#but I think that's just so he can forgive Daisy

[bethanydelleman]

I think The Great Gatsby is the only tragedy that I both love and haven't attempted to fix, either in my mind or through fan fiction. The reason for this is probably because it's impossible to make Jay Gatsby and Daisy a happy couple, no matter what you do with the canon characters. Unlike say, Romeo & Juliet or Mansfield Park, there is no point where something can go right and plausibly end well.

It is fundamental to Daisy's character, and part of the reason that Gatsby fell in love with her, that she is rich and to his that he was born poor. If you fix Gatsby getting stuck at Oxford after the war, either Daisy still marries wealth (and is just a bit more sad about it) or she does marry Gatsby and ends up discontent. At best, they'd achieve middle class (because he wouldn't take the same huge risks married), which she would hate, and while she would have love, it wouldn't be enough.

If Myrtle isn't hit by the car, Gatsby isn't shot in the pool, but that was the most merciful thing that could have happened to him. Daisy was not going to endure the public humiliation of a high profile divorce. Her return to Tom was inevitable (something Nick knew but Gatsby denied). Gatsby dies still able to believe that he'll have a future with Daisy. That's the best he's ever going to get.

Daisy was always an unachievable dream to Gatsby. A girl like her was never going to wait for him to become wealthy. She would never be content with him poor. Tragedy was guaranteed the moment he fell in love. You can't fix it.

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Heart On The Map ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : Harry’s secret affection for you quite literally glows, and a certain map reveals more than just footsteps. It's cozy, romantic, and sprinkled with the perfect amount of mischief.

warnings : Extreme fluff (like heart-squeezing, kiss-you-softly fluff), Secondhand embarrassment (Harry being adorably awkward), Teasing from friends (Ron and Hermione’s chaos), Magical PDA (glowing hearts on enchanted maps 💘), Slight possessiveness (in the “you’re mine and I worship you” way), Uncontrollable grinning and swooning may occur (reader beware). Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 1.1k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @saradika-graphics

There were many things Harry Potter kept secret.

Like how he added double sugar to his tea when Hermione wasn’t looking. Like how he practiced his “relaxed, totally cool” smile in the mirror every time he passed you in the corridor. And most sacred of all—more than the passwords to Dumbledore’s office or the secret of the Chamber—was the Marauder’s Map.

But not for the reason you might think.

You see, somewhere between sixth year’s chaos and seventh’s slow-burning hush, Harry Potter had done something rather... sentimental. And completely irrational, if you asked Ron (which Harry never did).

He’d charmed a heart—small and shimmering—onto the very parchment the Marauders created, and it glowed, ever so softly, around one specific dot. Yours.

Not Ginny. Not Cho. You. The girl who laughed like a spell misfiring. The girl who once beat Malfoy at chess and made it look like art. The girl who borrowed his quill and returned it with tiny daisies drawn all over the feather.

And worst of all—or best, depending on how you looked at it—the girl who had no idea.

── .✦

It started on a Thursday.

A rainy, sleepy sort of Thursday, where the windows of the common room wept soft silver trails and the fire crackled with just enough drama to be comforting.

You flopped beside Harry on the couch with a groan that could’ve summoned a Healer.

“I’ve written ‘henceforth’ six times in this essay. Is that even legal?”

Harry laughed, setting the map aside (too quickly, if anyone were watching).

“You could say 'thus' instead,” he offered, but you shook your head.

“No. I’m reclaiming henceforth. It’s powerful. It’s poetic. It’s—” You paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait… was that the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry went rigid, like someone had hit him with a mild Petrificus Totalus. “Um. No?”

You arched a brow.

He sighed. “Yes.”

And before he could think—before his brain could outrun his heart—you were leaning over him, plucking the parchment off the cushion like it owed you answers.

It opened easily in your hands, revealing the winding paths and pulsing names. You blinked.

“Wait. Is that… a heart?”

Silence. A heartbeat. A single crack from the fire.

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Hero of the Light, Slayer of Serpents and Secrets, turned beet red.

“I—it’s just… it’s not a big—okay, yes, it’s a heart,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s dumb, I know. I can remove it—”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly soft.

He peeked at you through his fingers.

You were staring at the heart-shaped glow, your own name twinkling in its center like stardust caught in moonlight.

“It’s cute,” you whispered. Then smirked. “Slightly stalker-ish. But cute.”

He groaned, flopping backward dramatically, his glasses askew.

“Why am I like this?”

You leaned closer, your hair brushing his shoulder, voice low and warm.

“Because you’re completely whipped for me, Potter.”

He made a strangled noise. “I am not whipped.”

You gently tapped his chest. “Then explain the heart on the ancient, priceless magical document.”

“I just… like knowing where you are,” he muttered. “So I can walk you to class. Or sit near you at lunch. Or save you a seat in the library.”

You bit your lip, your heart doing acrobatics. “That’s… very sweet. And sort of terrifying. But mostly sweet.”

Harry looked up at you then, every ounce of Gryffindor bravery burning in his stupidly green eyes.

“I like you, you know,” he said, breathless. “Really like you. Possibly dangerously. You make me forget how to speak in complete sentences sometimes.”

You smiled, slow and blooming.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I like you, too.”

And then, in the hush of the firelight and the steady tap of rain, you leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Honest. Like a promise and a poem had collided into lips.

Somewhere beneath the couch, the Marauder’s Map pulsed. The heart glowed brighter.

Harry Potter, for once, didn’t care who saw.

── .✦

It had been three days since the Marauder’s Map incident.

Three days since Harry had declared his undying affection with a magical glowing heart. Three days since you’d kissed him and made his brain short-circuit like a faulty Remembrall. Three days of absolute, uninterrupted, lovesick bliss.

Unfortunately, three days was also about as long as it took Ron Weasley to notice anything.

── .✦

"What's that glowing on the map?"

It happened during a perfectly innocent evening in the common room. You were working on homework. Harry had pulled out the map for “patrolling purposes” (translation: to check where you were every seven minutes). And Ron, bless his nosy soul, had leaned over his shoulder mid-yawn.

Harry froze. The map, sprawled open across his lap, was very clearly displaying your name, outlined in the shape of a fluttering, glowing, pulsating heart.

“Oh,” Ron said. “Oh. Oh?”

Harry panicked.

“That’s—nothing. A bug. A map bug. One of those… cartographical hexes.”

“Mate,” Ron deadpanned. “There is a literal love heart glowing around her name. What sort of maps have bugs shaped like affection?”

Hermione, already suspicious, looked up from her book. “What love heart?”

Ron grabbed the parchment and pointed like he’d discovered Atlantis.

“This! Look! Look at it twinkling, Hermione. Twinkling! Like it’s in love!”

Hermione took one look and broke into the most insufferable smirk this side of the Black Lake.

“Harry,” she said sweetly, too sweetly. “Did you… customize the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it!”

“Oh my God,” Ron said, now thoroughly scandalized. “This is worse than when Fred used the map to track Angelina’s bathroom schedule.”

You, meanwhile, were trying (and failing) not to laugh. “So… I’m twinkling now?”

Hermione was grinning. “Darling, you’re radiant. You have a magical beacon of Harry Potter’s undying affection around your name.”

“UNDYING AFFECTION?!” Harry squeaked.

Ron looked personally betrayed. “You put a heart on the map and didn’t tell me? What happened to bro code?”

“Ron, you nearly hexed yourself trying to flirt with a portrait last week.”

“That portrait winked at me!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re both hopeless.”

You leaned into Harry’s shoulder, cheek pressed to his robe, and murmured, “You can keep the heart, by the way. It’s cute.”

Harry turned red. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Really,” you hummed. “Might make one for your name next time.”

Ron clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him with a Cupid’s arrow. “I swear, if I see two glowing hearts, I’m transferring to Durmstrang.”

“Can’t,” Hermione said without looking up. “They’d never survive your emotional constipation.”

“Oi!”

── .✦

The heart stayed on the map. You added a star next to his name the next day. Ron did, in fact, see it and screamed into a pillow. Hermione stole the map once just to annotate it with color-coded bookmarks.

And Harry?

He just looked at you every time it glowed, whispered “she’s mine”, and blushed so deeply even the Fat Lady giggled.

[b1eedthefreak]

can we have some daryl angst? Daryl and reader get into an argument and it ends with him saying something mean and making her cry. Fluff at the end and forgiveness, put your own twist on it your ideas are great!

Be There For You

daryl x reader

warnings: angst, daryl being stubborn and mean

a/n anon i loved this request i’ve been wanting to write something like this for so long! i also apologize because i forgot to add the fluff at the end 💔 but they forgive eachother at the end :)

⸻

The sun was starting to dip low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and gold as you and Daryl trudged through the woods, bags slung over your shoulders, the day’s haul secured. You were talking his ear off like usual, voice light and cheerful despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

“I saw this field earlier,” you said, glancing over at him with a bright smile. “It was full of those little white flowers, you know? Like… wild daisies or something. We should stop by on the way back. It looked so pretty, Daryl, you’d love it!”

He gave a small grunt in response, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile, but before he could say anything, his hand shot out, covering your mouth. Your heart jumped in your chest.

His eyes were sharp, scanning the trees. That’s when you heard it, the voices, too close, too many.

Daryl pressed you back against the nearest wall of a crumbling brick building, his body shielding yours. “Stay here,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You barely had time to nod before he was slipping away, silent like a shadow. You clutched the strap of your bag, peeking just enough to see him step into view. There were three men. They clocked Daryl immediately, shouting at him to hand over his supplies. Daryl stayed calm, his crossbow raised slightly, but ready, but not stupid enough to make the first move.

And then everything exploded into chaos.

The men fired first. Daryl ducked behind cover, returning fire with sharp, precise shots. You stayed frozen behind the wall like he told you, heart hammering against your ribs.

Until you saw him, another man, one that must’ve been hidden creeping up behind Daryl with a gun raised.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You darted from your hiding spot, lifted your pistol and fired.

The man dropped like a stone, his gun clattering against the pavement.

But it didn’t end there.

Another guy lunged for you. You barely got your arm up in time before the blade nicked you, a shallow cut, but enough to sting sharp and hot. You stumbled back, but before he could do more damage, Daryl turned and shot him square in the chest.

Silence fell heavy around you.

You clutched your arm as Daryl stalked toward you, his face thunderous. He grabbed your uninjured arm, pulling you toward him roughly, not enough to hurt, but enough to shake you.

“What the hell are ya doin’?!” he barked, his voice booming louder than the gunshots had been. “I told you to stay put!”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell him you had to… he would’ve been shot if you hadn’t, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“You were tryin’ to help?” he snapped, cutting you off. His eyes burned into you, harder than you’d ever seen them. “That what ya think? If you wanted to help, you would’ve stayed the hell back and let me handle it! But no, that’s too damn difficult for ya to understand, right? I don’t need no damn help, and I sure as hell don’t need your help.”

You stared at him, the breath knocked out of you. Your chest ached, tears welling up fast, hot, but you bit them back. You refused to let him see you cry. Not here. Not now.

Without another word, Daryl grabbed the bags and started marching back toward Alexandria.

You followed him silently, a wide gap between you. The walk felt endless, your chest tight, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. You kept your head down, letting the tears fall freely now, wiping them away with the sleeve of your jacket.

When you reached the gates, Eugene spotted you both from his post. He furrowed his brow, taking in Daryl’s stormy expression and your teary one.

“Uh… reckon the mission was a mite more eventful than anticipated,” Eugene said awkwardly, shifting on his feet. “Ya need me to… fetch someone?”

You shook your head quickly, mumbling a quiet “no thanks” before pushing past him, making a beeline for your house.

You barely made it inside before the sobs broke free. You dropped your bag on the floor, covering your mouth to muffle the sounds as you collapsed onto the couch, curling into yourself.

A few minutes passed. You heard the door creak open but didn’t lift your head.

Heavy footsteps. Then a bag being thrown carelessly onto the other side of the couch.”What’s wrong with you?” Daryl’s voice was gruff, but there was confusion underneath it, like he didn’t understand why you were crying.

You whipped your head up, tears streaking your cheeks. “You don’t get to ask me that after what you said,” you choked out, voice cracking.

Daryl stiffened. “All I said was for ya to stay back. I didn’t need your help—”

“No, Daryl!” you shouted, pushing yourself off the couch, shoving at his chest with both hands. “You don’t get it! Just because you’re this big strong guy doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m nothing! We’re supposed to be partners, Daryl — dating! You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

You pushed him again, and he stumbled back a step, wide eyed.

“I was trying to help you,” you cried, fists pounding weakly against his chest. “I just wanted to help…”

Realization finally dawned across his face. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“Baby…” he rasped finally, reaching for you, but you shoved at him again. “Get off me,” you hiccupped, tears blurring your vision.

But Daryl didn’t let go. He wrapped his arms around you, strong and warm, pulling you against his chest as you struggled weakly. “I know, baby. I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking right alongside you. “I’m sorry, so sorry…”

You clung to his shirt, fists balling into the fabric, soaking it with your tears. His hands moved up and down your back, trying to soothe you, trying to hold you together when he’d been the one to tear you apart.

“I just wanted to help you,” you sobbed against him. “Please, Daryl… let me be there for you..”

He pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “You’re right,” he murmured hoarsely. “You’re right, baby. I’m sorry. I just—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumbs wiping the tears from your cheeks, so gentle it made your heart hurt.

“Jus’… get scared,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I can’t lose you, ya hear me? I can’t.”

You hiccupped, your arms wrapping around his neck as fresh tears slid down your cheeks only this time they weren’t just from sadness. They were from feeling seen.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered. “But you gotta trust me, Daryl. You gotta let me be there for you, too.”

He nodded, forehead resting against yours. “I will, baby. I swear. I’ll do better. You’re my

everything. I ain’t never gonna push you away again.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his hair. For a long time, you just held each other, breathing each other in, the world outside forgotten.

Daryl Dixon, stubborn, gruff, and so scared to love,

finally understood.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

⸻

[starryhyuck]

green gables. (m) — PREVIEW

pairing: e2l!jaemin x afab!reader

words: 22.9k+

summary: your search for a family lands you at green gables, where you learn to adapt to the new challenges that come your way.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: takes place in the late 19th century, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, bigdick!jaemin, creampies, fingering

release date: march 26, 2025

inspired by anne of green gables, anne of avonlea, anne of green gables (1985), anne of avonlea (1987), anne with an e

this fic is already released for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

“You have to be the one. There’s no way I’m getting in that boat!”

“You’re such a coward, Soeun.”

“Then why don’t you try it, Sookyung?”

“You’re all ruining the vision,” you scold, gripping a handful of daisies. “We’re supposed to be girls who have been widowed by our one true love. We’ve succumbed to our tragedy, accepting our fate by floating out into the river, where the Earth will decide how to dispose of our bodies.”

Ever since Soeun’s uncle passed away shortly after the new year and the poem you’re reading for your book club discusses the fate of a widowed bride, you’ve all become obsessed with glamorizing death. In the poem, the girl sealed her devastating fate by climbing into a boat, holding a bouquet of flowers, and drifting away into the night. She was never heard from or seen again.

The girls insisted on recreating the moment, leading you to the lake. Hyojung borrowed a small canoe from her father and Sookyung picked the flowers from her mother’s yard. However, once you got to the final step, all of them chickened out of actually playing the role of the widow.

“I’ll be her,” you proclaim, and they exhale in relief. “But you must say the lines, and with fervor. It’s only right that we recreate the scene exactly. Wait for me at the other side of the river.”

With help from Hyojung, you step into the canoe, laying down as you rest your hands over your chest. You close your eyes when Soeun begins the rehearsed dialogue.

“Sister, farewell forever,” she murmurs, throwing dried flower petals over your form.

“Farewell, sweet sister.”

“And she lay as though she smiled,” Hyojung finishes, giving a small push to the canoe.

You start floating down the river, exactly like the poem describes. You marvel at the solitude, listening to the birds chirping in your ear. It’s all straight out of a novel if you’ve ever read it, but it’s abruptly disrupted by a stream of water soaking your dress.

You shriek, eyes popping wide open as you sit up. Water continues to fill the boat, progressing fast enough where you understand you won’t possibly make it to the other side. As you come up to the nearby bridge, you quickly grasp the foothold, holding onto it tightly as the canoe sinks.

You hear the girls begin to scream loudly when they don’t see you return. You ponder on if they’ll get help and save you from this uncomfortable experience, but another boat slowly comes up beside you.

Na Jaemin says your name with amusement. “I must say, I did not expect to find you here on my Sunday afternoon.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to just sit there or help me like a gentleman?”

He laughs before extending his hand. You take it gratefully, stepping into his boat. You sit across from him, drenched from head to toe. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t utter a single word to him.

“So you’re not going to explain-”

“No,” you gruffly reply. “But I am very much obliged to you.”

He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. Can’t we be friends already? You know I was only joking with you on your first day. I didn’t mean to mock you by calling you a princess, even if I think you look exactly like one. Let’s forgive and forget, please.”

You stare at his hopeful countenance, remembering how kind he was to you over the holidays. You also craved his cookies for weeks after, resisting the urge to walk over to his house and ask for another batch.

“Fine. Friends. And friends only.”

He beams at you, grinning widely. He begins to row the boat back to shore, and you avoid his inquisitive gaze. The girls are in hysterics when you arrive, pulling you out and hugging you tightly.

“We thought you had drowned and died,” Hyojung sobs into your shoulder. “It wasn’t romantic at all! Nothing like the poem.”

You assure them with gentle pats, and Jaemin anchors the boat to the dock. Soeun perks up when she sees him.

“Oh Jaemin, were you the one who saved her? A true knight in shining armor, indeed!”

He nods. “I’m happy to help.” The girls move to take you away and leave Jaemin and Soeun on their own, but he clears his throat to stop you. He addresses you by calling your name before questioning, “B-Before you go, I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

Hyojung and Sookyung’s jaws drop while Soeun acts as if someone just stabbed her in the back.

You stutter. “I- That’s- I’m not-”

“She’s going to my Aunt Nayoung’s annual Valentine’s party. You should come too, Jaemin. It’s at her big mansion in the city,” Hyojung invites.

You shoot her a bewildered look while he replies, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Of course not. She would be happy to have you.”

He smirks. “Perfect. I’ll be there. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I have to get back to fishing.”

When he drifts away in his boat, Soeun stomps away from you, grumbling to herself. Sookyung throws you an apologetic look before following after her. You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“What was that?” You bark at your best friend. “How dare he ask me that in front of everyone like- like-”

“Like he likes you?” Hyojung finishes.

You glare at her, still soaked from the lake. “No. And how could you invite him to your aunt’s party? You know I haven’t even asked Ilkyung if I can go yet.”

“She’ll let you, come on,” Hyojung insists as she helps you trudge back to Green Gables. “If not, I’ll have my mother convince her. Plus, how can you not see how head over heels Jaemin is for you? That boy looks at you constantly and Christmas? Don’t even get me started. His house is miles from here, there was no other reason for him to stop by than to see you.”

“I won’t let you go on any longer. I have never harbored any affection for Na Jaemin and I never will. Have you forgotten about my dreams, Hyojung? I don’t want to be the wife and mother. I want to write and teach and earn enough income so that Ilkyung and Ilnam can retire comfortably.”

“Silly girl,” she murmurs as she nudges you playfully. “You can have all of that and Na Jaemin too.”

want to read the rest of this fic now? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[yoonbroom]

SEVENTEEN FIC RECS

a list of seventeen fics I really enjoyed! pls go and show these amazing authors some love <3 also if there wasn't a summary on the fic I just included a little paragraph or the request! now onto the recs ↓

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

HELLO TUTORIAL - @97-liners

oneshot, fluff, college au, frat au

it’s your final year of college, and you’ve been elected president of your sorority. this is all great and fine, but as the semester goes on, you find yourself having repeated run-ins with the president of the fraternity next door in a series of unfortunate coincidences (that might not actually be coincidences, as you come to discover). or: in which you’re trying to deal with your crush on seungcheol in a normal way, but the meddling kids are making it harder than it needs to be.

FRACTURED PARENTING, PT.2 - @berriesandjunnie

oneshot angst, fluff, idol au, separated parents au, enemies to lovers

parenting can be an emotional rollercoaster when you’re far from divorced and the flames are far from dying.

YOON JEONGHAN

UNTITLED - @userjuyo

drabble, fluff, est relationship

"i just know than jeonghan would tease his s/o a lot, but whenever they went “hannie :(“ he would literally MELT like he’d just be like “okay sweetheart i’m sorry 🥺” and the members would be like ????? BC HE WON’T LET THEM LIVE but it’s his baby so &lt;;3"

UNTITLED - @wqnwoos

drabble, fluff, est relationship

“what if crabs think that fish can fly?” your question is whispered into the darkness of your bedroom — you gazing at the ceiling thoughtfully, while jeonghan curls up beside you.

OF RAINY NIGHTS AND ROSES - @chenfleur

oneshot, angst, fluff, idol au, est relationship

In the heat of the moment, Jeonghan grows careless with his words. Now, he has to bear the weight of saying things he didn't mean.

DAISIES - @viastro

oneshot, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers

the best type of revenge is to hurt the person that means the most to them. aka, in which jeonghan is in charge of making you fall in love with him, just to break your heart. 

JOSHUA HONG

BEST FRIENDS BROTHER - @chocosvt

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, best friends brother

joshua happens to be your best friend’s older brother. he’s pretty, and he’s got a lot of cool details about him that you pay a concerning amount of attention to, but he’s just a friend (if you could even call it that). still, what does he think of you, anyway? that is—if he thinks of you.

IT TAKES TWO - @/berriesandjunnie

oneshot, fluff, idol au, parent au, est relationship

a family is a little scary when your partner has over millions of fans.

UNTITLED - @/wqnwoos

drabble, fluff, est relationship

"it feels like the sky has only just welcomed the sun when joshua tries to get up to leave."

WEN JUNHUI

HEAVEN COULDN'T WAIT FOR YOU - @/berriesandjunnie

oneshot, angst, idol au

i just couldn’t stand to see you leaving but heaven couldn’t wait for you.

HAPPY ENDING - @junkissed

one shot, angst, fluff, marriage, est relationship

a pointless argument escalates until both of you need some space, but it couldn't come at a worse time.

KWON SOONYOUNG

LET ME TRY AGAIN - @papermatisse

oneshot, angst, fluff, exes to lovers, parent au

Soonyoung had never wanted to live a restrained capitalistic life, forced to work a tiresome 9 to 5, paying taxes until the day he dies. Though in exchange to pursue the other option, that being devotion to a career, he had to pay an unfathomably large price—he had to abandon everything and everyone he's ever loved. can he fit himself back into his former life? one that's changed more than he can possibly imagine? could the ones he loved forgive him for his wrongdoings? could he get the second chance he wants so desperately?

(UN)TRADITIONAL - @neonun-au

oneshot, fluff, wedding au, est relationship

"The digital clock on the hotel night stand flashes the next minute as it passes. A re-run of Law & Order: SVU drones on in the background as you sit at the edge of the bed, staring sleeplessly at your wedding dress hanging on the back of the closet door. "

VOWELS AND VERACITY - @hansolmates

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, teacher au, single parent

after a blind date that makes you feel like a giddy teenager all over again, you’re forced to grow up and take a chance when you realize that special someone is your daughter’s kindergarten teacher.

BE SWEET - @heartkyeom

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, royalty, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers

“Why are you here?” Your tone is resolute, not allowing for even an inch of resistance. “That’s what we need to talk about. We’re getting married,” He lifts the corner of his mouth. You let out a laugh that is nowhere near polite, in fact, you’re nearly cackling at the prospect of this idea. It’s simply so outlandish, so fantastical that every time you look at his face it seems more unfathomable.

JEON WONWOO

FOR THE BOOKS - @trblsvt

oneshot, fluff, teacher au, est relationship

wonwoo's students seemed intent on matching him up with a fellow teacher. he didn't really want to stop them, it was too funny for him to break up their fun. plus, he didn't mind the certain someone he was being "set up" with.

HOW TO FALL - @because-of-a-friend

oneshot, fluff, angst, idol au

"hi!! <3 i love ur acc and i was wondering if you'd be able to write an imagine where you're besties with joshua and he invites you to meet the rest of seventeen for the first time and you instantly fall for wonwoo? maybe some angst but overall fluff? thank you!! no rush!! i love your work!!!"

UNTITLED - @/97-liners

oneshot, fluff, royalty au, friends to lovers, childhood friends

"a royalty au where you’re the heir to the throne and wonwoo is your shy (and lowkey bumbling) royal advisor…. he’s smart and always has his head stuck in a book but he’s also painfully awkward and clueless to how deeply in love with him you are. until your parents decide it’s time for you to get married. and suddenly you’re inundated by suitor after suitor, and wonwoo is quizzing them on their credentials and doubting their suitability for you, this one makes brash political decisions, this one spends too freely, this one has no tact for diplomacy. until one day, you turn to him and ask, “you’ve hated every single one of them. who, then, do you think i should marry?” and wonwoo blushes red and presses his lips together."

SCANDAL, PT.2, PT.3, PT.4- @fantasyescapes17

series, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, regency au

this is part of an extensive series that includes other members! you can check it out ⤳ here

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

MEET CUTE OF THE CENTURY - @lovelyhan

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, idol au, strangers to lovers

the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

MARRIAGE - @yikesmary

drabble, fluff, parent au, est relationship

where wonwoo’s nightmare is coming true.

BIRTHDAY SURPRISE - @/yikesmary

oneshot, fluff, parent au, est relationship

where you and nari try to make breakfast and a cake before wonwoo wakes up… if only your daughter knew what the word “surprise” meant.

LEE JIHOON

GUITAR STRING - @leejungchans

oneshot, fluff, angst, royalty au

"“Take me away.” Jihoon’s elegant fingers, previously plucking at his guitar strings, freeze at your words. The soothing, lullaby-like chords he had been playing echo into the inky darkness, carried away by the chilly night breeze."

WE'LL BE OK - @atinykidult

drabble, angst, fluff, idol au, est relationship

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” for hurt!Jihoon

LIVE - @wondernus

oneshot, fluff, idol au, est relationship

having just finished composing a song a few hours ago, jihoon starts a live on his phone to sing to those who are feeling a little lonely at night. little does he know, your sleeping figure could be seen in the corner of his little livestream, causing his fans to go crazy.

MWHA - @cheolism

oneshot, fluff, est relationship

three times you said "mwah" at the end of a kiss and one time jihoon said it back

IM DATING WOOZI - @jihoonotes

oneshot, fluff, smau, est relationship, idol au

y/n is in a public relationship w/ woozi of SVTZ and decides to make a twitter acc to support jihoon, but SVTZ fans seem to think they're delusional.

JIHOON'S PUPPY - @rubyreduji

oneshot, angst, fluff, college au

jihoon can’t seem to shake the puppy dog who keeps following him around or the teasing he gets for it

HEARTSTRINGS - @wavelikewhat

oneshot, fluff, strangers to lovers, idol au

You help Jihoon meet an unexpected deadline for a song and he wonders why he can’t stop thinking about you. Luckily his members nudge him toward the answer.

LEE SEOKMIN

WARM ME UP ! - @ponkwan

drabble, fluff, est relationship

the one where you’re on your third date with seokmin.

KIM MNGYU

HOT OR COLD? - @jjuniehao

oneshot, fluff, est relationship

when looking for something on his phone, you find an email you didn’t expect…

BOYFRIEND PHOTOS - @babyleostuff

oneshot, fluff, est relationship, idol au

a sunny date spent with your precious boyfriend

XU MINGHAO

THE LETTER - @toruro

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, brothers best friend, childhood friends to lovers, idol au

in which you’re jun's little sister and have been pining for a man so close yet so out of reach for ages. now, years later, when you see minghao all grown up, famous, and still making your heart flutter, you're not so sure what to do about your not-so-little crush.

BOO SEUNGKWAN

A BEAUTIFUL LIFE - @sungbeam

oneshot, fluff, childhood friends, est relationship

Boo Seungkwan asked you to marry him beneath the shade of an orange tree.

CHWE VERNON

ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE - @suhnshinehaos

series, fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage, smau

the one where you get into an arranged marriage with your childhood best friend vernon, but neither of you seem to mind that much

UNTITLED - @/wqnwoos

drabble, fluff, est relationship, idol au

“vernon, we need to talk.”

OR, WOULD YOU RATHER IT BE ME? - @thepixelelf

oneshot, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, college au, soulmate au

A detested soulmark, a friendship over a decade in the making, and an unexpected proposal from one friend to another… what could possibly go wrong?

LEE CHAN

SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE - @/berriesandjunnie

oneshot, fluff, est relationship, parent au, idol au

no matter what stage in life you’re at, or after all these years, you can count on his hyungs to still treat him the same.

08:23 AM - @wheeboo

drabble, fluff, est relationship, idol au

in which chan is late to dance practice.

want recs for other groups? check out my navigation → here!

[fastboatsmojito]

moon I'm here to bring you cowboy hat rule Tyler Owens after discussing cowboy hat rule carmy with olive

anyways I think that would slay and Tyler would eat up you riding him while wearing his cowboy hat (and maybe his silly shirt)

-🌂

HELLYEAHHHHH COWBOY !!!!!!! 🗣️

IF YOU FEAR IT, RIDE IT - Tyler Owens x reader

| A/n; literally just threw this together as soon as the ask came in bc it’s making me BLUSH so forgive any grammar mistakes </3, cowboy hat and soaking wet white t-shirt combo save me.. everyone say thank you umbrella anon 🫶🏼

| WC; 690

| CW; 18+ smut btc obviously, Petnames; Sweetheart, Darlin’, Baby, and Cowgirl a few times oops. Praise, a little cheesy at times I couldn’t help it </3 only a little plot whoopsie daisy !

Dividers by @strangergraphics <3

If you could stare a hole through him he’d be nothing but his cowboy hat by now, shaking under the heavy clouds of rain above you as your eyes followed him out of his truck. Drops of water quickly seeping into his shirt, practically begging you to drool over him.

He shook his head with a smile when he saw what you were wearing; your favorite ‘this ain’t my first Tornadeo’ shirt with his face right in the middle. A gift he’d given you when you first got together, tears of laughter streaming down your face as you held it up in front of you ‘oh my god this is ridiculous, Ty. I love it.’ Easily one of your favorite memories.

You hugged him as soon as he was close enough, wrapping your arms around his neck as he laughed softly at your excitement. It was clear you weren’t letting go of him anytime soon, letting him pick you up swiftly to bring you inside.

“You weren’t waitin’ for me out there too long, were you?” He asked, kissing the top of your head as he kicked the door closed.

“Don’t want you gettin’ sick.” You moved your head from his shoulder as he sat down, hands planted firmly in the middle of his chest as you got comfortable on top of him.

“Just when I heard you pull up.” Your voice always made him soft, finally feeling at home again after a long work trip.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” He teased with a grin, adoration clear on his face as you studied his features, it hadn’t even been a week since you’ve seen him but it always felt like longer.

“I missed you!” You remarked through giggles as he grabbed your face and kissed each of your cheeks, his stubble tickling you.

“I bet I missed you more, darlin’.“ He contests, raising his eyebrows as you suddenly grabbed his hat from him, putting it on.

He knew how much you loved it, eyeing it on his dash every time you were driving with him, getting all shy when he told you how good you looked wearing it for him.

“Well if it isn’t my very own cowgirl. I ever tell you how much I love seein’ you in that?”

“Once or twice. Makes me feel hot, and getting to steal it from you is half the fun.”

“You are hot. Drives me crazy when you take it without askin’.” He confessed, pulling you in for a kiss until you were breathless and squirming over him.

“Ty,” You sighed, getting lost in his hands moving to draw little patterns over your upper thigh.

“Can I ride you?” You whispered into his ear, dragging your hand up and down over his chest as he groaned.

“‘Course you can, baby. Keep the hat on, let’s see if this cowgirl can ride.”

——

His Your hat and shirt were still on, your hands bracing yourself on his broad shoulders. Panting out as you moved over him, hips grinding down onto him every time he bottomed out.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Takin’ me like a fuckin’ dream, baby.” He praised, honeyed accent drawing out the words. His warm, rough hands moving under your shirt.

He looked relaxed under you, drinking in every sweet sound that left your mouth as he reveled in your warmth, groans and sighs of his own dancing between praises in your ears. Like this is exactly where he was supposed to be.

Your movements slowed down as your legs got progressively more tired as you went, sighing his name once again when he cradled the back of your head with one hand and thrusted into you.

“Shit- Ty,” You leaned down to quiet yourself on his lips, moaning into his mouth instead when the hand on your waist gripped you tighter, steadying you as he sped up.

“I know, darlin’.” He punctuated with a kiss to your temple, “Sweetest cowgirl in the world. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

He didn’t just see you like this, he made you like this, and that cowboy hat of his was one hell of an accomplice.

——

HEHEHEKF oh this was so sweet i love that flirty cowboy </3

[s4kura-tr3]

Meet once more

W: angst, character death, depression, happy ending, cursing. (Tell me if I missed any)

Summary: where a garden can change his good heart

Wc: 5.5k

The Heian era was a time of beauty and blood, where curses and sorcerers danced in an endless battle for dominance. Above the plains, high on an isolated mountain, lay the dark kingdom of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses. His name was etched into history with fear and hatred, his four arms wielding death and destruction wherever he went. For all his strength and glory, Sukuna lived in solitude, his vast estate echoing with the silence of the dead.

His palace, a masterpiece of architecture, was shadowed by towering stone walls and intricate wooden beams. Yet, despite its magnificence, it was a tomb. No laughter, no warmth—only the howling wind and the occasional groan of old wood filled its halls. His servants were few and silent, bound to him by fear rather than loyalty.

But there was one place in his domain that thrived: his garden. It was a stark contrast to the desolation surrounding him, a lush, vibrant sanctuary filled with rare and beautiful flowers. Sukuna himself had overseen its creation, though he never allowed anyone to enter it. The garden was his alone, a quiet reminder of beauty in a world he despised.

It was this sacred space that she stumbled into one warm spring morning.

Sukuna was making his usual rounds, his steps slow and deliberate as he moved through the winding paths of his garden. The wisteria trees were in full bloom, their purple petals cascading like waterfalls. The air was fragrant and still. But as he turned a corner, he stopped.

There she was—a woman crouched among the flowers, her hands busy weaving together stems of wild daisies and chrysanthemums into a small bouquet. She was humming softly to herself, completely oblivious to the danger she was in. The sight was so unexpected, so absurd, that for a moment, Sukuna simply watched her.

Her presence disrupted the sanctity of his garden. The stillness he had cultivated for centuries was broken by the gentle melody of her voice and the rustle of leaves beneath her fingers. Fury bubbled within him, and he took a single step forward.

The sound of his footfall broke her trance. She froze, her hand halfway to her basket, before turning her head to look at him. Her eyes met his, and in an instant, her expression shifted from peaceful contentment to wide-eyed fear. She scrambled to her feet, the basket tumbling to the ground and spilling its contents.

Sukuna towered over her, his crimson eyes glinting like polished rubies in the dappled sunlight. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I—” Her voice faltered, but she swallowed hard and tried again. “I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. “You think that excuses your trespass? My garden is not a place for petty thieves.”

Her brows knitted together, and she shook her head quickly. “I’m not a thief! I didn’t know this was yours. I just… the flowers were so beautiful. I couldn’t help myself.”

Sukuna’s lip curled in disdain. He expected her to beg for forgiveness, to drop to her knees and plead for her life. Yet, while her fear was palpable, there was no groveling. Instead, she stood before him, trembling but defiant, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

“You’re either incredibly brave or hopelessly stupid,” Sukuna sneered.

“I—” She hesitated, then straightened her back, forcing herself to meet his piercing gaze. “I meant no harm.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the silence between them stretching until it was nearly unbearable. Then, with a sharp flick of his clawed hand, he pointed toward the path leading out of the garden. “Leave. If I ever see you here again, I will not spare you.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing her empty basket, she bowed her head quickly and fled down the path, her footsteps fading into the distance.

But she returned the very next day.

Sukuna had been expecting her. He had felt her presence as soon as she stepped into the garden, the faint hum of her aura a disruption he could no longer ignore. When he found her, she was kneeling in the same spot, carefully replanting a flower she had accidentally uprooted the day before.

His anger flared as he approached her, his footsteps heavy against the soft earth. “Are you trying to die, woman?”

She startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. For a moment, she hesitated, as though debating whether to flee. But then she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I… I thought it was the least I could do to make up for yesterday. I’m sorry if I caused any damage.”

Her quiet apology gave him pause. Most would have run at the mere sound of his voice, yet she faced him with trembling hands and a determined expression. “You’re an idiot,” Sukuna muttered, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“Maybe,” she admitted with a faint, nervous smile. “But I couldn’t leave it like this.”

Against his better judgment, Sukuna allowed her to stay.

Day after day, she returned. Each time, she brought a sense of life to the garden that had been missing for centuries. Her hands worked tirelessly to prune, weed, and water the plants, her soft humming filling the once-silent air. Sukuna found himself watching her from the shadows, his sharp eyes tracking her every movement. He told himself it was to ensure she wasn’t causing any damage, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth.

She intrigued him.

Weeks turned into months, and her presence became a constant in Sukuna’s life. She spoke to him occasionally, her voice light and unassuming, as though she were unaware of the weight of his gaze. At first, he ignored her, offering only curt replies or silence in return. But slowly, without realizing it, he began to respond.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the garden in hues of gold and pink, she sat beneath a cherry blossom tree, her back resting against the trunk. Petals rained down around her, catching in her hair. Sukuna approached her, his footsteps soft against the grass.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet.

She looked up at him, her eyes thoughtful. “Because the garden needs care,” she said simply. “And… I think you do too.”

Her words struck a chord deep within him, one he had long thought dead. Sukuna stared at her, his crimson eyes searching hers for any hint of mockery, but all he found was sincerity.

“You’re a strange woman,” he muttered, sitting down beside her.

Her smile was soft and genuine. “And you’re not as scary as everyone says you are.”

For the first time in centuries, Sukuna felt something stir in his chest—a warmth he had almost forgotten.

The days stretched into weeks, and their strange companionship deepened. Sukuna found himself lingering in the garden more often, his usual patrols of the mountain becoming an afterthought. She was there, her presence as natural as the flowers she tended, her hands bringing life to every corner of his once-forgotten sanctuary.

He had never been one for small talk, yet he found himself listening when she spoke. She talked about simple things—how the cherry blossoms were blooming earlier this year, how a rare species of orchid needed extra care. Sometimes she would ramble about her village, her family, or her childhood, her words painting a life so ordinary it was almost foreign to Sukuna. He listened, silently absorbing the details, though he rarely offered much in return.

But even he couldn’t ignore the way her laughter softened the edges of his harsh world, or how her smile seemed to brighten the very air around them. She was a disruption, a flicker of light in the darkness he had wrapped himself in for centuries.

One day, as the afternoon sun bathed the garden in golden light, she looked up from her work and asked, “Why did you make this garden?”

Sukuna was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with his usual intensity. Her question caught him off guard. He had never told anyone the reason, never felt the need to explain himself. But something about the way she looked at him—curious, but never prying—made him pause.

“It reminded me that even in chaos, there’s order,” he said finally, his voice low. “That even in destruction, something can still grow.”

She tilted her head, her hands stilling as she considered his words. “That’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Sukuna scoffed, though there was no malice in it. “It’s practical. Nothing more.”

But her gentle smile told him she didn’t believe him.

The change in their dynamic was gradual. At first, Sukuna told himself it was her usefulness that kept her around. The garden had never looked more vibrant, and her care was unparalleled. But as time went on, he found himself seeking her out not for the garden, but for her presence.

She began to ask him questions—questions about his life, his powers, his reign. At first, he dismissed her curiosity with sharp remarks, but her persistence wore him down. He told her stories of the battles he had fought, the kingdoms he had razed, and the sorcerers who had dared challenge him. She listened intently, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and sadness.

“You’ve been alone for a long time,” she said one evening, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked out at the horizon, where the sun was setting behind the mountains. “Alone is safer,” he said finally.

“Safer doesn’t mean better,” she replied, her words hanging in the air between them.

He didn’t have an answer for that.

The turning point came one quiet night under the stars. The garden was bathed in silver moonlight, the soft chirping of crickets filling the silence. She sat beside him near the koi pond, her knees tucked to her chest as she stared at the water.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with this place,” she said softly, breaking the quiet.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to her, his expression unreadable. “It’s just a garden.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s more than that. It’s… peaceful. It feels alive, even though everything else feels so uncertain.”

There was a pause, and then she turned to him, her eyes meeting his. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”

Her words stunned him. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his crimson eyes locked on hers. No one had ever said such a thing to him—not with sincerity, not without fear. His first instinct was to dismiss it, to tell her she was foolish. But the look in her eyes silenced him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice rough.

“I do,” she insisted. “I know exactly what I’m saying. I see you, Sukuna. I see the man behind the power, behind the fear. And I don’t care about what others say. I care about you.”

Her words cut through the walls he had built around himself, leaving him exposed in a way he hadn’t been in centuries. Slowly, he reached out, his clawed hand brushing against her cheek. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

“You’re a strange woman,” he murmured, his voice softer than it had ever been.

“And you’re a complicated man,” she replied with a small smile.

For the first time in centuries, Sukuna allowed himself to feel something other than anger and emptiness. He allowed himself to care.

Their love grew like the garden—slowly, patiently, but undeniably. Sukuna found himself smiling more, his sharp edges softened by her presence. She brought warmth to his cold world, filling the empty halls of his estate with laughter and life. They married in a quiet ceremony under the cherry blossoms, with no witnesses but the flowers and the wind.

For a time, they were happy. Sukuna began to believe that perhaps he could have something good, something pure, in a world that had always been cruel.

But fate was not so kind.

The sorcerers came without warning, their spells shattering the peace of the mountain. They sought to destroy Sukuna, to end the reign of the King of Curses once and for all. In the chaos, they captured her, dragging her from the garden as she screamed his name.

Sukuna fought with a rage unlike anything the world had ever seen. His power tore through the sorcerers like a storm, their bodies falling like leaves in the wind. But when he reached her, it was too late.

She lay on the ground, her body broken, blood pooling beneath her.

“No,” Sukuna whispered, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands trembled as he cradled her face, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. “No, this isn’t happening.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze weak but full of love. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Don’t you dare,” Sukuna growled, his voice breaking. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

“I love you,” she murmured, her hand reaching for his cheek.

Before he could respond, her hand fell limp, and her eyes closed.

Sukuna’s roar of grief echoed through the mountains, his tears falling freely as he held her lifeless body in his arms.

Centuries passed, and the once-grand estate crumbled into ruins. The garden withered without her care, its beauty lost to time. Sukuna withdrew from the world, his heart hardened into stone. He stayed atop the mountain, a shadow of the king he once was, his mind haunted by memories of her.

The modern world grew around him, but he paid it no mind. Centuries passed, and the world moved on without him. The mighty King of Curses, once feared and revered, became little more than a myth whispered in forgotten tales. Sukuna no longer cared about power or dominance; even hatred had turned to numbness. His estate, once a palace fit for a god, had withered into nothing but a broken skeleton of its former grandeur. Stone walls crumbled, roofs caved in, and the lush, vibrant garden that once symbolized life had long since withered into decay.

Sukuna sat atop the hill in solitude, a silent monument to what he had lost. The days blurred into each other, the passing of time irrelevant to an immortal being. The world at his feet changed, skyscrapers rising like great mountains of steel and glass, cars roaring like beasts on paved roads. Yet his world remained frozen, locked in the moment her life had slipped from his hands.

He no longer wandered through the ruins of his garden; the sight of the overgrown weeds and the broken koi pond was unbearable. Instead, he sat in the shadow of the mountain, a lone figure in a shack that had become more of a cage than a home. The nights stretched endlessly, his mind looping through memories that refused to fade.

Then she came.

It was early spring, and the air was cool and crisp as Sukuna rested against the doorframe of his shack, his gaze distant as he stared at the valley below. The first thing he felt was a faint ripple in the air, an energy so familiar that it stopped him in his tracks. He thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing cruel tricks on him again. But then he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path.

She appeared suddenly, rounding the bend where the old garden gate used to stand. She didn’t look out of place—dressed casually in a light jacket, jeans, and hiking boots, her hands tucked into her pockets. She wasn’t supposed to be there; people rarely ventured this far up the mountain anymore.

Sukuna’s breath hitched in his chest. It wasn’t just that she looked like her; it was that she felt like her. The aura she carried, that undeniable warmth, was the same. His sharp crimson eyes drank in every detail—the curve of her face, the soft glint of curiosity in her eyes as she glanced around the ruins. It was her. Reincarnated, but undeniably her.

She hadn’t seen him yet, too focused on taking in her surroundings. She knelt to touch the weathered stones of what had once been a garden wall, brushing away moss with her fingers. “It’s beautiful, even like this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her voice struck Sukuna like a thunderclap. It was different, yet the cadence was the same, the softness that had once soothed him now filling him with a tempest of emotions. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep himself from rushing to her. How could this be possible? How could she stand here, centuries later, as if fate had finally returned her to him?

Finally, she noticed him. Her head turned, her eyes widening slightly as they locked onto his figure. He stood still, his towering frame half-hidden in the shadow of the doorway. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I didn’t realize anyone lived up here.”

Sukuna’s voice, rough from centuries of disuse, came out like a low growl. “Who are you?”

Her surprise turned to slight embarrassment. “I’m… just exploring. I’ve heard about this place before, but I didn’t think I’d actually find it.” She gave a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry if I’m intruding. I can leave if you want.”

He stepped forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in every nuance of her expression. Her mannerisms were different, more modern, but there was no mistaking her. It was her soul standing before him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said gruffly.

Her brows furrowed slightly, her gaze flicking between him and the ruins around them. “I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought… this place feels special. Like it has a story to tell.”

His jaw tightened. A story. If she only knew.

She hesitated, her hand brushing over the vines that had overtaken the garden walls. “I know it’s run down now, but… it’s still beautiful in its own way. I can’t explain it, but it feels like this place is waiting for something. Or someone.”

Sukuna felt the weight of her words like a blade to his chest. He wanted to tell her everything—that this place was waiting for her, that he had been waiting for her. But instead, he swallowed the words, masking his emotions behind a cold exterior.

“The garden is dead,” he said flatly.

Her lips pressed together thoughtfully as she looked around. “It doesn’t have to be. Gardens can come back to life if someone takes care of them.” She smiled softly. “I’m good with gardens.”

Sukuna’s chest tightened. It was almost too much—the way she stood there, so full of life, speaking as though she were meant to be here. He clenched his fists, his sharp nails biting into his palms. “You think you can fix this place?” he asked, his tone colder than he intended.

She tilted her head, unbothered by his harshness. “Maybe. It would take some work, but I’d love to try.”

He stared at her, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Was this fate’s cruel joke, dangling her before him only to take her away again? Or was this his second chance?

Finally, he said, “The garden is beyond saving. But if you’re foolish enough to try, I won’t stop you.”

Her smile brightened, and for a moment, the world seemed a little less gray. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her voice full of determination.

As she turned to examine the overgrown garden, Sukuna watched her silently, his heart aching with a mixture of hope and fear. He had spent centuries in darkness, his grief carving him into something colder, harsher than even he had been before. But now, standing before him was a piece of the light he thought he had lost forever.

He would find reasons to keep her here, excuses to bring her back. He couldn’t lose her again. Not this time.

[luveline]

missing eddie and roan rn🥲

can we get something were roan brings home flowers she picked during recess for reader🫶

Eddie and Roan —Eddie’s daughter brings you a bouquet when you’re sick. (step)mom!reader

Roan skips up the path to the house with a big smile. “Dad, come on!” she demands.

Eddie’s trying to carry three paper bags of groceries and close the trunk at the same time. He is not receptive to criticism at this present moment. “Shut up, babe.” 

“You shut up!” 

“You first.” He drops the keys by accident. “Ro, can you come and grab these for me? Thank you.”

She races to grab the keys and then back to the door. “Dad, COME ON!” 

“You’re being super rude and irate right now but I forgive you,” Eddie says, yanking the door open to let her inside, “because I know you’re hangry.” 

“Not hangry!” she denies, bursting into the hallway and kicking her shoes so hard against the shoe rack that the top layer of your work shoes topple onto the floor. “Mom!” she shouts, one word lined heavily with joy even now. She’s been calling you mom for months and it doesn’t get any less exciting for her, clearly. “Y/N! Y/N, I got you something! Where are you?” 

“I’m in bed!” you call, sounding excited yourself, if a little confused. “What did you get me?” 

Eddie wasn’t aware of any gifts. He puts the groceries on the counter in the kitchen and follows his charge up the stairs, curious and not wanting to put stuff away anyhow. Roan tumbles into the master bedroom still wearing her red vinyl coat, door slamming into the wall, you wincing in bed. 

Eddie winces too. “Ro,” he says desperately, “come on, bub, she’s in bed rest, remember? So we’re being careful about loud noises. I told you twice today already.” 

“Sorry! I just want to see you,” she says, straight to your side and arms up expecting to be helped. 

You pull her into your lap. “I’m sick of resting anyways.” 

Eddie intercepts Roan’s hug to lean down over you and give you a gentle kiss, of which you are extremely receptive. He gets butterflies thinking about you to this day, and having you raise your chin to receive him intensifies them by half, then whole as your lips do finally touch. 

“Okay day?” he asks. 

“Really quiet,” you say, tugging Roan up into your chest before she can get jealous. 

“Head?” he asks. 

“Fine. Barely a headache anymore.” 

Eddie bites his lip. Not too long ago you were in a hospital bed practically catatonic. He cannot afford to be uncareful with you. You’re too much to him. 

“Promise?” he asks. 

You’re distracted from answering by small hands on your face. “Mommy, I was talking to you first.” 

“Sorry, baby, yes you were.” You sink further down. “Can you ever forgive me?” 

Roan could forgive you for almost anything. She wiggles where she’s sitting on your stomach, hands clumsy at the bottom of her coats zipper, her chest rising and falling after her sprint up the stairs. Eddie and Roan are still both cold enough to have it emanating from their coats, but you don’t care, you just want your after school cuddle.

Eddie peels out of his coat at the same time, takes his shoes off with some self-chastisement (mud upstairs is awful and rude of him and he’ll spend the evening trying to rub it out of the rug because you really like the rug and he likes you), and sits on the bed by your feet. 

“Oh, what have you got?” you ask warmly. 

Eddie bends his head to watch her pull flowers from her overall pocket, one small stem at a time. Daisies and buttercups with petals smaller than her fingernails. They keep coming, ten then twenty, maybe thirty flowers on your chest. The stems are broken, but they’re all more alive than anyone could have hoped for considering they’d been sandwiched in her pocket for hours. 

“These are for me?” you ask. 

“All for you. Except this one for dad,” she says, picking up one of the bigger daisies. “And maybe this one for me.” She grabs a buttercup for herself. 

“Aw, thanks baby. These are gonna make me better, huh?” 

She looks like him when she smiles. Cheesy, cute, she arranges the flowers in a bouquet in her hand and presents it to you grandly. “I picked them at school behind the wooden house. Do you like ‘em?” 

“I love them,” you pronounce, just as grand but not half as loud. 

“I love you.” 

“You cheesball,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ignore him.” You touch her cheek with a fondness that makes his jaw ache thinking about the love behind it. “I love you too.” 

“And you’ll be better soon,” Roan says. 

Eddie can answer that one. He holds your ankle through the sheets, and gives your calf a quick stroke. “She’s gonna be a hundred percent any day now, bug. Better be extra gentle with her to help her along.” 

Roan rubs her bouquet of flowers softly under your chin. “I’m gentle,” she whispers. 

You rake your fingers through her hair, a half centimetre a second, fingertips drawing down between her shoulders. Such a mom thing to do, Roan dissolves like sugar paper in the rain. 

Eddie smiles. “Alright, I’m jealous.”

[jobean12-blog]

Everything

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (No!outbreak!Joel- friends to lovers)

Word Count: 4,359

Summary: You live next door to Tommy and fall into an easy friendship with him but then you meet his older brother and fall into a lot more than friendship but will Joel's struggles stand in the way...

Author's Note: This is for @the-slumberparty February Sleepover Challenge and Eight Types of Love. I went with Philia (deep friendship) again because I just love the whole friends to lovers trope and wanted to do something with Joel. This has a little of better off friends (in Joel's mind) too. Thank you loves for hosting and thank you all so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension, flirting, some light angst mixed in because Joel has his head up his ass, softness, fing-er-ing, o-ral (f rec), p in v, pet name, a curse or ten, Joel gets dom a bit- think that's it lol

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You begin to wake to the quiet sound of Joel murmuring in his sleep, the room dark other than the flickering television. His arm is heavy across your waist and your back is pressed to his chest. The warmth from his body has seeped into every part of you and you can’t help but snuggle into him.

He whispers your name and his arm tightens at your waist.

“Joel?”

With no verbal answer he starts to slowly roll his hips, introducing you to the hardness between his legs.

You gasp and meet his movements. He groans and his hand starts to move, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and slipping under.

His hand continues to explore your skin as he mumbles sleepy words but you can only catch some broken phrases.

“…a dream…you’re too good…but it’s all I…”

His words trail off but his fingers keep wandering and when his hand slips down the front of your leggings you grab his wrist and push it lower, wiggling your ass against him with a desperate plea.

“Please Joel. More.”

He tugs you closer, murmuring in your ear with another roll of his hips. You moan out his name and he suddenly goes still, his panting breaths echoing in the quiet.

“What the hell?” he says into your neck.

Everything comes back to him in a rush. The movie, you falling asleep first in his arms and then his own eyes closing as he gave in to sleep. And now he’s woken up with his hand halfway down your pants and his arousal digging into your ass.

But there was more. Your whispered pleas, his name on your lips...had he imagined it all?

His eyes widen and he lunges up from the couch, away from you.

“Fuck darlin.’ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He rakes both his hands down his face.

“No. I’m fine,” you assure him. “It’s ok.”

“Were you even awake? Did you ask me to stop at any moment? Tell me the truth.”

He waits with a pained expression after his rush of questions, worry etched across his handsome face as he holds his breath.

“I was awake enough and I knew you were dreaming but I didn’t want you to stop.”

He swallows the growl that tries to burst from his throat.

“Why didn’t you want me to stop?”

He can’t help his question, can’t let his curiosity go unchecked even though he knows you’re too good. Too good to be true. Too good for him. That you deserved better.

You don’t hesitate when you answer. “It felt good, so good. I love having your hands on me.”

It’s too much, your confessed words already branding themselves onto his skin and as much as he wants to pin you back down to the couch and finish what he’s started he takes another step back.

“I thought I was dreaming…are you sure you’re ok?”

“I am and I should be apologizing.”

His hand runs forcefully through his sleep mussed hair and let’s out a quiet curse.

“We were both half asleep. It was nothing.”

He says the words without meeting your eyes and you withdraw with a sharp intake of breath and when he finally lifts his gaze to yours he nearly crumbles to his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

“Oh...I guess you’re right.”

You glance down at your hands and blink away the wetness in your eyes.

“I’m a guy darlin’…I fell asleep with you pressed against me, and I reacted. I’m sorry if you thought…”

“No. I didn’t think,” you whisper, standing and wrapping your arms around your middle like a shield.

“It’s late,” you say as you back away from him.

“Right,” he answers, having to hold himself back from reaching out for you.

He swallows hard before walking toward the door and slipping his boots on. He stares at you in silence before he quietly says goodbye.

You nod and wait for the door to close before collapsing back onto the couch.

Your first knock goes unanswered and when you catch the buzz of a saw on the other side of the door you knock harder. The sound stops and is replaced with the heavy footfalls of his boots.

He opens the door to reveal you standing on the other side in your pretty dress, cookie box in hand.

Once his initial shock wears off it’s replaced with the familiar intensity he holds only for you, as if you’re all he sees and it’s everything.

That’s why when he shouts, “what are you doing here?” you wince slightly.

“I’m here because I missed my friend,” you state. “And I brought you cookies.”

He wants to tell you he’s missed you for every second of the last three days. Wants to wrap you in his arms and keep you there forever but he remains silent.

When he doesn’t say anything you continue on. “Are you going to let me in?”

“If you don’t mind the mess, go right ahead,” he says, stepping back.

“I don’t,” you murmur and brush past him.

He sucks in a quiet breath when your scent wafts up to his nose and closes his eyes for a moment to savor it.

“Watch the tools,” he says. “You’ll get hurt.”

“It looks great already,” you tell him as you swivel on your feet, careful to mind any sharp tools.

Joel nods before rubbing the back of his neck. “I can show you around, since you’re here.”

He holds his hand out toward the steps and you start to walk up them. He keeps his eyes focused on your feet, willing them not to travel any higher to peek under the hem of your dress.

You walk from room to room as he explains what he’s been doing to the new house he’s renovating, your brightness emanating into every space and filling it up with new light.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asks, his voice tight.

His foot kicks out at some saw dust, sending it dancing into the air, illuminated by the streaks of sunlight filtering in through the window.

“I took a long lunch,” you explain. “I have to go back soon, I just…”

“What? You just what darlin’?” he asks, hating his hard tone.

You place the cookies down on the work bench in the room and look him in the eyes.

“I hate that we haven’t spoken in three days. I hate not knowing if you’ll want to hang out with me again. I know you’re unhappy about what almost happened the other night, but I think you’re taking this a bit too far.”

He takes a step closer to you, keeping his hands on his hips, knowing if he reaches out to touch you, he won’t be able to stop.

“Back up darlin.’ Did I hear you say I was ‘unhappy’ about what happened?”

“Yeah…I know it was my fault. You left and I…”

“You did nothing wrong,” he states, moving closer. “Nothing at all. Are we clear?”

Your back presses to the wall when he’s close enough for you to touch and your brow furrows.

“But you were upset and I…”

His palms land flat above your head on either side of the wall, his teeth griding in his jaw.

“I’m warning you darlin’.”

Several seconds pass where your gaze lingers on his face before your lashes lower and fall between his legs to his obvious arousal pressed against the tight fabric of his jeans.

Your breathing quickens and you lick your lips, parting them to speak but your words and any coherent thoughts are lost when he kisses you.

You melt against him, pliant and willing and he moans into your mouth, crowding you against the wall until there isn’t an inch of space left between you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck and takes a deeper taste before he feels your hands flatten along his chest with a gentle pat.

Breathe.

He breaks away with a groan and scans your face for any signs of regret but instead sees swollen lips and bright eyes and it’s everything…it’s achingly beautiful. He sears the image into his brain forever.

With a sigh he leans forward and rests his forehead to yours, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You do want me.”

Your words are husky and when he meets your eyes again, the hunger burning brightly in his morphs your expression into one of relief.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along yours, “want isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel…for what I want to do to you.”

You breathe out his name, grabbing fistfuls of his soft tee shirt when you ask, “which is?”

His lips meet the shell of your ear and the truth comes out in a rush of warm breath that makes you shiver.

“I want to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk straight the next day.”

The evidence of his words pulses against your stomach and it gives you courage to ask your next question.

“Do you want to fuck me against the wall…or spread me out on your bed Joel?”

He hisses out a curse and goes still before pinning you with a glare.

“You should be telling me to fuck off darlin.’ I walked out on you after I gave you some bullshit excuse…you better tell me, or else…”

“Or else what? What are you going to do?”

His fist lands on the wall with a heavy thump. “You’re getting yourself into trouble here angel.”

Your eyes light up at the endearment and he takes note.

“What does that mean? Trouble? Are you all talk or are you going to show me…”

Your words end on a gasp when he drops his hand from the wall and reaches under your dress, the feel of his big, work-roughened fingers on your skin making you sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

You reach up and rake your fingers through his tussled hair, feeling empowered by the shiver than passes through him, his eyes closing.

“Joel. Please.”

His eyes pop open and he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your heard with one hand while the other remains hidden beneath your dress, teasing the waistband of your panties.

“You deserve better,” he rasps.

You shake your head side to side, moving closer until your lips are a breath apart.

“No one treats me better than you.”

It’s a whisper against his mouth and when you see the fierce look in his eyes you expect him to pin you against the wall again but it never happens.

He falls to his knees and lifts your dress, burying his face between your thighs. The hair lining his cheeks and jaw rub roughly against your skin and his calloused hands yank your hips closer.

“Is this what you want angel?” he asks. “Want me on my knees for you, begging to taste you.”

Your fingers land in his hair again and you give it a sharp tug.

“Fuck,” he growls before moving your wet panties to the side and sliding his tongue straight through you.

Your legs shake and your head rolls along the wall.

“Joel,” you whine.

When he flicks your clit with his tongue it sends you reeling, rolling your hips into his face as he repeats the motion over and over then sucks it into his mouth. You’re so close to the edge but when he abruptly stands and cages you against the wall again, you let out a whine of frustration.

His hand slips down your body and he teases you before sliding a thick finger inside, his head falling to your neck with a muffled curse. You fumble with his jeans, managing to pop open the button and pull the zipper down far enough to press your palm against his hardness.

His hips buck into your hand and you feel him thicken, your breathing heavy when you ask for “more.”

With a groan of satisfaction he pushes a second finger inside you, your name coming out in a strangled hiss when you tighten around them.

Without warning his hips stutter and you feel warm moisture coat your hand. You keep one hand locked on his broad shoulder, still feeling unsteady on your own feet. His fingers are still buried deep inside you when his lips press softly to your neck and trace a path to your mouth.

When his eyes finally meet your own he slowly pumps his fingers, drawing small gasps from your parted lips.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous angel. I can’t help myself…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He pulls his fingers free and you whine at the loss, earning a teeth grinding warning from him.

“I’m not sorry,” you say and steady your gaze.

“Oh yeah,” he answers, his body still caging you in. “It’s not good enough. I’m not…”

“Don’t say it.”

You cover his mouth with your hand. “Don’t tell me what’s good enough for me. I know what I want.”

“Please angel,” he says, his voiced laced with pain. “I can’t stay away.”

“And I don’t want you to.”

The breath rushes out of him and he sags against you.

Sensing he needs some space and knowing you are running out of time you rise up to kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering on his skin and breathing him in.

“I’m going to clean up and then go back to work…but I’ll see you this weekend.”

His fingers ghost along your arm and trace the curve of your shoulder before he takes your chin in his hand and tugs your mouth to his for one last kiss.

Lost in thought, Joel takes no notice of Tommy as he walks up to the truck window, the knock making him jump in the seat.

“What the fuck?” Joel mutters when he turns to see Tommy staring back at him through the glass, looking amused.

Joel pushes the door open and steps out, walking around Tommy without a hello.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Joel asks when he reaches the back of the truck and opens the hatch.

“Hello to you too brother,” Tommy teases. “And you never answered your phone. I need to know if you can pick up beers for the party this weekend.”

“Are you really having a birthday party? Aren’t you too damn old for this shit?” Joel says with a shake of his head.

The corner of Tommy’s mouth lifts. “Listen, just because you’re a grumpy stick in the mud doesn’t mean the rest of us need to be. I feel like celebratin’.”

“What were you thinking about in there anyway?” Tommy asks. “You looked like you were on another planet.”

When Joel doesn’t answer Tommy just smiles.

“She’ll be there of course.”

Joel remains quiet and Tommy claps him on the shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, brother, but if my girl was going to be at a party, looking damn fine, I’d be there. And early.”

“My girl,” Joel muses as the rubs his scruffy jaw. “I’ll be there.”  

“And don’t forget the beer!” Tommy shouts as he walks back to his own truck and gets in.

You check the time and see that it’s still early before you have to get dressed so you walk over to the window and peek at Tommy’s house. Your thoughts wander to Joel and you wonder if he’s already at Tommy’s. As if you’ve summoned him he appears at the front door with a black garbage bag and starts walking toward the side of the house.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt instead of a tee shirt and it’s tucked into his tight-fitting jeans. It makes your breath catch in your throat and without thinking you rush to your kitchen garbage and pull out the half full bag, tying it quickly before tightening the tie of your robe.

You open your front door and keep your eyes forward as you walk toward the pails. The sound of a loud metal bang drags your attention toward Tommy’s house where you find Joel standing, hands on hips and eyes on you.

You throw him a wave before dropping the small bag of garbage into your pail and starting back toward the house. He moves in your direction, gently grabbing your wrist before you reach the door.

“Hi,” you say sweetly.

“Hey darlin’,” he murmurs, not letting go of you. “You wearin’ that tonight?”

At the teasing tone of his voice you feel relieved and smile, glad things aren’t entirely awkward since the last two times you were together.

“It’s comfortable,” you say. “But no.”

“But you look good,” you tell him. “Really good.”

He rubs the back of his neck and then using the hand still wrapped around your wrist, tugs you into his chest.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

You shift closer and he asks, “do you usually walk around in nothin’ but your robe?”

“Who said I had nothing on under here?”

He keeps his eyes on yours but drops a hand to the tie at your waist, giving it a light pull.

“Did you ever eat those cookies I made you?”

Your question catches him off guard and he barely has time to register his surprise before you continue.

“Or did you have enough dessert?”

You raise an eyebrow at the pained expression on his face and when he closes his eyes and groans you lift your hands to the collar of his shirt and toy with the fabric, pulling him closer.

“You’re not holding back at all are you?” he asks. “Not that I’ll ever forget how you taste.”

“Why should I?” you counter. “I know what I want.”

“Then say what you want, angel.”

You visibly preen at the nickname, wetting your lips before you speak and close the small space between you.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel.”

“Damn it,” he breathes, twisting the tie of your robe in his fist.

His mind instantly fills with filthy thoughts but he doesn’t respond with more than his initial curse.

“Say something,” you whisper. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t,” he replies.

“Yes,” you counter with firmness. “I do.”

“I told you…one taste…it’ll never be enough. I want you every way I can have you. Every way you’ll let me. I want to do everything to you.”

You sway into him and your lips brush his ear just as you’re about to speak.

“JOEL!” Tommy yells. “Where the hell are you?”

Your eyes go wide as the haze lifts and you tuck your face into his neck, murmuring something incoherent. He echoes your frustration with a sigh.

“What time will you be ready?” he asks, his grip on you still tight.

“Just need another twenty minutes.”

“Good, I’ll pick you up then.”

You reluctantly pull away from him and give him a wry smile. “You’re going to pick me up? At my house? Right here?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “Why not?”

You open your mouth but he presses his finger against your lips. “Just let me come pick ya up darlin.’ Please.”

“Ok,” you breathe out before taking a step back.

“See you in twenty,” he says and watches until you’re safely inside.

Joel stands along the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he scans the room, avoiding Tommy’s prying eyes, but it’s to no avail.

“Don’t look so bored big brother,” Tommy drawls. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.”

Joel checks his watch. “Actually, she will be because I’m going to get her right now.”

“You’re picking her up? But she lives next door!”

Joel ignores Tommy’s comment and pushes off the wall with a huff.

When he reaches your door he knocks and hears your “come in.” He walks in and quietly closes the door, his eyes instantly landing on your couch as he relives the memory of the other night for the millionth time.

“I’ll be right there,” you shout from down the hall.

He rubs his palms on his jeans and tries to look relaxed even though it feels like he’s about to combust.

You walk into the living room and smile. “Ready.”

He stands up straight, hands clenched at his sides as his eyes sweep over you from head to toe and his voice a rasp when he says, “you’re not wearing that angel. You’ll have to kill me first.”

You look down at your form fitting dress with a frown then lift your eyes and chin. “Oh yes, I am!”

“The fuck you are.”

Your irritation wars with the blaze of heat trailing across your skin but you manage to walk forward toward the door and past him.

But his arm shoots out and grabs you around the waist, spinning you until you’re plastered against his hard chest.

“Fuck angel.” His hands flex on your hips. “I don’t think you understand. If anyone sees you in this…anyone but me…”

“It’s just a dress,” you say. “And I like it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please. Go change.”

You soften at his gentle pleas but you can’t help to push a little harder, knowing he’s about to give in.

“Make me.”

His eyes darken with warning and you lean closer, invitingly.

“You want to show off his gorgeous body,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers under the thin strap at your shoulder. “You’ll show it off to me.”

“Joel…”

He pushes the strap until it slides down then drags his rough fingertips along the neckline of the dress, stopping at the swell of your breasts.

“You were just going to walk into that party wearing this…what do you expect me to do?”

“I told you what I want you to do Joel.”

“Say it again,” he growls.

“I want you to fuck me.”

You enunciate all the right words even though your breathless by the end of it.

His fingers continue to your other shoulder, dropping the strap there and circling your soft skin.

“You’re a tease. You’re driving me insane.”

“I’m not the tease,” you shoot back. “You’re a tease and I’m tired of it. Either you want me. Or you don’t.”

He lifts his hands and cradles your face between them, brushing his thumbs across your skin.

“All I want is you angel. I want to be yours. I want to know all your favorite things, in and out of bed. All of it. I want it to be mine.”

With a concentrated effort you remind yourself to take a breath, seeing that means every word of it, his expression daring you to contradict him.

You reach out with the intention of unzipping his pants, but he catches your wrist. “Not yet angel. If you touch me, I’m going to need to get inside you and I need to taste you again first.”

He walks you backward toward the kitchen table and you collapse back with his gentle push. Your dress is hiked over your hips to reveal your panties and a hungry sound hums in his throat as he takes you in. Slowly he drags the delicate fabric down your legs then stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans before he spreads you open.

His tongue drags over you teasingly at first until something inside him breaks and costs him his discipline. The calloused hands that hold your thighs apart grow rougher, his throaty growls vibrating right through you as his tongue circles your clit.

Your fingers find purchase in his wild curls and he makes an appreciative noise so you give them a tug.

“So good, Joel. Oh my god.”

Already your muscles start to tighten and you know it won’t be much longer. He slides two thick fingers inside you, sucking your clit into his mouth at the same time and it sends you tumbling over the edge with a cry of his name.

His hands are soft and delicate as they caress your skin and he takes you in his arms, sitting you upright. You hold on to the edge of the table and watch him as he frees himself from his pants and palms his cock. The sight makes your mouth water and it takes all your restraint not to reach for him.

“Fuck angel,” he murmurs as he slips himself between your legs. “Do you have any idea how you’re looking at me right now?”

“How?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Like you’d beg for it if I asked.”

You work your hips in a slow circle, coating him in your arousal.

“Is that what you want?” you purr.

He groans and grits his teeth.

“Please, Joel. Please.”

“Fuck, stop. I can’t take any more,” he hisses, before he thrusts into you hard.

The sudden, perfect fullness of him makes you whimper and when he starts to move your eyes roll back in your head.

His lips find yours and he swallows every moan of pleasure as each pump of his hips drives you closer to your release. You pull his bottom lip between your teeth, begging him for more. Harder. Faster.

He gives you what you want and the pressure that builds inside you is threatening to swallow you whole and when his hand smooths over your thigh and slips between your legs, pressing right where you need it, you lose control.

His fingers dig into your skin, hard, as you clench around him, hips moving so fast they start to stutter.

“So good, angel. You feel so fucking perfect.”

You feel him thicken before his warmth fills you up and he chants your name in a breathless whisper. He falls against you, cradling you in his arms and tracing the line of your neck with his lips.

You tremble in his embrace as your hands dip inside the open buttons of his shirt to feel more of him. He whispers your name, his mouth moving along your skin, hot and wet.

“No one else does this to me angel. I already want you again. Fuck.”

@lizette50 @kmc1989 @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814

[leeril]

Routine

Tobias Rogers x reader

Short and sweet, not proofread

Banner credit- @cafekitsune

Her schedule was ingrained in my mind, from how long it took her to brush her teeth in the morning, to the late night cram sessions in the library. I knew she woke up extra early every Wednesday before class, the exact bus route she took just to miss the early morning traffic on her way back from the gym. I had her days down to the minute.

I could always tell the exact mood she was in from the small pin in her hair, each colour a different emotion. A small gateway into her mind.

I had her coffee order memorised like I was the barista who worked the till from 08:12 to 08:17. I knew the exact amount of syrup pumps, whether she wanted it iced or hot, or when she had that yellow pin in her hair- with extra sweet foam.

She was perfect, truly. She was perfect for me.

So why did she have to go and ruin our routine? Why did you ruin it?

Did I not pay you enough attention? I even stood closer to you in the grocery store. Slightly too close in the parking lot. But I was there wasn’t I? You knew I was.

It started with those extra 5 minutes while you were in bed. That wasn’t part of the schedule. You were running into your sleep. Was it him you were texting? Or something else? The once gorgeous and open smile you held, was now tainted. Did you direct it at him? Did he make you smile?

My favourite times together were always the ones where it felt like you saw me. Really saw me. Not just the dark shadow in the corner of your yard.

You needed me. It was so much easier to love you, cause I knew, I knew you needed me. Did you need him?

Those extra 5 minutes really were the turning point for us, weren’t they? After that you changed even more.

How dare you coil around my bleeding heart, squeezing and squeezing. And fucking squeezing. Till the last drop painted your perfect lips. My hand can still feel the wetness. Was it my blood that night? Was it yours? Did we meld together? Did you taste how sweet you really fucking were? Was mine copper? Was it bitter? Did you feel the love?

Those late night cram sessions quickly just became an excuse to sit on your phone, laptop idly staring at you, screen completely black. It gave me the perfect chance to observe you. I’m sure you didn’t see me- you were too busy of course. Still on that goddamn phone. Our reflections looked so perfect together, if only you had just lifted your head.

I remember the first night vividly, your pink pin in your hair, that yellow worn out cardigan on your shoulders, preparing for an English literature exam. But you just couldn’t keep your eyes on your notes, could you? Every few minutes, your eyes, your wandering eyes, they kept drifting to your phone. Was it his notification you were hoping for?

You really made me sick that night.

I forgive you now. It’s in the past after all. I know you won’t do it again. You’re perfect.

Thursday was always our day. The late lie in bed. The slow pace of you reaching for your phone, laughing at whatever was on it. It was your friends, right? Katie and issy? Your face entirely relaxed, hair slightly messy, curtain open just enough for me to savour how the sun shined against your skin. French toast with an excessive amount of powdered sugar, a cup of earl grey with honey, if it was raining- chai.

He doesn’t bring you flowers you know. I do. Amaranthus, daisies and anemones. They make a beautiful bouquet. I’m sure you think so too. I deliver them on our day. Do you like them? Do you see how much I still care?

You always did have a floral scent. The smell of rot doesn’t suit you. But I still bear it. Because I love you.

I loved the sound of your laughter, how it always seemed to cling to my skin. You had a way of filling any uncomfortable silence with ease. Are you laughing now?

I remember the last look you gave me. There was no fear. No surprise. It was like you anticipated this all along. Like you carefully shifted the routine to fit me in. Made all the correct advances for weeks just to feel the cold blades imbed your bones. You didn’t fight it. You didn’t scream. You just looked at me with that innocent smile. Those knowing eyes. And they told me all I needed. You loved me too.

Now as you lay there a few feet away from me, smell disguised by the flowers, I’m telling you about my day. You’re finally there to listen. The game of cat and mouse is finally over. Do you forgive me too?

[wellofdean]

So...thinking about Dean and Jack...

Jack is not a child. He is NEW, but he is a cosmic being of unknowable power who was cognizant enough in the womb to save Kelly because he was still using her body as an incubator, and to show Cas a manipulative, glorious vision of his future actions specifically as they relate to Cas's desires. When he is born, he speaks English and understands peril, has the physical strength and angelic power to defend himself. He doesn't understand the world, but he is a VERY fast learner. There are a lot of ways in which children are vulnerable and need protection that simply do not apply to Jack at all. He is not a baby, physically or mentally.

Where Jack is vulnerable is in his sense of self and his identity. He is emotionally and spiritually vulnerable, and he is vulnerable to manipulation. From the first time Sam talks to him, he is asking Jack if he can re-open the rift, and Sam DOES want to use him. I don't blame Sam for that, it's a perfectly logical thing to want. Sam believes Mary might still be alive, and he wants to use Jack to go see, and hell, maybe as a weapon, too. Sam needs to believe that Jack can be good and useful to them, and he is not really honest with Jack at first. Dean is right about that.

Dean, though? Dean is completely, 100% honest with Jack in every interaction, no matter how ugly the truth. He tells Jack exactly what he thinks and feels. He has a very reasonable reaction to Jack as a still-unknown cosmic power, and Dean quite reasonably sees him as the reason Cas is dead. Dean is emotional and grieving, but he is honest. Later, as he comes to see Jack as something other than a threat, he is kind to Jack while still being honest. When he comes to love Jack, he loves him honestly. He never lies or manipulates Jack even one time until they lure him into the mal'ak box, and when they talk him into it, Dean can barely look at Jack and makes Sam do the talking, because he really just can't. Lie. To. Jack.

Jack emulates, loves and respects Dean. When Jack thinks Dean has to kill him, he understands and accepts it because he trusts Dean. I think Jack looks to Dean for an honest, clear-eyed assessment of his situation. Cas is blinded by love, Sam is more interested in utility, and Dean is being forced to sacrifice Jack, who has become his and Cas's son -- his family. If Dean can do it, Jack is willing to submit, and then DEAN CAN'T DO IT.

it makes no sense to me to apply real-world child/parent roles to them, to compare Dean with John, who was raising human children, or to think of Jack as an actual human child, and I don't blame Dean for any of it. Dean is so emotionally compromised in so many different ways and I think there is a widespread tendency to begrudge Dean his legitimate feelings when they aren't comfortable, and to apply reality-based roles to these characters who are not at all living normal lives. When it comes down to it, Dean STILL loves Jack (and Cas!) too much to kill Jack or to lie to him, even after Jack oopsie-daisy kills Mary in a moment of uncontrolled panic and has no soul and can't tell right from wrong, and can't even feel remorse. Jack is legitimately dangerous, and Dean is not wrong to try to contain that.

And, by the end of the story, when Dean is saying Jack is not family, not like Cas and Sam are, Dean has lost his compass, and we know that because he also deceives Amara, and tries to kill Sam. Dean is truly in error in those scenes, and doing the wrong things, and seriously, Dean is so good, so self-sacrificing, so full of love that I am able to forgive him a moment of error at the climax of his existential crisis. By that time, Jack is a complex character who is as heavy with grief and guilt as Dean is, and who feels the weight of the world, like Dean does, and who understands Dean.

Is Dean perfect? No. Is Jack a child? No.

I'm just going to say it: I think Dean was a good father to Jack, because what Jack needed more than anything else was honest information about who he was, what threat he posed, who loved him, and HOW to love, so that he could decide who he was and what he wants to be.

He got that from Dean.

[crunchyspaghetti]

I’m so interested to know how other people perceive the team and Daisy’s arc in the beginning of season 4. I feel like I’ve seen a lot more of the “I’ll never forgive the team for how they treated her in S4” sentiment recently, which is interesting because I’ve never taken that perception away from that storyline at all.

Did the team say or do hurtful things? Yes, for sure. (I usually see the aforementioned comment on videos on that one scene with Daisy, Mack and Fitz)

But does Daisy also do and say hurtful things? I honestly think so.

That’s what makes that part of the season so phenomenal to watch, story wise. There is not black and white, good or bad, there just is. That is the reality of grief, that is the reality of mental health struggles, that is life.

There are no “right” answers when coping with the impossible, honestly. I think there are healthy and unhealthy ways to handle things, sure, but it’s not really a moral issue, on its face.

I mean, between the team and Daisy there are some rough interactions. Fitz is certainly a little hypocritical when he’s criticizing how Daisy handles things, given that he wouldn’t have reacted well if it had been Jemma. But He has been there for Daisy, up until this point at least, with Ward, her powers, they’ve been through a tremendous amount together. He feels abandoned and, yeah, he’s expressing it in a less than ideal way. But he cares. You know he cares about her. He and Mack wouldn’t be so angry if they didn’t care.

Mack is upset when he finds out Yo-Yo’s stealing the bone pills for her because 1) he’s been lied to for months, and 2) more importantly, it makes it seem that Daisy doesn’t trust him enough to directly come to him for help. That’s the thing. He would’ve helped her, probably given her anything she needed medically. She never needed to get Yo-Yo to steal any of it. It’s frustrating, it hurts. Mack is genuinely a deeply loving person, you know it’s killing him to not be able to get through to her.

Everyone on that team wants to help her, more than anything. They are begging her to let them in. I mean, lest we forget Coulson gave up his fucking job, in part, to keep chasing any lead he has on her.

When blaming the team for the rockiness at the beginning of season 4, you’re completely ignoring the fact that Daisy is actively running from them the entire time. She doesn’t want them to find her, and I really get it, honestly I do. I deal with things the way she does, radio silence, isolation, running away, being avoidant, self destruction, etc, etc.

Who could blame her, honestly? The anger and the self hatred and the guilt and the grief. Lord knows I’d take off, shut myself out. How do you even begin to manage that kind of pain, especially when it’s still fresh?

Well, you manage it any way that you can. For Daisy that means trying to atone for all of the pain she caused, which, are also things that caused her pain. Especially at the beginning of the season, it doesn’t matter how much she’s told that she is forgiven. Lincoln was at peace with his decision to sacrifice himself, Mack forgave her for hurting him while she was under the influence of Hive. Nobody is directly blaming her, except for herself. To try to heal from the pain she is in, would mean being able to extend herself grace, mercy. The only person who needs to forgive her, is herself. And she just- can’t.

She believes that all she does is hurt the people around her, which is what she is grasping onto to justify hurting herself. The hard truth of living that way is that when you’re stuck in your own, self harm, self hatred, shame-spiral is that you are the only person who can break out of it.

That’s a huge part about what I love about the storytelling of this arc. It’s genuinely some of the best mental health representation I’ve seen in a show like this.

Obviously, mental illness is not your fault. Being stuck in a bad place is not your fault. Daisy is not at fault for her grief. Her descent into isolation and a self-hatred, suicidal, shame-spiral does not in any way mean that she is a bad person. But there’s only so much another person can do when it comes to a battle that is completely contained within your own brain.

The team never stopped caring about her. Coulson, May, and Yo-Yo, specifically, never gave up on her. That’s important. She would’ve most likely been dead if they had stopped giving a shit about her. That’s significant.

But they’re not mind readers.

To go back to the scene with Mack and Fitz too. I think that scene is really important because it’s Daisy being confronted with the reality that her actions, her running away, isolating herself, really is hurting the people that love and care about her. She runs away to protect them from that very reality, of course, but how could they know that?

She doesn’t want them to care, and she hopes that if she just pushes them hard enough, if she bares her metaphorical fangs, they’ll stop. She’s accepted being alone, she’s accepted her own self destruction, because even if it hurts them at first, even if she’s absolutely miserable, they’ll be safe. Inside, she’s unwilling to admit that she needs them, and she’s acting in a way that allows her to avoid the cognitive dissonance of her actions (i.e. yo-yo stealing the pills they’d willingly give her if she asked).

But the fact that she’s hurting them doesn’t push them away. It just makes everything hurt more for everyone. She wants to embody that hurt, she’s cannibalizing her self to try to take on that pain but it doesn’t make anything better.

This storyline is not a case of right and wrong, if anything it’s an antithesis to it. It’s about how the ambiguity of life and grief and mental health are like tangled strings, messy and knotted, it’s about the love and effort and dedication it takes to hang on to/fight your way back to the people that love you, it’s about the strength it takes to carry on and forgive yourself, and, as May tells Daisy once she comes back, it’s about that: “you can’t choose who cares about you”.

[magiturge]

Honestly I was wondering - how Pasquale and Elliot get through tough times? How they support each other and/or cope on their own. How do you generally see their behavior during difficult periods of life and how exactly could these very “tough times” manifest themselves in their lives?

work.

they get invested / highly focused in their work when dealing with tough times while occasionally turning to trusted figures in their lives for support.

when on their own / individually from each other ( unknowing of each other ) :

pasquale focuses on his work, putting all his frustration, stress and anger into the violence and brutality of claiming targets. he is more violent than normal, more ravenous, more remorseless in his actions.

he does turn to some of fellow mafia for conversation and mumble venting / ranting, articulating himself more eloquently when venting to eunoia, turning to more use of flags and witches brew. pasquale becomes significantly less friendly or tolerant in tough times to inconveniences or useless disputes. he is still witty, but there is a sharper bite behind each word.

-

elliot will turn to putting a lot of focus into managing the pizza place, filling the roles and focusing on small details to optimize the most efficient working style given the layout of the days staff.

he will turn to his father mr builder when he feels a need to express frustration and exhaustion, seeking guidance on how to run the place. he also turns to daisy, the pet shop’s owner, for casual conversation to alleviate stress.

he gets more skittish, a little more strained, more tired, more FORCED.

when together :

they become invested in each other, the existence of someone deeply important to each other motivates them.

to pasquale, elliot is like chasing after the warmth of a gentle sun with love that is forgiving and kind. he’s like a bunny bathing in the sunlight and in tough times, he will hope and dream of him. he’s the warmth he falls vulnerable in.

to elliot, pasquale is hope of a life outside of this little world he’s lived inside. that there IS more to life, and he’s right there.

the thought of the other lifts their mind in tough times.

as for how they confide in each other about things beings rough ..

their definitions of tough times differ, so there can be awkward moments in confiding in the other. elliot’s tough times revolve around managing work, thinking about what he wants to do with his life, having a quarter life crisis while pasquale frets about the war ongoing in the dreamsphere and his family, if he’ll live for tomorrow.

both will usually fall into performing menial tasks around each other, just to be in each others presence, wordless affections and looking at the other.

when they have to be away, it’s calls over the phone. it’s talking to each other about what’s wrong, although pasquale will withhold certain details as he would rather not stress elliot out about.. the more extreme situation he’s in.

it’s reassurance that there will be a them tomorrow. it’s hope that the phone rings.

in tough times, they both dream

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | jjk ch20

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chap warnings: jk begs for seven days a week. hes so desperate LOL. nari mean as usual. uhhhhh this chap is p much js jk begging. mentions of oc being drunk. idk.

wc: medium length idk

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: was debating whether to leave this chapter on a cliffhanger or not and I decided yes cuz next one it will hit so much harder. I promise you they sort things out in the next chapter and there will be some pussay clenching smut but not right now sorry guys anyway stay locked in for the next chapter. tysm for reading thank youuuuu my bbs

masterlist , < prev | next >

Monday

Jungkook wakes up in a blur of warmth and regret, tangled in sheets that smell like nothing. They should smell like you. They did smell like you. That soft, familiar scent that clung to his hoodie whenever you’d burrow into his chest after a long shift. Instead, it’s just detergent and sleep, and he fucking hates it.

He groans, sitting up, blinking blearily at the sunlight slicing through the blinds. His phone is the first thing he grabs, thumb unlocking it with muscle memory, swiping down to his messages.

Nothing. Like always.

No texts. No missed calls. No tiny olive branch in the form of a single word, an emoji, a punctuation mark—anything.

He exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, no shit,” he mutters to himself. What did he expect? That you’d suddenly wake up and forgive him because the sun rose?

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a scoff, laughing bitterly at his own stupidity before dragging himself to the bathroom.

The shower is quick—hot enough to scald, like it can burn off the mistakes of the past few weeks. It doesn’t. When he steps out, towel slung low on his hips, the clock reads 8:00 AM.

Which means 8:30 is soon.

Which means 9:00 AM is coming.

Which means you’ll be at work.

He swipes his phone off the bed again, checks one more time—just in case, just to confirm that he is, in fact, a pathetic idiot—before dressing quickly. Simple fit. Black hoodie, sweats, cap. Sunglasses, in case the universe is feeling extra cruel today.

At first, he’s thinking of heading to the supermarket. That’s what normal people do, right? Pick up a bouquet, make some dramatic apology with store-bought roses that have been sitting in the refrigerated section for God knows how long?

But then he shakes his head.

No.

That’s not him. That’s not you.

The supermarket is impersonal. The flowers there have no life. They’re plucked, packaged, shipped, and sold, like love on a goddamn conveyor belt. And maybe if this were any other girl, he could settle for that.

But this is you. And you’re not any other girl.

And for you, only the field will do.

It takes twenty minutes to get there, and by the time Jungkook pulls up, the morning air is crisp and golden, the kind that makes you feel like something is about to change. The field stretches before him in lazy waves, dotted with wildflowers that seem to reach toward the sun, unaware of the man currently kneeling in their midst like a desperate idiot.

His hands sink into the earth, fingers brushing against soft petals as he plucks the daisies carefully, like an offering. The yellow ones. The ones that remind him of you.

It should be ridiculous. Maybe it is. But the thought of you holding something that grew from the ground, something touched by the same wind that once tangled your hair when he brought you here—

That’s worth a little dirt on his knees.

Once he has enough, he dusts himself off, eyeing his work. The bouquet is uneven, messy, imperfect—just like him. But it’s real. And real is all he can give you.

He stops by a convenience store on the way back. No extravagant chocolates. No fancy truffles or artisan shit he can’t pronounce. Just plain milk chocolate—safe, simple, something he knows you’ll eat without question.

And then it’s time.

He drives to your apartment, and when he arrives, Jungkook double-checks before stepping out of his car, watching your apartment window like a hawk. No movement. No shadows. Just stillness.

Good.

He moves quickly, hood pulled up, sunglasses on, looking less like a world-famous singer and more like some local creep delivering secret gifts. He crouches at your doorstep, placing the bundle of daisies down with careful precision, like if he moves too fast, they’ll disintegrate. Then, he pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with shaky fingers.

A pen was a struggle to find this morning, and the ink smudged a little when he wrote the note, but the words are clear enough:

Please just talk to me. One word. One text. Anything. I’m sorry.

His throat tightens as he sets it beside the flowers, weighing it down with the chocolate bar so it won’t fly away.

And then he retreats.

Back to the car. Back to waiting.

He stays there, parked across the street like a total freak, watching, waiting, ignoring the calls from his manager that light up the dashboard. He should be in meetings. He should be doing literally anything else. But nothing feels more important than this.

Time stretches thin. Hours pass.

Until finally, a familiar car pulls in.

Nari’s.

Jungkook straightens instinctively, heart hammering. He ducks slightly, shifting in his seat like a criminal evading capture.

You step out of the passenger side, looking—God.

Tired. Pretty. Distant. Everything he misses and everything he’s lost, wrapped into one person.

He stays completely still as you walk toward the apartment, Nari at your side, keys in hand. He can’t see your face when you stop at the door, can’t hear the words exchanged, but he doesn’t need to. He watches, frozen, as you look down.

And then, you pick up the chocolates.

Not the flowers. Not the note. Just the chocolates, snatched up and taken inside like nothing else exists.

Jungkook exhales shakily.

It hurts.

It stings in that way only you can make it sting. But at the same time—his heart clenches, because it’s so you. It’s such a you thing to do, choosing something safe, something easy, something that doesn’t require touching the mess he made.

And at least you took something, right?

At least that means something.

Doesn’t it?

He waits another twenty minutes, just to be sure. Then, like a thief in the night, he sneaks back up, creeping toward your doorstep with the grace of a man who has nothing left to lose.

And sure enough, the flowers are still there. The note, untouched.

Jungkook swallows hard, staring at the remnants of his silent plea.

His hands clench at his sides.

This is going to take more than just daisies.

Tuesday

Jungkook has never been much of a morning person, but today, he’s up before his alarm. Not that he really slept. He spent most of the night staring at his ceiling, replaying the moment you snatched the chocolates off your doorstep like some kind of reluctant peace offering. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

And something is better than nothing.

So, naturally, he decides today needs to be bolder.

Sitting in his car, parked outside the diner five minutes before your shift starts, he ignores the relentless buzzing of his phone.

Another meeting missed. Another unread text from his manager.

Whatever.

They can wait. You, on the other hand—

Well, he can’t afford to waste time.

When he walks into the diner, the bell above the door chimes, and the air smells exactly the same as it always has—coffee, maple syrup, a faint trace of grease and nostalgia. It’s the kind of scent that clings to you, seeps into your clothes, settles in your hair.

The scent of the place where he met you.

The last time he was here, he had sulked at a table like a lovesick idiot. But today, he heads straight for the bar—the place where you and Nari always stand.

His presence is immediate, like a storm rolling in. You’re mid-conversation with a customer when you see him, and your whole body stiffens. The easy warmth in your voice vanishes, replaced by something colder, sharper.

Jungkook slides onto the stool at the bar like he belongs there, like he’s just some guy grabbing coffee instead of a man desperately trying to piece himself back together in the exact place where he lost you.

And then—

You scowl.

Hard.

Your eyes narrow, your lips press into a thin, furious line, and for a split second, he swears you might actually throw the pot of coffee at his head.

He may or may not find it the tiniest bit cute.

But then—your lip trembles. Just a little.

And his heart seizes in his chest.

Because there it is. There you are. Even if it’s just in the form of pure, unfiltered hatred—it’s still you. He’ll take it.

Nari appears like an omen, planting herself directly between you and Jungkook with her arms crossed, expression screaming murder.

“Oh, look,” she drawls. “A stray dog. Didn’t realize we were running a shelter today.”

Jungkook sighs. “Good morning to you too, Nari.”

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me. What do you want?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. He should say coffee. He should say breakfast. He should say literally anything normal. But his eyes flicker back to you, watching the way you very deliberately avoid looking at him, the tension wound tight in your shoulders.

You’re mad. You’re hurt. But you’re still here.

And that’s enough.

Nari clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “Alright, since you’re just gonna sit there like an emotionally constipated golden retriever, I’ll get your Americano.”

She turns, yanks the coffee pot off the burner, and pours it aggressively into a glass of ice. The way she slams it down in front of him nearly causes a spill.

“No refills,” she snaps.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, staring at the mug. “Jeez, thanks.”

“Fuck off.”

He takes a sip, but the coffee tastes like sawdust. Not because it’s bad—but because his stomach is twisted into knots, and you still haven’t said a single word to him.

So he does what he’s been doing best lately—he watches.

Watches the way you greet customers with a polite smile, the way you laugh at some old man’s joke, the way you linger just a little longer at table 3 when you think he isn’t looking.

And he knows what you’re doing.

You’re putting on a show.

You’re making sure he sees how fine you are without him. It’s working.

And it’s pissing him the fuck off.

Especially when your boss, the old-aged guy with graying hair, makes a passing comment about how “someone’s extra cheerful today.”

Jungkook’s grip on his mug tightens. He stays long enough to suffer through another fifteen minutes of watching you pretend he doesn’t exist before he gives up. There’s no point.

This was a stupid idea.

So he digs into his pocket, pulls out some cash, and slaps it onto the counter—more than enough for the coffee and then some.

“Keep the change,” he mutters.

Then, without another word, he turns and storms out, and second the door swings shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath.

Nari smirks, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, that was fun.”

You don’t answer. Your chest feels tight, your hands still curled into fists.

It wasn’t fun. Not even a little bit.

Because the moment you saw him sitting there, looking at you like that, it felt like someone had cracked open your ribs and reached straight into your heart. And now, as much as you don’t want to, you feel like crying.

Nari sees it before you can even blink.

“Hey,” she says, voice softer now. She nudges you gently with her elbow. “It’s okay.”

You exhale sharply, then force yourself to meet her gaze. And then, with zero hesitation, Nari lifts her hand.

“High five?” She grins.

You hesitate for a split second before finally slapping your palm against hers.

It’s weak. Pathetic.

But it’s something..

Wednesday

Jungkook has officially lost it.

That’s the only logical conclusion. Because at this point, he’s not even in his car anymore. He’s not lurking from the shadows like some angsty movie protagonist. No.

He’s sitting outside your apartment.

Like a fucking maniac.

At first, he tells himself he’ll only stay for a little while. Just an hour. Maybe two. Just enough time to—what? What is he even expecting to happen? That you’ll step outside and suddenly decide you love him again? That you’ll take one look at his miserable ass and fold instantly?

Pathetic.

Still, he stays. And he waits. And he waits. And—

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Again.

The screen lights up with another call from his manager, who, at this point, is probably questioning whether Jungkook is alive.

He flips his phone over, setting it face-down on the concrete. Not today.

The hours pass painfully slow. He watches the sky shift from bright blue to burnt orange to deep, inky black, and still—no sign of you.

Where the fuck are you?

He pulls out his phone and checks the date.

Wednesday. Your day off.

And just like that, it hits him.

You’re out.

It’s your day off. You’re out.

How the fuck did he forget?

He groans, dragging his hands down his face. No wonder you haven’t come home yet. You’re probably off having the time of your life while he sits here like an abandoned dog.

Embarrassing.

Still, he waits. For what? He doesn’t know.

And then—finally—at 9 p.m, he hears footsteps. Loud. Stumbling. A little chaotic. And then—

Laughter.

His head snaps up just in time to see you and Nari rounding the corner, heels clicking against the pavement, arms linked.

And—

Oh.

You’re in a dress.

A tiny fucking dress.

It’s barely there, riding up your thighs, hugging every curve, glittering faintly under the dim glow of the streetlights.

And Nari? She’s just as bad. The two of you look like you’ve just walked straight out of some high-fashion editorial.

Jungkook swallows. Hard.

He should not be thinking about how good you look.

But he is.

Fuck.

Your hair is a mess. Your makeup is slightly smudged. You’re clearly tipsy, giggling at something Nari just said, your arms wrapped around each other for balance.

And yet, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

For a second, he just stares. Then—he moves.

He’s on his feet in an instant, brushing dust off his jeans as he takes a hesitant step forward.

And then—Nari spots him. Her entire face drops. “Oh, hell no.”

Jungkook freezes.

You blink blearily, head tilting. “Wait…” You squint, eyes unfocused, like you’re trying to process if he’s really there or if the alcohol is playing tricks on you. “Is that…?”

Nari tightens her grip around your waist. “Nope. It’s not.”

Jungkook steps closer. “Baby—”

“NOPE.”

You frown, blinking rapidly. “Wait, that is Jungkook, right?”

“Nope,” Nari says again, louder this time, already dragging you toward the door.

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, just—just let me talk to her—”

“Do I look like a fucking messenger pigeon to you?” Nari snaps. “No. Back.”

Jungkook groans, watching helplessly as Nari practically shoves you inside like she’s stuffing contraband into a duffel bag.

You, however, are still incredibly lost.

“Wait, was that Jungkook?” Your voice is muffled through the door.

“No.”

“Nari, I swear I saw—”

“You saw nothing.”

“Why would you lie to me?”

Jungkook hears you stomp your foot, and for a brief moment, he can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry.

And then—

“NARI, I WANTED TO TALK TO HIM—”

“NO, YOU DIDN’T—”

“YES, I DID—”

“GO TO BED.”

The door slams.

Silence.

Jungkook closes his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose. Nothing is working.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

Thursday

Jungkook is trapped.

Not literally. He could technically walk out of the studio if he really wanted to. He could ditch the shoot, escape into the city, do what he does best—run.

But that’s the problem. He doesn’t want to run.

He wants you.

Unfortunately, his manager has finally caught up to his little disappearing act, and now he’s paying the price. His entire Thursday is wasted inside a freezing studio, stuck in the same cycle of flashing lights, outfit changes, and fake-ass smiles for a camera he doesn’t give a single shit about anymore.

Every time a photographer tells him to “look sexy,” he just ends up looking like someone who hasn’t slept in three days. Which, fair.

Still, he goes through the motions. Poses, angles, the occasional deep sigh.

And then—finally—a break.

The moment he’s released from the studio and into the break room, he practically collapses into one of the cheap plastic chairs, head thudding against the table.

God, he’s losing his mind.

And it’s only been three days.

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face before pulling out his phone.

Nothing.

No messages. No calls.

Not from you. Not from anyone.

(Except his manager, but he’s ignoring those.)

His knee bounces beneath the table as he stares at the empty inbox, a deep frustration clawing at his ribs. He’s already tried texting. He’s already tried calling. And yesterday—he even fucking sat outside your door like a stray cat waiting for scraps, and still—nothing.

He’s getting desperate.

Which is why, against all logic, he suddenly finds himself logging into a work computer and pulling up his email.

It’s a stupid idea.

But he does it anyway.

The subject line is empty. The body of the email even more so. At first, he just types your name. Then, a single word.

Please.

And then—he hits send. A few seconds later—

Undelivered.

Jungkook stares blankly at the error message, blinking.

Oh.

That’s when he realizes—

You blocked him.

On fucking email.

His desperation reaches new, dangerous levels.

Because suddenly, he’s pulling out his phone again, fingers moving entirely on their own, searching—

For Nari’s number.

The only problem? He doesn’t have Nari’s number. So what does he do? He fucking looks it up. On Facebook. Jungkook has never felt like a creep in his entire life—until now. But it works. Because a few minutes later, he finds it.

And before he can even think—he texts her.

Jungkook [3:27 PM]: hey

Jungkook [3:28 PM]: please just tell her to talk to me

The response is immediate.

Nari [3:28 PM]: fuck off

Jungkook exhales, already feeling the migraine forming.

Jungkook [3:29 PM]: okay but like. how did u even know it was me

Nari [3:29 PM]: because i haven’t given my number to a single man since 2018 and ur the only dumbass desperate enough to go looking for it

Jungkook pauses.

She’s…not wrong.

Jungkook [3:30 PM]: yeah okay fair.

Jungkook [3:31 PM]: but can u just tell her i emailed her

Nari [3:31 PM]: LMAOOOOO

Nari [3:32 PM]: EMAIL?????

Nari [3:32 PM]: holy fuck ur down BAD

Jungkook groans, throwing his head back.

Jungkook [3:32 PM]: forget it

He slams his phone down onto the table with a loud thud, drawing the attention of literally everyone else in the break room.

A few stylists give him weird looks. One of the photographers eyes him warily over the rim of their coffee cup. Someone even mutters, “Is he okay?”

Jungkook does not care.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

——

The sound of rain pattering against the window fills the small apartment, a steady rhythm against the distant hum of the city. The lamp casts a dim glow over the living room, illuminating the two of you in the comfortable mess of your couch—half-empty takeout containers on the coffee table, a forgotten drama playing on the TV, and a blanket lazily draped over both your legs.

It should be a peaceful night.

But Nari is looking at you.

Too long. Too intently.

And you know exactly what she’s about to say.

“So,” she starts, dragging the word out as she shifts, resting her chin on her palm. “When are you gonna give in?”

You blink, turning to her. “What?”

Nari raises an eyebrow. “When are you gonna give in?” she repeats, slower this time. “Have you not seen this man has been begging for basically a week straight?”

Your stomach clenches. You grip the blanket tighter, staring down at the threads. “I—” You shake your head, voice hesitant. “I don’t know, Nari.”

“You don’t know?” she repeats, incredulous. “Girl. Are you blind?”

You shoot her a glare. “No, I’m not blind.”

“You sure?” She gestures wildly with her hands. “Because from where I’m sitting, I see a man who’s been wrecking himself for you. Like, he’s practically on his knees at this point.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “And then what, Nari?” Your voice wavers as you look at her. “What do I do after this week? After this month? What do we do when he leaves?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t stop. “He’s got what—three days and one week? And then what? He’s gone. For nearly two years.”

Nari’s face softens, but she doesn’t back down. “I get it. I do,” she says. “But look at him. He’s destroying himself for you.”

Your throat tightens. You want to argue, but you can’t. Because you’ve seen it, too.

The way he lingers outside your door like a ghost of something you once knew. The way he shows up at the diner, his eyes desperate, hopeful, even when you glare at him like he’s the last person on Earth you want to see. The way his voice trembled when he called you, pleading.

It’s breaking him.

And the worst part?

It’s breaking you, too.

Nari hesitates, lips pressing together, like she wants to say something else. Then, she sighs, shaking her head. “Just—just think about it, okay?”

You don’t respond.

Nari stands, stretching before grabbing her bag. “I’m gonna go home now,” she says, and her voice is gentler this time. “Love you. Bye.”

You barely manage to whisper back, “Love you, too.”

Then the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone.

Alone with your thoughts.

And the lingering scent of rain through the open window.

Friday

Jungkook doesn’t even realize he’s driven to the field until his feet hit the dirt. Like instinct. Muscle memory. Like the universe pulled him here before he even made the choice.

The air is crisp, biting at his skin, but he barely notices. He just stands there, staring at the spot where he fell in love with you. The same stretch of grass. The same quiet wind. The same fucking daisies that keep growing back no matter what.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like he didn’t fucking ruin everything.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. His chest feels tight. Maybe if he stands here long enough, he’ll wake up and this will have all been a bad dream. Maybe—

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The voice is unmistakable.

Jungkook turns, and there, standing a few feet away, is Nari.

In full hot pink running gear.

It’s ridiculous. Blinding, even. Especially considering the fact that it’s mid-winter, and she’s standing in the middle of this field—the field—like she owns the place.

He tries—really tries—to stifle his laugh, but a smirk twitches at his lips.

“Of course you’re here,” he mutters.

“Of course I’m here?” Nari scoffs, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who followed me, you fucking stalker. Or should I say, following YN?”

“I didn’t—” Jungkook shakes his head. “I didn’t even know you’d be here.”

Nari narrows her eyes. “Yeah. What a coincidence.” Then she shrugs. “Good. I was hoping I’d find you.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Because I’m so fucking sick of watching my best friend cry over you every night.”

His stomach clenches. His heart twists so painfully he swears it physically aches. He swallows. “Why are you even here anyway?”

Nari scoffs again. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. This stupid field.” She gestures vaguely at the open space, unimpressed. “I get it. It’s nice for runs.”

Jungkook deadpans. “You don’t even run.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna start,” she snaps back. “Whatever.”

She rips off her hot pink sweatband dramatically and points a finger at him. “Come on. Let’s talk, then.”

But neither of them actually end up talking.

Nari just stands there, casually taking selfies, the picture of someone who couldn’t care less. And Jungkook—Jungkook just stands there, watching her, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Until he can’t take it anymore. Until it breaks him.

His knees hit the ground.

It’s not graceful. It’s not planned. It just happens. Like his body physically can’t hold it in anymore.

“Please.” His voice cracks. “Please, Nari. I can’t do this anymore. I— I can’t.”

Nari gasps.

“LITERALLY NO FUCKING WAY,” she blurts out, eyes wide as she stares down at him.

Jungkook doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he looks pathetic, that she’s witnessing this downward spiral in real time. He just—he just needs.

“Please,” he begs again, voice raw. “Help me. I don’t— I don’t know what else to do. Please, Nari, I—”

Don’t think she’s not basking in this.

Nari thrives in power over a man, and this? This is once-in-a-lifetime content. Jungkook fucking Jeon—international superstar, golden boy, rich, famous, untouchable—is on his knees in the dirt, begging her for help.

She’s biting back laughter. Hard.

And she drags it out.

Because why the fuck wouldn’t she?

But then—then Jungkook looks up, his eyes shining, his voice so genuinely broken, and—

Okay. She might actually feel bad now.

Nari sighs, shaking her head. “Alright, alright, get up,” she mutters. “I’ll help.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up so fast she’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. His eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah, dumbass,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “I was just making you beg a little longer.”

Jungkook just stares at her, then lets out this half-laugh, half-disbelieving breath. “You’ve been so mean to me.”

Nari shrugs. “Yeah, well. You deserve it.”

After a beat, nobody’s moved.

Jungkook realizes this after a few seconds of silence. They’re both still standing there, neither of them making a move to leave or—well, do anything.

And Nari’s just staring at him.

Like she’s waiting.

Jungkook shifts awkwardly, suddenly a little nervous to ask. But then, quietly, hesitantly, he whispers—

“So… what are we doing then?” His voice is barely audible. “Like, uh—what’s the plan?”

Nari grins.

“Alright, listen up, loser,” she says, cracking her knuckles. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to the supermarket. You’re gonna get flowers. I’m gonna get her favorite snacks. You’re also gonna buy her a fucking plushie—whatever one we can find in the goddamn store. Then, we’re driving to her apartment. You’re going to stand in front of her door. I’m going to push you inside and slam the door. Got it?”

She blurts it all out so fast that Jungkook just… blinks. “Wait,” he says slowly. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Nope. Don’t care.”

Jungkook frowns. “That’s a lot,” he insists. “That—feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Nari huffs. “I don’t care. If this is what you both really want—which it clearly is—then I’m making it happen. I don’t care if she hates me for it. We’re doing it.”

Jungkook hesitates. Then he nods, running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he mutters. “Okay, fine.”

Nari claps her hands together. “Great. Where’s your car?”

Jungkook hesitates again. Then, instead of answering, he turns… and kneels down into the grass.

For the second damn time today.

“Wait,” he says, reaching for the ground. “I need to pick the flowers from here.”

Nari squints. “What.”

“I need to pick them from here,” he repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Nari just stares at him. “Jungkook, we do not have time for this.”

“Supermarket flowers are dead and lifeless,” he argues. “These have meaning.”

“Oh my God,” Nari groans. “We are literally about to have a whole-ass argument over flowers.”

“They’re not just flowers,” Jungkook insists, still kneeling in the grass. “They’re her flowers.”

Nari physically throws her head back in frustration. “Jungkook, I swear to God, get your sentimental ass up—”

She lunges forward and drags him up by his hoodie. Jungkook groans in protest, but she doesn’t let go until she’s physically forcing him toward the car.

And finally, finally, they drive to the supermarket.

Jungkook hates it here.

He stares at the saddest display of dead flowers, muttering to himself about how they have “no-life-having-ass” energy. Eventually, he just grabs the next best thing—the least ugliest daisies, which don’t even smell good.

“These are dying.” He pouts, turning the bouquet in his hand.

“Like your relationship,” Nari retorts “C’mon.”

Nari watches him grumble to himself with an exasperated sigh before grabbing a basket and aggressively pelting it full of your favorite snacks.

Jungkook eyes the growing pile, suspicious. “This is a lot,” he points out.

“Yeah?” Nari says, completely unbothered.

“I feel like some of this is for you,” he squints.

“Obviously,” Nari deadpans. “Now go pay.”

And he does.

They’re barely back in the car for one minute before Nari’s eyes widen.

“WAIT—”

Jungkook nearly slams on the brakes. “What?”

“You forgot the fucking plushie!” she screeches, smacking his arm.

Jungkook’s eyes bulge. “Shit.”

“GO BACK! GO BACK RIGHT NOW!”

“What?! Nari—*”

“Jungkook, go back before I throw myself out of this car!”

He panics. Without thinking, he throws the car into reverse and zooms back into the parking lot, nearly missing a traffic cone on the way. He parks so fast that the tires squeal against the pavement.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Nari yells.

Jungkook barely hears her—he’s already sprinting back inside the supermarket, dodging carts and random shoppers like he’s in a goddamn action movie.

He skids to a stop in the toy aisle, eyes darting wildly over the selection. “Shit, shit, shit—”

And then, he sees it.

A tiny, bright yellow plushie in the shape of a flower. Clearly a toy meant for toddlers, but he doesn’t care. He grabs it and rushes back to the register, swiping his card so fast that the cashier blinks at him like he’s insane.

By the time he throws himself back into the car, he’s out of breath. “Okay, got it,” he pants, shoving it in Nari’s direction.

Nari blinks down at the obviously kids plushie.

“Whatever, this will do,” she decides.

Jungkook frowns, still catching his breath. “You think she’ll still love it?”

Nari snorts. “Honestly?” She shrugs. “She’ll like anything that’s yellow and squishy.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling to himself. “She definitely would.”

——

The drive to your apartment is excruciating.

Jungkook grips the wheel like it’s his lifeline, knuckles white, jaw tight. The flowers and snacks sit on Nari’s lap, but she’s unbothered, scrolling through her phone, humming along to the radio.

Casual. Carefree. Like she’s not about to shove him into the biggest confrontation of his life.

Then—

Crunch.

Jungkook snaps his head to the side.

Nari is eating.

His fucking snacks.

“Nari.”

She glances at him, mid-chew. “What?”

Jungkook glares. “Seriously?”

She shrugs, taking another bite. “You got extras.”

Jungkook sighs, exasperated. “They’re for her.”

“It’s fine,” she says, waving him off. “She’s not gonna eat all of them at once. Jesus.”

Jungkook grips the wheel tighter. He should be focusing on the fact that he’s about to beg for his life. That he’s got one chance left before you walk out of his world forever.

But no.

He’s watching Nari inhale a family-sized bag of chips.

The injustice.

By the time they arrive, Jungkook is practically hyperventilating. The second the car stops, he reaches for the gear shift.

“I’ll come back tomorrow—”

Nari lunges.

She yanks the keys from the ignition, snatching them so fast he doesn’t even see her hand move.

Jungkook gawks.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nari says, shoving open her door. “You’re doing this now.”

Jungkook stays seated.

Nari pauses. Then— “Get the fuck out of the car, Jungkook.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Nari sighs. “Do you want me to drag you? Because we know how that went last time.”

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.” She yanks open his door, gripping his arm and physically pulling him out. Jungkook whines.

“Nari, I can’t—”

“You will.”

He digs his heels into the pavement.

“I need a second—”

“You don’t.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow—”

“You won’t.”

She drags him up the stairs. Jungkook stumbles, nearly dropping the daisies. By the time they reach your door, Jungkook is panting. He shakes his head, gripping the flowers like they might save him.

Nari rounds on him. “You have one week now, Jungkook. One. And you spent the past week, all of it doing stupid shit.”

Jungkook stares at the door, stomach twisting. “I—”

Nari doesn’t wait. She knocks.

Jungkook freezes.

The wait is excruciating.

[loving-daisy]

You Had Me At Hello | Severus Snape x Reader

Young Severus Snape never knew what love was. That was until he met her, his Valentine.

YHMAH Masterlist • loving-daisy masterlist

—————————————

Chapter 9: 'Til He Met Her

Word count: 2,678

A few days later, Severus found himself standing near the entrance of the library, his nerves coiling tighter with each passing second. 

He had spent the past few days avoiding Y/N, retreating into the comfort of his solitude as he tried to process everything that had happened between them. He had replayed the argument in his head over and over, but no matter how many times he went over the words, he couldn’t make sense of what he had said—or what he should have said.

But now, standing here in front of her, he had no idea what to say, no idea how to fix things.

“Will you—will you study potions with me?” Severus asked, his voice quieter than he intended, almost tentative.

Y/N looked up from her book, her expression unreadable at first. She seemed surprised, but not in a way that made him feel rejected. If anything, it seemed like she was trying to figure out what had prompted this request.

Her eyes softened, just the slightest bit, but there was still a trace of caution in her gaze.

"Potions? Don’t you excel in potions?" Y/N replied, raising an eyebrow, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.

Severus shifted on his feet, feeling the weight of her gaze pressing down on him.

He had prepared for this, but the truth was, he wasn’t prepared for the guilt that came with his words. The lie hung in the air between them, thick and undeniable.

“There’s... some things I get confused on,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady, even as the words felt like they were scraping against the inside of his throat. “But you’re the second best at potions, so I think you’ll know about it.”

He couldn’t help but glance at her, his eyes flickering to her expression for any sign of suspicion. 

She won’t buy it. She’ll know I’m lying, he thought. 

But there was something in the way she paused, her gaze softening just slightly, that made him feel like she was giving him a chance. 

Maybe she’s not so angry anymore. Maybe she’ll listen.

But deep down, Severus knew the truth. He wasn’t confused about potions at all. In fact, he excelled at potions. He knew more about the subject than most students at Hogwarts, and his skill in the art was something he had always prided himself on. 

But this—asking her for help, asking for her time—this was something else entirely.

Severus Snape was a liar.

He had lied to her, not because he couldn’t handle potions, but because he couldn’t handle what was between them. He couldn’t admit that the real reason he wanted to spend time with her, the real reason he was here, was because he needed her. He needed her to see him. To forgive him. To know that he had been a fool.

Y/N didn’t immediately respond. She closed the book in front of her with a soft snap, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

She had always been perceptive, and Severus could tell she was weighing his words carefully, probably already sensing the truth. 

But, to his surprise, she didn’t call him out. She didn’t demand an explanation.

Instead, she gave him a small nod. "Alright," she said quietly. "We can go over it together."

Severus blinked, a mixture of relief and confusion flooding through him. Had she bought the lie? Or was she just being polite? Either way, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in days, he felt like maybe there was still a chance for them.

"Thanks," he muttered, his voice more genuine than he had meant it to be.

Y/N didn’t reply at first, instead gathering her things and motioning for him to follow her to a quieter corner of the library. As they settled into their study space, Severus couldn’t help but feel the weight of his deception, the knowledge that he had manipulated the situation to get closer to her. 

But as they began working through the potions material, Severus felt a warmth spread through him. It wasn’t about the potions anymore. It wasn’t even about the lies.

It was about being near her. 

Being in her presence, having her trust, even if it was only for this moment.

_______________

As they continued to go over the potions material, Severus found himself distracted by the way Y/N seemed so effortlessly absorbed in their study session. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she flipped through the pages, her lips occasionally mouthing the words as she worked. There was a quiet determination to her, something that made Severus respect her even more.

But every so often, she would glance up at him, her eyes briefly meeting his, and it was enough to make his stomach tighten. He wasn’t used to this—this easy sense of companionship. There were no barriers, no tension between them, just the sound of their voices as they discussed ingredients and brewing times.

He found himself falling into a rhythm, one he hadn’t expected. It felt like... it felt like things were normal again. Almost.

A few minutes passed in silence as they both pored over their notes. Severus, still lost in his thoughts, couldn’t help but let a slight smirk tug at his lips as he read one of the lines in the textbook.

There was a ridiculous sentence about how certain potions could “mysteriously enhance your charisma”—an idea so ludicrous, it made Severus snort involuntarily.

Y/N looked up, her brow raised in curiosity. “What’s so funny?”

Severus glanced at the text, then at her, his smirk widening. “Apparently, there’s a potion that can make you... charming,” he said, his voice dry and sarcastic. “Which, of course, is absurd. If you need a potion to make you charming, then I’m afraid there’s no hope for you.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment, but then the corners of her mouth twitched. 

“Oh, really? Is that so?” she said, playing along, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. “And what, pray tell, would you say makes someone charming?”

Severus leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t be anything as superficial as a potion,” he replied, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. 

“No, it’s all about... refined sarcasm, perhaps a dash of mystery, and the ability to judge someone from a distance.”

Y/N laughed, a soft, genuine laugh that made Severus’s chest tighten in an unexpected way. 

“Oh, I see,” she said between chuckles, shaking her head. “So, it’s the mysterious, brooding type who wins the day, huh?”

“Exactly,” Severus said with a wink, enjoying the moment. “And while I may not be the most... outgoing, I suppose it’s my undeniable charm that keeps people around.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, laughing again. “Undeniable charm? You’re really selling yourself here, Snape.”

Severus couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through him at her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. 

It was different from the recent cold, sharp exchange they had; it was real. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he realized he liked it.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning in a little closer, “at least it’s better than needing a potion, right?”

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I suppose that’s true.”

For a moment, they both just sat there, caught in the simplicity of the moment. The awkwardness, the tension that had defined so much of their relationship, had melted away. Severus was still uncertain, still haunted by his doubts, but for now, it didn’t matter. 

“Maybe I could work on that charm of yours a bit more,” Y/N teased, leaning back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his.

Severus gave her a mock-serious nod. “I’ll have to be careful not to overwhelm you with it,” he replied, his voice playful, a hint of genuine affection creeping into his tone.

“I could kiss you right now,” she had mumbled, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Severus felt his heart drop at the girl’s statement. 

“Why don’t you?” Severus’s voice was low, almost challenging. There was a quiet intensity in the way he spoke, his eyes fixed on hers with a steady gaze. 

Y/N blinked, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. “What?” she breathed, her voice betraying the shock she felt.

“I said, why don’t you?” Severus repeated, his tone softer now, almost as if he were daring her.

Her heart pounded harder in her chest as her mind scrambled for an answer. 

Why don’t I? 

The question lingered, and she found herself caught between two conflicting emotions: the overwhelming desire to close the distance between them and the doubt that clouded her thoughts.

“I can’t do that,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because even if I like you, you’re my friend. Friends just don’t kiss one another. Besides, we’re not even dating, and you don’t reciprocate my feelings—”

Her words trailed off as Severus, without a hint of hesitation, leaned in closer. His presence was all-encompassing, filling the space between them, and before she could protest further, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, as if he, too, was testing the waters, unsure of what to expect.

But then it deepened, a quiet intensity blooming between them, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. It was everything she had imagined and more. Every doubt, every fear, melted away in that single, electrifying moment.

For a long second, Y/N didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she should pull away, if she should speak, or if she should just let herself surrender to the moment. 

Her mind swirled with questions, but they all disappeared as she felt his touch, as she felt him, so close, so real. His hand, surprisingly gentle, rested on her cheek, guiding her toward him.

Severus pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as they both caught their breath. Y/N’s pulse was still racing, and she could feel the warmth of his skin so close to hers. His breath was uneven, just like hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I—” Y/N started, her voice barely a whisper.

She didn’t know how to continue, didn’t know how to process everything that had just happened. 

“Why’d you do that?” Y/N asked.

Severus swallowed hard, his throat dry. The confession had been almost involuntary, a wave of emotion that had hit him harder than he expected. 

“Who told you I don’t reciprocate your feelings?” he asked, his voice edged with something close to frustration. 

But it wasn’t at her—he was frustrated with himself, for letting the fear and uncertainty cloud his actions.

Y/N blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"What?" She couldn’t make sense of the words he was speaking.

Severus took a deep breath, the tension in his body evident as he slowly let the words slip out. 

“I love you,” he confessed, his voice low and almost hesitant, as if saying it out loud made it all the more real. 

“On Valentine’s Day, when we brewed Amortentia… you’re the one that I smelled. And I—I just got scared.” His gaze fell to the ground, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words. Her chest tightened, her breath caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. Her mind couldn’t quite comprehend what he had just said. 

He loves me? The thought echoed in her head, spinning wildly as she tried to make sense of it all. 

She had always harbored feelings for him, never imagining he might feel the same way. Now, hearing it from him, everything felt surreal, like the world had shifted underneath her feet.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come right away. Instead, she found herself staring at him, her chest heaving with the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Severus, perhaps sensing the storm of thoughts that were racing through her mind, leaned back slightly, his gaze falling again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like this. I just—”

“I love you too,” Y/N interrupted, her voice clear and full of certainty.

It was the first thing that felt right in the moment. The words slipped out effortlessly, as if they had always been there, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. 

She reached out, gently taking his hand in hers.

“I love you too, Severus,” she repeated, her eyes filled with something warm, something tender.

He slowly leaned forward again, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was gentle at first, a tender acknowledgment of everything they had both just admitted. It wasn’t a kiss of desperation or confusion—it was a kiss of something real, something that had been growing between them for so long, and now it was finally being set free.

When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing a little heavier, hearts beating in synchrony. There was no more uncertainty, no more fear. For the first time, they both felt truly seen, truly understood.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Severus murmured, his voice soft, “but as long as you’re with me, I’m willing to face it.”

Y/N’s smile widened, her heart full of a warmth she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling.

“We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady and full of hope.

“So, why do you love me?” Y/N asks, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her  lips

Severus paused, staring at her for a moment, and then gave a mock exasperated sigh, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of her question was too much to bear.

"So, this is how annoying it gets when being asked that question. I understand now." He crossed his arms, feigning annoyance, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Severus Snape never knew what love was until he met her. Y/N Valentine, that is. 

Severus Snape had always lived in the shadow of darkness. From his childhood to his tumultuous years at Hogwarts, he had built walls around himself, keeping everyone at arm's length. Love was something he read about in books or observed in fleeting moments, but it never felt real to him. It was always an abstract concept, too elusive to ever touch.

Y/N Valentine. 

The name itself felt like a soft warmth against his cold, calculating nature. He hadn’t expected much when they first crossed paths, just another student like all the others, just another face in the crowd of Slytherins. But there was something different about her. Something that caught his attention in a way he couldn’t explain.

Severus Snape never knew what love was until he met Y/N Valentine. 

She was the thing that had been missing from his life all along. And now, in the quiet certainty of their shared bond, he understood something he never thought possible: love wasn’t something to fear. It was something to cherish.

And it was the one thing that had always been worth the risk.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head. She knew he was trying to dodge the question, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Come on, Severus. You can’t just leave me hanging.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, a smirk playing at his lips. He looked at her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before his gaze softened slightly, as if he was seeing her in a new light.

"Honestly?" he started, his tone much quieter now, as though he was confessing something too vulnerable to be heard. "You had me at hello."

Fin

[sleepymccoy]

So I've seen a few seasons of supernatural in my life. Got to season 5 then trialled off and have seen a fair bit of the rest but not consistently and def not to the end. Haven't watched any in years and years, too

Anyway, I say this to highlight how bizarre it is that I had a lovely destiel dream last night

It'd make a killer fic I think, so enjoy this synopsis

Premise very much like that ep where Dean forgets his life and works in an office dressed like a lil fruit

^ that ep

Anyway the idea is that Dean forgets his life but is otherwise the same. But without the hunting stuff he's semi deadbeat working in a bar and hooking up with random women. Also Sam wasn't part of his childhood I guess, the dream didn't explain why Dean wouldn't know Sam but whatever

Castiel and Sam keep coming into the world to try and get Dean to perform a series of actions he needs to perform in order to be released from the spell. They're kinda bizarre tho and Dean doesn't recognise these guys so it's a challenge. Like, eat this daisy and have a tequila chaser. Sleep in a bed with bay leaves stuffed underneath. Stand in one spot for a minute while the sigil to release you gets engaged. That kind of thing

Dean has like feelings for them, but doesn't know them. He trusts Sam completely and they click but he's kind of weirded out by how comfortable he is with the stranger. And Cas, he wants to protect and fuck Cas in a way that's so overwhelming he can't handle it

Anyway, this is a longish post so click through for the blow by blow

Sam manages to talk him into having the flower and drink by doing it himself and pretending it's a fun way to drink. Dean takes part and is totally unimpressed but has a laugh about it

Cas slips in next with the intention of watching Dean hook up with someone and sneaking bay leaves under the bed before they get down and dirty. Because Cas can fly out the window if he needs to escape quick they figure he's the better choice for that gig. But as soon as Dean sees him it goes sideways because Dean has an immediately unavoidable crush on the raggedy middle aged dude in a Columbo coat

But this Dean didn't have the same loyalty to his father in youth cos there was no hunting to help make sense of the abuse he suffered. So he's not as caught up in his internalised (and externalised) homophobia and maybe even hooked up with a guy or two at school

It's still not normal for him and he's a bit surprised, but it takes him one beer and some disconcerting staring to get over it, and then he approaches

Cas is Unprepared™ for a full flirt from Dean and is very quickly taken in by it. It's fun and cheerful and Dean keeps swapping their drinks and stealing chips and leaning his hand on Cas' thigh when he whispers a joke to him. Cas is just dizzy and swimming in it and doesn't know what to do. He's totally lost track of what's going on

Eventually he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and checks in with Sam, who's had an hour of watching them flirt outrageously and is thoroughly bemused, amused, and has his eyes on the goal. "Get him into bed and put the damned leaves in place!"

So Cas goes back and Dean's paid the tab and is offering to drive and Cas just like you're drunk absolutely not. They make out against the door of Dean's beat up Ford Focus and Cas knows he's not gonna come back from this

He's loved Dead a long time, and there's something painful in the kiss and feeling the immorality of it. But there's something so wonderful too. And if it's got to happen, and Sam says it's got to happen so he can outsource that decision, he can take it as far as it needs to go. Save Dean, then apologise and skedaddle

At least he's got Sam's permission, so Sam can argue his side in his absence until Dean forgives him

It doesn't take long for Dean to kiss Cas into forgetting to feel guilty, tho. Then Dean starts talking about how Cas feels different to anyone else he's ever touched before and he doesn't understand why but he wants him so damned bad.

The Dean pulls back and offers to go slow. Pick you up for breakfast, go on a few dates before what's next

And Cas wants that so bad, he wants to be special, his skin aches for it. But he needs access to Dean's bed so he spearheads getting them into a motel together for the night, feeling slightly cheap and awful about it, but Dean's smile is unparalleled and the awful slides away every time he looks at him

They fuck a bit. Cas' guilt about it all isn't his focus, as soon as Dean's hand is on his dick he's only in the moment. I think Cas keeps it to mutual blow jobs, tho, he wants to save anything more for a Dean who knows him. He lies there's thinking about that afterwards and remembers that the Dean who knows him doesn't want him like this, this is some confused fucked up neuron thing.

Anyway after a bit of post coital bliss Dean gets up to piss and Cas shoves bay leaves under the mattress. Cas then insists on laying together a bit longer, they make out sloppy and Dean is very sweet and Cas loves him and eventually Dean dozes off. Tick off the second ritual

I reckon the last one ends up easy enough. While Dean sleeps Cas holds him and hums while Sam awkwardly and without looking directly at them carves the sigil in the floor. When Dean wakes up Cas makes a big deal about how pretty he is in the light and stay right there so I can take a photo of you

So Dean's striking a stupid sexy pose when the spell fades. And he realises everything that's happened and the significance of it all

Also Sam's in the room now and that's just a bit fucking awkward

Cas just leaves, cos he doesn't know what else to do. He texts Dean an apology. Dean doesn't respond for like three days which is just hellish but eventually he texts back saying come over and talk.

So Cas does. Dean's sorry too, Sam has talked him into recognising that he really got the ball rolling and Cas was a bit cornered. And Cas, desperate to not have Dean feel guilty, talks about his feelings in this vague and uncertain way. But ultimately says he glad he had a chance, even in a false world. Nice to have the memories

And Dean's just like. Okay. So you didn't hate it? And I didn't hate it. And now that there's no crazy spell to work through, do you want to take it slow?

What? Cas says

Breakfast date?

Cas is useless at taking it slow. He goes on this breakfast date and does his ridiculous I love humanity because I loved you first speech and Dean's like fuck man this is intense to hear over eggs and shit coffee! But yeah I'm sitting on some feeling that've kicked passed loyalty into devotion and I also kinda want to suck your dick again so shut up and let me come to terms with being gay a bit slower, fucking hell. You're beautiful, give me a kiss

They figure it out