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threeacttragedy · 1 month ago

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Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only

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lemon-lime-behavior · 3 months ago

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Do you have any tips for drawing noses? Sorry this is out of nowhere but I'm wanting to improve on my art, specifically the faces, and it's always the nose I find myself struggling most with.

I really struggle w making it fit the face if that makes sense? Every time I try to add it it just throws the whole face off, especially the eyes, not to mention how to make different nose types and the angles </33

I love your art style so bad, it's so smooth and satisfying to look at and the way you draw noses like it's nbd (and anatomy in general like damn) baffles me so I was just wondering if you maybe had any tricks or not, Ty either way for sharing your art in the first place <33

@extravagav Well I can try! First off thank you very much, I often feel like I still have a very long way to go in regards to proportions and anatomy so I really appreciate your kind words <3

Hokay, so, noses. I do love noses. To start off when it comes to drawing noses I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you the most annoying advice in the world which is just to practice a lot. Find a lot of pictures of noses in a bunch of different shapes from a bunch of different angles and just draw them until your brain melts out of your ears. Pay particular attention though to the nose as a 3D object!

It's of course trickier to do than I'm making it out to be but the more you practice at imagining the nose as a 3d physical form the easier it becomes to make a nose model in your mind that you can rotate like a microwave.

This is my personal very very basic understanding of the nose's construction:

it's like three circles and a taco shell.

Okay so now that you've got a basic understanding of the nose's construction, how to put it in the middle of the god-dang face??

So the funky thing about noses is that they tend to change shape the least out of all our facial features when we're making expressions. Our eyes change shape, our mouths move, our eyebrows, our cheeks, our jaws, they all go all over the place. the nose, however, tends to be pretty stationary and doesn't deform much (save in one important way I'll get to later). So because of all this, and here's my biggest piece of advice when it comes to making the nose fit in the face, I like to draw the nose first! I do a very loose head construction, draw the nose, and then sort of "hang" the rest of the features off of it:

Two very different expressions, same nose!

Now when it comes to noses interacting specifically with the eyes the greatest thing to remember is that the part of the nose that sits between the eyes sticks out farther than you might think, and will likely be obscuring one of them, the extent of which depending a lot on the angle and how pronounced the nose bridge is.

for someone with a pretty flat nose bridge you'll be able to see most of the eye except in a more extreme angle, while someone with a protruding ridge might obscure the eye entirely. but the nose will likely be interacting with at least one eye if we're not facing the character head on. Really making your brain think in 3d is gonna most helpful here.

Finally! The nose being expressive! So the main way the nose plays in to expression is by wrinkling. the muscles that pull up your top lip and the muscles that pull down the middle of your forehead are almost all connected to the nose, so the nose tends to develop a lot of wrinkles whenever brows are furrowed or teeth are bared.

Adding those wrinkles can add a lot of impact in the expression! And not just angry ones neither:

Sooooooooooooooo yeah! noses! They're weird and they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and they can do a lot to add character to a face and they can also make you want to tear your hair out in big clumps! I'm still learning myself when it comes to noses (and most other things) and I'm faaaar from a master at it, but I hope I've been able to provide at least a little bit of help. If you do use my advice going forward please let me know! Good luck!!!!! (And here's all my nose "headcanons" for the strawhats. The ones who actually have human noses, anyway):

#my stuff #noses #art advice #I guess?#I have no idea how to tag this #enjoy!

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greenfiend · 9 months ago

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The Significance of Lover’s Lake and Byler (Theory)

'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact

Yes we're lovers, and that is that (Heroes by David Bowie)

Part 2 here

(Warning: This post has mentions of sex (nothing graphic)… if you’re uncomfortable with that please do not proceed.)

So, Lover’s Lake has existed within the show ever since season 2, when Will mapped out the entirety of Hawkins. The lake is shaped like a heart (keep this in mind for later) thus the name “Lover’s Lake”. Makes sense within the town of Hawkins, but does not provide an explanation on a subtextual level. None of the “lovers” existing within the show has been associated with the lake (you could say Steve/Nancy but honestly it’s a stretch since they never actually rekindled their romance.)

This leads me to the question… why call the lake “Lover’s Lake” without associating any lovers to it?

Because maybe, there will be lovers connected to it… but they aren’t lovers… yet.

Okay, let’s get back to the shape. A heart. ❤️ Hm. Now which character within the show is most associated with hearts? Which character is even referred to as the heart by their love interest?

Mike.

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that he’s one part of the “lovers” here. Thus ruling out many other romantic pairings within the show. Leaving only two pairings: Mike/El and Mike/Will. I won’t go into detail on why I believe Mike and El will inevitably break up, you can read a lot of different analyses for that. So that leaves… Mike/Will. Not lovers yet.

Okay, here’s the part where I may get crucified. The definition of lovers.

Please put your pitch forks down for this.

Lovers usually refers to two people in a sexual relationship outside of marriage.

With all the subtext (and actual text) around sex and sexuality, and how we see Will struggle with his own sexuality, there is a likely conclusion here. He’s going to confront his sexuality. To do so, he will have sex. With whom? Well, with the one person he loves the most, the one he affectionately refers to as the heart… his best friend… Mike.

Now, where’s this going to happen? What better location than somewhere empty and secluded.

Reefer Rick’s lakeside house.

Now, who is “Reefer Rick”?

Also known as, Rick Lipton, Reefer Rick is a drug dealer who’s closely acquainted with Eddie.

He’s an enigma. We never see him. All that is known about him are the things mentioned by other characters.

He’s currently in jail apparently for dealing drugs. Also, he seems like a town pariah.

Also, he isn’t too keen on Fast Times (returned on time), at least not as much as “Cheech and Chong” (returned late each time.) That shot at 53 minutes and 5 seconds in Fast Times doesn’t do it for him, I guess. Unlike watching two guys get high.

His name choice is an interesting one.

“Reefer” Rick Lipton.

“Reefer” is a synonym for “marijuana cigarette”. Okay, makes sense, he is a drug dealer after all. But why the term “cigarette”? Well… there’s this other word that also happens to be a synonym for “cigarette”…

Then Rick… short for “Richard”. Richard is one of the few names out there with a nickname that is also slang for male genitalia… “Dick”.

Then finally… Lipton.

As Robin says, spelled like Lipton tea. Now, why would the writers use the name “Lipton” and even reference the tea company if there were no significance to it? They wouldn’t. We know this about them.

So why “Lipton”?

Let’s do a bit of research here, shall we?

The founder of Lipton tea was a man named Thomas Lipton.

Thomas Lipton just so happens to have been a closeted homosexual man who had a long term relationship with another man whose name is… *drumroll please*

William Love.

Okay, that can’t be just a coincidence right?

So moving on to Reefer Rick’s house.

We see glimpses of his living room, kitchen, and briefly his bedroom.

Jason and his buds are searching for Eddie and this involves looking under the mattress? As if, Eddie could successfully hide under there? Haha okay sure.

The angle of this shot is interesting too, because the bed is essentially being shown off to us.

This bed with a blue blanket and yellow sheets. Hm. Interesting.

Keep in mind this scene is essentially unnecessary. They could have easily shown Jason et al searching for Eddie without creating an entire new set for a room that’s only used in one single insignificant shot. Therefore, I do not think it’s unreasonable to believe this is used for foreshadowing.

Then we also get this shot from outside the window into the bedroom.

Look familiar? I thought so too.

Okay. Now for my theory/prediction.

As I mentioned earlier, Will is currently struggling with his own sexuality and feels a lot of shame and internalized homophobia. There’s also a lot of evidence that Mike is experiencing the same thing. Unlike Will, Mike conforms to the society’s expectations. He dates El, performing as her boyfriend. This is comparable to Nancy’s arc in season 1. She also conforms, and like Mike, leaves her best friend behind. We all know how that ended.

Now, what better way to wrap up the show than to have Mike correct his sister’s mistake? To have Mike reject societal expectations in favour of his best friend?

Okay so this is my theory.

Mike and Will have their first kiss an episode or two prior to 5x07. Tensions are high, but they’re busy fighting interdimentional monsters along side their friends.

Then comes 5x07 which somehow leaves Mike and Will alone by Lover’s Lake. The tension between them reaches an all time high, leading to a passionate kiss and then… more. Let’s just say it involves that blue and yellow bed.

At the same time as these two become the lovers they were meant to be, another character is being saved, or perhaps being brought back to life. Perhaps another red head, one we all know and love. Yes, a major parallel and contrast to Steve/Nancy’s sex scene in season 1, which featured Barb dying. But because Mike is rejecting conformity and being authentic, another character lives instead.

I mean, what better way to represent the beauty of the love and intimacy between these two boys? Their love is literally bringing back life to the world.

So yeah, basically I’m saying that Mike and Will expressing their love for each other will save Max.

This also wouldn’t be the first time that Max’s survival is correlated with their relationship. As I doubt that it was merely a coincidence that in episode 4x04 we have Mike’s genuine monologue to Will, then we have Max surviving Vecna. In contrast to 4x09, which features a forced monologue from Mike to El, followed by Max losing to Vecna and barely surviving.

So, as their bond strengthens, Max’s life bar goes up (so to speak). If something interferes with their bond, Max’s outcome is more dire.

The writers have also been associating Mike/El with death…

[Tumblr only allows a limited number of images so pretend we have one of El holding dead flowers and another image of the cut scene from 3x05 with Mike/El having a moment cutting to a dead body on the hospital floor]

Mike/Will on the other hand have been associated with life. The birds chirping in the background of their final scene together, the flowers blooming between them as they stand together. Plus, blue plus yellow does equal green after all. Which is the most commonly associated colour with life.

🌿🌱🌳

To conclude, I just want to say that I personally think this would be a nice way to end their arc. I know a lot of people are uncomfortable with associating Mike/Will with anything sexual… but the show has been doing this already. Whether you like it or not, Mike and Will have been shown implicitly and explicitly that they desire each other both romantically and sexually. The fact that they have sexual desire for each other does not minimize or trivialize their friendship and love, it’s an aspect of it… adding another dimension to their relationship.

Do I think or hope they would show anything pornographic? Absolutely not (do I even have to say this?) But explicit like Steve/Nancy? Yes. Do I think they’ll be only 14/15 years old when this occurs? No. This will likely happen after a time jump.

Being authentically yourself and not conforming is overall a major theme of the show. I mean it’s called Stranger Things after all. Will people be upset by the ending of this arc? Bylers included? Absolutely. Many people within the town of Hawkins and people watching the show will both show disgust for it. But that’s the point. It’s not “normal” and that’s okay. Different is good, and can be a beautiful and wonderful thing. We all just need to open our minds and hearts a bit. I’m not just talking about the GA; many Bylers are also closed minded and stuck in their ways too. Let’s all try to work on that, shall we?

Despite the opinions of others, Will and Mike will choose to love each other which will inevitably lead to their defeat of Vecna. Love concurs all. It may be cheesy and cliche but personally? I think that’s a beautiful thing. We all can learn to love more.

Anyway, would love to know your thoughts on this.

Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

Part 2 here

#loverslakegate #byler #stranger things #stranger things 5 #byler theory #stranger things theory #lovers lake

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theallyandhisbeast · 2 months ago

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About bucktommy and 911 in general

You know, in the end, this just feels extremely cheap and cruel.

Showing bucktommy be incandescently happy in all the episodes but 8.6? Even in this ep you can feel how much they care and genuinely love each other. Audience was largely optimistic and excited about them, in a way we have never seen for other buck's LI.

Only to what? Throw it all away because you can't be bothered to write a satisfactory arc for them? Because Buck is the epitome of the guy who dates a lot but always gets broken up with? That to be able to decide if you want to be in a committed relationship if you are bi you have to explore first or else your decision is null and void?

What a way to waste potential and your characters arc.

The special thing about Tommy was that he was beloved by not only bucktommy fans, but GA, and most importantly he was a sort of representation we don't see all that much in media. People loved him because they saw themselves in him, they could connect to his journey and they were genuinely rooting for him to find love and family with Buck. To waste it all away, and to do so by basically throw at us all that we loved about them is unnecessarily cruel.

What hurts the most is that even buck and tommy themselves didn't want to break up. but instead they "must" because bowing down to harmful stereotypes about bi people who are "confused and so they must experiment before settling" is more important than telling a compelling story.

Even without bt break up, I feel like this season took a sharp dive for the worst about well thought storylines in a way that baffles him. Gerrard was reduced to a joke, as was Ortiz, both pgs that could have been used to create compelling arcs that intertwined the 118 even more but instead we got this cheap throwaway joke of a Gerrard, Ortiz was basically throw out of office in a single ep. Hotshot sl could have been fun but instead it's just.... there. And coming back too just for funsies, cause apparently that sl was more important to develop instead of a interesting queer relationship.

Athena once again doing copaganda. Bobby coming back to the 118 without any particular struggle or even guilt about dropping the bag. Things said in interviews that we expect to happen and never even made it to the screen (Eddie's loneliness? Chim and Hen having conflict over Mara? Buck feeling guilty about injuring Gerrard?).

The way Maddie cannot have any sl that is not either tied to a man or about motherhood. Madney having another surprise baby instead of them choosing on purpose to expand their family. Hen & Karen gaining trauma after trauma about their children and not having any other sl that is not tied to that. Josh just existing in the periphery and only becoming important as the "insightful token gay" but not having any type of meaningful screen time since Carson.

The other side characters like Sue, Ravi, Linda, Carla completely disappearing without anyone mentioning them. Ravi has not been given any important sl ever since he talked about having cancer and ever since reduced as a comic relief without anything to add to his character but he's a "landlord".

Chris is out of the picture for who knows how long, and is basically kept around to be traumatized over and over again. Eddie hasn't gotten any character development until first s5 and seemingly now, but i'd argue that the whole thing just felt rushed because what do you mean it takes one chat with a priest for him to do a 180° while he still isn't talking to Chris? And Eddie was the one who got the best treatment of all of them this season.

It's the way this show is slowly chipping itself away. It's the way they start a queer story line promising it would be impactful and handled with care and then half-assing it a best. It's the way the other queer characters are never explored and able to breath and revel in their queerness in the first place. Because, really, when was the last time Hen and Karen kissed on screen? When was the last time they went on a date? When was the last time their arcs were not about children or getting hurt, but just about them as individuals? And on this thread what about Maddie? Or Josh? Or Chim? Or Eddie?

Everything feels reused again and again and again without no real development than then starting the circle all over in half a season.

What a waste.

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ktownshizzle · 11 days ago

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A Christmas Encore | Part 1 of 2

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You never thought you’d see Min Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, not in this place. He left years ago with big dreams and bigger talent, trading snow-covered Seollim Hollow for the city lights of Seoul. But now, with the cultural center—the heart of your hometown—on the verge of being sold to a soulless corporation, you’ll do anything to save it.

When Yoongi appears on your doorstep, it feels like a miracle wrapped in regret. But as the two of you work together to save the center, old promises resurface, along with feelings you thought you’d left behind. Can you trust someone who was never meant to stay? Or will you just get hurt again?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Childhood Friends to Kinda Lovers to Kinda Strangers to Friends to Lovers (WHAT?! Yeah I got dizzy too) Second chances basically, Fluff, Smut, Mild Angst, Very Hallmark

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ only. Cheesy sometimes theatrical dialogue (just roll with it please), christmas cliches, virgin and vanilla sex (written in flashback scene), penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it), reader is in an FWB arrangement with a different male character, a couple of cute kisses, yoongi’s a little messy (thinks you have a boyfriend, but flirts with you anyways), lots of pining and yearning but MC is still a baddie who is fighting capitalism, Maknae line are here

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 11k (i knowww. 😬 That's why i’ve broken it in 2 parts)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting Date: December 28, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello ho ho. We are back with another Ginger Yoongi fic, because I lub him 🧡 If you’ve read the teaser, I added one significant line here which I placed in boldface. Flashbacks are in italics. Hope you are enjoying your holidays! :)

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Part of A Holly, Jolly Holiday with Min Yun-Kay collab with @yooglefics

The air in Seollim Hollow’s town hall is colder than the streets outside, though snow has been falling all day. You stand stiffly in front of Mr. Choi’s desk, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you try to keep the trembling in your hands at bay. Mr. Choi, the man who holds the fate of the cultural center in his grasp, leans back in his chair, his gaze apologetic but firm.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, his tone measured, almost regretful. “You have to understand, the town needs this money. We’ve been running on fumes for years, and this offer… it’s more than we could have ever hoped for.”

“Fuck money!” You slam your hand on his desk, voice thick with frustration. “You know what that center means to this town. It’s not just a building—it’s where the kids go after school, where the seniors quilt their memories together, where people connect in ways they can’t anywhere else. Without it, Seollim Hollow loses a part of itself.”

Mr. Choi’s expression softens for a moment. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “I really do. That’s why this decision wasn’t easy. But this isn’t just about sentimentality. The town’s been struggling, and we can’t keep running on good intentions alone. The offer they’ve made—it’s more money than we’ve seen in years. It’s enough to keep us afloat.”

“By selling our soul to a corporation,” you counter bitterly, your grip tightening on the edge of his desk. “By tearing apart the heart of this town.”

“It’s not personal,” he replies softly, though his tone carries the weight of his own conflict. “It’s not easy, either. I’m just trying to do what’s best for the town.”

“What if…” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you’ve even thought them through. “What if I can find the money to match their offer? Would you give me the chance to save it?”

“Do you know how much they’re offering?”

“Tell me.”

He rattles off a number, and–shit–your heart sinks. It’s worse than you imagined, the kind of figure that feels impossible.

Mr. Choi’s voice softens. “It’s a lot, I know. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you. But if you’re serious, and you think you can do it… I’ll give you two months. Two months to pull it together. If you can match the offer, I’ll bring it to the council.”

His gaze is steady, earnest. You can tell he doesn’t believe you’ll succeed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his voice, like he wants to give you the chance, even if it’s a long shot.

You nod, jaw tight, and push away from his desk. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly, even as your stomach churns.

“The buyer’s representative will be in town soon to finalize details,” Mr. Choi says, shuffling papers. “They’ve been… persistent.” He hesitates before looking at you with a grimace. “I just hope they’re as reasonable as they seem.”

As you turn to leave, his voice stops you. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I hope you succeed.”

The cultural center feels like a refuge as you step inside, shaking snow from your boots. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and make your way to the meeting room where the rest of the team is waiting.

Everyone is already bundled up in their winter layers, scarves and hats still clinging to stray flakes of snow. They sit around the table, faces ranging from cautious to hopeful. These people are the lifeblood of this place—they’ve poured countless hours into keeping the cultural center alive and making the people feel the same way through music, sports, and art.

There’s Jungkook, a pitch-perfect singer whose natural talent and boundless energy makes every day a little brighter, his enthusiasm infectious even on the hardest days.

There’s Jimin, a former ballerina whose grace and dedication to dance and sports inspire everyone to push a little harder, his charm and easy warmth a constant source of comfort.

And there’s Taehyung, an artist with a quiet yet magnetic presence, his creative soul always dreaming up murals, community projects, and ways to make the town a little more beautiful.

Oh, and between the three of them, their face card never declines.

With their immense talent, killer looks, and hearts of gold, you couldn’t ask for a better group of soldiers to see you through this ordeal.

You take a deep breath and face them. “Alright,” you say, and your voice is steady this time. “We’ve got two months to save this place. That’s it. We need to raise enough money to match the offer from the corporation, or it’s gone. We can do this, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

“How much is the offer?” Taehyung asks hesitantly.

You tell them, and a ripple of gasps moves through the room. It’s a huge number. Maybe impossible. But it’s not completely out of reach.

“We’re going to hold a benefit concert,” you say. “A big one. Something that’ll get the entire town involved. We’ll sell tickets, get sponsors, take donations—whatever it takes. This can work. It has to work.”

Ideas fly around the room. Jungkook says the children’s choir he conducts can perform. Taehyung lists a couple of local baker-artisans that can organize a bake sale, and he volunteers to start a website so they can accept online orders. There’s a spark of energy in the air, cautious but real, and it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t impossible.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Jimin asks as he surmises all the ideas he’s scribbled on the whiteboard.

Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office.

You stay through the night thinking of ways to make this work. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. Next, you’re drawing up budgets, listing contacts. God this is a fuckin’ mess. You’ve made a promise to your team, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

Then, you hear a shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

You should’ve locked up when the boys left earlier. Too late now.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher. “My… my boyfriend’s a cop.”

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a k-drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

(Flashback)

You’ve always known Min Yoongi. At least, that’s how it feels. He’s been part of your life for so long that imagining a version of it without him is impossible.

Your parents had been neighbors, then friends, and you’d grown up sharing porches and bike rides and bowls of tteokguk on New Year’s morning. When you were younger, you’d bicker like siblings, but by the time you hit your teens, something had shifted—an unspoken understanding between you, like you’d been playing different roles all along and had finally settled into the right ones.

You’d always thought of Yoongi as yours, in some indefinable way. Not like a boyfriend, not like family, but something in between.

It’s late one night when the bond between you is cemented forever.

You’re sixteen and walking home from a talent show at the community center. Snow falls in lazy flurries, clinging to your scarf and catching in Yoongi’s coat. The air smells crisp and clean, and the night feels like something out of a dream.

Yoongi’s carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He’s quiet, still riding the high of his first-ever performance. You’d clapped so hard your palms were stinging by the end, and the memory makes you smile.

“You were good,” you tell him. “Not just ‘good for your first time,’ but, like… really good.”

He shrugs, but the tips of his nose turn red. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, pulling his beanie lower to hide his eyes. “Thanks.”

You laugh, a puff of white in the cold air. “I am truly honored to know such the nation’s next musical superstar.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. You know Yoongi well enough to recognize it for what it is—real pride, buried under layers of modesty.

“You should keep doing this. You’re going to be great at it.”

Yoongi stops, turning to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances down at the snow for a moment, his breath fogging the air. Then, quietly, he says, “If I’m serious about this, I’ll have to leave. I can’t do it here.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You knew Yoongi wanted more, wanted a life bigger than Seollim Hollow could give him. But hearing him say it out loud feels different. More real. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Not now,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not yet. But someday.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Well, when you’re famous, you better not forget me. I’ll show up in Seoul and embarrass you in front of all your fancy friends.”

That makes him laugh–his soundless shoulder chuckle you always love seeing. “Forget you? Nah, you’re too weird...”

“Promise me, then,” you say, holding out your pinky. “You’ll never forget the weird girl.”

He looks at your hand for a moment, then hooks his pinky around yours. His fingers are warm against the cold night. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise the same.”

“Deal.”

You’re about to let go, thinking that’s the end of it, when Yoongi glances up at the streetlamp above you. Hanging there, half-hidden by the snow, is a sprig of mistletoe.

He hesitates, his hand still holding yours, and looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Your pulse skips. For a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away. Just you and him, standing under the mistletoe.

You nod, giving him your answer without a word.

He leans in slowly, his breath warm against your cold cheeks. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and the moment is an ice sculpture, so fragile you’re afraid to move, afraid it might shatter.

When he pulls back, you’re both quiet, the snow falling around you like a curtain closing on a scene. Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, looking away but his lips hold the faintest of smiles.

He walks forward, glances back though he’s not quite meeting your eyes when he says, “You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, biting your lip as you surge forward, bumping him as you walk ahead with a happiness you couldn’t quite contain.

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you’ll carry that moment with you forever.

(End of Flashback)

Adulthood changes everything.

Yoongi leaves a few years after that night. Three to be exact. He tells you quietly one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cultural center’s music room, that he’s moving to Seoul to chase his dream to be a serious musician. You wish you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. You knew he’d leave eventually. You’d prepared yourself for it.

Or at least you thought you had.

At first, you keep in touch. There are phone calls, texts, even a few visits during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, the gaps between those moments grow wider. Yoongi gets busier, and you try not to hold it against him. You hear whispers from mutual friends about how well he’s doing, about the producers and idols he’s working with. You’re proud of him. You always knew he’d be brilliant.

But sometimes, late at night, you feel the ache of his absence. You miss him. You miss the way he used to make you laugh when you were having a bad day, the way he’d quietly push his half-eaten snacks in your direction because he knew you’d forget to eat when you were stressed.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You’ve learned that love—real love—isn’t just about wanting someone. It’s about being able to keep them. And Yoongi was never yours to keep.

Even as your lives drift apart, there’s one thing Yoongi never forgets. Every year, without fail, a postcard arrives in your mailbox a few days before Christmas.

They’re always simple—no long, heartfelt messages, just a quick note scrawled in his familiar handwriting. “Merry Christmas.” “Hope you’re doing well.” Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll add, “I miss home.”

You keep every single one. They’re tucked in a small box under your bed, and every December, you take them out and read through them. It’s a ritual you never admit to anyone. The postcards remind you of a part of him you thought you’d lost, a thread of connection that still holds, no matter how frayed it might feel.

Sometimes you wonder what they mean to him—if he sends them out of obligation, out of nostalgia, or because he misses you in the same way you miss him. But you never ask.

You think of Yoongi as the one who got away. And you’ve made your peace with it. He deserves to chase his dreams, and you deserve a life with someone who won’t leave.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“I’m not stopping, princess.”

The grip the man has on your waist tightens as he drives his cock to your entrance, fast and deep. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the quiet of your room, matching the beat of your headboard banging against the wall. The neighbors are gonna hate you.

“C’mon, princess, cum with me” his hand reaches forward, parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit furiously. Shit—

“I’m almost there…” you pant.

After a particularly hard thrust, you’re moaning, and he’s groaning, and you’re both coming at the same time, bliss washing over your body in waves.

You fall flat against your pillows as he pulls out and you sigh. You really needed that release.

Minutes later, Sgt. Jung Hoseok—Seollim Hollow’s most cheerful cop and your sometimes stress relief—grins at you from the other side of your bed like you’ve just handed him the best news of the year.

“Min Yoongi’s back in town? Wowwww…” he says, dragging the words out as he stretches his arms behind his head. His grin widens when you don’t answer right away. “Is that why you called me tonight? You never initiate. Is this some kind of nervous breakdown booty call?”

You throw a pillow at him, but Hoseok just catches it, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the warmth in your cheeks gives you away.

When you were in your teens, Yoongi and Hoseok were the town’s favorite duo, the cute boys everyone couldn’t help but smile at. Hoseok was the one who dragged Yoongi into b-boying, claiming they’d be unstoppable if they combined Yoongi’s rhythm with his own moves. And even though Yoongi liked to grumble about how much he hated it, he was actually pretty good—not that he’d ever admit it. Still, you knew he was way more into playing instruments than throwing himself into flips and spins.

They were total opposites—Hoseok all sunshine and endless energy, Yoongi the moody, chill counterpart—but somehow, it worked. The town loved seeing them running through the streets, jumping off ledges, or randomly breaking out into a routine just for fun. They were just two boys with way too much chemistry and rhythm to keep to themselves.

But just like you and Yoongi, he and Hoseok also drifted apart when he moved to Seoul. Hoseok took the more practical approach, used the innate energy and strength he has to keep the community safe. He followed in the footsteps of his dad and became one of the neighborhood policemen.

“Your face…” He cackles, sitting up now, bare chest gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. “Did you just realize you’re still hung up on him after all these years?”

“Yah!!!” Your stomach flips, and you hate that he’s got you pegged so easily. You mutter a feeble, “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

The “friends with benefits” part of your relationship started casually, almost accidentally early this year, and over the past months, it became something routine. A distraction. A comfort. Nothing more, and you both liked it that way.

Except right now, Hoseok looks entirely too smug, like he knows things you haven’t admitted to yourself.

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish, and Hoseok’s sharp eyes catch it instantly. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” You pick at a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding his gaze. “I might have said something… dumb when I saw him.”

“Define dumb.”

Your cheeks burn. “I told him my boyfriend’s a cop.”

Hoseok blinks. Then he bursts out laughing, so loud and sudden it startles you. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You mean me? You told Yoongi I’m your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” you snap, throwing another pillow at him. “I just panicked, okay? He showed up out of nowhere, and I thought he was gonna murder me!”

“Yah... He’s gonna figure it out, you know. You think he’s stupid?”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I don’t know, Hoseok! I was already having a bad day.”

That shuts him up for a second. Hoseok straightens, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re really messed up over this, huh?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Can’t wait to run into him soon. See how the big-shot producer’s doing,” he says.

You sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I was thinking about asking him to help with the benefit concert, actually.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ask your childhood best friend—who also happens to be the guy you’ve been quietly pining for since forever—to save the town’s cultural center with some grand Christmas concert?”

“You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging the word out with all the disbelief he can muster. “Honestly, it sounds like the plot of a good story, and I can’t wait to read it.”

“Hoseok,” you warn, but he just chuckles, standing up and grabbing his clothes from the floor.

“Look,” he says, tugging on his jeans, “if you think you want to start something with Yoongi—like, really start something—I’m cool with calling this,” he gestures between the two of you, “off. No hard feelings. I’m not about to stand in the way of a Christmas miracle or whatever.”

You gape at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You shake your head, trying to play it off. “I’m not–Yoongi’s just… probably in between things. He’ll be gone again before New Year’s. I’m not counting on anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“A thousand per cent.”

“Alright,” Hoseok shrugs. “Knew you couldn’t last a week without hopping on my dick anyway…”

“Boy! If you don’t–” you throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

That makes him laugh again, his bright, warm laughter filling the room as he pulls on his jacket. “Aight, I’m just playing,” he says, still chuckling, but his tone is lighter now. “I’m out. But call me if you need me.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you lean back against your pillows, staring at the ceiling. You know Hoseok means well, but he doesn’t get it. Yoongi was never meant to stay. He made that clear years ago, and you’ve made your peace with it. You’re not about to let yourself hope for anything more. Not this time.

Why couldn’t you just fall in love with someone like Hoseok?

The next time you see Yoongi, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some idol photofolio.

It’s mid-morning, and you’re walking toward the café on Main Street when you spot him across the square. Shelby, the dog his mom got years ago, is tugging at her leash, bounding through the snow while Yoongi trails behind her, americano in hand. His orange hair glows against the overcast sky, a cobalt jacket pulling his frame together like he’s stepped out of an editorial.

He looks striking. Expensive. Entirely out of place in Seollim Hollow.

You don’t realize your feet are moving until you’re halfway across the street. “Yoongi!”

He looks up, pausing mid-sip of his coffee, and tilts his head slightly when he sees you. Shelby stops sniffing a patch of snow and wags her tail furiously at the attention.

“Hi Shelby!” You say, scratching the back of her ear for a few seconds before turning to the cat-like man who was looking at you amusedly. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

You hum, pouting as you try to string together the words you wanted to say.

His lips form a straight line, the edges of his mouth bracketing his awkward smile.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, willing your voice to steady.

Yoongi’s brow lifts slightly. “What about?”

“You’re a music producer, right?”

He shrugs, “Why? What do you need…”

So you tell him your predicament. How some greedy, low-life motherfuckers want to tear down the cultural center. (His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline when you say this, but you’re just getting warmed up.)

“Like, who even does that?” you rant. “Only the worst kind of people. The type who steal candy from babies, kick dogs—not you Shelby girl—and probably thinks pizza tastes good with pickles.” You pause, pointing at him for emphasis. “And not in the fun, quirky way either. Like, sociopath level.”

Yoongi blinks at you, clearly trying to process your spiraling rage. “So… you’re upset.”

“Fuck yeah I’m upset!” you snap, gesturing wildly. “They’re trying to destroy something important! For what? To build another strip mall no one’s going to shop at because Amazon exists? It’s evil. Straight-up Squid Games territory.”

“Is that what they’re doing with it?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t care. They’re all the same capitalist motherfuckers in my book. But they’re not taking the beating heart of this town. Over my dead body.”

At this, Yoongi just nods slowly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Remind me never to cross you.”

You further explain your ideas to save the town. But where he comes in is the benefit concert. You tell him you need his help in song arrangements, coordinating and coaching the performances, even performing himself, if he’s willing. You’re careful to manage your tone, to make it sound less desperate than it is. He listens, his face unreadable, but he’s probably qualifying if he can actually help you, or maybe if he even wants to.

“All the proceeds are going toward reclaiming the cultural center,” you say firmly. “If we hit our goal, we can match the corporation’s offer and keep it from being sold.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Shelby, apparently bored, starts sniffing his shoes. “I can help,” he says finally.

Your chest loosens with relief. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, lips twitching upward. “Yeah. But you’ll owe me a drink. Or dinner. Something.”

“I can do that.”

His smirk grows faintly. “So… you want me to perform too, or just help with arrangements?”

“You’d perform?”

“Depends.” He tilts his head. “How desperate are you?”

“Enough to go down on my knees.”

His eyes are like saucers, but he keeps the rest of his face neutral. “Mm. Noted.”

Suddenly you realize what your words could’ve meant and your nervous laughter spills out before you can stop it. “I just meant I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Again, noted.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you meant anything else,” he tells you, although you can tell he’s lying by the way he’s poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

Just as you’re wrapping up the conversation, Yoongi glances at you, his voice shifting slightly. “Oh, I ran into your boyfriend earlier…”

You tilt your head dumbly.

“Hob-ah.”

Oh shit. Your stomach drops. “Ah, Hoseok. My boyfriend…” you quickly remember the lie, and you recover, kinda. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone as casual as ever. “We ran into each other at the bakery. He was picking up red bean buns for his appa.”

You nod, throat dry.

Yoongi hums, sipping his coffee. “Guess nice guys really do get the girl in the end.”

Before you can even process what he just said, you hear the unmistakable voice of his eomma from across the street.

“Well,” he says, adjusting Shelby’s leash. “See ya.”

He lingers for a beat, then gives a small wave before turning to walk away.

You stand frozen, Yoongi’s words looping through your head. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. A pang of bitterness settles in your gut. Yoongi’s wrong. The type of guys that get the girl? The ones who stay.

When Yoongi shows up at your office the following Monday, and it takes everything in you not to gape like an idiot.

He’s wearing a black turtleneck that fits him too well, sharp and effortless in a way that makes him look untouchable. He’s leaning against your doorframe like he has nowhere else to be, a small notebook tucked under his arm, which looks just like the notebook he used to scribble lyrics in back when you were teenagers.

“You’re early,” you say, as you settle your bag on your desk.

“Well, you’re the one running the show. Figured I’d want to stay on your good side.”

You roll your eyes, “Sit. I’ll get you up to speed. And Yoongi, you’re working pro bono, you’re already on my good side.”

He grins slightly, scratching his nose as he shakes his head. It’s the same mannerism he’s had when you were young, when he’s just a tad embarrassed. You try not to be too endeared even though it’s virtually impossible.

You walk him through your plans for the benefit concert, pointing out the lineup you’ve pulled together so far. Yoongi listens quietly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your desk as you speak.

“You’re really pulling this together,” he observes.

“It’s been a group effort. You should meet the maknaes, they’re the reason everything is moving so swiftly,” you say, brushing it off. “But we’re still short of a showstopper. Someone who’ll get the town buzzing.”

Yoong nods his head. “If you want I can make some phone calls, see who I can rope in from my contacts.”

“You’d do that to save the center?”

“Yeah, I’d do it for you,” he nods. “And the town.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. “Thank you. I owe you.”

He exhales softly and leans back in his chair. “I already told you, just buy me dinner once and we’ll call it even.”

You let the silence fester for a bit, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Why are you here anyway?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you kind of appeared like some apparition all of a sudden.”

Yoongi looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s debating whether to tell you the truth. Then he shrugs, eyes dropping to his notebook. “I guess I was just missing home. And eomma’s been on my case about coming back for the holidays this year, so…”

You don’t understand why he looks sus. His answer is casual, but unconvincing. You still don’t know if you’re buying it.

“Okay,” you say, because pressing him won’t get you anywhere. But as you move on to the next topic, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more he’s not telling you.

“It’s funny,” he says casually, looking around the cultural center. “I didn’t think this place would look as well as it does.”

You give him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought it’d be more… decrepit? It’s been here since we were young.”

“You’d be surprised what this town can do when it comes together. The Kim’s donated paint one year, even did all the labor. We did a fundraiser to get new musical equipment. The maknaes did all the regrouting and retiling in the bathrooms and the pantry.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s all them,” you say, kicking your shoe lightly on the carpeted floor.

Yoongi smirks, “you don’t know the effect you have on people, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush.

“They may have done the brunt work, but you’re the leader that inspired them to do it,” he says, with the confidence of someone who’s known you all his life. Even if he did disappear for years. “It’s not easy keeping things alive.”

Your heart stops for a second at his words. You know he’s just talking about the center. He’s not talking about anything else. Certainly not his unspoken feelings towards you that were obviously left in the past. So you manage a curt, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

When he comes over the next day, he’s all business. He steps into your office with his notebook and a couple of sheets of paper, saying he has ideas for the lineup.

You’re expecting something good, but what he shows you takes your breath away.

“These arrangements are perfect,” you say, flipping through the pages he’s handed you. It’s been years since you’ve seen his work up close, but the brilliance of it still stuns you. “You’re still… incredible at this, Yoongi.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are faintly pink, and the sight tugs at something deep in your chest.

“And this…” You pause at the last page. “What’s this song?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the piano in the corner of the room. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You hesitate, your heart already pounding, but you follow him. He sits down on the bench, and without a word, he gestures for you to sit next to him. The space is too small. Your shoulder brushes his, and you suddenly feel nineteen again. The last time you sat beside each other in this very bench, in this very room, is still ingrained in your memory. You wonder if he even remembers.

Yoongi’s fingers press against the keys, and the first notes ring out softly, reverently. The melody is mesmerizing, weaving through the room like smoke curling through the air. You watch his hands—elegant and sure and effortless.

And somewhere between the rise and fall of the music, you can’t stop yourself from still wondering: Why did he leave? Why did he let so much time pass without a word? And why, now that he’s back, does it feel like you can’t breathe when he’s near?

The song ends too soon, the last note lingering in the air as Yoongi turns to you. He catches you staring, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, unable to look away. “I– I don’t know.”

His gaze drops to your lips, staying there for just a moment too long. And, wait–is he leaning just a little closer?

You think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.

But then Yoongi pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. “Hoseok’s probably waiting for you at home.”

The words douse the warmth in you like a bucket of ice cold water.

Your stomach drops, and you can’t stop the truth from falling between your lips, “No, he’s not.”

Yoongi nods once, his face unreadable again as he stands. “Still, I should go.”

You don’t stop him. You can’t. Because you have to remind yourself, he’s not here for you. You don’t even know if he wants to stay or if you could ever ask him that. If your past is an indication, Yoongi was never yours to keep and you were never enough to make him stay.

When the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting at the piano bench alone, your heart still racing and your thoughts an absolute mess.

(Flashback)

It had been a quiet winter evening, the kind of cold that numbed your cheeks and made your breath fog up in front of you. The cultural center was nearly empty, save for you and Yoongi, tucked away in the rec room where he was hunched over an old piano. The air smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi’s fingers moved over the keys with absent precision, but the music wasn’t soft tonight. There was tension in the notes—sharp and uneven, like his thoughts were spilling out of him one chord at a time. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the anger in your chest building until it felt like you might burst.

“So that’s it?” you blurted out suddenly, your voice loud in the silence. “You’re just leaving?”

Yoongi’s hands stilled immediately, the final note ringing harsh and hollow before fading out. He looked up, frowning. “You knew I was leaving.”

“You didn’t say it was this soon.”

He sighed, turning back to the keys, playing a few softer notes now—like he was trying to calm both the piano and himself. “You make it sound like I’m never coming back.”

“Are you?” You stepped into the room, the accusation sharp in your tone. “Because it sure feels like you’re running, Yoongi. From this place. From… everything.”

He turned to face you fully then, his brows drawn together. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are!” The words came out louder than you’d intended, and Yoongi blinked, surprised at your volume. But you didn’t stop. “You’re leaving your mom, leaving me—all so you can go chase some stupid dream in the city.”

Yoongi flinched at that, his expression darkening. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “What’s wrong with staying here? With making a life here? ”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Yoongi wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but just as cutting. “You’ve never wanted to leave this place. You don’t need to look elsewhere to give your family a chance at a better life. You’re happy here, stuck in this tiny town where nothing ever changes. But that’s not me. I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” you asked, the question breaking out of you like a plea.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “Because I want more, okay? I want… I don’t know. I wanna be rich, I wanna be me, I wanna be something.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Am I nothing?”

Yoongi froze, his expression faltering for the first time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” you said, your voice breaking as you turned away from him. “You make it sound like staying here means I’m such a loser. Like I’m not enough.”

“That’s not—”

“No.” You spun back to face him, tears pricking at your eyes. “Just go, Yoongi. Go to Seoul. Go be something, like you keep saying. I hope it’s worth it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to say something—anything—that might fix the jagged edges of the fight, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face unreadable, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, the ache in your chest refusing to let you sleep. The silence of the room feels heavy, the kind that makes every sound louder—the creak of the floor, the rustle of your blanket.

Then there’s a knock. A soft, deliberate rap on your window.

You sit up, heart already pounding, and there he is. His silhouette is familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten, hunching over the windowsill before he lands on your carpet with a dull thud.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rolling on your bed to face away from him, hoping the distance might make it easier to breathe.

“I can’t go like this,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, your voice quieter than you meant.

“The hell it is.”

You hear the shuffle of fabric as something—probably his coat—falls to the floor. And then the mattress dips under his weight, and before you can steel yourself, warmth blooms behind you. His arms slide around you, pulling you against him with a kind of confidence that feels too natural for something you’ve never done before.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” Your voice shakes, and you hate how it betrays you, how it cracks under the weight of the tears threatening to spill.

“Shh…” he murmurs, tucking you closer to him, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. “Don’t cry.”

Your breath hitches, and you choke out, “I hate you.” It’s a lie, of course, but your heart pounds against your chest, calling you out for it anyway.

Yoongi hums, his breath warm against your neck, and the sound is a smirk made audible. “No, you don’t.”

You roll over to face him, your vision blurry now. His face is close, closer than it’s been in years, and the glassiness of his eyes mirrors your own. There’s a sadness there, deep and heavy, that he doesn’t say out loud but you can feel pressing against you like a second heartbeat.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I did,” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Before you can process what’s happening, Yoongi leans forward and kisses it away, his lips brushing your skin so softly it makes you shiver. He pulls back, searching your face.

“Is it okay if I…” He trails off, the question hanging in the air.

You know the question. You answer without words, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips slot against his, and it’s slow at first but it deepens quickly, your fingers tangling in his hair, his hands pulling you closer like you’re the one who’s skipping town.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. But he doesn’t stay still for long—his hands find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt until they rest just beneath your ribs. His touch is warm, and your breath stutters in response.

“I want you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his voice rough when he says, “Me too, baby. I want you so bad.”

The shirt is gone before you know it, leaving you exposed to the cool air, but the warmth of Yoongi’s touch quickly erases the chill. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again he cups the underside of your breast and smooths a calloused thumb over a nipple. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Off,” you mumble against his mouth, tugging at his sweater. He obliges, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—bare, unguarded.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

When he sinks into you that night, it feels like your world is spinning off its axis. The fullness, the warmth, the way his body feels against yours—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes you feel complete. His taste, his softness, his scent, you’re drowning in everything Yoongi and you’re not sure you want to resurface.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, air sucked out of your lungs as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” he grunts, voice raw as he stares at the area where your bodies have connected. “You feel so good.”

“Baby…” you test the name on your lips, wishing this wasn’t the first, and likely last. You plant your hands on his shoulders. “Go slow.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he does—slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every moment, every sound, every gasp, every single feeling.

It’s a little painful at first, the stretch of his cock against your walls pulls a soft whimper from your lips. Yoongi notices immediately—of course he does. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his mouth finds yours. He kisses you slowly, tongue sweeping against yours in a way that steals your focus, drowning out every inconsequential ache.

Soon, there is nothing else but bliss. Pleasure has bloomed full force as he fucks into you.

His mouth moves to your neck, teeth sharp as he clamps down your soft skin, no doubt wanting to leave his mark. It’s a little cruel, you would think days after when a Yoongi-shaped hole suddenly forms in your heart, but tonight, you revel in the fact that he wants to claim you as his.

“Baby,” you plead. God, why do you sound so desperate?

Something builds and builds inside you, threatening to explode and you’re afraid, so fucking terrified that you won’t find every single piece of yourself when you shatter.

“Yoongi…” you call his name again, the storm in you gaining strength, even though the pace of his thrusts are unchanged.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks you half-heartedly, busy pushing your tits upward to capture a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Ahh, shit.” That’s nice. You love it but you need more. “Can you go faster?”

“Okay, yeah,” he adjusts his stance, slipping out of you momentarily, and you feel your juices seeping out of your cunt and onto your sheets. “Can you maybe raise your leg higher?”

You do so, holding the back of your knees, opening up to him wide and wanton, shame out the door and into the flurry of snow outside.

He lines himself up on your slick entrance, this time slipping straight inside without much resistance. He thrusts again, hitting you deeper and better at this angle.

Your eyes meet as he bucks his hips into you over and over. Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second, but you fight to keep them open, desperate to hold onto this moment. You want to memorize him—every detail, every fleeting movement. The way his hair falls, framing those sharp, feline eyes that hold something soft beneath their intensity. The way his pink, pillowy lips part slightly, his sinful tongue skimming the corner of his mouth. He looks tender yet determined, his focus unwavering as he works to make this good for you. There’s a gentleness to it, a care that leaves your chest aching even as your body melts under his touch.

His hand makes its way down to where your sweaty bodies are linked, thumb searching your clit against your slippery folds. Has he done this before? Because how can he know that the wiggle of his single digit is enough for you to lose your goddamn mind. You want to scream, at the risk of getting caught by your eomma, but you can’t care about that right now. The pads of his thumb brushes over you, pulling a gasp from your lips as your senses blur, overwhelmed by him—his touch, his heat, the way he seems to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Take it, baby,” he urges, voices as reverent as his every movement.

Soon you’re keening at the pressure on your nub and the friction against your inner walls. Your pleasure crests without warning, body arching towards him as you ride out your orgasm.

“God you’re so tight, shit I’m about to—“

A few sloppy thrusts, a stutter in his breath and a stretched out groan. You close your eyes, every feeling increasing in intensity, and suddenly you’re empty, you hear a grunt, and his warm cum spills on your pussy lips, sliding towards your ass.

It’s messy. He’s sweaty. You’re spent.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the sensations coursing through your body strangely new. Yet, it’s the whirlwind of jumbled thoughts in your mind that unsettles you the most.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head resting against his chest. The weight of the moment feels too much, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out: “I wish I could keep you.”

Yoongi tenses, his hand coming up to rest against your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against your hair. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The next morning, you woke to find that Yoongi was gone.

It wasn’t until two days later, when you finally found the courage to sit at the piano in the rec room, that you found the note. It was tucked carefully inside the piano bench, folded neatly and written in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting: Don’t forget.

As if you could. He’s made it impossible not to.

(End of Flashback)

It starts with a phone call from your mom. “Yang-hee invited us over for dinner tonight. Isn’t that nice?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner with Yang-hee and Yoongi,” she says, unbothered by your fake disinterest. “You’re coming too, obviously. It’s been years since we’ve all sat down together, and you know how Yang-hee is. She’s been so excited her son’s back.”

It’s not like you can say no, so you don’t.

Later that evening, you find yourself standing on the porch of the Min’s, a whole casserole of your mom’s homemade japchae in your hands.

It’s not the same house. It’s still built on the same street, but it’s completely renovated, extended, pimped the hell out. The spoils of Yoongi’s successful career are definitely visible in the way their mansion (I guess you can’t call it a bungalow anymore) stands proud.

Yoongi opens the wide wooden door, dressed in a festive green and red Christmas sweater and white pants. His orange hair is a little messy, and he greets you with that cocky little smirk as if he doesn’t have a goofy Santa Claus headband perched on top of this head.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” he turns to your mom, who gives him her sweetest smile. She’s always really loved him.

“How have you been, Yoongi my dear?”

“I’m doing well. You’re looking even younger than when I last saw you.”

He’s so full of shit. But your mom is none the wiser as she breezes past you both with a giggle, already chatting animatedly with Yoongi’s mother, leaving you standing in the doorway with him.

“You came,” he says, finally taking the casserole from you.

“Of course I came,” you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected. “Consider this the dinner I owe you.”

He shakes his head, “Nice try.”

“Nice headband.”

“Hoseok not coming?” he asks a little too casually as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know the invitation was extended to him.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think eomma will mind.” Then he pauses, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I–umm. It’s nice to have you here.”

It’s so simple and yet hits like a punch to the gut.

Dinner was sublime. The table is covered in a festive red cloth, tiny gold stars scattered across its surface. Platters of food crowd every inch—kimchi stew steaming in a clay pot, neatly sliced rolls of gimbap, and bowls of your eomma’s japchae glistening with sesame oil. A plate of sugar-dusted cookies sits at the center, shaped like Christmas trees and snowflakes. But the best part is that it feels like old times—full of laughter, familiar stories, and his mother fussing over both you and Yoongi. Your mom talks about the concert, and you catch Yoongi listening quietly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. There’s something grounding about being here, the four of you around the table, like no time has passed at all.

After dinner, Yoongi’s mom insists on showing your mom something in the kitchen, leaving you alone with him.

“You still remember where my room is?” he asks behind his mug of eggnog.

“Please.” You push your chair backwards, standing up. “I practically lived here when we were kids.”

So his old room hasn’t changed much. Despite the makeover from outside, the expansion of the living room and dining areas, you guess Yoongi had asked his eomma to preserve this room like a little time capsule of sorts. The walls are still plastered with faded hip hop posters, plus an SNSD one that made you unreasonably jealous way back when.

You point to it with a laugh. “What was your favorite line from that song?”

“Listen, boy! My first love story!” he replies without missing a beat and you both erupt into giggles.

Your eyes dart around a bit more, and you find scribbles from years ago. On the far corner, your handwriting is etched faintly into the paint, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You step closer, brushing your fingertips over your names and the date. It was the night of your first kiss.

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, soft and steady. “Vandal.”

“You let me,” you try for casual, though your throat feels oddly tight at the memory. “I didn’t think you’d still have it here.”

He doesn’t answer, and you turn, glancing at the study desk and there’s the old notebook you gave him for his seventeenth birthday. The one you’d filled with doodles and little prompts, telling him to write music “so the world would hear it.”

“You kept this, too?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Yoongi shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something about that makes your chest ache. You shake it off quickly, turning back to him with a small grin.

Later, the two of you end up on the porch, mugs of whisky-spiked eggnog between you, your breath clouding the cold air. You’re both a little tipsy, maybe drunk even, the edges of this nostalgic night already fuzzy around the edges.

You tilt your head toward him. “Yoongi-yah… you got a girlfriend back home?”

Yoongi glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “No.”

You’re surprised by the sharp flicker of relief in your chest. You try to play it off, swirling the cup in your hands. “Oh? Why not?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he finally says, “Because the girl I wanted didn’t wait for me.”

Your breath catches as he looks straight into your soul. You pull your sweater tighter against your frame. “Yoongi. You can’t say shit like that,” you admonish him, but your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to.

He says nothing, just watches you with that quiet intensity that always intrigued you. Then, slowly, he tips his chin upward.

You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe dangling above you, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze. He knows it’s there—hell, he may have been the one to hang it.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Why would he even—

Yoongi grins faintly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean closer, doesn’t close the gap. He just lets the moment hang there, full of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

“What am I going to do with you…” you shake your head, admonishing him again.

“Honestly, anything you want…” He shrugs, his smirk softening into something else. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, standing up and stepping back inside the house, leaving you sitting on the porch with your thoughts spinning and your heart completely out of control.

That night, you lie in bed staring at your phone, your interactions looping in your mind.

You don’t know what you’re doing when you pull up Hoseok’s contact, but the text you send is short and simple:

You: Can we talk?

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to call back. You swipe to answer it.

“You finally breaking up with me?” he asks with a giggle.

You groan, “Stop.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s been fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“Aw, quit the bullshit.”

“It’s true!” he claims, laughing slightly. “Tell him if he doesn’t take care of you, I can literally throw his ass in the slammer. Make up some compounded traffic violation or whatever...”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, but you know Hoseok’s words will stay with you.

Because now you’re left with no more distractions. No more easy answers. Just the weight of Yoongi’s return and the question you’re not ready to ask yourself: what if this is finally your time?

You don’t see it happen, not all at once.

There’s no single moment where you look at Min Yoongi and realize you’re slipping back into something that feels alarmingly like love—just tiny, inconsequential moments strung together like fairy lights on the cultural center’s drafty ceiling.

Yoongi spending hours at the piano, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys as the children’s choir sings, while you sneak glances at him.

Yoongi, elbow-deep in sheet music, his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates.

Yoongi joking around with the maknaes like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Yoongi handing you an americano every afternoon like clockwork, his only explanation being, “You’re too grumpy without caffeine.”

It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t brush off.

Except when the three stooges notice and start taunting you relentlessly.

“The maknaes won’t stop teasing me,” you tell him one afternoon, watching as he scribbles something onto his notebook. “Jungkook especially.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “About what?”

“About you,” you say, huffing dramatically, though your heart thuds a little at admitting it out loud. “They think you—”

Now Yoongi glances up, dark eyes fixing on you. “I what?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “You look at me.”

Yoongi blinks, clearly holding back a smirk. “I look at you?”

“They make it sound like you’re composing an epic romance ballad in your head every time you glance my way,” you say, curious to see how he’d react.

“Hmm.” Yoongi taps his pen against his notebook. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I am?”

You freeze, caught entirely off guard. “You’re not.”

He shrugs lightly, looking back at his notes. “If you say so.”

And just like that, the conversation ends, but you’re left staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

You’re closing up the center after a particularly grueling rehearsal when you hear a voice in the piano room. It's Yoongi.

You pause just outside the door, catching the tail end of his conversation. His voice is low, clipped. “I already told you—it’s not that simple. Just… hold off until I figure it out, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, frustrated. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t contact them directly.”

Before you can process the tone of his voice, he spots you in the doorway and quickly ends the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Everything okay?” he asks, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes feels off.

“Hey,” you say finally, stepping into the room. “You hungry?” The words are out before you can stop them.

“A little.”

“I still owe you dinner,” you remind him. “You want to come over?”

For a moment, Yoongi just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

At your place, you keep it simple. You’re too tired for anything elaborate, so you throw together a few bowls of rice, leftover stew, wagyu cubes you tossed in a pan, and whatever banchan you can find in your fridge. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind—he sits at your table with his sleeves rolled up, his beer bottle half-empty, watching you with a faint smile as you fuss over the food, refilling his plate once in a while.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” you shoot back, setting a bowl in front of him. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Dinner feels like something you’ve once yearned for especially during the first few years after he left. You talk about little things—how rehearsals are going, Shelby’s stubborn refusal to follow him anywhere, the little quirks of your team. Yoongi listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it’s thoughtful, like he’s been holding the words in until they’re worth saying.

At some point, you find yourself finally telling him about the lie you blurted out the day he showed up.

“So you remember when I told you my boyfriend was a cop?” you say, poking at your rice with your chopsticks.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Well…” You hesitate. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Didn’t realize you were dating Hoseok.”

“I’m not!” you say quickly. “I mean… Hoseok and I are… friends. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s with the pause?”

Your cheeks are on fire. You should have just kept it smooth, but your poker face is crap.

“Oooh Hoseok-ie, huh?” Yoongi’s expression is full of mischief, with a playful tone as he teases you.

You groan, covering your face. “We just, like to keep each other company, sometimes. But not anymore. It’s over. So over.”

His eyes narrow on you, a smirk on his lips. “Okay.” He says.

You glance up, flustered. “Okay?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he studies you for a long moment, his smile softening. “I’m glad you’re not with Hoseok,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than they should. You look down at your bowl, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

The night you hit your first funding goal feels electric. Outside, the snow falls softly, blanketing the world in white, while the glow of Christmas lights spills through the frosted windows of the cultural center. Inside, the air hums with celebration, the kind of unrestrained joy that feels almost too big for the room.

The office is a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Jimin’s sporting a Santa hat, twirling like a figure skater in the middle of the room. Taehyung is wrapped in tinsel like a human Christmas tree, tossing candy canes to whoever will catch them. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers, almost drowned out by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The air smells faintly of peppermint, hot chocolate, and the faint spice of cinnamon—Taehyung’s candy stash has clearly been raided, by Jungkook.

You check your laptop one last time, and there it is: the donation total, glaring on the screen like a miracle. The sight makes your stomach flip in disbelief and relief.

“Do you know what this means?” you yell, spinning in circles as Jimin grabs your hand and cheers beside you. “We might actually do this. We might actually save the center!”

“FUCK CAPITALISM!” Taehyung hollers from the corner, pumping his fist in the air, and you can’t help but laugh.

“We’re halfway there!” you add breathlessly, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “This is insane.”

Jungkook whoops in victory, charging across the room and tackling you and Jimin into a clumsy, giggling group hug.

Amidst the chaos, your gaze drifts toward the far end of the room. Yoongi stands by the piano, arms crossed as he leans against it, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes meet yours sends warmth spreading through your chest, as if he’s silently celebrating right along with you.

“Be right back,” you say, slipping away from the others before you can think better of it.

Yoongi doesn’t move as you approach, but his smile lingers. “You’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face. “We might actually do this, Yoongi.”

“I always believed in you,” he replies softly.

Before you know what you’re doing, you close the gap between you and throw your arms around him. “This is amazing!”

Yoongi lets out a startled huff of air as you collide into him, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says.

Except, suddenly, you’re both off balance, and the next thing you know, you’re falling—collapsing together in an awkward heap on the office floor.

“Oh my God,” you groan, sprawled half on top of him. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi blinks up at you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fuuuuuck. My back.”

“I’m sorry–shit!” You scramble to sit up, but his hands tighten gently at your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, eyes just opening from a grimace.

Your breath catches. The laughter dies in your throat as you realize how close you are—close enough to see the faint flush at the tips of his ears, the way his dark feline eyes are fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Yoongi…”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. Because suddenly, he leans up, closing the distance, and kisses you.

It’s a simple peck at first—chaste, like he’s testing if you’d retreat. But you don’t.

He catches the pout on your lips and smirks. This time, he fixes his grip on your waist, rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you.

Before you can react, his lips are on yours again, slotting against your plush seamlessly like it belongs there. You kiss him back, of course you do, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as the world narrows to just this—him and you.

You don’t exactly remember the feeling when you kissed for the first time in the snow-covered streets or the second in your childhood bedroom, but this third time...

It’s a feeling you don’t want to end—

But, out of nowhere, you hear unmistakable sounds of whoops and hollers and when you peel your eyes open, confetti rains down on both of you.

“What the—” you gasp, jerking back as colored paper sticks to your hair and shoulders.

Above you, the maknaes are causing a ruckus, Jungkook clutching an actual pail (like where did that even come from?), while Jimin looks dramatically at the two of you on the floor, wiping pretend tears.

Suddenly, piano music is added to the mix as Taehyung plays some Christmassy tune you can’t remember the title of because there’s just so much shit happening all at once.

You glare at them. “Yah! Get out of here! You’re ruining the moment!”

But they’re not listening, clearly high off the adrenaline from the funding milestone, but also might just be high in general, because they’re already breaking into exaggerated oohs and ahhs, chanting, “Hyung and noona sitting in a tree—”

Yoongi, to his credit, hasn’t moved. He’s still on the floor, his face redder than the poinsettias decorating the cultural center, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s embarrassed—mortified, even—but there’s a quiet determination in the way he looks at you, like nothing could shake him now.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi roll calls, his voice low but firm.

The maknaes pause, mid-tease, blinking at him.

“Leave.”

Jimin smirks, nudging Jungkook. “Should we?”

Jungkook shrugs dramatically. “I mean, they’re not even getting up…”

Taehyung’s head appears between the two, his arms resting on each of their shoulders. “I think–”

You point toward the door, scowling. “GO.”

With one last round of laughter, they finally fuck off.

The silence settles quickly after they’re gone, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. You glance back at Yoongi, honestly not knowing what to expect.

He’s gnawing at his lip. You reach up and touch your finger on his mouth, shaking your head so he releases his plush that’s gone red from his teeth pulling on the skin.

Finally, he speaks: “Go out with me.”

Your heart stutters, the words catching you off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he tilts his head. “Say yes.”

You stare at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, and there’s only one correct answer to give.

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips curving into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Yoongi exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but notice the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” you say, brushing confetti off his sweater, “The maknaes were right after all.”

“Don’t even give those fuckers any credit right now.” He chuckles softly, his hand slipping into yours. “They’re lucky I didn’t throw that pail at them.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there on the confetti-strewn floor, your hands intertwined, and it feels like this is your second chance to get it right after everything that fell apart before.

Your Christmas encore.

A/N: Happy holidays, Yoongi's ho ho hos! How did we like this first part???

Coming in Part 2: - Why did Yoongi really come back to town? - Is Hoseok as nonchalant about calling off the arrangement as he seems?

We’ll find out soon!!! See you in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo Comments and Reblogs are always loved and appreciated. 🙂

Permanent Taglist (Part 1):

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

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thestressedskittles · 6 months ago

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Team Bucci Blurb (NSFW): Cumming inside of you

Warnings: Use of pussy/cunt/breast, gender-neutral reader, all characters are 18 and older! I did not proofread because its late, so I apologize for any mistakes.

BRUNO

His hands slide up to your breasts, where he teasingly plays with your pebbled nipples, kissing your jaw and pecking you lips for short kisses, leaving you pouty and adorable. He finally leans in for a fiery kiss, his blue eyes darkened with lustful intent, and he pushes you to lay down completely on the bed, your hand tangling into his silky black hair.

Going in raw isn't new, but this time, it feels different, more pleasurable. This time, he doesn't need to be careful. You're already clenching in excitement and Bruno is a master at revving you up, his long and slender fingers reaching deeper than your own, but nothing compares to his cock.

It never takes long to bring you to the edge when Bruno warms you up so good. A low groan kisses your ears and Bruno moves to lay completely on top of you, wanting to be as close to you as possible as you both reach bliss together. His hips move like a machine when there's a small stutter in his tempo, a strong twitch in his cock, followed by slow and deep thrusts. Moaning through clenched teeth, he leans in close to your lips before connecting them with tender affection.

ABBACCHIO

"Mm, fuck, Leone!" You moan out as the tall goth has you pulled against his chest, one arm wrapped around your middle, one hand on your breast, and the other braced against the bed, leaning you forward slightly to hit that little bundle of nerves just right.

He moans with you, the deep baritone sending pleasure furling in your pussy. His head rests on your shoulder, and his eyes cast a downward glance, watching your breast move with his thrusts. "You look so good right now." He breathes out, giving you goosebumps. He turns and lays a kiss upon your neck as your head tilts upwards.

Feeling you tighten, he holds you closer. "Gonna cum for me?" You can't see his face but you can hear the smirk. "Want me to cum inside of you, carina?" You nod frantically, at a loss for words, and his thrusts become stronger and quicker. "Gonna cum inside you!" He quickly shifts his grip, holding you close to his chest as his hips finish you both off, your mind fuzzy at the warm feeling of his cum shooting into your pussy.

MISTA

"Fuck, I love seeing you on top of me," Mista groans, his hands rapaciously kneading your breasts as you grind down onto his pelvis. His cock is fully sheathed inside of you and your clit rubs against his hard abdomen. "Feels so good, being inside you." He lets his head tilt back and you gently rake your nails down his chest, leaving light scratches.

"Guido!" You moan out, feeling ready to go over the edge. Every vein on his cock is enough to make you weak. Feeling the constant throbbing, you know he's close. "Want you... want you to cum inside of me! Fill me up!" You're bouncing on him now, eager to feel that knot in your belly erupt.

Planting his feet on the bed, he matches your bounces and rhythm, hands shifting from your breasts to your hips. He's noisy as he closes in on his release, you yourself are no better. Mista pants out words of encouragement and praise before you both lament, Mista slamming upward into your pulsing pussy, rubbing small circles on your hips as you milk him for all he's worth.

NARANCIA

Narancia is glued to your body, his usually messy hair now frayed and sticking to his forehead as he pants into the space above your head. Both his hands are gripping and twisting the bed sheets hard, struggling to keep himself together as his cock sinks into your molten pussy.

He half whines, half moans as he pulls away slightly, leaving his cock buried to the hilt. "I don't know how much longer I can last." He looks at you with purple eyes blown wide. His tone is higher pitch, one of his many telltale signs he's ready to cum. He brings himself to his knees and pulls your hips flush against his own, both your legs spread out on either side of him.

"Nara!" You reach for him, inadvertently pushing your breasts together and offering him an irresistible view, sending your raven-haired boyfriend over the edge. His thrusts turn to slams as he loses himself, hard cock twitching and pulsing, his hands finding purchase on your thighs and hips, sure to leave bruises to be admired later.

FUGO

"Holy shit!" Fugo grunts, feeling every inch of your cunt along his cock. One hand by your head, fisting the pillow, and the other running along your side to ground himself. "You feel... so good." He has to take a moment, not wanting to ruin this moment.

When he gets his bearings, he sets a hard pace. He starts up a consistent tempo, satisfying you both. He keeps himself deep as much as possible, every so often he'll keep his hips flush against yours for a split moment, to savor you and vice versa. Your arms wrap around his neck and your leg wraps around his waist, unable to get enough of him.

The feeling of being bare is intense for the both of you and doesn't take much before you're both at the edge, ready to tumble into the abyss of pleasure. Despite his rough pace, Fugo suddenly leans in for a hard kiss, his tongue pressing forth. The twitching of his cock intensifies as you reciprocate, tongues gliding against one another. He moans into your mouth, your pussy sucking in every last drop.

GIORNO

"So beautiful, so divine," Giorno murmurs into your ear as he bottoms out inside of you. You clutch at his pale shoulders as he shifts into position, laying tender kisses along your neck. You murmur his name into his shoulder and he begins a gentle rhythm, wanting to savor every moment of this first-time experience.

"F-feels good," you whimper out, feeling everything Giorno is without a barrier. He helps you wrap your legs around him before bracing his hands against your sides, his hand occasionally reaching up to knead your breast lightly. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, telling you how beautiful you are beneath him.

You hands are tangled in his hair by the time you're ready to release, his braid undone and light scratch marks little down his back. Your hips canter upwards to meet his thrusts, silently telling him to pick up the pace. You both ride out on each other as bliss takes over the both of you. Giorno lets out sweet, soft moans as you stretch out beneath him, gripping his forearms and riding to cloud nine as he peppers your neck with kisses and hug you with sweet words.

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love-byers · 4 months ago

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....wait . there are people who don't think the show is centered around will? there are people who don't think a core part of s5 will be wills culmination as a character?? there are people who don't think the entire supernatural plot will circle back to will???

besides the fact that the duffers LITERALLY CONFIRMED that will is the center of s5...

the show itself literally tells you. that is the narrative they've been pushing the entire time.

the entire first season is about finding will. every single plotline is connected to finding will.

mike and the boys are using el to find will

jonathan and nancy are working together to hunt the monster they believe has taken will and barb

joyce is trying to communicate with will to find out where he is and how to save him

hopper is a cop investigating the case, and eventually he and joyce team up to investigate further into the lab conspiracy, believing it's tied to wills disappearance

a massive chunk of s2 is about wills connection to the upside down. he's being hunted by the mind flayer and used as a spy, causing a lot of the conflict but also leading to the resolution.

now that we know vecna was behind all of that, that open so many doors for will in s5. if you use your fucking peanut brain for 5 seconds you'll realize there are lots of things we don't know surrounding will and vecna that will come to light in s5. vecna specifically sought will out and hunted him down. remember s2?

"It wanted to kill you?"

"Not me. Everyone else."

we're also getting flashbacks of will in the upside down so we can see exactly what happened to him the week he was there. clearly there's something important we don't know about. the upside down is literally frozen on the day will went missing. but will isn't important and won't be a big part of s5?

s3 is the first time will is less significant to the plot. he still has the connection to the mind flayer and his ability to sense it is still relevant to the story and helps push it along. bit still, he had significantly less lines and screen time. much of his story is portrayed as him struggling to 'grow up' and not being interested in romance like the others. there are several jokes that present will as simply being childish and reluctant to grow out of it. which a lot of people found sort of annoying. i remember seeing a lot of people enjoying s3, but wishing will had more depth and importance.

but we now know that that's not the whole truth. all of that, him being annoyed and disinterested by romance, just wanting to play dnd with the party, and fighting with mike was all subtext leading into his sexuality and the fact that he's in love with mike. that's been confirmed by actors and the duffers themselves. though will's sexuality was always hinted at, it wasn't meant to fully come to light until s4. so they tried to pass it off as will just being childish. they tried to pass of mike and wills conflict as only being about dnd and growing up. a prime example of this is will tearing down castle byers after his fight with mike. he rips the photo of the core 4 as the ghostbusters down the middle, aka where he and mike are in the center. that is easily passed off as just being about the friend group. people BELIEVED that it was just about the friend group, and that there was no way will was in love with mike. but it's now literally confirmed that he is. like it's insane how many people never even considered that as a possibility. people literally just tune out parts of the show they don't immediately find interesting. i've seen so many comments on byler scenes, for example "it's not my fault you don't like girls", saying "wait i don't remember this scene when did he say that??" people just don't pay attention or think deeper than surface level, which in this case is okay because wills sexuality was meant to be something you slowly realized. the problem comes when people just start denying its significance and refusing to see it for what it is.

if you take in all of will's story with mike and whittle it down to "stupid gay crush on best friend" i don't know what show YOUVE been watching. did you forget that will only remembered his mom and mike when he was possessed and lost his memory? that mike recounting the day they met was enough for will to break through and communicate while possessed? that will puts mikes happiness before his own? that will has literally said he needs mike and always will?

it's not a crush that will can just get over. you know we actually have an example of a simple crush and it's dustin and max. how did that work out? dustin got over max very quickly and it's no biggie. he didn't go on a monologue about how he needs max and always will. he just thought she was cool and pretty.

also, the show spends so much time getting the audience to feel bad for will and want to see him happy. you are SUPPOSED to like him. you are supposed to have empathy for him. will is written to be extremely gentle, kind, and selfless.

will is too nice to say anything bad about anyone, even after being viscously bullied and called slurs for years. even by his own father, WHO HE STILL CANT TALK BAD ABOUT!!!

no matter how much will suffers, he remains kind and selfless. he gave a girl his tonka truck knowing joyce couldn't by him another one. mike says they shouldn't give up on looking for him because will sacrificed himself in dnd to save the party. remember the whole thing in s2 about joyce getting on will for constantly apologizing even when he did nothing wrong? there is no point to that besides evoking empathy for him!!!!! he is sweet and sensitive and doesn't deserve any of this!!!!!!!!

and about bylers being delusional for thinking will and mikes relationship will be a big part of s5 and the culmination of everything in a show about monsters killing people, here's a quote from shawn levy, who has directed many stranger things episodes

"People talk about mythology and The Upside Down, and all that is huge, but the magic of S5 are the characters who find sense of belonging with other and through that connection, become heroes."

everyone loves the stranger things relationships until they're queer. when they're queer suddenly there's no time for romance in a sci fi show, the writers actually suck, and they're just baiting. lumax and their love for each other was a core plot of the season where the big bad was trying to kill her all season. there is an entire plot point about max's memory of kissing lucas at the snow ball saving her life. in a show like this, there is time for relationships and supernatural stuff because they are interwoven when the time comes. they can do the exact same thing with byler in s5. s5 is going to be the longest season thus far. there will definitely be time for relationship development.

so yeah. call me delusional but i don't think the show will end with wills feelings for mike unresolved or with them just evaporating. given everything we know about s5 (relationships and finding belonging being an important factor, noah and finn constantly filming together, leakers saying will has a love interest) and everything we already know about the relationship formulas in ST, literally all the signs are pointing to byler. the only rebuttal people have is calling us delusional because the writers just wouldn't do that. if you actually push past the heteronormativity and consider the fact that the duffers do want to represent queer people in a way that doesn't reinforce the idea that we can never find love or be happy, things will start making a lot more sense.

i'm sorry to have to say this about mike but mike is a character presumed straight who hasn't been super relevant in the supernatural plot for 2 seasons now, just as long as will. his significant plot points are related to el or will. relationship development. and unlike will, he has been an ACTUAL asshole!!!! lots of people stopped liking mike as much after s2 because of his personality change. (ofc i still love mike, but there's been multiple plot lines about mike being a dick for no reason and apologizing for it) but no one has VISCERAL hatred for him like they do will byers. not saying mike deserves hate, cause he certainly doesn't, but the problems people have with will, they only have with will. any other character doing it is fine. 2 seaons of wills feelings for mike is boring and distracting but 2 seasons of mike having the same 'i love you' problems with el isn't?

i'm not saying the sudden hate for will is because it's now clear that he's gay but im kind of saying it

some people can't sympathize with queer issues because they don't care about queer people. they don't empathize with queer people. queer issues bore them.

will byers i will ALWAYS defend you. you are safe with me pookie

#stranger things #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler endgame #byler analysis #mike wheeler i know what you are #stranger things 4 #milkvan is bones #anti milkvan #anti mileven #will byers defense squad

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cthonic-bunny · 1 year ago

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1. personal synastry and composite experiences and observations

Do not interact if you are a minor. (18+)

Sun in 8th house synastry: I was the house person they were the sun. I definitely developed insecurities I never had before as a result of this connection. With the sun shining brightly on my insecurities, they were hard to ignore and even harder to not project them entirely on the sun. A lot of “you did this to me!” energy. I didn’t consider myself a jealous person until this relationship and a lot of it came from wanting to be “good enough” in the eyes of the sun person. It’s like knowing you have these darker aspects in common and wanting them to see you can bond this way and see them in a way no one can. You also end up pushing limits together. You liked this? Now WE love this. You’re addicted to that? Now WE are addicted to it. Moderation is hard to achieve with sun in the 8th house synastry. It can also bring up insecurities surrounding sex with that person specifically, if poorly aspected. Explosive reactions and emotional outbursts aren’t foreign here. The house person can feel like a vampire being sunburned, with all its ugliness revealing itself from its body because of its interaction with this person. The 8H person wants a full, in-depth analysis of the sun person’s thoughts, intentions, and motivations. The plutonic energy wants to completely envelop the sun, compulsively in some cases, to know WHY they are the way they are, and why the sun presents themselves in certain ways. This is especially true if the sun person did something to hurt the 8H person, who can feel it more than is rational. The 8H person can really struggle with getting over any emotional harm or feelings of abandonment that come from the sun person. The 8H person can potentially resent the sun person for not being able to read them as intently as they could read the sun person. The sex, if and once insecurities are worked through, can bring you so much closer to one another and to yourself. I also feel like any disturbances or intimacy problems between you two can easily be felt by others or there can be blow ups in front of people you know, because the sun is a planet that illuminates wherever the light lands, whether you like it or not. Avoid public fights, because you will kiss and makeup but the damage in other people’s eyes will be done and opinions will be made. The 8H person might be able to see through any facade the sun person puts up, and this could lead to deep discussions that could be extremely healing for the Sun who might have to work through some things. The 8H person can also teach the sun person how to make more money and maybe even encourage them to start their own business. They can be known as a couple that makes a lot of money together. The sun person can also give sugar daddy/mommy vibes and the 8H the sugar baby, even if it neither one of the people involved are rich-rich. This is a highly binding placement. You two might find it difficult or even impossible to separate from each other even if the relationship has run its natural course. You guys are known as the couple that is “stuck” to one another.

Moon in 5th house synastry: *weird* but, for those who have this placement with a significant other, do you love to smell their body odor? I think in the house of children and fertility, it makes sense to love your partner’s pheromones. Something as weird as the smell of their armpits or stinky feet becomes comforting, idk?? This house is also really fun, and you can get a lot of emotional fulfillment out of acting like children together. 5H is ruled by Leo, so I also found that we had a lot of fun putting on “shows” for one another, and sort of making up our own characters and accents to make the other giggle. People are also really excited for the prospect of us having children together, and you’ll have friends volunteering to babysit or be the godparent of your unborn children LOL. Dressing up nice and going out on dates to somewhere with a great ambiance can be a great way to feel connected. Sharing perfume, or gifting each other perfumes or colognes. Loving the scents they wear. Same taste in candles? Candles as gifts. Lots of watching TV together? Having “shows” that feel wrong to watch without the other. Being called pretty by the other means a lot, and being pretty in each other’s eyes makes you feel good.

Moon in 12th house synastry: 12H synastry tends to have an awful reputation, and I get it when it’s a relationship that isn’t meant for you. However, my moon falls in my best friend’s 12H, and it is one of my favorite placements of ours. We have a telepathic connection where we can just look at the other and know what’s up. You preemptively know what will bother the other person and find it hard to understand how other people wouldn’t have assumed that thing would annoy your person. You understand each other’s motives, and can provide the ultimate shoulder to cry on or ear to listen with. When it’s a new interaction it can feel a bit intense, because how are you in my head!!! I feel like you can read my thoughts! It was like that for the both of us. It’s like, when together, both our consciousnesses transported to another realm where we are mutually perceiving something and our thoughts are being put on a radio for the other to listen to. Very spiritual relationship. You KNOW the vibes, and those feelings will be verified through the other person who already felt the same. She will never be wrong in my eyes and I will defend her to the death. We don’t even have to speak on certain days, but we can feel whatever mood the other one is in and check-up on each other accordingly. Whenever we have a strange dream or nightmare, the first thing we do is text each other and try to analyze what it could mean. I as the 12H person also dreamt of us becoming best friends before we formally met. The dreams i would have of her would always be loaded with spiritual symbolism. We also grew up with the same level of emotional attachment to our personal spiritualities and shared religion, which plays a large role in our understandings of one another. Most people just won’t get it, but she always will. She could read my crazy journal entries if she wanted to. 12H moon synastry is just unconditional love. Between friends at least, it feels like a long-lost twin connection. Also, her and I had gotten matching tattoos before we even knew of each other, both of them being for the same spiritual meaning!

Composite Mars in 3rd house: Lots of talking during sex, and lots of car sex— It might sometimes feel like that’s the easiest thing to talk about, or the conversation always steers to that direction. Sending nudes? Sexting. Maybe the only way you two could engage your sexual desire for one another is through sexting, because distance might not permit the full physical expression. If you don’t have a lot of experience knowing the other’s communication style, it can lead to a bit of random defensiveness or perceiving the other as communicating abrasively. I think it can lead to one trying to get reactions out of the other by saying something out of pocket.

Composite Mercury in 12th house: Pay attention to the dreams you have of this person! They will seriously tell you a lot about your dynamic, but don’t take them at face value! Lots of mystical elements to your dreams about them specifically, so maybe reviewing tarot card meanings and astrology concepts can help you decipher the meanings of your dreams. You might find it easier than expected to confide in each other or rant about your brain’s inner workings together. “I don’t know why I’m saying all that-“ or psychoanalyzing each other for fun. Talking about your less-than-desirable attributes. Being honest about your deceptive tendencies or specific lies you’ve told and why. Oversharing things that will usually make other people uncomfortable in the same context (like talking about your exes or failed situationships on a first date). Difficulties communicating when it’s not in person because it leaves too much room for confusion. Deceit is a real possibility though, with someone voluntarily “leaving out details” about their life outside of the relationship to avoid ruining the flow of energy or the dynamic. Having each other saved on your phones under fake names. Having to hide that you’re talking to this person from other people. One of you withdrawing communication to manipulatively make the other think about you more. Taking turns being each other’s therapist. Thinking about each other often but never expressing that, or the extent to which you think of one another. Thinking about the other at night before going to bed. “I started catching feelings for the girl that I’m currently having sex with, so it’s safe to say we don’t talk anymore, unless of course we’re having sex” in Sasquatch .22 by Bay Faction.

Composite Venus in 12th house: There really is a secretive component to this interaction that can feel impossible to bypass. Your family, friends, or society might not “approve” of you two together. One or both of you can be cheating on someone with this person. Only being able to meet up or be affectionate at night or in extremely private settings. The privacy of the relationship can help you open up a lot more than you’d expect to, because there’s no one but you two to perceive the other in this context. No judgments on how you two should behave with one another, so “let’s fully enjoy the moment while it lasts.” No one understanding your interaction or it’s purpose, and you probably don’t understand it either. Sending telepathic love notes. Longing. Intimate and romantic sex that haunts you or catches you off guard. Never wanting to be the first one to admit you’ve caught feelings. Ruining your sleep schedule to spend time with one another. Dreaming about romantically linking with them before it ever happens. Withdrawing once feelings start feeling real. The song “Lips of Angel” by Hinder reminds me of Composite Venus in 12H. “Illicit Affairs,” “August,” and “False God” by Taylor Swift. “Why Can’t I?” by Liz Phair. Gato de Noche by Bad Bunny. Sex by The 1975.

Lilith in 8th house synastry: Wanting to try things sexually with this person that wasn’t necessarily exciting with other partners. “You can do whatever you want to me, and I’ll let you.” Possibly experimenting with or preferring BDSM with one another. That Lana lyric that’s like: You fucked me so good that I almost said “I love you.” It might also be controversial if people knew you’ve had sex with one another. Revenge sex? As in, you two having sex might indirectly be spiting someone else, and it kind of feels like you’re dishing out delicious karma on a surprising silver platter— “lol if only they knew” You two might have fun misbehaving together. Doing what you both know you’re not supposed to be doing can make everything feel better, and even more reason to keep doing what you’re doing. Lana Del Rey in Diet Mountain Dew: “you’re no good for me, but baby I want you.” Wanting to be dangerous together. “Leave me bruised so I can’t forget you.” “Seeing you tonight is a bad idea, right?” This placement somewhat reminds me of a union between the death card and the devil card in tarot, with an emphasis on risk-stained sexual liberation. You can become symbolic of temptation in each other’s lives, so it’s hard to deny your impulses. Toxic by Britney Spears.

-D 🖤🕯

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

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Can you write for me Amnesia trope from Marvel Bingo with Tony/Fem reader? Tony is a little injured after a mission and he loses his memory, when reader is going to see him (wife or girlfriend) he won't recognize her but he'll immediately fall for her all over again 🥺 she thinks it's absolutely cute that he didn't recognize her but soon he'll recover his memory and blush so hard when reader shows him his videos of him all smitten by her hahahaha ❤️ and Tony saying he'll alwyas fall for her 🥺 (some spicy kisse maybe?)

ALWAYS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Because of an injury Tony temporarily loses his memories of you, his wife, and you're determined to make him gain them back. Do you really need to do so when he has already fallen back in love with you?

ᯓ★ TW(s): memory loss and clingy Tony

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ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The beeping. It’s the first thing you notice when you step into the hospital room—the insistent, steady beep of the heart monitor that Tony’s hooked up to. It’s steady, strong, and for that, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The smell of antiseptic stings your nose, reminding you that, despite Tony's resilience, he's as vulnerable as any of them in situations like these.

The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t see coming. Stark Industries had developed tech that a rival group decided they wanted to “borrow”—forcefully. What was supposed to be a simple extraction turned into a messy firefight. But, like always, Tony had pushed you to evacuate, promising he’d be right behind you. Instead, an explosion threw him from his suit, leaving him vulnerable to the final assault. He had barely gotten out before going down hard.

Now, you’re here, nerves raw and trembling as you hover by the doorway, watching him.

Tony is sitting up, but he seems…distant. Disoriented, maybe. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he’s trying to make sense of something in the middle distance. It’s unnerving because you’re used to a Tony whose attention burns, even when he’s exhausted, half-buried in his lab, or just waking up. He sees everything.

But not this time. And for some reason, he doesn’t see you.

“Mrs. Stark?”

You turn as the doctor enters, offering you a sympathetic look. It’s a look that’s meant to ease you into news you know you don’t want to hear.

“Is he…awake?”

The doctor nods, gesturing you toward the chair by Tony’s bed. “He’s stable. His vitals are strong. The issue, Mrs. Stark, is that there appears to be some level of memory loss.”

The words clang in your ears, foreign and cold, completely out of place in the world you’ve built with Tony. “What do you mean by ‘memory loss’?”

She sighs, glancing at Tony before she speaks. “Memory loss is complicated. From what I’ve gathered, Mr. Stark has retained his long-term memories and most of his professional knowledge. But, due to the trauma and subsequent disorientation, there’s a block on more recent events…particularly in his personal life.”

Your stomach drops, and you take a deep breath, fighting to keep your voice steady. “He doesn’t remember me, does he?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says softly. “In many cases, memories return with time and familiar cues. Given Mr. Stark’s particular cognitive resilience, I have high hopes for recovery. But until then, he may…struggle with recognition and personal connections.”

You nod slowly, trying to take it all in. In all the battles, the missions, the threats, this is somehow scarier. Because it’s not just his body that’s wounded; it’s your life together that’s fractured.

When the doctor leaves, you take a step forward, but your feet feel leaden, hesitant. And for once, you don’t know what to say. This isn’t just Tony after a rough mission. This is your husband, and he doesn’t know you.

Finally, you muster the courage and approach the bed, offering him a soft, tentative smile. “Hey there, stranger.”

He looks up, his gaze sharp but confused, and something in his eyes flickers with a shade of recognition—a spark that leaves you hoping. But then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“Do I, uh, know you?” His tone is polite, curious, but there’s a guardedness to it, as if he’s unsure if he’s supposed to recognize you. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart over you, taking you in, and a pang of sadness tugs at your heart as you realize he’s assessing you the way he might a stranger.

You laugh softly, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You could say that. I’m…” You hesitate, wondering if it’s too much to say it outright, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I’m your wife.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he stares at you, stunned. “My wife?”

“Yes.” You smile, more gently this time, as though that will ease him into the idea. “For almost three years now.”

Tony blinks, and you can see his mind racing, struggling to process this unexpected piece of information. He gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I…you’re telling me I’m married to you?”

His shock is genuine, and for a moment, a bubble of laughter escapes you. It’s that classic Tony Stark reaction—equal parts disbelief and awe, as if he can’t quite believe his good luck.

“Yes,” you say again, and this time, there’s a hint of amusement in your voice. “You managed to convince me somehow.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a lopsided grin that’s both endearing and achingly familiar. “Wow. I must be one hell of a salesman.”

“Oh, you are.” The laughter fades from your voice as you take a step closer, unable to resist the need to be nearer to him, even if he doesn’t remember you right now. “You’re the best.”

For a moment, he studies you, his gaze flickering with something like curiosity, maybe even admiration. It’s a glimmer of the old Tony, the man who made you feel like the only person in the room, no matter the crowd or chaos. But here, with him looking at you as a stranger might, there’s something raw and beautiful about it, too. He’s falling in love with you all over again, right in front of your eyes.

“Well, I guess I should feel lucky,” he murmurs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “If you’re half as amazing as you look, then…yeah. Lucky guy.”

The words make your heart flutter, and despite everything, you feel a warmth spread through you, easing the tightness in your chest. He’s still Tony, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Want to know a little about us?” you ask, hoping that maybe, somehow, it will trigger something—some hidden memory or spark of recognition.

He nods, settling back against the pillow. “Please. Enlighten me. I’m curious how a guy like me managed to marry someone like you.”

“Well,” you start, a smile tugging at your lips as you pull up a chair beside him. “For starters, we didn’t exactly get along at first.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Did I say something to offend you?”

“You…may have.” You grin, remembering the banter, the stubborn disagreements, the sparks that seemed to ignite every time you were in a room together. “You were cocky, stubborn, a little arrogant.”

He chuckles. “That sounds about right.”

“But somehow,” you continue, your voice softening, “you managed to break down all my walls. You made me feel like I was the only person who mattered, even if you acted like you were just being yourself.”

His gaze lingers on you, and there’s a warmth there, something cautious but undeniably present. “I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”

“Don’t be.” You place a gentle hand over his, feeling the faint warmth of his skin against yours. It’s a familiar gesture, one you’ve done a thousand times before, but this time, it feels different—new, almost shy. “You’ll remember. And until you do, we’ll make new memories. Starting right now.”

He looks down at your hand on his, and you can see the faintest flush of color in his cheeks. For a man who’s usually so sure of himself, so confident in every move he makes, it’s endearing to see him look almost…nervous.

“So, tell me more about this…our life,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s trying to hold onto the pieces he has left.

“Well,” you say, smiling as you think of the little things that make up your life together. “We spend a lot of time in the lab together, actually. Even if you’re always tinkering, working on some new project, you always have time for me.”

“Do I? Sounds like a good husband.” There’s a touch of pride in his voice, and it makes your heart ache a little—because he doesn’t even know the half of it yet.

“A very good husband,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with all the love you feel for him. “The best.”

And there it is—that flicker in his eyes, like he’s starting to see it, to feel it. It’s as if, for just a moment, he knows you, feels that connection.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “For being here. For…all of this.”

You squeeze his hand gently, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. “You’re my husband, Tony. I’d do anything for you.”

And as you sit there, hands entwined, you realize that even if he has to fall in love with you all over again, you’ll be right here, waiting.

The drive back from the hospital is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Tony stares out the window, taking in the blur of city lights as you weave through the streets toward your shared home. Occasionally, you catch him glancing at you, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief, as if he’s still wrapping his head around the idea that you’re his wife, that he’s returning to a life he doesn’t remember but that he somehow…wants.

When you finally pull into the long driveway leading up to your home, his eyebrows shoot up. Stark Tower looms ahead, its sleek, modern design stark against the night sky. The iconic "STARK" sign gleams with familiar grandeur. He lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, too—something like pride.

“So, this is…our place?” he asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

You can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Well, your place, technically. But I’ve definitely made it my own.”

Tony chuckles, the sound low and warm, and you’re reminded of all the times he’s teased you about “taking over” his tower with touches of your personality: the cozy reading nook in his office, the garden on the roof you insisted on installing, even the art pieces scattered throughout the building. And despite his teasing, he’d always seemed proud of how much of yourself you’d poured into his space.

“Well,” he says, stepping out of the car, “if you’re half as great at interior design as you are at, uh, marrying billionaires, I think I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you say with a playful smirk as you lead him inside.

The entryway is a testament to the sleek, modern style Tony’s known for—polished floors, clean lines, an air of sophistication mixed with warmth. But there are little touches here and there that mark it as your home too: framed photos from the missions you’ve tackled together, a throw blanket draped over the couch, even a small shelf of books beside the entrance to the main living area.

Tony follows you, his gaze flitting over each detail with that trademark Stark intensity, taking it all in as if he’s studying a new project. When his eyes land on a photo of the two of you at a beach, he pauses. You remember that day so vividly: you were laughing, caught in a candid moment as he held you close, your hair whipped by the wind.

“Is that…us?” he asks, a softness in his voice that tugs at your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping closer to him. “A couple of years ago. We were on a vacation you forced me to take.”

“I forced you?” he repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “Was I…was I that difficult?”

“Only a little,” you tease, nudging him gently. “You hated the idea of not working for a few days. But we made the best of it.”

His lips curve into a small smile as he stares at the photo a moment longer before turning his gaze back to you. “I look…happy. Really happy.”

“You were,” you say softly. “We both were.”

He swallows, his gaze lingering on you, and for a moment, you can almost feel the weight of all the memories he’s lost. But there’s a warmth in his eyes, a flicker of something that feels like a connection—even if it’s new to him.

You clear your throat and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

You lead him down the hall, pointing out the various rooms, each one filled with a mix of his tech and your touches: the library with shelves overflowing with both your favorite books, the small lounge you use for watching movies together, and finally, your bedroom.

When you open the door, he stands in the doorway, taking it in. The room is a blend of Tony’s sophisticated taste and your own comfortable style, the soft lighting casting a warm glow over the neatly made bed, the nightstand stacked with a few of Tony’s reading materials, and the little tray of lotions and skincare items you keep on your side.

“This…feels nice,” he murmurs, his gaze sweeping over the room. He takes a step inside, running a hand over the bedspread, almost as if testing its texture. “I don’t know why, but I feel…calm here.”

You smile, moving to stand beside him. “It’s our space. Your favorite spot after a long day, whether you’d admit it or not. You always said it’s the one place that lets you truly relax.”

He chuckles, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, well, if you say so. I…believe you.”

For a moment, there’s silence, and you can feel the weight of the day settling over both of you. He’s exhausted, and so are you.

“Do you…want to rest?” you ask, realizing he might be overwhelmed with all of this new information.

“Actually, I think I’d like to keep looking around,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I just…don’t want to miss anything. It feels like I’ve lost a huge chunk of my life, and I want to piece it together, however I can.”

You nod, understanding. You feel a pang of sadness but try to hide it. “Well, I’ll be here. We can take it slow. One room at a time.”

Together, you move back down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen next. Tony’s gaze catches on the coffee maker, and he raises his eyebrows with a look of genuine excitement. “Please tell me I still drink coffee.”

You laugh, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Oh, you drink enough coffee to fuel a small army. In fact…” You open a cabinet, revealing an impressive array of coffee beans, grounds, and Tony’s prized espresso machine. “You’re particular about it. You like to experiment.”

He nods, visibly impressed. “I see I have good taste. I’d like to think I’m a genius when it comes to coffee.”

“Among other things,” you reply, grinning as you start to brew a fresh pot, the familiar hum of the machine filling the room.

As the coffee brews, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with that spark of interest you remember so well. But now, it feels new, raw, as if he’s falling for you all over again and doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes, “you said we didn’t get along at first. How did I change your mind?”

You chuckle, handing him a mug and savoring the warmth as you lean back against the counter beside him. “It wasn’t any one thing. You…surprised me. I kept expecting you to be this arrogant genius with no time for anyone, but then you started showing up at my door with random inventions, making coffee runs at three a.m. with me, and bringing me little gifts from your travels.” You smile, remembering each moment as if it’s engraved in your memory. “You just…wore me down, I guess.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, mulling over your words, and you see the warmth in his expression, a flicker of understanding, even if it’s only a shadow of his former self.

“Well, then,” he says, his tone soft, “I’m glad I wore you down.”

His words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the kitchen feels smaller, more intimate, filled with a sense of closeness that’s been there since the moment you met but now feels refreshingly new.

Tony shifts his weight, looking suddenly unsure. “So…do I get to sleep in our bed tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling a little as you nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you walk back to the bedroom together, side by side, you feel a quiet sense of peace settle over you. Tony might not remember you—at least not yet—but he’s here, and he’s yours, and somehow, you’ll find a way to rebuild together.

You slip into bed, settling under the covers, and Tony follows suit, lying beside you with a soft sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches over, his hand brushing against yours beneath the covers. You entwine your fingers with his, and even though he doesn’t remember the countless nights you’ve fallen asleep like this, it feels natural.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you murmur back, your heart swelling with hope.

As the city lights outside cast a gentle glow across the room, you lie there, hand in hand, feeling the warmth of him beside you. And for the first time since the accident, you feel a flicker of reassurance.

The days start to blur together in a rhythm that feels both familiar and new. Tony’s memory isn’t coming back all at once, but he’s recovering it in little flashes, bits and pieces of who he used to be, of who you are to each other. And even though some of these memories are fleeting, almost insignificant, they build something solid between you—something that’s real and growing stronger with every passing moment.

It begins with breakfast one morning.

You’re standing at the stove, cooking eggs and listening to Tony talk about his latest gadget idea. He’s been getting back into work, tinkering here and there in the lab, and he always comes out in the morning with some grand plan or concept. It’s one of the things you’ve missed most—his enthusiasm, his endless curiosity, the way he lights up when he talks about creating something new. You smile, flipping the eggs onto plates and setting them on the counter.

“You know, I don’t think I ever realized how much you put up with me,” he says, leaning against the counter with that lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “All my late nights, random ideas, and, uh, probably a few accidental explosions.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you hand him his plate. “Oh, trust me, I’ve put up with plenty. But you make it worth it.”

He takes a bite, nodding as though savoring the taste. “You know…this feels familiar,” he says after a moment, frowning slightly. “Mornings like this. I used to sit here and watch you cook, didn’t I?”

“Every morning you didn’t have your face buried in a new project,” you reply softly, watching him carefully.

He pauses, that spark of recognition in his eyes growing, as if he’s trying to hold onto the memory, to make it solid. And then he’s looking at you, really looking at you, with a tenderness that feels almost shy. It’s a vulnerability you rarely see from Tony, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

“I think I remember something else,” he murmurs, stepping around the counter to stand in front of you. “I remember sitting here and…thinking about how lucky I was.”

Your breath catches as he reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch is tentative, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Tony…” you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss that’s both familiar and electrifying, like he’s rediscovering you for the first time. His hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you closer as his mouth moves against yours, slow and intense, like he’s savoring every second. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, filled with something that looks like a mix of wonder and awe.

“I don’t remember everything,” he says softly, his voice rough, “but I don’t think I need to. This feels right.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “It is right,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him again.

The memory flashes continue over the next few days, each one bringing him closer to the person he used to be. They’re small, fleeting things—a song that triggers a faint memory of a dance in the living room, the scent of his cologne reminding him of the night you first told him you loved him. Each one brings with it a sense of déjà vu, a feeling that tugs at his heart and pulls him closer to you.

One evening, you’re both sitting on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as you watch a movie together. It’s an old favorite, something you’ve watched countless times, and Tony seems to relax into the familiarity of it. His hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your thigh, and you can feel his warmth, his closeness, and it makes you feel grounded, steady.

Suddenly, he chuckles, looking down at your legs. “I remember this. You used to do this all the time. You’d kick off your shoes and practically sprawl across the couch.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “And you used to pretend to be annoyed, even though you secretly loved it.”

He raises an eyebrow, that playful smirk you know so well tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure I did.”

You shift, leaning closer to him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, his eyes filled with both affection and curiosity, that makes you feel bold, like you’re rediscovering each other in a way that’s fresh and exhilarating.

“Can I tell you something?” you murmur, your voice soft.

“Anything,” he says, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“When we first met, I thought you were this…impossible genius with no time for anyone,” you confess, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “But then you’d look at me like this, with this softness, like I was the only person in the world.”

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Maybe you are.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, capturing you in a kiss that’s anything but shy. It’s slow and deep, his hands sliding up your back as he pulls you into him, your bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly. His kisses are gentle yet intense, each one leaving you breathless, as if he’s trying to make up for all the lost time, all the memories he doesn’t yet have but that you both feel so deeply.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing. He smiles, that teasing glint in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why do I feel like I’ve kissed you a million times?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “Like I can’t get enough?”

“Maybe because you have,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. “And I’ll never get enough of you, either.”

He chuckles, a sound that’s warm and filled with affection as he kisses you again, softer this time, more lingering, like he’s savoring every second. His lips move slowly over yours, his hands gentle as they cradle your face, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you, the way you fit together.

Over the next few days, the memories come more frequently, little fragments of your life that make him pause, that bring a flicker of recognition to his eyes. Sometimes it’s just a look he gives you, a soft smile that feels so familiar it makes your heart ache. Other times, it’s a touch—a hand on your back, a gentle brush of his fingers against yours—that reminds you of all the little ways he’s shown his love over the years.

And every time he remembers something, he falls in love with you a little more.

One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you reach over to turn off the light, but Tony stops you, his hand catching yours. He turns to you, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

“I might not remember everything yet,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your cheek, “but I know that I love you. I don’t need memories to know that.”

You feel a lump in your throat, a warmth spreading through you that’s both comforting and thrilling. “I love you, too, Tony,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “No matter what. I always have, and I always will.”

His smile is tender, filled with a gratitude that makes you realize just how lucky you both are, how strong this connection is between you. He leans in, kissing you with a softness that melts away all the uncertainty, all the fear that’s lingered since the accident.

And as you lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this isn’t just a return to the life you had before. It’s something new, something deeper and more meaningful, a love that’s growing stronger every day. It’s a love that doesn’t need memories to survive because it’s written into every touch, every glance, every kiss you share.

The morning Tony’s memories come flooding back, it feels both surreal and inevitable. He wakes up beside you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling for a long moment before he turns to look at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, relief, and something deeper—something vulnerable. When he speaks, his voice is low, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell.

“I remember everything,” he murmurs, his hand finding yours beneath the covers. His thumb traces gentle patterns on your knuckles, as though he’s grounding himself in the reality of the present. “Every detail, every moment. I remember…you.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to spill over, smiling as you reach up to cup his face. “You’re really back,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I missed you.”

He gives a soft laugh, his hand covering yours as he presses his forehead to yours. “You never really lost me, you know? And I… I missed you, too. Even when I didn’t remember all of it, I knew. I knew you were everything to me. I'd always fall for you.”

You fall into his arms, both of you holding each other tightly, like you’re afraid to let go. And in that embrace, you feel the weight of all those lost days lift, leaving only a warmth that radiates between you. He’s here, fully, and the two of you are whole again.

Later, you’re curled up on the couch together, a blanket draped over both of you, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders as you cuddle into his side. You’ve both been talking, recounting memories, laughing at the more amusing fragments that came back to him in flashes. And then, an idea strikes you.

“Tony,” you say, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin, “there’s something you need to see.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, really? And what might that be?”

You grab your phone from the coffee table, pulling up a series of videos you took during his days without memories. Each one holds moments that, at the time, you’d been scared would be all you had left—little fragments of his affection, of the new ways he showed his love for you while he was rediscovering himself.

“Brace yourself,” you say, hitting play on the first video.

In it, Tony is sitting across from you at the kitchen table, his eyes sleepy and his hair a mess. He’s holding a mug of coffee, and he looks up at you with the softest, most adoring expression, blinking slowly like he can barely believe you’re real. “You’re so pretty,” he says, his voice a murmur, his gaze fixed on you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world. “How did I get so lucky?”

The Tony beside you lets out a surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever looked that…well, cuddly before.”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning,” you say, grinning as you play the next video.

This one shows him lying on the couch, his head in your lap as you’re reading a book. He’s practically burrowed into you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried against your stomach. Every now and then, he looks up at you with these wide, affectionate eyes, and even without memories, he’s the picture of absolute adoration.

“Is that…me?” Tony asks, a touch of disbelief in his voice as he watches himself look up at you like that. “I’m like a…like a giant puppy.”

“Oh, you were,” you laugh, rubbing his arm affectionately. “I have so many videos like this. You’d barely let me out of your sight. I think losing your memories made you even clingier.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he pulls you closer. “Well, can you blame me? I mean, look at you. Not remembering you was bad enough—I guess I was just making sure I didn’t forget you again.”

The next video is of him in bed, lying half-asleep with his arm stretched out, reaching for you. His voice, groggy and low, calls your name softly, and you hear yourself laugh from behind the camera as you step into view. When you do, he pulls you into the bed, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go. He sighs in contentment, pressing his lips to your forehead and murmuring something unintelligible, and even watching it now, you feel that familiar warmth spread through your chest.

Tony, watching beside you, is silent for a long moment, his gaze softened as he watches himself cling to you like that. When the video ends, he turns to you, a tenderness in his expression that takes your breath away.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember you,” he whispers, his fingers brushing your cheek. “But even when I couldn’t…I needed you.”

You place a hand over his, smiling softly. “I think a part of you did remember, in a way. You were still you—maybe a little cuddlier than usual,” you tease, “but you were still you.”

His lips curve into a playful grin. “So, I was clingy, huh? Was I any good at it?”

“Oh, you were very good at it,” you say, laughter bubbling up. “I mean, I kind of got used to waking up with you practically draped over me. I’m almost going to miss it.”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. “Well, if you liked clingy Tony, I think I can accommodate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he tightens his hold on you.

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck as he presses a series of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw. “Mmm, maybe I did like clingy Tony,” you whisper, your fingers threading through his hair.

He chuckles, his lips trailing down to your neck, his hands running up and down your sides as he nuzzles into you, his warmth enveloping you. “Well then, Mrs. Stark, it looks like you’re in luck.”

His mouth finds yours, and he kisses you deeply, his hands gentle but insistent as he pulls you closer. The kiss is soft and tender, but there’s an intensity to it, a passion that feels even stronger now that he has all his memories back. It’s like he’s making up for lost time, savoring every second, every touch, every shared breath.

When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur. “I don’t think I could ever let you go again,” he says, his hands sliding to your waist as he holds you close. “Every second without you felt…wrong, somehow. Now that I know everything, it’s like my whole world is back.”

You smile, brushing your fingers along his jaw as you gaze into his eyes. “Then don’t let go,” you whisper, your heart racing as he closes the small distance between you again, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that’s both familiar and exhilarating.

soft Tony is just a baby <3 if you liked the story leave a like and a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more!

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