head photographer on this particular shoot, you may have fangirled your little heart out. 

When Jeongin walks into the studio this morning, looking sleepy and a little nervous, you expect to have to coax him out of his shell during the shoot. But boy were you wrong. As soon as he changes into his first outfit and the camera’s are turned on, it's like he transforms into a different man. 

You know he’s used to the camera’s, that he knows how to work them, but you also know how he feels about his body. He’s always been careful with showing too much skin and even with the Hallucination performance now existing, you didn’t think he’d be this confident, this sexy. Not that he shouldn’t be. The man is an absolute vision, with and without clothes. 

All through the photoshoot you can't keep your eyes off him. He's a work of art, perfectly sculptured with smooth skin and muscles in all the right places. It doesn't help that his eyes keep finding yours, holding your gaze, both through the lens of your camera as without it. 

‘Is it just me or does he look at you like you’re his next meal?’ Yumi, one of the make-up artists whispers in your ear during the second outfit change. 

‘I’m glad you’re seeing it too and I’m not going crazy,’ you mumble, looking through the photos you just shot. 

‘You’ve been undressing him with your eyes as well, don’t pretend like you haven’t,’ Yumi teases. ‘But I don’t blame you, that man is fine.’ 

‘Don’t let your husband hear you say that,’ you laugh. ‘But yes he is, look at this.’ You show her a picture where Jeongin leans back in the chair he’s sitting on, his abs on display as he has an arm thrown over his head while he looks right into your camera. 

Yumi whistles through her teeth. ‘It’s like he’s looking right into my soul, damn girl, this is good stuff. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.’ 

‘You have a husband, babe,’ you repeat. ‘Besides, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sleep around.’ 

Your eyes meet Jeongin’s then from across the room and the way he smirks at you almost feels like he heard what you just said.

During the next break you make your way to the snack table and grab a handful of grapes. You need something sweet to silence the beast inside you and usually food can do the job almost just as well as sex. 

You grab some grapes and pop them in your mouth, already eying the chocolate on the other side of the table. The flavour of a perfectly sweet grape hits your tongue then and you hum in surprise, immediately reaching out to take some more. Wow, these are good.

Someone chuckles next to you and with flushed cheeks you look up to see Jeongin looking down at you. He has the same look in his eyes as before and his lips are tipped up in a grin. 

Up close he's even more beautiful than through your camera. 

'I, uhm, can recommend the grapes,' you stammer dumbly, not knowing what else to say. You quickly pop some more grapes into your mouth so you won't have to talk for a moment. 

'I have a proposition for you,' Jeongin whispers into your ear as he leans close to you to grab an apple from the bowl on your other side. 

You nearly choke on the remaining grapes in your mouth and start coughing loudly. 

What did he just say? 

A proposition? 

What the fuck does that mean? 

Jeongin looks at you with both concern and amusement as you continue to cough, but then he reaches for a bottle of water and unscrews the cap before giving it to you. One of his hands comes up to rub your back and you look up at him with teary eyes, before taking a sip. 

'Thanks,' you say, clearing your throat. 'I don't think I heard that correctly.' 

'You did,' Jeongin smiles and he looks around to see if anyone is in hearing distance before he leans in close again. 'And the next time you look at me with tears in your eyes will be when you're choking on my cock.' 

Your mouth falls open at his words and you nearly drop the bottle of water in your hands. 

'I--what?' 

Jeongin just shrugs, giving you a cheeky grin before his eyes travel up and down your body.

'You can say no, but I hope you'll meet me after the shoot.' 

You blink at him and pinch your arm, not sure if you're dreaming or hallucinating. You must be. Right? 

Yang Jeongin, Ayen, the maknae of Stray Kids did not just suggest he wanted you to blow him, did he? Because that would be insane. 

'But- You- I,' you stutter, your brain is definitely having an error at the whole situation. 

'Me and you,' Jeongin nods. 'I'd like that very much.' 

At this point you're just gaping at him, probably looking like a fish on dry land. Fucking hell, what did he just do to you? 

'What happened to sweet innocent Ayen?' 

'Who said I was innocent?' 

'Uhm, everyone?' 

'Have you seen the Hallucination performance?' Jeongin asks. 'Have you been paying attention today?' 

You scoff at him. Of course you have and he knows it or he wouldn't have approached you, but he just raises his eyebrows and waits for you to talk. 

Damn Chan for rooming with him. It has to be his fault. 

'You've been corrupted and I wasn't ready,' you pout. 

'Or have I just been pretending?' Jeongin winks, taking a bite of the apple you forgot he was holding. 

'Breaks over!' Your boss yells then and you jump like someone just electrocuted you. 

'Wait for me after, okay?' Jeongin asks, smiling sweetly before he turns around to get his make-up touched up. 

What the fuck just happened?

The rest of the shoot goes by in a blur with Jeongin being even more sexy and confident than before and it's driving you insane. It feels like he’s playing with you, with his food, like you’re the prey and he’s the hunter. 

Your camera is filled with pictures of him biting his lip, rolling his eyes upwards, baring his neck and many more sexual images. Everyone around you is buzzing with energy, happy with the vibe and the pictures that are being shown on the computer screens from both Junhi, the head photographer, and you. 

You lost count how many times your heart skips a beat as Jeongin looks at you, or rather at your camera, but from your point of view there’s not much difference. By the end of the shoot you feel hot and your clothes feel too tight against your skin. 

One by one staff members pick up their stuff and leave the studio. You're being deliberty slow with putting your camera and laptop away and you linger to chat with your co-workers to buy yourself some more time to decide what to do. 

You'd be a fool to turn down Jeongin's proposal and you desperately wanted to go with him and do anything he wanted, but a small part of you wondered if it was a good idea. You had one night stands before, but being with a world famous idol is new for you and you’re not sure if you feel confident enough to go for it. 

When Jeongin leaves the studio, his manager on his heels, you stare after him. Will he wait for you somewhere? Will he come back to see if you are still here when more people have left the building? 

‘Miss?’ A soft voice startles you. 

To your left a kind looking man smiles down at you. He's wearing a suit and there's a security emblem on his sleeve.  

‘Yes?’ you ask, nerves filling your body. 

‘Could you come with me for a moment? I have some questions I'd like to ask you.’ 

You share a look with Yumi and she shrugs at you. 

‘Uhm, sure,’ you nod, following him to the hallway. ‘What's this about?’ 

The man doesn't answer and leads you to a secluded room at the other side of the building. Inside sits another man in a suit and in front of him are a bunch of papers. 

‘Hello,’ he greets you kindly, gesturing to the seat in front of him. ‘You're L/N Y/N?’ 

‘That's me,’ you nod as you sit down. 

‘Good, let's get straight to it shall we,’ the man smiles. ‘Yang Jeongin has asked to spend the evening with you, do you agree to this?’ 

You blink a few times and your mouth falls open in a small ‘o’. You should have known that this was about Jeongin. 

Squirming in your seat you try to ignore your galloping heart as blood rushes to your cheeks. 

‘I agree,’ you say, screaming internally at how easy it was to say. 

‘And do you also agree to sign an NDA?’ 

You tilt your head. ‘What would I be signing for?’ 

The man pushes a paper across the table for you to read. ‘The most important thing is that you can't share anything about your night with the outside world, if you do we'll sue you and you'll have to pay a large fine.’

‘Okay, so no talking about it. Got it,’ you nod, scanning the text in front of you. 

It’s all pretty basic. You can’t share any personal information with anyone or make any pictures or videos during your stay with Jeongin. It makes sense that they want to protect their idol from any scandals and you weren't planning on telling anyone. Who, besides Yumi, would believe you anyway. 

‘Can I borrow a pen?’

Thirty minutes later you're in front of a hotel door. Your heart is once again beating so fast that it feels like Jeongin would be able to hear it if he opened the door right now. The security guard who brought you up, gives you a funny look when you take three deep breaths before knocking on the door. 

Stay calm Y/N. 

Jeongin opens the door within what feels like two heartbeats. He's wearing the same outfit as before, but his hair is much messier. It looks like he continuously dragged his hands through it. Was he nervous? Did he wonder if you would come? 

He grins when he sees you and steps aside to let you in. 

‘I wasn't sure you'd come,’ he says as he closes the door behind you. ‘I'm really glad you did.’ 

‘Yeah?’ you smile, shrugging out of your coat and dumping it on the couch along with your bag. ‘I’m glad I decided to come too, then.’ 

‘You were having doubts?’ Jeongin asks when you turn to look at him.

He has his arms crossed and his eyebrows are raised as he studies your face. 

‘Not really,’ you shake your head. ‘I just have never done anything like this with an Idol before.’ 

‘So in a sense, I’m your first?’ Jeongin grins, dropping his arms next to his body as he steps closer to you. 

‘I guess so,’ you laugh. 

‘I like that,’ Jeongin says, he’s so close now that you have to look up. 

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. He looks excited, hungry and playful and heat fills your belly in anticipation. You have no idea what to expect from him. 

‘What else do you like?’ you ask, smirking up at him. 

‘You’re about to find out,’ he says and then he pounces. 

His lips are soft, but he kisses you hard and fast. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon and when he sucks on your tongue you moan into his mouth. Jeongin’s hands are on your waist and he slowly walks you back until your back hits the door. 

‘You’re mine for tonight, Y/N,’ he whispers against your lips. 

All decent thoughts and any lingering doubts leave your mind then. You like this confident man in front of you and instead of answering you just moan again and roll your hips forward to collide with his. Whatever he wants, he’ll get. You’re ready to completely give yourself to him. 

Jeongin’s hands tighten on your hips to keep you still. ‘What do you say to that?’ 

Your brain takes a moment to come up with a reply. 

‘I’m yours?’ your voice sounds breathy and shaky. 

‘Is that a question or an answer?’ Jeongin asks, his lips leaving a trail on your neck as he slowly sucks on your skin. 

‘I’m yours,’ you say, sounding more sure. ‘I’m yours for tonight.’ 

‘Good girl.’

a/n: part 2 with the smut will be up either tomorrow or monday at its latest! ;) I hope you liked reading this hehe (sorry i just cant write smut without at least SOME story or warm up lmao) - taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

[free-slutt]

mdni! ✰

tw: slight smut, swearing, age gap!

sugar daddy!satoru who loves to spoil his “babydoll” with the most latest designer pieces! chrome hearts, chanel, rick owens, birkins. whatever you want he’s gonna get it for you especially when you use that cute little pout that drives him fucking nuts

“satoru please!” you pout your bottom lip every so cutely with those big puppy dog eyes

“whatever you want babydoll”

sugar daddy!satoru who has a habit of sending you money just because. you can be in a bad mood, it’s a family members birthday, a holiday, or a random tuesday. he takes this roll very seriously. it’s more of a power dynamic for him, he loves that he can take control of your life, your bank account, how you treat him.. he loves the advantages that come with as well.

“tell me sweets.. well show me how bad you want that new bag”

oh! he doesn’t have to tell you twice.. there you are on your knees! a slobbering messy delicious sight for sore eyes

one hand of satorus making a sloppy pony while he fucks your mouth with no remorse on how bad it’s hurting you right now

“toru… too much” you mange to mumble against him fully in your mouth, he’s too big you can basically feel him down your throat. thick and curved too. whew…

he’s smirking while his other hand is grabbing onto whatever he can find, a pillow, a blanket.. whatever!

as he shoots his warm salty load into your mouth you can’t help but gag not because he taste bad but you weren’t exactly ready, you try to spit it out but…

“uh uh sweets! swallow my kids f-for me yea? part of the deal honey” as he’s fucking his load back into your mouth forcefully making you swallow it. all.

sugar daddy!satoru as much he doesn’t want to admit he can’t help but feel for you. that’s part of the reason why you guys are in this “relationship” in the first place. when he saw you at the local coffee shop getting yelled at by your boss looking so cute so innocent, he knew he wanted you.. he wanted to show you more to life than whatever you had going on originally. it started off with frequent visits and small compliments to small tips than larger tips, until he finally got your number and well? let’s just say after that he gave you his tip as well!

“o-oh my sweets! taking daddy’s cock so fucking w-well” he groans out gripping the fat of your ass as he pushes your head down to the black silk sheets of his mattress

“g-gonna fuck you t-till you can’t walk!” he looks down at the prettiest sight of your messy pussy wrapping around his cock like it was fighting for its life.. so tight and warm for him.

sugar daddy!satoru who gives you a time limit and a certain amount to spend a week and if you don’t obey and follow his orders you get punished, not any ordinary punishment though! oh he’s gonna ruin you..

as you lay there on his lap skirt pushed up to high pretty pink panties on display smack! satoru gives your pretty ass a nice good spanking…

“toru-ugh-i’m s-sorry! hurtssss” you whine but satoru really doesn’t care what you have to say especially since you didn’t listen to him

“oh? it hurts babydoll?” he chuckles coldly “you know what hurts me? my girl not following orders” smack! satoru will get carried away in the act.. again like i said it’s all about the power dynamic for him! he smirks at how soaked you are he can see it through those stupid pink panties of yours

“guess you can’t really say much anymore since your pretty little pussy is asking for more” he laughs bringing his long finger to rub small but rough circles on your clit.. he’s right your wet! you love it, you want more. “oh.. she’s practically begging for more”

“baby doesn’t know how to spend my money.. do i have to add more?” he asks moving your panties to the side spreading your legs open a little with his free hand while he bring his finger back to you, your mouth. “spit!” he demands and you do what was said.

“that’s my girl” he says teasingly

he brings his wet finger from your saliva down to your pussy entering you with no warning which causes you to whimper and squirm on his lap. he laughs gripping your hips with his free hand “since your moving so much should i take away from your allowance” he asks in such a tone.. a teasing tone.. he wants you to protest he wants you to say something.

“m-more toru!” he smirks at your response “make it clear babydoll, more money or more fingers?” he laughs while adding two more fingers which causes you to moan. loudly!

“gotta stretch this little pussy out for what’s to come later”

sugar daddy! satoru who takes you on vacations monthly. it could be a solo trip, a “couples” vacation or even a girls trip. he doesn’t care he’ll pay for every single damn expense, the rental car, the hotel, or the air bnb. it’s all up to you! he’s constantly checking your bank account to see if your spending the sufficient amount of money.

sugar daddy!satoru who takes you to the mall, doesn’t complain not once at how long he’s been in one store.. it could be hours at the same place he wouldn’t care as long as your doing what your supposed too. as you walk out his arms and hands are filled with bags,bags,bags and you guessed it! more bags! as you smile up at him and thank him for everything. he can’t help but feel such love and care for his pretty like angel

“you love this life huh? such a spoiled brat? might make you my pretty little wife.. stay like this forever”

an: english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar errors if you have any recommendations/request feel free to submit!

[arxiwon]

Husband!Sunghoon, the cool yet secretly hopeless romantic˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Husband!Sunghoon The type to act cool but gets jealous so easily. You’re laughing at someone’s joke? He won’t say anything, just suddenly hold your waist a little tighter or kiss your cheek out of nowhere. If you tease him about it? “What? Can’t I kiss my wife?”

Husband!Sunghoon Loves when you play with his hair but pretends it’s no big deal. He’ll be sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone, but the second you start running your fingers through his hair? He melts instantly, eyes closing, completely relaxed.

Husband!Sunghoon Subtly checks up on you throughout the day. If you’re at home, he’ll pass by and ask, “You good?” before continuing whatever he was doing. If he’s away, you’ll get simple texts like, “How’s your day?” and “Did you eat?” (If you don’t respond fast enough, expect a call.)

Husband!Sunghoon Pouts when he wants attention but won’t ask for it. He’ll sit next to you, arms crossed, looking at you every few minutes, waiting for you to notice him. When you finally ask, “What’s wrong?” he’ll just mumble, “Nothing…” but then immediately pull you into a hug.

Husband!Sunghoon Always acts like he doesn’t care about couple traditions but secretly does. Anniversary? He’ll act like he forgot, only to surprise you with something incredibly thoughtful. Your birthday? He’ll act all casual, but you’ll wake up to a perfectly planned surprise.

Husband!Sunghoon Gets competitive when you compliment someone else. “That actor is so handsome.” He’ll immediately scoff and say, “I look better.” And if you tease him? He’ll sulk for at least 10 minutes.

Husband!Sunghoon Loves coming home to you. No matter how tired he is, the moment he steps inside and sees you, his entire demeanor softens. His first stop is always you—dropping his bags, pulling you into a hug, and sighing contently like he’s finally home.

Husband!Sunghoon Never lets you carry heavy things. Grocery bags? Your suitcase? Nope. He’ll take them from you, no questions asked. If you insist on carrying something, he’ll just say, “That’s my job.”

Husband!Sunghoon Steals your skincare products. But he’ll deny it every time. “Why does my moisturizer keep running out?” “No idea.” Meanwhile, his skin is looking flawless.

Husband!Sunghoon Loves listening to you talk. No matter how small or random, he genuinely enjoys hearing you ramble. Even if he’s tired, he’ll hum in response, letting you know he’s still listening.

Husband!Sunghoon Finds ways to stay close to you, even in public. He may not be overly clingy, but his hand will always be on your back, or he’ll pull you closer if he sees a crowd. If you’re in a long line, he’ll stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist.

Husband!Sunghoon Stubborn but soft when it comes to you. If anyone else asks him to do something, he might complain. But if you ask? He’ll sigh dramatically but do it anyway. “You owe me for this.” (He just wants more hugs.)

Husband!Sunghoon Low-key a romantic. Will randomly take you on late-night drives just to spend quiet time together. Will buy your favorite snacks just because. Will pull you in for slow dances in the living room with no music.

Husband!Sunghoon Acts cool but melts when you initiate affection. You hold his hand first? He’ll pretend it’s nothing, but his grip tightens. You kiss his cheek? He clears his throat and looks away—but his ears are red.

Husband!Sunghoon Wants to be your comfort person. If you’re sad, he won’t always know what to say, but he’ll pull you into his arms and stay with you for as long as you need. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me stay like this.”

Husband!Sunghoon No matter what, he’s yours. His words might be minimal, but his actions say everything. He may not always be vocal, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the only person in the world—tells you exactly how much he loves you.

Sunghoon may act all cool, but when it comes to you, he’s just the biggest softie.

Husband!Sunghoon is the definition of cool on the outside, hopelessly in love on the inside. He acts unbothered but secretly adores all the little things about you—whether it's watching you wear his hoodies, playing with his hair, or rambling about your day. He won’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words: warming up your food if you're late, pulling you closer in public, and always making sure you're taken care of. Though he pretends to dislike cheesy couple traditions, he’s the first to plan thoughtful surprises and steal forehead kisses when you least expect it. He gets flustered when you compliment him, secretly loves cuddling (even though he’ll never admit it), and has a soft spot for lazy Sundays spent wrapped up in you. Protective, attentive, and low-key romantic—he might act cool, but at the end of the day, his heart is completely yours.

[yikesdrama]

for one perfect moment 🩵 (ii) — Bucky Barnes

summary: bucky's birthday is coming up soon and you just want to do something special for him, maybe even take a time travelling trip to see his maa....

word count: 7k

warnings: fluff, kisses and lots of cuteness

a/n: please comment, like & reblog with your thoughts. this is the second part, there’s one more coming up next weekend!

masterlist | part 1 • part 3

previously— Winnie's gaze snapped to yours, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How do you know all of this? You've never told me who you are, or why you care so much about my James." You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. For the first time, you looked unsure, as though the question had caught you off guard.

But then you straightened, your gaze meeting Winnie’s with quiet determination. “I care because he deserves to have someone care. And I know because… I’ve seen him. I’ve spoken to him. I’ve seen how much he loves his life now, how hard he’s fought to be free of what they did to him.”

Winnie studied you closely, searching for any hint of deception. But there was none. Whoever you were, whatever strange circumstances had brought you here, you believed every word you said. And somehow, impossibly, so did Winnie.

“Why didn’t he come himself?” Winnie asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “If he’s alive, if he’s free… why hasn’t he come home to me? You came from the future, why couldn’t he?”

Your expression shifted, a flicker of sadness crossing your face. “I think… I think part of him doesn’t know how. After everything he’s been through, it’s hard for him to believe he deserves that kind of peace. And part of him is afraid—afraid of how much he’s changed, of what you might think of him now.”

“Think of him?” Winnie’s voice rose, trembling with emotion. “He’s my boy. My James. There’s nothing he could do, nothing he could have gone through, that would make me love him any less.”

You smiled faintly, a hint of relief softening your features. “I know that. And deep down, I think he does too. But it’s hard for him to see it sometimes.”

Winnie let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing against the edge of the table. “He was always stubborn,” she murmured, her voice tinged with affection. “Even as a boy, once he got an idea in his head, you couldn’t talk him out of it.”

You chuckled softly, and the sound was warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Yeah,” you said, your tone fond. “He’s still like that.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between you. Then Winnie straightened slightly, her gaze sharpening as another thought struck her. “You said Steven is alive too.”

You nodded. “He is. He and James are living together now, in Brooklyn.”

“In Brooklyn?” Winnie echoed, her brow furrowing. “You mean to tell me those two fools survived everything they went through and still ended up back here?”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “I guess they couldn’t resist coming home.”

Winnie shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips despite the tears still glistening in her eyes. “Of course they did. Those two were always thick as thieves. If there was trouble to be found, they’d find it together.”

“They still do,” you said, your smile widening. “But they’re good now. They’ve made a life for themselves—a real life. They’re happy.”

Winnie’s chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. It was too much to process, too much to believe, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to doubt it.

Her boys. Alive. Together. Safe.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

You reached across the table, your hand warm and steady as it covered Winnie’s. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

Winnie’s fingers tightened around yours, gratitude and hope flooding her chest in equal measure. But before she could speak again, your expression shifted, a hint of nervous energy creeping into your gaze.

“There’s… something else,” you said slowly, as though choosing your words carefully. “I’ve been thinking about James. About what he’s been through, and what he’s lost. And I was wondering…” You hesitated, your eyes searching Winnie’s face. “Would you want to see him?”

Winnie froze, her breath catching in her throat. “See him?” she repeated, her voice barely audible. “You can do that?”

Your grip on her hand tightened slightly, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. “There’s a way. It’s… time travelling just like I did, and it might sound crazy, but I can bring him back here. Just for a week. For his birthday.”

Winnie stared at you, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. “You mean… you could bring him here? From the future?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady. “It wouldn’t change anything in the timeline—he wouldn’t be able to stay permanently—but it would give him a chance to see you. To have that time with you.”

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of the offer pressing down on Winnie like a physical force. Her heart raced, her thoughts spinning wildly as she tried to comprehend the enormity of what you were suggesting. To see her boy again. To hold him, to tell him everything she’d held in her heart for so long.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly. “But only if you want it. If it’s too much, I understand.”

Winnie shook her head, fresh tears spilling over as a trembling smile broke across her face. “Too much? No. It’s everything. It’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

You smiled, relief and warmth radiating from you like a beacon. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

Winnie let out a shaky laugh, her hands clutching yours as though you might vanish if she let go. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

For the first time in several months, hope blossomed in Winnie’s chest, a fragile but undeniable light cutting through the darkness. Her James was coming home. Even if only for a week, it would be enough. It would be everything.

As Winnie sat back in her chair, clutching her teacup as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Across from her, you watched her with patient, steady eyes, your hands folded neatly on the table. For all the warmth and kindness in your expression, there was a subtle alertness about you, as if you were bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

“So,” Winnie began softly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her, “when are you bringing him here?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing together before you answered. “It won’t be immediate,” you said gently. “I still have to take care of a few things back home. Time travelling needs to be done very carefully.”

Winnie nodded slowly, turning the words over in her mind. “I see,” she murmured, though the concept was as baffling as everything else you had told her that day. “And it’ll be both of them? James and Steven?”

You tilted your head slightly, your brows knitting in mild confusion. “You want to see Steve, too?”

“Of course I do,” Winnie said, her voice firm now. “That boy… he was as much my son as James was. They were inseparable. Always running off together, getting into trouble. Steven was smaller, quieter, but oh, the mischief they caused.” She let out a soft, wistful laugh, her eyes shining with memory. “When James wasn’t pulling some prank, it was Steven. And when they weren’t eating me out of house and home, they were convincing Rebecca to smuggle cookies from the pantry. Those boys were mine, y/n. Both of them.”

Your face softened, your gaze warm with understanding. “I’ll bring Steve,” you promised. “He’d want to see you, too.”

Winnie leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. “You tell him he’d better show his face. I may be older now, but I can still box his ears if he’s too stubborn.”

You laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that felt less like avoidance and more like a quiet acknowledgment of everything they’d shared. Winnie sipped her tea, her mind racing with thoughts of James and Steven, of how different they must be now, and yet still the same in ways that mattered. She wanted to ask more—so much more—but she didn’t know how much more she could take before he brain began hurting.

You cleared your throat softly, breaking the quiet. “I’ll leave you something to help,” you said, pulling a small, unfamiliar device from your pocket. It was sleek, metallic, and fit neatly into the palm of your hand. You placed it on the table between you, your expression thoughtful. “This will let you know when we’re coming. It’ll turn green when we’re on our way.”

Winnie stared at the strange object, her fingers twitching with the urge to touch it. “And I’ll know it’s them?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “When it lights up, you’ll know we’re coming in less than 2mins. But until then, it’s important that you don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Rebecca.”

Winnie nodded, though the request gave her pause. “Why not?”

“It could change things,” you said carefully, your tone deliberate. “The timeline is… fragile. Even the smallest change could ripple out and affect the future in ways we can’t predict.”

Winnie frowned but didn’t press further. She trusted you, even if your explanations left her head spinning. “I’ll wait,” she said finally, her voice steady. “Whenever you’re ready to bring them, I’ll be here.”

You smiled, relief flashing briefly across your face. “Thank you.” You rose from your chair, smoothing your hands over your strange, unfamiliar clothing. “I should go,” you said softly. “But I’ll be back soon. But please… don’t tell anyone else about this. Not until it’s time.”

Winnie nodded, though her mind lingered on the odd tension in your words. “I won’t,” she promised. “And thank you… for everything.”

As you stepped toward the door, you paused, “I’ll see you soon, Mrs. Barnes,” you said quietly before slipping out the door.

Winnie watched you go, the strange little device still sitting on the table, its metallic surface catching the light. She didn’t understand everything—perhaps she never would—but one thing was clear. You cared deeply for her son, in ways that went beyond mere kindness or duty. And while Winnie couldn’t quite put her finger on it, she had a feeling there was more to the story than you were letting on.

With a quiet sigh, she picked up the device, turning it over in her hands as a small smile tugged at her lips. Her boys were coming home. And no matter what secrets you might be hiding, Winnie would be ready.

The first thing Bucky became aware of was warmth—a soft, familiar weight pressed against his waist, accompanied by a flurry of something tickling his skin. His brows furrowed as his body stirred, torn from the haze of sleep by what felt suspiciously like lips pressing against his face. Again and again. Across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and down along his jawline.

“Doll,” he grumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep. “What’re you—?”

Before he could finish, another kiss landed on his chin, followed by a soft giggle that melted whatever protest he’d been trying to muster. He cracked one eye open, his gaze greeted by you perched on his waist, your legs folded neatly on either side of him, and face lit up like you’d just won the lottery.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” you chirped, leaning down to plant another kiss on his forehead. “Time to wake up.”

Bucky groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “It’s too early for this,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

“It’s never too early to kiss your grumpy face,” you retorted, your voice dripping with mischief as your trailed kisses down the side of his neck. “Plus, I made you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” he repeated, cracking his other eye open now. His arms moved instinctively to settle on your hips, steadying you as he shifted slightly. “What kind of breakfast?”

“Only the best for my birthday boy,” you said grinning. “Chocolate chip and caramel pancakes, strawberries, and an Americano. Your favorite.”

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, his mind catching up to her words. “Birthday boy?” he echoed, groaning again as the realization hit him. “It’s not my birthday yet.”

“Close enough,” your voice sing-song as you leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “It’s your birthday week, Buck. So, get used to it.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as his arms tightened around you. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Insanely in love with you,” you quipped, tilting your head to press a longer, slower kiss to his lips.

Bucky sighed into the kiss, his initial sleepiness melting away as he pulled you closer. One of his hands moved up your back, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair as he deepened the kiss, savoring the warmth of you against him. When you both finally broke apart, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

“Morning kisses are dangerous,” you teased, nipping lightly at his bottom lip before sitting back on his lap.

“You started it,” he countered, smirking. “Don’t blame me for finishing it.”

Your laugh was soft and musical as you traced fingers lightly over his chest. “Come on, lazybones.”

Bucky groaned in protest but sat up, leaning back against the headboard as he adjusted you so you stayed steady on his lap. He glanced around for his T-shirt, his brow furrowing when he didn’t see it where he’d tossed it the night before.

“Where’s my shirt?” he asked, leaning over slightly to check the floor beside the bed.

When he looked back up, he froze mid-sentence, his lips parting as he took you in fully. You were sitting there, looking as sheepish as you were smug, wearing his shirt. The fabric hung loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long, and the hem brushing against your bare thighs. It was unmistakably his, and you looked too damn cute for your own good.

“Doll,” he said, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Did you steal my shirt?”

You gave him an innocent smile, tugging lightly at the hem as though to draw attention to your handiwork. “Maybe.”

“You little thief,” he teased, narrowing his eyes as a playful grin tugged at his lips.

“You left it lying around,” you shot back, tone matter-of-fact. “And besides, it’s comfy. Smells like you.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to tug gently on the sleeve. “You’re lucky you look so damn cute in it.”

“I know,” you said, grinning triumphantly.

He leaned forward suddenly, his arms wrapping around you, as he flipped you both over onto the mattress. Your squealed in surprise, your laughter spilling out in a way that made his chest ache with how much he loved you.

“Admit it,” he said, pinning your wrists lightly above your head as he hovered. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You grinned up at him, utterly unrepentant. “Guilty as charged.”

Letting out a soft laugh, Bucky released your wrists so he could cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Because I’m pretty damn obsessed with you too.”

Your smile softened, eyes shining as you reached up to pull him down for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, a quiet promise exchanged. When you both finally pulled apart, you gave him a playful shove.

“Alright, birthday boy,” you said, sitting up and smoothing your hands over his shirt. “Let me get your breakfast before it gets cold.”

As you moved to get up, he caught your wrist, tugging you back toward him. “Wait,” he said, nodding toward the wardrobe. “If you’re going out there, grab me another shirt.”

Your brows raised, a mischievous glint sparking, “Why?”

“Because I’m not walking around half-naked,” he said, his tone dry.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head as you gave him an appraising look. “Why not? You’ve got a drool-worthy body, Buck. Let me enjoy the view for a little longer.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face as he tried not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” you countered, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead before darting out of the room.

When you returned a few minutes later, balancing a tray of food, the smell of coffee and pancakes wafted through the air. Bucky’s stomach growled at the sight of it, and you grinned, setting the tray on the bed between you both.

“Breakfast in bed,” you announced, settling cross-legged beside him. “Made with love.”

Bucky gave you a soft smile, his heart swelling at the way your eyes lit up. “Thank you, doll.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you teased, picking up a fork and spearing a piece of pancake before holding it out to him. “Try it first.”

He raised an eyebrow but leaned forward to take the bite, his eyes widening slightly as the flavors hit his tongue. “Okay, that’s good,” he admitted, his tone slightly muffled.

“Told you,” you said smugly, popping a piece of pancake into your own mouth.

You ate together like that, trading bites and teasing each other in between sips of coffee. At one point, Bucky fed you a strawberry, laughing softly at the way you wrinkled your nose when the juice dripped onto your chin. You were radiant, completely in your element, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by how much he loved you.

“So,” he said finally, setting his fork down as he leaned back against the headboard. “What’s the plan for today?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why do I feel like I should be nervous?”

“Because you should be,” you teased, leaning over to steal another kiss. “Now, finish your breakfast so we can get started.”

He rolled his eyes but did as you asked, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Whatever you had planned, he knew it was going to be perfect. Because you were perfect. And he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his day—and his life—with you by his side.

A hour later Bucky was leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on the last of his coffee, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges from the shower. He was still trying to piece together why you had been so hyperactive all morning. Sure, it was his birthday week, but you were practically vibrating with energy, flitting from one room to the next like a woman on a mission. He’d never seen you this focused—and that was saying something.

“Bucky!” you voice called from the bedroom.

He pushed off the counter with a soft chuckle, setting his mug in the sink before making his way to you. “Yeah, doll?”

As soon as he stepped inside, you turned to him with those big, sparkling eyes that always managed to undo him. You were standing on you tippy toes, pointing toward the upper cupboard above the closet. “Can you get the suitcases down for me?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Suitcases? Why do you need those?”

You shot him a grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “We’re going on a trip! For your birthday.”

That made him pause. “A trip?” he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he stepped toward the cupboard. “What trip?”

“You’ll see,” you said, clearly enjoying his confusion. “But Steve’s coming too.”

Bucky froze, halfway through reaching for the suitcases. He turned back to look at you, an incredulous expression crossing his face. “Steve’s coming? Why is Steve coming on my birthday trip?”

“Because he’s your best friend,” you said matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And it’ll be fun.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. “You’re planning a trip for my birthday… and you invited Stevie?”

“Yes, Do you have a problem with that?” you asked, hands on your hips.

“Not exactly,” he muttered, grabbing the suitcases and setting them down on the bed. “But it’s a little weird, doll. Most people don’t bring a third-wheel on a romantic getaway.”

You rolled your eyes, already unzipping one of the suitcases. “Who said it’s a romantic getaway? Maybe it’s a fun getaway.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re up to something.”

“Maybe,” you said coyly, grabbing a stack of neatly folded clothes from the dresser and dropping them into the suitcase. “Now stop asking questions and help me pack.”

Bucky sighed but couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

He stepped closer, pulling open the drawer with his T-shirts and folding a few into the second suitcase. As he worked, he watched you out of the corner of his eye, the way his brows furrowed in concentration and the little hums you let out as you double-checked your packing list.

“What’s with all the jewelry boxes?” he asked after a moment, nodding toward the growing pile of items you was slipping into a side pocket.

“Accessories,”

“And the electronics?”

“Essentials.”

He raised an eyebrow but decided not to push. You was obviously on a mission, and he wasn’t about to interrupt the flow.

By the time you added a small bag of expensive makeup to the pile, he couldn’t help himself. “Doll, are we going to a luxury fashion show or something? Because this is starting to look like a lot.”

You shot him a playful glare. “It’s not a lot. It’s exactly what we need. Now hush and fold your socks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for his drawer. “Yes, dear.”

A few minutes later, Steve wandered into the room, followed by Sam, who was munching on an apple and looking entirely too amused by the situation.

“What’s all this?” Sam asked, gesturing to the suitcases.

“Packing,” you said brightly, tossing another pair of jeans into one of the bags. “We leave tomorrow.”

Sam’s brows lifted, and he exchanged a glance with Steve, who grinned knowingly. “You didn’t tell him yet, did you?” Steve asked, his tone almost gleeful.

“Of course not It’s a surprise.” you said.

Bucky crossed his arms, leveling everyone all with a suspicious look. “You three are up to something. I can feel it.”

Sam snorted. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up, Wilson,” Bucky muttered, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth settle over him. The easy banter, the laughter, the way you kept sneaking glances at him as though you couldn’t help yourself—it all felt so… normal. And for someone who’d spent decades trapped in chaos and darkness, normal was a gift he didn’t take lightly.

“Alright,” you said finally, zipping up the last suitcase with a triumphant flourish. “I think we’re good to go.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You didn’t pack the kitchen sink yet.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped closer to poke him in the chest. “You’re lucky I love you, Barnes.”

He grinned, catching your hand and pulling you into his arms. “I know,” he murmured, his voice softening. “And I love you too.”

Your smile brightened, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. It didn’t matter where he was going, all that mattered was you—the way you looked at him, the way you loved him, the way you made him feel like he was finally, truly home.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sam called, breaking the moment with a dramatic sigh. “Save the mushy stuff for the trip.”

Bucky shot him a mock glare, but his hold on you didn’t loosen. Instead, he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning back to the suitcases. Whatever you had planned, he knew one thing for sure: with you by his side, it was going to be perfect.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t a fan of surprises, but he was even less of a fan of being blindfolded, especially when it involved Steve holding his hand like they were reenacting some 1940s screwball comedy.

“Stevie,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the blindfold. “If I trip and fall on my face, you’re paying for my dental work.”

Steve snorted, his grip firm as he guided Bucky down what felt like an endless corridor. “Relax, Buck. I’ve got you. You’ve been blindfolded for what? Five minutes?”

“Five minutes too long,” Bucky shot back, his tone dry. “I’m a trained assassin! I could probably tell you how many steps we’ve taken, what direction we’re headed, and what Sam’s chewing on back there.”

From behind, Sam made an exaggerated crunching sound. “It’s gum, genius. Cherry-flavored. Want some?”

“No,” Bucky growled, trying to keep his balance as Steve tugged him forward again. “What I want is to know what the hell is going on.”

“You’ll see soon enough,” your cheerful voice piped up from somewhere ahead. “Stop being so grumpy. It’s your birthday trip!”

“Grumpy is my default setting,” Bucky muttered, though his lips twitched with a small smile. It wasn’t like he could stay mad—not when your voice carried that spark of excitement, like you couldn’t wait to share whatever scheme you’d cooked up.

“Just keep walking, Barnes,” Steve said, a smirk evident in his tone. “You’ll thank us later.”

Bucky let out a long-suffering sigh but kept moving, his enhanced hearing picking up the faint hum of machinery in the distance. The sound grew louder as they walked, and he could feel the air shift slightly, the faintest vibration underfoot giving away their location.

“We’re headed toward the back of the compound,” he muttered.

“Man, can’t get anything past you, huh?” earning a chuckle from Sam.

“Nope,” Bucky deadpanned, though his focus sharpened as they came to a stop. He could hear Tony’s voice now, low and clipped, exchanging words with you. Something about suits?

“Here you go,” Tony said, his voice dripping with his usual snark. “Try not to break my suit, lovebirds.”

“Suit?” Bucky repeated, his brow furrowing beneath the blindfold. “What suit?”

“Hold still, Buck,” you said sweetly, and before he could respond, he felt something cool and metallic snap onto his wrist.

“What the—?” He flinched as the sensation spread, a sleek, nanotech suit wrapping around his body in an instant. It clung to him like a second skin, and he had to fight the instinct to rip it off. “Why the hell do I need a suit?” he questioned.

“Because you’re going to need it,” you said cryptically.

“Need it for what—”

“Goodbye, Nat!” you called, cutting him off as you waved toward the direction of Natasha’s voice.

“See you back in a jiffy,” Natasha replied, her tone amused.

Bucky froze. Jiffy? His enhanced brain worked through the context in seconds, piecing together the sounds, the cryptic comments, and the tech now covering his body. His heart stuttered.

“Doll,” he said slowly, his voice low and worried. “Are we—”

Before he could finish, the ground shifted beneath him, and his words were swallowed by the rush of noise and light.

The Quantum Realm.

The pull of it was disorienting, like being dragged through a vortex, the world around him blurring into streaks of color and sound. He instinctively tightened his grip on Steve’s hand, though he silently cursed the situation. Why did Steve get to hold his hand? He wanted it to be you.

Seconds—or maybe mini seconds—later, the chaos abruptly stopped, and Bucky felt himself thrown forward. He landed with a thud, groaning as the impact knocked the breath out of him.

“Get off of me, Buck,” Steve grumbled from beneath him.

“Not my fault you’re always in the way,” Bucky muttered, rolling off of Steve just as you collapsed onto both of them in a fit of laughter.

“This is the best thing ever,” you declared, clearly unbothered by the pile-up. “We did it!”

“Yeah, great,” Bucky said, sitting up and rubbing his head. “Where the hell are we?”

You scrambled to your feet, practically bouncing as you grabbed his hands and tugged him up. “You’ll see. Ready?”

He raised an eyebrow, his suspicions deepening. “Not until you tell me—”

“Nope!” you interrupted, reaching up to untie his blindfold. “No spoilers. Just… trust me, okay?”

Bucky sighed, his irritation melting under your excited voice. “Fine.”

As the blindfold fell away, the world came into focus, and Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat. His surroundings were achingly familiar—the cobblestone street, the faint smell of fresh bread from the bakery two doors down, the little white house with blue shutters and a squeaky front gate.

It was home. His home. The one from the 1940s, where his ma had lived with his sister.

He stared, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Every detail was perfect, from the worn brick chimney to the hydrangeas blooming by the front porch. It was as though he’d stepped back in time, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“Doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Is this…?”

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” you said softly, your eyes shining with love. “Welcome home.”

His knees nearly gave out, the weight of the moment hitting him all at once. He turned to you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. But there were none. What could he possibly say to this? To you?

Instead, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as his chest heaved with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. You wrapped your arms around him without hesitation, your head resting against his shoulder, holding him just as firmly.

“Thank you,” he choked out after a long moment, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, doll.”

Your smile was soft, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pulled back to look at him. “You deserve this, Buck. All of it.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky believed that. And as he turned back toward the house, his heart felt lighter than it had in decades.

The tiny gadget sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, its metallic surface catching the morning light streaming through the window. Winnie Barnes had made a habit of glancing at it every time she passed by, though she’d tried not to obsess over it. It had been a month since the young woman, with a quick smile and a strange, unworldly confidence—had appeared in her life, promising something that felt too impossible to believe.

But today, when Winnie glanced at the device, she froze. The tiny light on its surface was glowing green.

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching as she set down the towel she’d been folding. Her fingers hovered above the gadget, trembling slightly, before she pressed it, feeling the faint warmth of the metal beneath her touch. It had turned green, just like you had said it would.

Her boys!

Winnie’s chest tightened, her heart racing as she stared at the device. You had promised—you’d promised to bring Steve & Bucky home, even if only for a little while. And now, after weeks of waiting and wondering if she’d been foolish to believe, it was happening.

A knock sounded at the door, sharp and purposeful, and Winnie’s breath hitched. For a moment, she couldn’t move, her legs frozen beneath her as her mind raced. Then, as if on instinct, she grabbed her apron and wiped her hands, hurrying toward the door. Her heart pounded with every step, anticipation and disbelief swirling together in a dizzying mix.

When she opened the door, her breath left her in a rush.

There he was. Her James.

He stood on the stoop, taller than she remembered, broader too, with his hair cut shorter than the boyish waves she’d last seen. He looked like a man now, with a shadow of a beard and eyes that carried a weight she couldn’t begin to imagine. But those were his eyes, her boy’s eyes, and they softened the moment they met hers.

“Ma?” Bucky said, his voice low and tentative, as if he were afraid to break whatever spell had brought him here.

Winnie’s hand flew to her mouth, tears already blurring her vision. “James,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh, my sweet boy…”

Before he could say another word, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. He stiffened for a moment, as though startled by the embrace, but then he melted into her, his arms coming up to hold her tightly. She felt his chest heave, the soft hitch of his breath against her shoulder, and she held him even tighter, as if letting go might make him disappear.

“You’re real,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “You’re here.”

“I’m here, Ma,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here.”

It was only then that she realized they weren’t alone. Just behind him, standing a step lower on the stoop, was another familiar face—Steven Rogers. He looked much the same as she remembered, though his shoulders seemed broader, his stance steadier, and there was a kindness in his gaze that she remembered and it made her heart ache.

“Steven,” she said, her voice breaking as she reached for him.

Steve smiled softly, stepping forward to wrap her in a hug that was just as firm, just as full of love. “Hi, Mrs. Barnes,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Stevie,” she said, pulling back to look at him, her hands cupping his face. “You look well.”

“So do you,” he said with a smile.

Her gaze flicked back to James, and she shook her head, tears streaming freely now. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re both here.”

James reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek, his hand trembling slightly. “It’s real, Ma. We’re here.”

Her gaze darted past them, searching for the one person who had made this miracle possible. “Where’s y/n?”

“Right here, Mrs. Barnes,” you called, stepping out from behind the boys with a wide grin. You were carrying a small backpack slung over one shoulder, your eyes sparkling with the same enthusiasm Winnie had seen the day she first met you.

Winnie let out a soft laugh, her hand pressing to her chest. “You did it,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “You brought them home.”

“I told you I would,” you said, grin widening. “Happy early birthday to Jamie.”

James turned to you, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude. “You… you planned this on your own?”

You shrugged, your smile turning a bit sheepish. “Well, Steve and Sammy helped, but yeah. I thought you might like to see your mom again.”

Bucky stared at you for a long moment, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, his grip firm and unyielding. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “Thank you, doll.”

Your arms wrapped around him without hesitation, your head resting against his chest as you smiled softly. “You’re welcome, Buck.”

Winnie watched the exchange, her heart swelling as she took in the sight of her son standing there, alive and whole, surrounded by people who clearly loved him. It was more than she could have hoped for, more than she dared to dream.

“Come inside,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “Come in, all of you. I’ll make tea.”

James smiled, his arm still draped around your shoulders as he turned to follow her inside. “Tea sounds great, Ma.”

Winnie watched the three of them file into her modest kitchen, her chest so full it ached. James was here. Her James. He was alive, and standing right there in front of her. She’d spent so many months mourning the boy she thought she’d lost to the war, but now she couldn’t stop staring at the man he’d become. He moved like someone who carried too much weight on his shoulders, but there was something else in his posture, too—something lighter, steadier. A calmness she didn’t quite recognize but found herself grateful for.

“Ma, you don’t have to do all this,” James said, his voice soft as he reached for the teapot she was preparing. “We can handle it.”

“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me, James Barnes,” she shot back, swatting his hand away. “You just sit down and let me take care of my boys.”

Bucky blinked at her, clearly startled, before a small, sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you,” Winnie continued, turning her attention to Steven Rogers, who was already leaning against the counter. “I’m not above putting you to work, Steven. You’ve got all that super-soldier strength—bring the bags in before your friend over there starts yelling.”

She nodded toward you, currently perched on the armrest of the couch, rummaging through a stack of photo albums you’d pulled from the shelf.

“I already yelled,” you said cheerfully, waving a hand toward the door. “You all just didn’t hear me. Stevie, come on, move those muscles. Make yourself useful.”

Steve rolled his eyes but pushed off the counter with a resigned sigh. “I liked you better when you were quieter,” he muttered, as he headed toward the door.

“You’ve never known me to be quiet, Rogers,” you called after him, your grin widening.

Winnie couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to the teapot. “She’s got quite the mouth on her, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” James said, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone. His gaze followed you as you hopped up from the couch and began poking through a drawer, muttering to yourself about “how vintage everything is.”

“She’s… something else,” Winnie murmured, her lips curving into a small smile.

James smiled at that, his expression softening. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, Ma.”

The words hit Winnie like a wave, her hands stilling as she poured the tea. She looked up at her son, her heart swelling at the way his eyes softened when they landed on you. It wasn’t just affection she saw there—it was something deeper, something that made her throat tighten with emotion.

“She loves you,” Winnie said quietly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I can see it.”

James nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yeah. She does.”

There was something unspoken in his tone, something heavy that Winnie didn’t miss. She set the teapot down, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. “And you love her.”

It wasn’t a question, but James nodded again, his gaze dropping to the floor. “More than I ever thought I could,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she makes everything feel worth it, Ma.”

Winnie squeezed his arm, her heart aching with both pride and sorrow. She didn’t need to ask to know what he meant. She’d seen it in your eyes the day the you had come to her door, explaining everything James had been through—the torture, the brainwashing, the years stolen from him by Hydra. It was a kind of pain no mother could bear to imagine, and yet here he was, standing before her, whole and loved and somehow still her James.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I always have been.”

James looked up at her, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thanks, Ma.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud clatter from the living room, followed by your unmistakable voice. “This drawer is just socks! Who keeps a whole drawer of socks?”

“They’re not just socks,” Winnie called back, her tone amused. “They’re darning socks!”

“Darning socks?” you repeated, appearing in the doorway with one of the socks in question draped over your hand like a puppet. “What even is that?”

Winnie laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the teapot again. “It’s what we do when socks get holes in them. You’d mend them instead of throwing them out.”

You blinked, clearly baffled. “You can… fix socks?”

“People in this era did,” Winnie said, chuckling at the younger woman’s expression. “Though I doubt you’re one of them.”

“Definitely not,” you said, grinning as you tossed the sock back into the drawer. “But that’s cool. Vintage socks. Got it.”

Steve chose that moment to reappear, a suitcase in each hand and an expression of mild annoyance on his face. “Happy now?” he asked, glaring playfully at you.

“Ecstatic,” you said, beaming at him. “You’re such a gentleman, Stevie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, setting the bags down by the door. “Just don’t ask me to do anything else.”

Winnie watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and affection. It was chaos, but it was her chaos, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. For the first time in what felt like forever, her house was filled with laughter and life and love. And as she looked around at the people who had made it possible, she couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands together as she stepped into the living room. “Who’s ready for tea?”

“Me!” you called, plopping down onto the couch and kicking your feet up. “But only if there’s cookies.”

Winnie smiled, her heart full as she nodded. “There’s always cookies, sweetheart.”

James met her gaze from across the room, his expression soft and filled with gratitude. She nodded back, her silent promise unspoken but understood: they were home, and for as long as she had them, she’d make sure they never felt alone again.

To be continued….

[inkedinshadows]

For the requests: "I would certainly take all night" with Eris, please. I would be forever indebted to you. Can be smut or not, write it however you want! :)

Held in Firelight

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: Hi! No need to be indebted, don't worry! I just hope you'll like this bc I really liked this idea but I wrote it after six hours of class so it might not be my best work. I also don't know how to label it because it's a bit fluffy with a tiny sprinkle of angst and allusions to smutty bits? Idk idk I really like it tho

Warnings: arranged marriage, cheating (but the parties involved are aware so idk)

Word count: 1k

“I think he has a new lover.”

Your words cut through the comfortable silence that had settled over the sitting room. Eris raised a brow, but you continued to stir the wine in your glass, your eyes fixed on the swirling red liquid.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling embers in the fireplace. Eventually, he asked, “What makes you think that?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “He spent every night out this week. He doesn't do that if he's just sleeping around. He still comes home.”

Eris hummed, as if contemplating your answer.

These were your favorite moments—when Eris didn’t have court duties to attend to and could spend hours talking and drinking with you. It was your favorite way to ease the stress and tension of the life you had been forced into.

“He was out even two nights ago?”

You looked up at him. The firelight flickered on the side of his face, turning his hair into molten copper. You felt a sudden urge to reach across the couch and run your fingers through it.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“It was your birthday,” he stated simply.

“So?”

He looked startled. “You really don’t care that he forgot?”

You sighed, setting your glass down. “Eris, he hasn't remembered my birthday in years.”

He didn’t reply, but his jaw clenched. You couldn’t tell if the flames in his eyes were just a reflection of the fire or if it was that simmering power of his.

With another sigh, you pressed on. “Let’s say he remembers,” you said. “Then what? You really believe he would spend the whole night with me, taking his sweet time to make me feel cherished, at least on my birthday?” You shook your head, the mere thought making you scoff. “No, I prefer it this way. He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, and there's no point in pretending we do.”

Eris remained silent, his gaze fixed on the fireplace, his fingers clutching the stem of his glass so tightly you thought it might break. You knew he cared about you, that he hated your situation as much as you did, but even he couldn’t change it. Maybe once he became High Lord he’d banish arranged marriages and spare others from this fate, but it was too late for you.

Picking up your glass again, you tucked your legs beneath you and settled back against the pillows. You took a sip of wine, hoping that its rich taste might offer an excuse to change the topic, but you came up empty. You’d already commented on the flavor when he opened the bottle.

“I would certainly take all night.”

His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful, but when you turned to look at him, he was still facing away from you.

“What?” you blurted out. Surely, you had heard that wrong.

Finally, his eyes met yours, determined and unflinching. “I would take all night with you,” he repeated, “I would cherish you. And not just on your birthday.”

Your breath hitched. There had been a few lingering touches, a brush of fingers, words whispered after one too many glasses of wine. But never like this—so plain and blatant, so unguarded.

“Don't say that,” you murmured.

“Why not?” His eyes bore into you, pinning you in place. There was no escape—not that you wanted one. “We both want it.”

He was right. There was no arguing with that. Yet you still shook your head. “Eris, we can't.”

He moved closer. You didn’t resist when he took your glass and set it on the small table alongside his. An empty bottle stood next to an unopened one.

“Why not?” he asked again, his voice gentler now. “Just because you’re married? How many other females has he been with?”

Countless.

Maybe Eris was right about that too. Maybe you didn’t owe loyalty to a husband you had never wanted—a husband who had never been loyal to you. If he could have all the females he wanted, then maybe you could have the one male you wanted. The one person who always understood you, who never judged or mistreated you.

“When was the last time someone made you feel cherished?” Eris’s hand covered yours, his slender fingers intertwining with your own, squeezing once. “Made you feel good?”

You had never thought about your marriage in those terms. You had never wanted that union in the first place, so you had clung to the small things. Time away from your husband was good. You hadn’t shared a bed in a long time, and your conversations were awkward and stiff enough that the thought of intimacy hadn't crossed your mind in years. And you’d told yourself that was good enough.

But deep down, it had never really felt good.

Eris was still looking at you, his expression soft and understanding. As if he could see your every thought.

You looked away, unable to stomach it. “I don't know,” you finally whispered.

“Let me be that person.” He reached out, gently tilting your chin. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your eyes met again, and your resolve wavered. Then he brushed his thumb over your lips and spoke in a barely audible whisper.

“Let me love you.”

That word.

Love.

Your husband had never uttered it to you, nor had you to him. But hearing it from Eris… you knew he didn't mean just now—a stolen moment to carry in your heart. And that realization was the final push you needed.

You didn't know who moved first. One moment you were staring into each other's eyes. The next, your lips met.

He tasted like a wish come true after years of waiting.

You were done longing and yearning in secret, done pretending you didn't know what you truly wanted.

And as Eris loved you in front of the fireplace, you finally felt good. You felt cherished. And he took all night to make sure of it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Mrs. R

Notes: You know what anon, great point. This is gonna be a two-parter. Not beta-read.

If you read this and you haven't seen The Pitt....Come on in, the water's fine.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: For as amicable as the divorce had been, the two of you had problems. When Michael was stressed, he shut you out from the source of it, determined not to bring it home. But as hard as he tried, the strain and drain of his work hung on him. You'd wanted to be a safe space for him, but as the pressures of his job mounted, he'd never allowed you to be.

"Didn't think you'd be working today."

It's the most you've said beyond your answering the basics. He hasn't said anything beyond asking the routine questions. He'd had the good grace to school his expression when he'd asked about any medications (blood pressure, cholesterol, birth control), and you'd said no to all.

“We’re slammed. All hands on deck.”

“Yeah, I know.” You wince as he takes careful hold of your wrist, lowering himself onto the stool beside your hospital bed and getting a good look at the jagged cut stretching the length of your palm. 

"So you were replacing a lightbulb in the living room?"

"Uh-huh."

"What were you standing on?"

"...A book."

He shoots you a disbelieving look from beneath his lashes.

"...On top of another book."

A further tip of his brows, and you sigh, finally conceding, "On top of a cardboard box."

He looses a soft, almost grudging laugh as he looks back down at your hand.

"Surprised you didn't stand on the coffee table."

"It's rickety."

"But the carboard box-book combo was stable? What happened to the lightbulb?"

"I lost my balance, my grip tightened and uh...The lightbulb didn't like that."

"You hit your head on the way down?"

"No."

"Alright." He fishes into his pocket for a small flashlight, leaning in to get a closer look. You hold still as he diligently examines the wound.

"It broke pretty cleanly, I don't think there are any other bits in there. I was able to piece it back together—not to use, you know. Just to check."

He hums, giving a small nod. "Couple of stitches and then we'll get you on your way."

"Not gonna summon one of the ducklings for the demonstration?" You ask, unable to stand the relative quiet. "Dana says it's their first day."

"Hm? Oh," He shakes his head with a smile. "Far as I could tell, they were all occupied when I headed back here."

“How are they doing?”

“Well, we’ve got a fainter, a nicknamer, a high-fiver—Local anesthesia—little pinch, don’t look,” He warns, and you turn your head, wincing as the needle dips into your palm. “There we go…And uh, a kid who’s wearing a different pair of scrubs every time I see him.” 

“Fashion show?” 

“Unfortunate series of fluids.”

“Yikes.” 

“Mm.” 

You tentatively glance back down, watching him draw the needle through your palm.

“How are you doing besides that?” You press. 

“...You know.” 

But you don’t know. For as amicable as the divorce had been, the two of you had problems. When Michael was stressed, he shut you out from the source of it, determined not to bring it home. But as hard as he tried, the strain and drain of his work hung on him. You'd wanted to be a safe space for him, but as the pressures of his job mounted, he'd never allowed you to be.

You sit in quiet for a few moments, allowing him to zone in on his work as you let yourself just focus on him.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in months, though not the first time you’ve spoken. You’ve exchanged the odd texts for holidays, birthdays. The last time you’d seen one another had been brief—hauling a box of things from your car to his car. It marked the official end to your divorce, your possessions and daily lives extricated entirely from one another (save for one of his hoodies, which you'd tucked into your closet and sworn up and down that you simply couldn't find).

But that hadn’t stopped the hurt or the ache of your loss. It hadn’t sapped the warmth, the comfort of the memories of your good days together. It hadn’t lessened what you knew about him, what you could tell from a look.  

"You need a haircut." You tease, tipping your head to get a better look at him. You just manage to see the way a smile tugs at his lips. You hesitate to add anything else, to keep him in a good mood, but you just can't help yourself.

"You're not sleeping," You accuse softly. Robby draws in a slow breath as he threads the needle through your skin again. 

"No," He admits. You wait for him to set the needle aside before you reach out, gently combing your fingers through his hair. His shoulders sag, head tipping into your hand as you gently run your nails down to the nape of his neck.

"What's goin' on, Mikey?" You murmur. His chin tips up to meet your eye, and your palm slides around to gently cup his cheek, thumb smoothing across his beard.   

“…You know what today is?” He asks.

“Adamson?”

“Yeah.”

“S’why I didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“So you stood on two books and a cardboard box to change a lightbulb today, just in case you needed to go to the ER so that you wouldn’t see me?”

“No. Purely coincidental. Besides,” You lean a little closer. “I like seeing you.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, brighter and wider than the last, and your stomach flutters with his admission:

“I like seeing you, too.”

“You two sure you’re divorced?”

The sound of Evans’ voice makes the two of you reel away from one another, your hand lifting from his cheek guiltily. She casts a mischievous smile between the two of you before nodding over her shoulder.

“We’ve got incoming—pileup on the I-79.”

“Be right there.”

Evans casts you one more cursory glance and adds, “See me before you leave, Mrs. R,” before turning, tugging the curtain closed behind her. You try to get a good look at Robby after she calls you that, but he’s up and moving before you can.

“Let’s get you bandaged up and on your way,” Robby pats your knee before stepping around the bed. “We’ll need you to come in for a wound check in a couple of days, make sure it’s coming along nicely.”

“…Can’t be a home visit?” You venture, glancing back toward him. You don’t trust yourself to meet his eye; you still can’t believe you asked it. But you haven’t gotten a good enough look at him, and you just want to know what’s going on—really going on.

You’re not sure it’ll work. He didn’t trust you with those feelings when you were his wife—why should he trust you with them now? 

“We need it on the record.”

It’s a diplomatic answer, and you’re certain that it’s all you’ll get. You nod a bit, watching as he neatly wraps the bandage. 

“You’ve still got tylenol extra strength in the house?” He asks. 

“Mhm.” 

“Take that as needed, up to—”

“1500 milligrams a day, I know.” 

“Still gotta say it.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“There.” 

Robby looks up at you, his hands still wrapped warmly around yours. He draws his lower lip into his mouth, and for a moment, you’re certain that he’s going to say something else—but the curtain is drawn back again.

“Hey Robby, there’s a—Oh. Shit."

You close your eyes, fighting back your own curse before you turn your head, shooting the doctor a tight smile.

“Hey, Frank.” 

“Hey, Mrs. R. Am I interrupting—”

“Nope! I'm all set here. And you guys have incoming, so I should skedaddle.”

Robby lets go of your hand, scooching the stool back as you slide off of the bed, standing. 

“Nice to see you.” 

“Yeah, Frank, you, too.” You pat his shoulder with your good hand before turning to face Robby again. “I’m gonna head out.” 

“Take it easy with the hand. Rest it.”

“I will.”

“I mean it.” 

“Robby—” 

“I know you. You’ll get all cocky with the local anesthetic in your system and you’ll be in agony when it wears off. You drive yourself here?”

“Uber.”

“Good.” 

“Mhm.” You turn to the sandwich cart, eyeing the labels before fishing one out. “I’ll see you around.”

“You’re taking that, really?” 

“It’s for Earl,” You insist, taking a couple more steps back. "Get some rest, Robby."

“Yeah.” 

You let yourself get one last long look at him before you turn away, striding determinedly toward the exit. You just manage to skirt by Evans, taking advantage of the fact that she’s deep in conversation with one of the orderlies. You give the attendants at the front desk a quick wave before you pass down the rows of chairs, holding the sandwich out to Earl. His face splits with a wide grin as he takes it. 

“You’re the best, Mrs. R.”

“Take care’a yourself, Earl.”

“Hey, you, too!” 

-- 

You make it all the way into the parking lot before your phone buzzes with Robby’s message:  I can change that lightbulb when my shift ends

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; 

@missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[tc9972]

Nils Höglander random textpost

1, A happy place for avid hunter Nils Höglander is quietly stalking a moose in the northern wildness of Sweden.

2, This ten-minute long video is mostly delightful. Höglander is pretty quiet and reserved with the media, largely because he’s dealing with not only a new team, but a new country and a language with which he’s still not fully comfortable. The video gives some insight into his personality and how his teammates view him.

But then, about two minutes into the video, there’s a moment that defies comprehension.

Höglander takes a water bottle and sprays both his socks and the inside of his skate before putting it on.

3, “I guess I have to say hockey is the hardest,” said Hoglander. “But if you’ve never been out in the forest or anything, it’s kind of hard to know what to do. If you bring Petey (Elias Pettersson) he would have no idea what to do, he’s a city boy.”

4, Q. Do you have a hidden talent? Music or cooking?

A. I’m not into music at all in doing it by myself (instrument). I would always say something outdoors. I’m a big unicycle guy. I have one. That’s my hidden talent.

5, Nils Höglander pulled in a decent crop of votes for the team’s biggest Swiftie, as he was nominated by Erik Brännström, Aatu Räty, and Elias Pettersson. He later claimed that “Love Story” was his favourite song by her. Höglander’s history with being a fan of Swift dates back to a TikTok posted last year, in which he said he’d rather meet her than her boyfriend, Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce.

6, Nils Höglander Spotify Wrapped- “Viva La Vida” by Soppgirobygget

I don’t know what I expected but it certainly wasn’t this.

I guess I expected this to be a cover of “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay. Instead, it’s a dance track that interpolates “Misirlou” by Dick Dale, then throws in a bridge that’s basically just the chorus of “Whoomp! (There It Is)” by Tag Team.

This is a straight-up party song and it’s a lot of fun, even if the lyrics are hilariously crass. While mostly in Norwegian, there are a few English phrases thrown in, like “Bitch, make it clap.”

Here are a couple choice phrases from the song translated into English via Google Translate: “Big babes, big drinks, big asses make me happy,” “Shake the bum and I’ll post it on Snap,” and “I have a skull fracture and proven gonorrhea.”

7, Then there are the unicycles. Höglander has a knack for juggling while unicycling, as well as stickhandling while on a unicycle. It’s a talent shared by Pettersson, whose dad could ride a unicycle, so he taught himself to do it as well. 

“The unicycle thing is just for fun,” said Höglander. “I haven’t seen Petey yet, but I will have a match with him.”

“We haven’t had a battle yet,” said Pettersson, “or done it face-to-face but from the videos I’ve seen, he’s better. Sucks to say, but...”

8, There is no doubt about who is responsible for the cooking at the Pettersson/Höglander home.

– I take on the cooking, otherwise it won't be as good on the table, says Pettersson.

– He is careful about that so he has to be responsible for it, says Höglander.

What do you stand for then? – Put away the dishes. Luckily we have a dishwasher so it's easy, says Höglander. (Elias has also said that Hoggy used to cook rice like pasta, not measuring water or anything, b4 he stepped in to teach him better but I can't find the video)

9, "My friend found Höglander on Tinder... guess this means he’s in Vancouver already?"

10, It’s Hoagie, not Hoggy

Note the umlaut. It means the first syllable of the rookie’s name rhymes with brogue or doge, not log or dog.

11, And finally, here’s a fact that is bound to make many of you feel very old: Höglander’s birthday is December 20, 2000, making him the first Vancouver Canuck born after the millennium. Remember the Titans came out before he did; Gladiator and Almost Famous, too.

12, n the northern wilderness of his tiny village of Brocktrask, Sweden — population 20 hearty outdoor enthusiasts — you first have to stalk the very large and imposing moose. And that could take a lot of time.

13, The name “Nyssa” has many meaning, including “goal” (Greek) or “friendly elf” (Scandinavian). It is also Nils’ nickname with his SHL teammates. While Hoglander’s size may make him elf-like, he’s more feisty than friendly, taking a five-game suspension earlier this season for throwing a reverse elbow. Since the suspension ,he has been very productive as a 19 year old in the SHL, scoring four goals and three assists in 12 games.

14, So I was just texting with Nils Höglander and he has agreed to not score any goals against Canada at the World Juniors if we can find him some good fishing spots around Vancouver. — Chris Faber

15,

Achievements

Two-time SHL Goal of the Year (2019, 2020)

Won a bronze medal with Team Sweden at the 2020 World Junior Championship

16, Funny story. A couple of my friends who are into fishing decided to randomly invite Hoglander out fishing on the Vedder river during his rookie year through a DM on instagram. He ended up replying and saying he’d love to go. They ended up meeting up and spending a day out on the water and had a successful trip. They go out fishing still to this day"

17, "It all started back in Skellefteå, in northern Sweden, where he moved at age 11. The forward from Burträsk, who turns 18 on Thursday, spent much of his spare time with wheels under his feet.

”We spent almost every night during the summer playing street hockey. We played at the rink when the ice was melted for the summer, and placed hockey nets on the concrete. We had goalies and arranged tournaments. Sometimes we stayed until way past midnight”, Nils Höglander recalls.

The janitor of the small arena often didn’t know that Nils and his friends were there, they weren’t really allowed to hang out in the building as late as they did. When they couldn’t play at the rink they used a tennis court instead.

“It really was the highlight of the summer.”

18, Pettersson's gaming hobby didn't keep him from having a career year and he's certainly not the only Canuck to spend time playing Call of Duty. His fellow Swede, Nils Höglander, evidently also spends a fair amount of time playing Call of Duty. He proved as much in a collaboration with the Seattle Surge, a professional Call of Duty League (CDL) team that is co-owned by Canucks Sports and Entertainment.

Höglander faced off against Amer “Pred” Zulbeari, who is one of the best Call of Duty players in the world. When the Surge won the CDL 2022 Major III Grand Final, Pred was named the tournament’s Most Valuable Player, then was named Rookie of the Year for the 2022 CDL season.  

With that in mind, it’s at least a little bit surprising that Höglander — decidedly not a professional e-gamer — managed to hold his own in a 1v1 match against Pred.

Höglander, playing under the handle “HitTheDeke,” seemed to legitimately catch Pred off-guard with how well he played, as the power forward matched him kill for kill at first. At the 2:40 mark, Pred looks legitimately taken aback, looking towards the camera crew as if making sure he’s not being pranked by being secretly matched up against another pro.

19,

VANCOUVER – Not only has he a dream job, Nils Hoglander has a dream commute to go with it.

Each morning the Vancouver Canucks are home, the Swedish rookie leaves his 22nd-floor apartment that overlooks the city, gets in an elevator and rides down to the bottom of the Rogers Arena. That’s his commute. No car, no transit, no rain.

This is rink-rat heaven.

“Taking an elevator to get to the rink would be like a dream for Nils,” Chris Abbott, the Canadian general manager of Hoglander’s former team, Rogle BK, told Sportsnet. “You’ll have to turn the lights out to get him to leave. You’ll never find a guy who wants to be on the ice more. I’d be out for a run and I’d see him skating on rollerblades with a bunch of kids in the middle of nowhere. He loves being around the rink and loves his teammates, and I think that goes a long way for him to focus on what he needs to do to stay in the NHL.”

20, Hoglander said he is accustomed to living on his own. He misses the camaraderie of teammates away from the rink, but spends his afternoons FaceTiming his family and friends in Sweden. His mom, Maria, is a teacher and his dad, Anders, a professional test driver for auto-makers.

“Cool job,” Hoglander said.

He also spends a lot of time with friends and teammates playing video games online. Call of Duty is his favourite, and Pettersson and Canuck Adam Gaudette are regular gamers, he said.

21,

When did Nils' interest in hockey arise? (asking Nils' parents) – He was probably no more than two and a half years old when he started skating. He could skate straight away, which is almost crazy. So did Tilda. – Before that, both of them had skied quite a bit, both downhill and cross-country. Both of them competed a lot on skis and we often had to throw them in the car straight from the podium to go to a hockey match.

22,

Nils Höglander seems to be a very strong person and his parents believe that this may be due to the tough times he experienced growing up. – Yes, but if we look back at how he was during his youth, he was, as we say, a “squirt”. He was everywhere and nowhere. Much like he sometimes is on the hockey field, laughs Höglander’s parents and continues: – I think everything he has been through, both with Tilda and the Skellefteå time, has been built on this Norrland-like stability. None of us parents can otherwise put our finger on why he has become so strong within himself, because we also feel that he is.

23,

And always with a smile on his face… – It takes a lot for him not to smile. When he smiles, he has fun. You have to be humble about life and the world. All people are different, but you should try to treat everyone well and not get carried away too much.

24,

When Brännström came to the Canucks, one of the faces he recognized was Nils Höglander.

The two Swedes have known each other for over 10 years and their first memory goes back to a hockey camp in Sweden where Brännström’s dad was the coach.

At that camp, Höglander was playing forward but the surprise came when Brännström told us that he was a goaltender at the time. Brännström said he was either 11 or 12 at the time and he was playing goaltender when he was playing up an age group.

25, Who's more likely to be a cool parent? Elias Pettersson: "I like to think I would be a cool parent, but I'll say Nils Hoglander. He's from up north in Sweden. He's just a very funny guy."

26, Who's more likely to be a cool parent? Elias Pettersson: "I like to think I would be a cool parent, but I'll say Nils Hoglander. He's from up north in Sweden. He's just a very funny guy"

Who's more likely to get lost in a road city? Quinn Hughes:"Probably Hoglander"

27, Who on your team is most likely to get lost on the road? (asking Quinn Hughes) Quinn: "I feel like Hog-man. (You're such a good person!) No, I'm gonna explain myself. He is literally from a town in Sweden with like 15 people. Like, grocery story 2 hours away"

28, Höglander was voted the worst golfer last year…

[myarmsaretoolong]

Out of Context Quotes

Share some out-of-context quotes from a work of your choosing! Funny, badass, witty, quippy, sexy, romantic, etc.

thanks for the tag @sarah-sandwich! gunna do a couple of random short moments from each of my Big Three wips atm

torchwood fix it

1.

Stood here, in the shelled-out hull of a TARDIS-turned machine of war, Owen didn’t feel all that saved at all. Simply thrust sideways into a different kind of hell.

2.

A chill settled over Owen. “Parallel Earths?” he asked slowly as yet more appeared. Twenty now, thirty. Coming to terms with the infiniteness of an ever-expanding universe and all the potential within it across all of time was difficult enough, but he’d managed it after joining Torchwood. An infinite number of infinites, however? What was some twat from the East End meant to do with that? The Doctor tipped his head this way and that, tongue poked in his cheek. “Not quite.” Phew. “Not this time, at least.” Oh.

band au

1.

Ianto’s nineteenth birthday slipped by in a heady haze of sweat and boredom. He’d long since tired of the novelty of it all, finding the temperature did little more than drive him inside in an attempt to cool down. Even now, as September rolled around, the sun continued to blare its fiery heat. It frizzed up hair and melted all those ice creams before you could eat even half of one, it turned skin red and taught them all an important lesson about sun cream. The local weather man kept going on about unusual pressure systems, but Ianto didn’t care enough to understand. He knew perfectly enough that hot meant hot.

2.

“‘Cos someone’s gotta serve the coffee, lad. Everyone wants coffee, but no one wants to make it. If no one did, imagine the uproar! Just like music.” “But they’ll always be someone to make music,” Ianto shot back. He couldn’t imagine a world without it. “And coffee. Some poor sod like me who’s got no other option.” “Always options, now. Some are easy and some are hard.” “Can you stop speaking in riddles?” Glyn laughed, eyes twinkling. “One day you’ll know what I mean.”

parkner hunger games au

1.

“Don’t look now,” Ned said out the side of his mouth, eyes fixed somewhere over Peter’s shoulder in a manner that made Peter want to spin around immediately, “but Harley and his lot are here.” Of course, Peter couldn’t help but whirl around on his heel, eyes immediately latching onto Harley’s ridiculous blonde curls even through the busy marketplace. His heart did a little flutter, which he mentally berated it for. Speaking from experience, it wouldn’t stop it from happening again next time. Harley’s ‘lot’ consisted of his friends from Midtown: Flash Thompson, Brad Davis, and Brian McKeever, as well as Jason and his current girlfriend Betty. They moved through the market like a pack, laughing far too loudly and drawing weary eyes from all corners. Flash had a habit of pocketing things while his mates acted as a distraction for whichever poor vendor they decided to pick on, and it wasn’t exactly a secret as to who partook in the weekly vandalisation of the market stalls. All this and yet no one could say anything… Suppose being the son of the Mayor got you that.

2. (in which youll find me using one-line mcu characters as names and creating them into entire characters)

“Shove off!” Tiny literally shoved Harley away, almost sending him tripping over his burlap sack. He held his head high and sniffed. “You used me trying to prove a point to them girls. Harlot.” “Did not.” “Did too!” “Maybe I just wanted to kiss ya.” “You haven’t kissed me like that in a year.”

tagging: @b1uetrees @captainfairygodmother @girlsaturday @underwhelmingalchemist @brittasfan @by-gray

[kaqtusm]

@read-reblog-repeat you wanted to be tagged mother, so suffer

Moonwater microfic/scenario

Word count: 806

TW: angst, hurt/comfort, mention of SA, mention of pedophila

Remus Lupin’s life had never been simple.

Before his 10th birthday, before the world had started to make sense, before he even understood what the word love truly meant, he had been marked. He had been broken.

It was Fenrir Greyback who gave him HIV—through violence, through cruelty that no child should ever know. And it wasn’t something that had gone away with time; it had always been there, lurking in the background of every breath, every quiet moment, every joyful experience he’d tried to have.

The blood that had been spilled that night—so much of it—had poisoned him for the rest of his life, and Remus had learned to hide it. He had learned how to swallow his fear, how to shove down his pain, and most of all, how to pretend to be normal, even when his body betrayed him every single day.

It was never something he could tell anyone. No one could know about the monster that had taken everything from him. So, Remus smiled and pretended he wasn’t broken, that he wasn’t constantly at war with his own body. He was good at it. He had been for years.

But when Regulus Black came into his life, when he started to see the way Regulus looked at him—like he was more than just a person surviving, more than just someone who had lived through hell—it terrified him. He couldn’t let Regulus see him for what he truly was. He couldn’t let Regulus into the parts of him that would only bring sorrow and destruction.

But Regulus had always been different. And Remus hated himself for that. For the way Regulus made him feel alive in a way no one else had—no one else could—in a way that brought him back to the surface from the darkness he spent so many years trying to drown in.

It all came to a head one cold, rainy night when Regulus found him hunched over the sink, struggling to breathe. His body had finally given out—too much stress, too much pain, too many years of pretending to be okay. The cold sweat clung to his skin, his chest rattling with the coughs he couldn’t stop, the body trembling under the weight of it all.

Regulus had walked in, had seen him, and for the first time, Remus couldn’t hide it.

“Remus,” Regulus’s voice had cracked with concern, too much emotion that Remus wasn’t ready for. He’d never been ready for anyone to care that much.

“Please,” Remus had pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t look at me like that. It’s not what you think.”

But Regulus wasn’t listening. He was already at Remus’s side, pulling him away from the sink and holding him, his hands shaking as they touched his clammy skin.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Regulus had said, his voice tight with fear. “Please, Remus, just tell me what’s happening. What’s wrong?”

It was then that the walls finally crumbled. And Remus couldn’t stop the flood of words that came pouring out.

“I was a child,” he gasped between ragged breaths. “It was him—Fenrir Greyback—he did this to me. He… he took everything from me when I was just a kid, and I’ve been living with it ever since. He… he gave me HIV, Regulus. And now my body is breaking down, and I can’t—”

The words were swallowed by the weight of his own shame, and Remus could feel himself spiraling, the shame and the self-loathing so deep in his chest that it threatened to suffocate him.

Regulus didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he cupped Remus’s face, wiping away the sweat from his brow, his eyes locked on his with a look that pierced through the darkness.

“You are not broken,” Regulus said, his voice steady, even as the tears welled up in his own eyes. “You are not broken, Remus. What happened to you—it wasn’t your fault. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Remus tried to pull away, to tell him how wrong he was, to explain just how impossible it was for someone like Regulus to love someone like him—but Regulus wasn’t having any of it. His arms tightened around Remus, holding him close, grounding him.

“I’m here,” Regulus whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving. No matter what happens, I’m not leaving you.”

But Remus couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how anyone could look at him that way, how anyone could still want to be near him when they knew what he was, what had been done to him.

The silence stretched between them, but in that silence, something began to change. Something fragile, but real.

Regulus wasn’t asking him to be perfect. He wasn’t asking for answers Remus couldn’t give.

All he was asking for was to stay.

And maybe that was enough.

[turkeyinnovember]

thinking abt how he spent his birthday in the inbetween

[science-lings]

It’s funny that like every 2-6 months Bruce makes the decision that he clearly makes everyone’s life worse by being in it and distances himself to keep them safe and realizes that either he needs them or they would actually benefit to have him around sometimes so he has to casually make everything right again or get bullied into being a dad again.

Dick is kind of sick of it but also so in tune to the cycle that he can accurately predict when it’s due to occur, in which case he notifies the batfam (-Bruce) group chat. Everyone has their ways of dealing with it from suddenly wanting to hang out (read: being annoyingly clingy) all day (Jason) to convoluted schemes to root out the cause of Bruce’s current depressive spiral and proving that he can’t do it alone (Tim), to not doing anything at all bc that is ‘not my fucking problem’ (Steph), etc.

What they haven’t all realized is that even when Bruce is going through his sad little hermit episodes, he would still be at their sides the moment they ask for him because no matter how much self hatred he feels at any given moment, his kids needing his help snaps him out of it so fast it gives him whiplash.

[adhd-languages]

I really wonder if I sound hyper feminine when I’m speaking japanese.

[enrapture]

Honestly the more I think about it the more I want to say and explain and I hate that we’re not talking because all I want to do is talk about it and express myself even if it’s not the same between us anymore which is fine and well and something I’ve come to accept I just can’t help but feel like I’m being devoured by the unsaid words that all I wanna do is pour out.