#but at the same time i feel as if it's not fair to ask for it bc like everyone's got shit to deal with god

[rafesweetie]

in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.�� he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[botslayer]

If the fire, sulfur, black iron, and devils every which way didn't give it away, both of us aren't in a place you want to be after you die. I'd offer you a drink but the only things they offer you usually came out of... Well. You. My own blood has a pretty good palete.

You don't have to panic. Not yet. You aren't dead, again, not yet. You're only here because everyone gets a fair warning. So change your ways, yadda yadda, find Christ, yadda yadda... Can you tell my heart isn't in it? Good. At least they'll vary up the torture for it. You get sick of eating hunks off of yourself and still being able to feel it the whole time.

Oh... You want to know what I did for that punishment? Well. It started when I was alive. I killed a man in self defense. Robber broke in, I shot him. And it was all down hill from there. I moved out to the woods after the third guy... Mostly because the best I could do there was plead manslaughter.

Anyway. I bought a plot of land not too far from a hiking trail, built a little shack. Turned it into quite the operation. I was a one-man Sawyer family. I had butcher knives, cleavers, cutting boards, sausage stuffers... I remember the first time I ate a man in those woods. The first woman was alright. I screwed up the spices for her liver, though. Live and learn. All in all? I musta got about twelve or thirteen hapless hikers where they needed to be. And I ate like a king for six years.

Why only six? Throw another skull on the fire and I'll tell you... Thank you. See. One night, another guy came traipsing up the path. Another lost and weary traveler. Two in one day, would you believe it? But winter was coming. So a quick stock up in the event of being snowed in was necessary. Problem was I was outside having a smoke and I was still draining the latest one. If he saw that there'd be no mistake what I was up to.

So here comes a seven foot slab of man. Treating the cold around him like it wasn't much of an issue. One thin hoodie over a thin T-shirt and some overalls. I took to a short conversation with him as I sized him up. He had about a foot of height on me and he was built. Big country, cornfed son of a bitch.

"Who're you?" "Who are you?" "Why are you on my property?" "You can own property this close to a hiking trail?" So on and so on... And then I asked if he knew how to get back to the trail. It was getting dark, you see. I offered to help him back if He'd just let me nab my hiking boots. He agreed and I tried to circle around him. I figured he would still be looking at my front door. Waiting like a big old dog.

But when I exited the side, butcher knife in hand, he was holding a woodcutter's axe. Still looking at the door though. I could tell his tool wasn't mine. Crazy bastard must have had it strapped to his back... I took the chance and leapt at him from the side. He shook me off but the fight forced the door to my cabin open and he got a good look at the woman on the hook. I had left the TV on and was listening to it as I smoked, lit her up enough to see.

I'll remember until eternity, when else is there to remember to down here? But I'll remember until eternity what he said after I got to my feet. "Well... This is awkward," and I think it was a joke. I don't know. But I couldn't help but laugh. "I suppose it is."

But we looked at each other... And we kept sizing each other up. I knew my chances of surviving a face-to-face fight with a bigger man with more reach were minimal... If I recall correctly, he didn't want to fight. "We don't have to do this. I could help you butcher if you want..." But I tell you no lie when I tell you meeting a kindred spirit. One so forceful. One so... Comparatively Jovial. I was in love. And love makes us all do crazy things.

The next few minutes for both of us was a game of hack-and-seek. And we were both it. I don't know if he felt the same, but I think we were both having fun slinking around my house and yard. It was a hell of a way to spend my last hour or so on Earth.

But he caught me. I rounded just the wrong corner and he had me by the scruff of my neck. His weapon, unwieldy as it was with a single hand gave me just the time I needed. I stabbed him in the throat just in time to feel the axe crack though my rib cage and split my heart. I died on top of him... I remember trying to kiss him but I don't think I got close enough to his chin.

And now I feel it is another punishment for me. To never see my darling Francis again... I take some solice knowing he hasn't seen me, either... Maybe it means he felt the same. Who can say?

... Your presence in this realm is fading... Well, your arm is translucent, that's usually a dead give away, no pun intended... Just remember. Change your ways. Or you might end up with a good view of what's happening to everyone else while what happens to you, whatever it is, goes on and on. And on. And on. And on. And on.

After successfully leading your next target to your murder-shed in the woods, they pull out an axe from themself and proclaim "oh, this is awkward."

[notjustjavierpena]

Ok so someone said Pedro is so husband in Gladiator 2 and I was wondering if you would possibly do a Marcus and pregnant!wife fic?! Please 🤍

Restless

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This was so fun to write and I hope you like it! Just fyi, this is not a part of my series Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.

Summary: Being heavily pregnant makes it hard to sleep.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Pregnant reader, kisses, a general devoted to his wife

Word count: 1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60543115

Restless

Since entering the final stages of carrying your child, nights in bed have been restless. You lay awake most of the time, drifting off on your side only to wake up not long after with a foot pressing against your ribs. It is a strange paradox how something so unpleasant can offer you comfort at the same time, serving as a reminder that your baby is healthy and strong. You’ll take watching the sunrise each morning if it means knowing that they are well, even if it means exhaustion from the lack of rest. 

Tonight is no different. You are yet again caught in the realm of the awake, carefully turning over from side to side as you beg God Somnus to show you mercy and grant you some sleep. However, just as your eyes start to flutter closed, you are startled awake by another swift kick to your insides. 

“You are as restless as your father,” you speak quietly and with affection to the life within your belly, pressing your hand over the spot. You glance at Marcus as you say it, already aware of how he is stirring from his slumber because the littlest of things can rouse him. After all, he is a light sleeper, old habits making him as vigilant in bed with you as he is on the battlefield. 

“Another night on slumber’s battlefield?” Marcus asks while sleep still clings to him. His voice is rough, rumbling through his chest as he speaks. 

You nod with a sigh, reaching for your husband’s hand to guide it to rest on your belly. His voice joining yours has woken up the baby even more, and they seem even more enthusiastic in announcing their presence to their parents, “It seems like your child is preparing for a campaign of their own. Feel.”

“My child?” He asks with a fond smile, another jab at his palm making him gently trace patterns across your belly. 

“During nights like these, they’re your child,” you tease lightheartedly and earn a gentle smile, a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I suppose that’s fair,” he chuckles quietly but it is interrupted by another spirited kick. He sucks in a breath, talking quietly as if mostly to himself, “Every time I do this… I still can’t believe—“

“Neither can I,” you say dreamily and rest your own hand on top of his. You guide his palm over the curve of your swollen belly, “But they’re really in there. Feel this. Here’s their back and this… this must be the foot that’s keeping me from sleeping.”

Marcus’ calloused palm is warm as it skims across your stomach, feeling its way around to picture the growing bundle inside of you. His eyes are filled with uninhibited wonder, a joy that seems to be more frequent on his face after Goddess Juno granted you this blessing so soon after your union. He shifts on the bed to bend down and kiss where he has just felt a particularly enthusiastic kick. 

“Listen to me, little one,” he murmurs softly against your skin, “Your beautiful mother is doing all the work bringing you into the world and into my arms. The least you could do is grant her some rest.”

“I don’t think it’s going to happen. I think they’ve inherited some of your rebellion,” you begin but Marcus looks at your face with feigned outrage. He crawls up to hover over you. 

“Their rebellious spirit is directly from you,” he argues with a charming smile, palms flat against the bed on either side of you. In return, you reach up to cup his face and drag him down for a sweet kiss. He smells like olive oil and metal from his armor, proof of him being in the sun all day during today’s training session. He should be exhausted but he kisses you like he isn’t. 

“Then you should know how to tame them just like you tamed me, General,” you bite back with a mischievous expression, a high-pitched giggle interrupting your attempt at an attitude because Marcus maneuvers you onto your side again, this time facing away from him. He crawls up behind you, scooping his arm underneath you so he can cradle your full belly with both hands. 

“Close your eyes,” he tells you, splaying his hands on you until the warmth of his touch starts to calm everything in your body and mind, “Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slowly like the tide.”

You can feel the gentle change in the room, both Marcus and the baby falling into sync with you as sleep comes knocking for all three of you. He talks in a quiet whisper even on the verge of slumber, his chest rising and falling against your back while your belly mirrors it, “That’s it. You’re safe, my love. My heart, my strength, my guiding light.”

“Tell me about our baby,” you murmur softly, eyelids growing heavy until you capitulate and close them. 

“Our baby,” he begins, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “Will be as beautiful as their mother. When they laugh it’ll be with your laugh, and when they smile, everyone will think of you in an instant. Perhaps, they will be granted the courage of Mars. Or perhaps the wisdom of Minerva, a real strategist.”

His hands continue their slow and gentle pattern over your stomach, lulling you even closer to the edge of sleep. You relax further into his embrace, letting his words wash over you as he continues, “And as for me, I hope they will inherit my heart. I hope to pass on my sense of duty and purpose. They’ll be honorable, stand firm, and protect the ones they love.”

“Marcus,” you say without knowing why. 

“They will be loved,” he adds as if it is the most true of all, his forehead resting against the back of your head, “Loved beyond comparison, beyond comprehension. By us and even the Gods themselves, and they will never doubt this. They will find it to be as certain as Sol and Nox ensuring each day and night.” 

“I like that,” you smile sleepily, barely awake anymore. 

“Me too,” you hear him say just before sleep finally claims you, his voice a calming echo that tells you he’s telling the truth.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[fruithoughts]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤHow to catch a hufflepuff?

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjeonghan x fem!reader  

01.ㅤۗㅤ𝙼ember .  ⎯⎯⎯  jeonghan.

02.ㅤۗㅤ𝙲𝚆 .  ⎯⎯⎯ one sided beef, he tries to a dick but he's too in love lol what a loser, MANY PET NAMES(pretty girl, doll, puppy...), reader is a muggle, smut at very end, smut with plot, rough sex.

September, 1 

— Are you still not over yourself? — A new year at Hogwarts begins, and just like that, Yoon Jeonghan it’s back to his favorite hobby of tormenting his favorite girl.

— Hogwarts should get over itself! It’s insane that we still have to write with quills — the Hufflepuff answers, obviously frustrated and with a good reason to be so, it’s 2024 and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry it’s still stuck on writing with quills? In individual papers? This fact alone it’s crazier than most spells they’ve ever teached.

— You say it as if the muggle option is much better — he lies straight through his teeth, knowing damn well that pens are, with no doubt, much easier to use than quills. Jeonghan is Jeonghan, don’t take him too seriously or you might actually punch him in the face. Much like he expected, his false observation is pointed out by the girl sitting right alongside him in this train stall almost immediately after it leaves his mouth, the Slytherin has always had too much fun bothering the school’s sweetest girl who just so happened to be cursed with world’s biggest puppy eyes.

It wasn’t friendly like this back then, though. No, not even close.

These two despised each other with a burning passion, well, Jeonghan did; for the far majority of this nemesis thing, the hate was very much one-sided. Coming from an insanely racist family definitely rubbed off on him and when his academic life expectations were ruined by the fact that the entire school seemed completely in love and constantly in awe of that stupid muggle girl, he decided right there to make her life a living hell. 

Which he succeeded in doing, kind of. Her life was surely miserable when around him but she didn’t seem to care about their relationship as soon as she was with her friends, housemates, just anyone at all, Jeonghan felt invisible at times, and it infuriated him to no end. Last year was the worst era for sure. The bitterness had been going on for so long, they were both exhausted and having to work together on an astronomy assignment was the last straw, so out of nothing but pure rage; they settled on an alliance for long enough to finish that thing. But it didn’t end there, of course it didn’t, they continued talking even after the assignment, they weren't friends then, absolutely not, but they started interacting like normal students for once, asking for notes, doing small talk every little in a while.

Their push and pull habits never truly died, but it wasn’t out of hate now, they were clearly having fun with this whole enemies till death tell us apart game. So much fun in fact, Jeonghan spent his entire break missing their banter like he was going crazy. It didn’t even cross his mind that he would think about that girl after the year ended, but oh, boy, did he do it.

 Maybe that was the reason they were going together in the same train stall for the first time in all of these years they’ve known each other, maybe Jeonghan lied and his friend’s stall isn’t full like he said it was, maybe he just missed his shiny eyed sweet girl, maybe.

September, 12 

— Do you have any interests other than being the center of attention? — she asks, it’s a fair question. The walk in between classes always brings out the worst out of everyone, huh? — I like pissing you off sometimes — Jeonghan answered.

Watching that cute little face transform into an annoyed and tired one never fails to make the Slytherin feel a rush of pride, he just adores it, he just adores her — Can you answer seriously at least once? Instead of being a lil bitch? Perhaps? It’s that too difficult for you? — she said imitating the tone he usually used to brother her, school’s sweetest girl being a bully, who would’ve thought. 

— Woah, woah, woah, I've been nothing but condescending and mean to you and this is how you treat me? — Jeonghan grabs his chest dramatically, his expression telling any bypassers that this man has never, in his entire life , felt as offended as he’s feeling right now — Come on now, puppy, it’s this a way you should treat a dear friend?

There it is, the classic Jeonghan urge to frustrate his pretty girl for no reason at all.

— Keep talking and I'll poison your food — the Slytherin chuckled at the threat — You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried, you’re not allowed in herbology class without the presence of a teacher — he pointed out without missing a beat — How do you still remember that? — she asks incredulously. I was made for you, of course I remember, the bastard thought to himself.

Like always, Jeonghan regretted coming to class the very second the professor opened his mouth, choosing to busy himself with going through his girl’s notes instead. They were mostly doodles or borderline intelligible for him, her handwriting was neat but her logic? Questionable, to say the least. But he loved reading whatever she wrote anyways, getting a little too happy whenever he found anything evolving his name or a silly doodle of his face. Once every twenty or so minutes he’d get distracted by her side profile instead, this was the only class where they sat together, so he shamelessly stared at her every time. For just a second, she looked back and smiled, as warm as the sun. He felt strange, he felt like a child again, liking her felt rather lovely, but did she like him too? 

October, 18 

It’s a tradition at this point, students of all houses gathering together in secret to play quidditch in their pajamas every friday night. Organization is barely existent, rules? Optional. This whole thing is a mess, it really is one of the worlds most confusing mysteries on how the teachers haven't found out about this yet(They have, but they pretend they haven’t because it’s the only time all students get fairly along with each other)

Mingyu begging Seungkwan to be the judge just off the chance that possibly, on a day where Kwan felt extremely nice, he could cut him some slack(it has never happened). Watching them from a far was arguably nicer, Jeonghan thought; sitting isolated from all of the other students with his trusty Hufflepuff by his side, both sat there in comfortable silence, this one was new for them.

— What bad music have you been listening to these days, ugly thing? — he inquires, as nice and cordial as always — Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy? — she answered staring daggers into his face, oh, if only Yoon Jeonghan was as unbothered and cool as he pretends to be, maybe then he could stop the way his heart pathetically races at the sound of her voice. 

— I always wanna know what’s going on up that little head, it’s usually just air, but sometimes we get lucky, don’t we? — the Hufflepuff rolls her eyes at his statement while the asshole who said it only grins — I could put on some songs I've been listening to, if your highness so desires — she suggests, and Jeonghan isn’t one to say no to his pretty thing. 

It started off with a soft guitar melody, much like most of the songs she listened to.

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

The girl always had a type for softer sounding things, for gentle things, it made  Jeonghan feel unsure of himself at times. How could the sweetest girl in the school like the company of such a bitter guy?

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Was it normal? Was this how things should be? What even were they at this point? Acquaintances? Partners in crime? Friends? 

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

The school year had barely started and Jeonghan could swear he was balding from stress since week 2, why is he acting like this? Why is he sitting far from his friends and housemates just to spend “alone time” with the girl he swore he hated less than a year ago?

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

There were many things in this world that the Slytherin would never agree to admit. He refused to believe in just how fast his mind changed from last year. Everything happened too fast and I couldn’t see it coming, that’s why I didn’t stop it; is what the man in question kept telling himself, clearly because is the truth and nothing but the truth, clearly NOT because he could never bring himself to terms with the fact that he has always looked at the “stupid muggle girl” in the very same way he’s looking right now.

You look perfect, you look different

I don't wonder about your indifference

— Spending time with you is giving me brain damage — he speaks up, for no reason other than to listen to the sound of her laughter, which works — Don’t blame me for your psychosis — the hufflepuff answers while giggling.

If I said you could never touch me

You'd come over and say I looked lovely

She yawned and stretched her arms out, arching her back, as graceful as a swan. It’s that feeling again.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to make me cry

He lies down on the concrete, both hands behind his head.

It was simple, you are sweetness

Let's just sit a while

She lies with him.

Depollute me, gentle angel

And I'll feel the sickness less and less

The night was beautiful, birds flying through the dark sky, he could hear his friends playing quidditch in the distance, his pretty little thing resting her head on his shoulder as they lay on the cold floor and watch the stars. It felt gentle, it felt nice, it felt perfect. He knows they won’t talk about this tomorrow.

Come and kiss me, pretty baby

Like we'll never have sex

Friends shouldn’t make each other feel like this.

October, 29

— I’m just saying, it’s a Sunday evening — Jeonghan felt like getting to the point of his argument after rambling for about 20 minutes on end — And? — she inquired, eyes still on her book, which made the Slytherin close his own, he hasn’t read a single word ever since he opened his mouth, just using his habit of reading as another cheap excuse to spend the night in the library with his lovely friend — We could do something else, you know… — he suggested, knowing damn well this isn’t going anywhere, his girl did not play about her poetry books. 

— Like what? — she engaged, also aware of the fact this is a one way street — Literally anything else, maybe have dinner somewhere — he slouched against the hardwood chair — Dinner? The thing that killed Jesus? — her answer received nothing but a very judgmental look from a very judgmental Jeonghan who didn’t stay quiet about his discontent for long, like always — You’re such a disaster — he says averting his gaze to anywhere else so she couldn’t clock the painfully obvious heart eyes he was giving her.

— Why do you spend so much time here anyways? — after about 32 seconds of nice and peaceful silence, he asked again — Reading is fun, even if it’s reading about being a loser — the Hufflepuff responded already setting the terrain herself so Jeonghan couldn’t have the pleasure of calling her out on only reading melancholic books.

— We could never live together — the Slytherin states as if it isn’t the only future he could fathom to imagine — What if our books got mixed in the bookshelf? I might have a heart attack. Imagine receiving visits and have them wrongfully assume that I read poetry? I would rather die — anybody from a mile away can tell this man has thought about this very scenario way too much for his own good — And yet you’re the perfect amount of dramatic and pretentious to be a poet yourself — every once in a while he would notice that she talked like a book, he hated it, it was better when she talked like an chronically online alien who’s only life mission is to make sure he has at least one bad day a week.

Jeonghan, ever the most mature student of Hogwarts, sticked his tongue out in his friend’s direction, which was answered with the exact same action back at him — What are you even reading, ugly? 

— The world’s wife, by Carol Ann Duffy — at the end of that day, after his pretty girl had already left to her dorm, for the first time in history; Yoon Jeonghan rented a book from the library.

November, 1

Looking at her made him feel all sorts of things, even from across the room. From an overwhelming sense of warmth just by watching his little flower engage in silly conversations with her friends after she’s done writing down notes to erratic heartbeats and goosebumps when she catches him staring and tilts her head, looking at him just like a confused puppy while mouthing “why are you staring?”. She made him feel all sorts of feelings he wishes he didn’t fall victim to, all sorts of fantasies he wished he didn’t understand, but Jeonghan was no saint, especially when it came to his little angel. 

There were only two things in his mind today, which was an improvement in comparison to yesterday when there was only one, i’ll let you guess what it was, but right now there were two; 1. The argument with Josh, and 2. Her.

Jeonghan isn’t one to hold grudges against those he loves the most, as a trickster himself; he isn’t used to taking things personally, but Joshua… Joshua had gone too far. Just when the Slytherin was ready to finally pour his heart out to somebody who he deeply trusted and loved and open up about his feelings, he was met with the most terrible response! It just wouldn’t leave his head…

— She’s perfect for me, everything about her is perfect, I think about her all of the time and it’s messing me up — Jeonghan pathetically went on and on for what could’ve been anywhere from 30 min to 2 hours, poor boy was just so confused about the simplest of feelings — And the obvious conclusion to take away from this situation is…? — his Gryffindor friend tried helping — She’s ruining my life — and it didn’t work — You’re in love, you stupid idiot — so Josh decided to be a little more direct. He was right, like always, but that didn’t stop Jeonghan from sulking the whole entire night. 

It was infuriating, what even happened to him? All it took was a pair of shining eyes and sweet smile and he’s completely done for? It’s not like the guy in question ever was the kind of student who engaged in class or was interested in anything the teachers had to say at all, but this is another level, it annoyed him to no end. That stupid girl just held his mind and all of his thoughts in her hands as if it was nothing, that stupid girl with her stupid unique personality and her stupid hauntinly beautiful face and her stupid cute outfits and the stupid boy who could not take her out of his stupid brain. 

He left a letter at her desk after class, she would only find it the next morning while he was two classes away from being interrogated about said letter. 

November, 15

Hogsmeade was full to the brim, but somehow, this moment felt very intimate. 

Maybe it was the alcohol in their systems, maybe it was the casual way they didn’t even consider sitting with their housemates before claiming the little table by the window just for themselves, maybe it was the way they were both sitting while leaning completely forward, chins resting on their arms, faces just a few inches away while yapping away the end of exams season, it felt childish, it felt nice, it felt sweet. 

— You don’t think I'm manly? — Jeonghan questioned as if this was about to become his villain origin story — You’re manly… Just in a peacock kinda of way — she answered giggling like there was no tomorrow, he loved everything going on here. Her flushed little face decorated with a big grin, her nose crunching up everytime she smiled, her voice slightly louder and whinier because of the alcohol, the slurred way her words came out sometimes, it was all perfect.

— Can I tell you something, puppy? — he whispers, knowing he isn’t anywhere near drunk enough to not remember this tomorrow, he doesn’t really care — There’s nothing in this place that I adore more than you.

He watched in awe as her eyes grew so much bigger, lips forming a little pout of shock, that specific cartoonish surprised look she always had when anything happens while she’sdrunk, looking both sides before leaning in and going “Really?” which is immediately followed by a little giggle.

In moments like this the Slytherin swears there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have his girl all to himself, nobody else deserves this view. Isn’t all of this desire so ugly? Isn’t all this wanting so gross? Isn’t it all his? Just the thought of leaving Hogwarts and never seeing his pretty little thing again was enough to give him a full body shiver followed by an ever so present nauseous feeling.

 — If I have to remember you for longer than I've known you, I might lose my mind a little — Jeonghan mindlessly admitted, a sly smile slowly makes its way in his friend’s face — Don’t you think you already lost it? — she asks.

— Maybe a little.

December, 24

— Won’t your friends be worried? Do they know or did not even tell them? — Jeonghan questions while trying to look at everything everywhere all at once. It was his first time spending Christmas night in the muggle realm, he wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was — Why wouldn’t I tell them we’re going out? — the Hufflepuff answers his question with a question — As far as I remember they were very defensive about you becoming friends with big, bad Jeonghan, have they moved on from that? — his question only got him a smack on the arm.

— They haven’t cared about that for a while now, and you interrupted me! Again! — she stated before angrily letting go of his hand, which she had been holding so they wouldn’t go far from each other and get lost, yeah… that was definitely the only reason — My sincere apologies, your highness — not taking her attitude for granted, the Slytherin quickly holds her cold hand into his own much bigger one, it was ironic in a way, the Hufflepuff who’s body is always cold and the Slytherin who’s body is always warm — Now I don’t wanna talk anymore — apparently, she didn’t accept his apology, but didn’t let go of his hand either. 

Jeonghan wasn’t sure if it was his sick mind making him hear things, but he could swear that as time went on, the sweetest girl in Hogwarts had become more and more of a brat, just for him tho. Maybe he was a bad influence. 

— Go on, keep talking about the anime girl with the blue hair, I'm listening — did he understand most of what she was talking about? No. But she was happy to share her thoughts about Hatsune Miku’s new song, so really, who was he to say no? For all Jeonghan cares she could break his brain in two, it was only ever hers to mess with anyways.

Walking through the local christmas market was much more pleasant then the pureblood snob would ever imagine or admit, but she could tell that he was having a great time, and that was enough for both of them. Jeonghan has always had a terrible case of resting bitch face, so she really couldn't give less of her mind to anybody who stared at them weirdly, the Slytherin himself barely even noticed, too focused on this cozy new place.

They ate good food, took pictures with her digital camera, petted some strays here and there, it was a perfect evening. And just when they thought things couldn’t get any better…

— Come on, it’s not that deep — the bastard insisted while dragging his pretty thing along his arm to some bar’s doorstep, there was a mistletoe there — Is it not that deep or do you just want to kiss me? — the Hufflepuff teased, her flushed face betraying the casual tone she spoke in.

Finally at the bar, they stood there. Jeonghan, with that infuriating little grin in his stupidly beautiful face, looking down at his friend who had her arms crossed in front of her chest the second they arrived, looking back at him with the an annoyed expression and an angry little pout that forced him to resist, with all of his might, to the overwhelming urge to melt directly to the floor.

— That’s for me to know, — he said pulling his doll into his arms, a hand going up to her face to make sure no stubborn hairs got in the way of the moment — And for you to wonder.

Much to Jeonghan’s surprise, maybe he really wasn’t the manly one in this relationship after all. Because when the Hufflepuff straight up yanked him by the collar of his jacket to meet his lips, he could swear that he was made to be manhandled by a pretty girl. Ever the profissional, he relaxed into their kiss almost immediately, holding the back of her head firmly in his hands so he could take some control.

It was just as good as he imagined it would be, pillowy lips massaging his own, his puppy just so pliantly allowing his tongue to explore, it was sugar sweet and addicting. 

Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a blessing, the girl wasn’t exactly sure while she was getting dragged around for the entire two and a half they spent going around in the christmas market. The sly prick just couldn’t control himself, whenever he saw a mistletoe, it was time. Jeonghan was so obvious, he started actually tricking her into thinking he was just interested in places. He would look around, engage in conversation with the sellers, get some nice food then the second they were about to leave, he would just pull her towards a certain spot, his girl already giggling and whining about getting tricked again. These two lost count of how many mistletoes they used to their advantage in just some hours, but at last, it was time to go. 

Surprisingly, Jeonghan wasn’t really nervous about spending the night in his friend’s apartment, they have gotten extremely close after all. The thing bothering him was something else. 

He wore some white t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants she found somewhere in the depths of her closet, probably due to a friend forgetting them. She was wearing a leopard print shirt and some black fluffy shorts, he loved the way she dressed much more than he could handle, it was too cute for him to handle. Their pajamas were the comfiest things they’ve ever worn in each other’s presence, you can only be so casual in School.  

After whining about who got to choose what they watch before sleeping, they settled in any Netflix cliche christmas movie because of how often she made fun of the scripts in those movies, and she was right, they could’ve played a cliche movie bingo and checked all of the places before the movie hit the 40 minute mark. 

Of course the film in question was nothing more than some background sound to their yapping session, what else could it be? Their conversations just flowed so easily, each topic and scenario just slipping through their fingers, eventually they got to the best part, talking about the people they both hate. At first it was the usual; “How long do you think that friend group is going to last?” and “Do you think that couple is going to get back together?” then it eventually turned into; “Do you think your friend group will last a long time?” and “How long do you think it will take before we miss our professors?” and…

— What are you gonna do after Hogwarts? — the Hufflepuff asks innocently, causing a mental turmoil to burst in Jeonghan’s head. He snaps before even thinking, and it’s probably for the best.

— What are we gonna be after Hogwarts? — the air caught in her throat was almost visible, the way her breathing got heavy, the way her eyes seemed to wander even though she didn’t break eye contact, this was a difficult conversation to have. After this they’ll either come out of this apartment as partners or as strangers, it was a tough pill to swallow. 

— We don’t ever talk about it, we don’t ever dare bring it up but we both know what’s going on, don’t we? The year is ending, flower — he had that look in his eyes, that look he had at hogsmeade, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but there it was again. Jeonghan had never looked so soft, in some oversized t-shirt and fluffy zebra print pajama pants she would never witness him wearing in any other situation, his hair as soft as ever, strands romantically sitting in front of his face as he reaches a hand to hold her cheek, the most gentle touch.

— I know we started this just messing around, we’ve been messing around since last year and it felt nice, it was fun, it was new and becoming closer was so rewarding that we just couldn’t stop it — he recalls the beginning of their alliance — But it’s not so light anymore, is it, dear? The tension became too much, I know you think about me too, I know you feel me it too — he spoke his heart out, voice as soft as the look in his eyes, all of the words that have been drowning him for the past few months were finally bubbling to the surface — I wanna stop it, we played around and it was fun but I need something solid now, I need to know where we go after this is over — he kept going, his eyebrows furrowing as his breathing got more erratic. 

— We don’t have all of the time in the world so I need you to be honest with me right now — Jeonghan leaned in, he could almost see all of her thoughts and emotions right on those shiny eyes he fell in love with all those years ago, in all of this time; his sweet girl had never changed, but unknowingly, she changed him. 

— Do you want me too? — the Slytherin asks.

A rushed “i need you too” was the last thing he could process before the Hufflepuff was yanking his face into a heated kiss, hugging his neck so she could sit on his lap, Jeonghan was in heaven. 

His pretty girl softly pulling his hair to make him gasp into her mouth, his hands trying to be everywhere before he settled on holding her hips to keep her from moving too much. His sweet girl was a little too desperate for his taste. Why were her panties completely soaked and sticking to her core when he finally dipped his hand into her shorts? Was she getting hot and bothered the entire night and just taking it instead of asking for his help? — Own, did I leave my baby waiting for too long? My poor lil thing… — the motherfucker spoke up as condescending as always, only causing her to whine as he teasingly cupped her warmth through the moist underwear — Don’t worry, puppy. You know I’ll make it up to you — and “make up” he did.

As soon as the bastard found her bedroom, it was game on. At this point they’re unsure of how much time have gone by, one arm holding her waist firmly in place on her plush bed while the other held one of her legs up so he could have more access to the little pussy he spent so long dreaming about, he needed to eat his girlfriend out properly, let her know he’s the one for her, that no one would do it better than him, even if his efforts make his jaw hurt like crazy the next morning.

Jeonghan was having the time of his life, hearing her soft voice turning into a higher pitch whenever she whined about him teasing for too long, that she was ready to take him. And of course, being as annoying as ever, he couldn’t let the humiliation be just that, no, he made her repeat it every time — What was that, doll? — he looks up as if her sweet moans interrupted his holy feast, his chin soaked with her juices, his lips glistening with her honey, this view could kill — I need you, Jeongie… — she finally had the strength to answer, making the devil grin. 

He had no intentions of stopping, no, he needed that little cunt on his face until he suffocated. The bastard kept going after the first, the second and for a miracle, the third orgasm was his last straw, and even though he could devour his stupid girl right there… — My pretty baby did so well for me, didn’t she? — he gave her a much deserved break before getting down to finish their business. 

It felt as though there was nothing else in the world, nothing other than them. Passionate slow kisses, arms cradling one another as their hands caressed each other’s bodies, this moment could last all of eternity and neither culprit would complain, not even once. Feeling his hard on pressing against her thighs was driving the Hufflepuff a little bit insane, tucking on his waistband made her mouth feel awfully empty.

The Slytherin didn’t even remember that being hard was so damn painful, a soft touch of her hands on his crotch was enough to make him hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together, the sight was pretty enough to make one cry, he’s was just such a beautiful boy, how could she not want to have him in her mouth? — Please, please, pleas-

— You don’t have to — he tried shushing her, not wanting his baby to do any work — Want to… Wanna make you feel good, Jeongie… — that whiny tone made his knees buckle quickly, mind racing far too fast for him to stop himself before just sitting back on his knees and letting his pretty girl have her way with him.

For someone who was in full control just fifteen minutes ago, Jeonghan surely sounded like a bitch in heat. Biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood but letting go before it happens so he can moan like a whore just before the pleasure becomes too much and causes him to throw his head back, looking at his girl was too much to ask from him, everything was too much. Looking just so pretty trying her hardest to fit his thick base into her mouth, not paying any mind to all of the gagging, working so hard to please her Hannie, he could bust just from this fact alone, the man was losing it. 

His appreciation for her hard work did not go unappreciated for long, not when he got his doll on all fours for him, shoulders pressing down on the mattress while he pounded that pussy into another dimension not even ten minutes after getting the head of his life. The squeaking of the bed, the sound of skin slapping, the begging for more whenever he grabbed her hair roughly and used it as a leash to pull her body into his, his chest pressing against her back while he praised his pretty thing for being “such a good puppy for him, taking all of his cum”, only for the moans to go louder when he slammed her face back into the bed, the soft squelchy sound coming from where their bodies kissed, the music in this room was Jeonghan’s favorite. 

These two were wild animals for a long time, their muscles would most definitely feel their efforts tomorrow, but right now, after having the best orgasms of their lives, the lovebirds were in absolute peace, staying in the bed for much longer than expected after sex; just holding each other, just loving each other. After a nice shower, a change of sheets and some instant ramen, tho? Ready to go to sleep, if anything; desperate to go to sleep. Jeonghan felt a slight shift on the bed alongside him, he could feel his preciosity leaving his grasp just before he succumbed to the tiredness of his bones, he reluctantly opened his eyes; she’s on her phone? 

— Did I fuck you so good that you’re writing poetry? — he asks, it’s a fair question — Shut up, Slytherin — the Hufflepuff answers just before hitting send message into her groupchat, telling her friends everything they could possibly need to know about the past two hours or so with just 11 words.

[sonotcopingatall]

vacation gone wrong

sana x fem!reader

synopsis: you and sana, workaholic doctors, go on a vacation for a week. no phones, no surgeries, just the two of you. what could go wrong?

wc: 2.7k

warnings: i’d say none. it’s just really fluffy with chaos lol

it was supposed to be the perfect anniversary getaway.

sana, your brilliant and often frustratingly busy cardiothoracic surgeon wife, had been working her ass off for months. saving lives, performing surgeries, managing a department full of patients - she was damn good at it. but even she knew she needed a break. so, you’d both agreed: a week in a cozy, secluded cabin by a quiet lake. no phones, no surgeries, just you two, and maybe some wine and cuddling. a fucking dream, right?

you’d been married for five years now, which felt both like a lifetime and like it had all happened yesterday. both of you were workaholics, driven by the same damn passion for helping others. but this? this was about you two. about the break you both desperately needed.

but of course, the universe had other plans.

it started innocently enough. you and sana were driving through the winding mountain roads, music playing low in the background. you were laughing about something dumb - the kind of stupid, inside joke only long-term couples could understand. sana’s hand was resting on the gearshift, and you kept sneaking glances at her because, let’s be real, she was hot as hell, even after five years.

“can you believe we’ve been married for five years?” you ask, your voice dripping with affection.

sana smirks, eyes soft. “feels like just yesterday we were sitting in that little coffee shop, bitching about how insane our schedules were.”

you chuckle. “i remember you telling me you’d never have time for a relationship.”

“did i?” she laughs, glancing over at you, her eyes glinting mischievously. “i must’ve been lying.”

“damn right you were.” you poke her shoulder playfully, but just as you do, a sudden, bone-shaking screech fills the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal crunching. the car jerks to the side.

“hold on!” sana yells, her voice suddenly sharp and focused. she yanks the wheel to avoid a head-on collision with an out-of-control truck, its tire blown, veering into your lane.

your heart slams in your chest as sana wrestles with the wheel, your stomach flipping as the truck skids past. you blink, trying to regain your bearings, your pulse hammering.

“you good?” sana asks, voice tight, eyes scanning you. her hands are already checking the dashboard, her medical mind clicking into high gear.

you nod, trying to calm the hell down. “yeah, i’m fine. are you?”

“i’m good,” she mutters, still scanning the road. “i’m pulling over to check on them.”

you open your mouth to protest, to remind her that this was supposed to be vacation, but she’s already out of the car, her white coat flapping as she rushes to the truck. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “sana, seriously?”

you follow her anyway, because what else are you going do? you’re both doctors. you’ve seen your fair share of chaos. but when you see the truck driver, an elderly man sitting in his seat, looking a little dazed but otherwise fine, your worry shifts to something else entirely: a motorcycle zooming towards you from behind, clearly out of control.

you spin around, your stomach dropping. “sana! get down!”

but it’s too late. the bike rider is coming in too fast, and before you can even think, the rider crashes into a tree just a few feet from where sana is kneeling by the truck driver.

fuck.

sana’s on her feet before you can blink, already running toward the downed rider, her doctor instincts kicking in. you follow her, your own heart in your throat, your mind racing. the woman on the bike is unconscious but breathing, and sana’s hands are all business, checking for any injuries.

you try not to stare at her, but goddamn, you’re impressed. it’s always hot when she’s in “doctor mode,” but watching her save people like this? it’s next-level.

the next few hours blur together. you both take care of the elderly truck driver, call for an ambulance, and tend to the motorcycle rider, who thankfully wakes up, grumbling about how she’s going to be “so sore tomorrow.” you’re just glad she’s alive. by the time the paramedics arrive, you’re both covered in dirt and leaves, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

you climb back into the car, still trying to catch your breath. “do you think we’ll actually make it to the cabin this time, or is that asking too much?”

sana glances at you, shaking her head and smirking. “you really think this is it? the universe’s done with us? babe, we’re not even close to being done yet.”

you laugh, but you both know she’s right. you’ve barely started the damn vacation and already the universe is giving you a full course of bullshit. but, as you glance over at her - tired but unshaken, a little dirt streaked across her cheek, but still radiant - you feel a surge of fondness. maybe this is it. maybe it’s not about the vacation. it’s about surviving this shitshow together.

the next day, after a restless night full of nightmares and whispered reassurances from your wife, you start the drive again. you’re both cautiously optimistic as you cruise through a forested section of the road, sunlight flickering through the trees.

but of course, just as you round a bend, there’s a loud cracking sound. a deer bolts out of the trees, eyes wide with terror, running straight into your path.

“sana, fucking stop!” you shout as she slams on the brakes, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as the car skids across the gravel. the deer bounds away, a blur of brown and panic. the car comes to a stop, just barely missing it.

you both exhale like you’ve been holding your breath the entire time. “okay, okay, that’s it,” you mutter, hands trembling. “i think we should just go home.”

“no.” sana’s tone is firm, eyes steely, even though you know she’s just as rattled as you are. “we’re fine. we’ve got this.”

you both know damn well that you’re far from fine, but you also know that neither of you will let this stop you.

by day three, the frustration has started to settle in. another near-miss, another car accident. it’s getting fucking ridiculous. you’ve almost come to terms with the fact that this vacation is cursed when another damn van suddenly swerves into your lane, sliding toward you at a terrifying speed.

“sana!” you scream, but you know she’s already on it. the car swerves, just barely missing the van, the side mirror of the van grazing your bumper. a few seconds later, the van skids into a ditch.

another. fucking. near-miss. you’ve both barely processed it when you pull over once more.

“okay, okay,” you mutter, voice a little raw. “maybe we’re just not supposed to have a vacation, huh?”

sana turns to you, her expression softening despite the exhaustion in her eyes. “maybe we’re just meant to be together. no matter what.”

she’s right. no matter how many times life throws a curveball, you two always come back to each other. and honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, on the fifth day, you both make it to the cabin. you’re bruised, battered, but somehow, more in love than ever. you’ve survived every crash, every disaster, because you had each other. the cabin door slams shut behind you, cutting off the chaos of the world.

and as you sit on the porch that evening, staring out at the peaceful lake, you feel the weight of the world finally lift. the chaos is over. for now, anyway.

“five years,” you murmur, your hand in hers as you both look up at the stars.

“five more, and five after that,” she whispers, her voice like a promise.

“maybe ten,” you grin, nudging her shoulder.

the universe can keep throwing bullshit your way, but you’ve got this. together. and that’s all that matters.

bonus scene: dinner at the lakeside restaurant

after what felt like an eternity of mishaps, you and sana finally settled into a quiet dinner at a lakeside restaurant. the space was warm, intimate, with soft lighting and the hum of conversation filling the air. you could almost forget the chaos of the past few days - the truck, the motorcycle, the deer, and everything in between. tonight, it was just the two of you, enjoying a peaceful moment.

“here’s to surviving the chaos,” you joke, raising your glass of wine and giving sana a playful grin.

she chuckles, her fingers brushing yours across the table. “yeah, but i’m not tempting fate again. let’s just enjoy this for once.”

you laugh, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been through lighten, even just a little. for a moment, it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist - you’re safe here, tucked away from the madness. but then, as if the universe has other plans, everything changes.

a loud, panicked shout breaks the calm: “someone help! my wife— she’s going into labor! oh, god, please, somebody help!”

without hesitation, you both stand up, instinctively moving toward the commotion. a man is pacing frantically between tables, his hands running through his hair as his wife bends over, clutching her stomach in pain. her face is pale, her breaths coming in shallow, jagged gasps.

without a word, you and sana exchange a look, both of you already in motion. there’s no hesitation in the way you move, no panic. you’ve been through this before - you know exactly what to do.

you approach the husband first, your voice calm but firm. “i’m a doctor. we’re going to help her. i need you to take a deep breath. you panicking isn’t going to help her right now.”

he nods shakily, his eyes wide with fear, but he tries to steady himself. “she wasn’t due yet. she’s only 28 weeks. i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t have to do anything right now. we’ve got this,” you assure him, your hand on his shoulder for a moment before you move toward the woman. “ma’am, i’m here to help. my name’s dr. y/n, and this is dr. sana. we’re going to keep you and your baby safe, okay?”

she nods but doesn’t speak, her breath quickening. another contraction hits, and she cries out, her grip tightening around the edge of the table. her husband’s face is stricken with helplessness, but sana is already beside the woman, her hands moving quickly, checking her pulse, assessing her condition.

“ma’am, i need you to focus on your breathing,” sana says gently, her tone soothing but authoritative. “in through your nose, out through your mouth. let’s take it slow. you’re doing great.”

the woman nods, trying to follow the rhythm. her face is twisted in pain, and her hands are gripping the table, knuckles white. you step in, kneeling beside her, offering her a soft smile to help keep her calm.

“you’re doing great,” you repeat, squeezing her hand. “just breathe with me. in through your nose, out through your mouth. focus on me.”

her eyes meet yours, full of fear. “please, is my baby going to be okay?”

“yes, we’re going to make sure you both are okay,” you reassure her, glancing up at sana, who’s already keeping an eye on the woman’s vitals. her expression is controlled, but you can see the urgency in her movements.

the husband steps forward, his face twisted with anxiety. “i don’t understand… she wasn’t supposed to go into labor yet! what do we do?”

sana glances up at you, her eyes narrowing in thought. “we don’t have iv fluids here, but there’s a first aid kit in the car. i’ll grab it. it’s not much, but it could help stabilize her for now.”

the husband’s eyes widen with disbelief. “a first aid kit? what good is that going to do? my wife’s in labor early!”

sana remains calm, her voice reassuring. “it’s not ideal, but it’s what we’ve got. i’ll be right back. stay with her.”

you nod at her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “we’ve got this,” you say to the husband, keeping your tone firm but supportive. “we just need to keep her calm, keep her breathing.”

sana rushes out the door, and you stay by the woman’s side, speaking gently as another contraction hits. “you’re doing great. just breathe with me. in, out. keep your focus. we’re here with you.”

her grip on the table loosens slightly as she follows your instructions. she winces with the pain but nods. “it hurts so much…”

“i know, but you’re strong,” you reply, your voice steady. “you’re doing everything right. stay with me.”

the husband is still holding her hand, his own face tight with fear. “we’re going to be okay,” he mutters under his breath, trying to steady himself as much as he’s trying to steady his wife.

minutes pass, and the tension in the air is suffocating. the restaurant has gone silent, all eyes on the small drama unfolding in the corner. you glance toward the door, willing the paramedics to arrive. “the paramedics are coming,” you murmur to the woman. “they’ll be here soon. you’re doing great.”

another contraction hits, and she gasps in pain. the time feels like it’s moving slower now, the seconds stretching endlessly.

just then, the door bursts open, and sana rushes back in, the first aid kit in her hands. without missing a beat, she snaps on a pair of gloves, moving toward the woman with expert precision. you meet her gaze for a split second, and in that moment, everything falls into place. this is where you both excel - in these moments, when everything is on the line.

“check her cervix,” sana says, already preparing to assist. “we need to know how far along she is.”

you grab the gloves from her, moving into position immediately. the woman winces as you gently check, and you nod, your voice steady. “she’s two centimeters dilated. early labor, but still manageable for now.”

sana checks the woman’s vitals. “her pulse is stable for now, but these contractions are getting closer together. we need to keep her calm, and we need paramedics here fast.”

the husband’s anxiety spikes again. “but they’re not here yet! i called them forever ago! where are they?”

“stay with her,” you say firmly, offering him reassurance. “the paramedics will be here any second now. we’re doing everything we can. focus on your wife. she needs you now more than ever.”

as if on cue, the paramedics rush in, taking control immediately. one of them quickly kneels beside you, and you brief him on the situation. “she’s preterm, two centimeters dilated, contractions coming every few minutes. we’ve kept her stable, but she needs to be in a neonatal unit.”

the paramedics work quickly, moving with practiced efficiency. you glance at sana, and the briefest smile passes between you. together, you’ve done what you can, and now it’s out of your hands.

as the woman is wheeled out, her husband still holding her hand, she looks up at you, her voice barely above a whisper. “thank you. thank you so much.”

you squeeze her hand gently. “you’re going to be okay. we’ve got you.”

as the paramedics disappear with the woman, you and sana stand in the quiet, watching them go. the weight of the situation lifts just a little as you turn to her.

“well,” you say, your voice quieter now, “i think that was our adrenaline for the night.”

sana chuckles, a tired smile on her face. “i swear, you thrive on chaos.”

you shrug with a grin. “guess it comes with the job.”

but as the adrenaline fades, the exhaustion sets in. you take a deep breath and, with a quick glance at sana, you both rip the gloves off, tossing them into the nearby trash bin. you take a moment to catch your breath, before sitting back down at the table. the world is starting to slow, but you still feel the adrenaline coursing through you. the meal is cold, the wine forgotten, but it doesn’t matter. you look at sana, and in her eyes, you find a quiet comfort.

“even after all of that,” she says softly, “i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, or do this with anyone else.”

you smile, squeezing her hand across the table. “me neither. no matter what happens, we’ve got this.”

and in that quiet moment, as the restaurant resumes its hum, you both find peace in the shared understanding that no matter the chaos, you’re always ready to face it - side by side.

[symphonyofmars]

There was something I wanted to add as i saw people arguing back and forth (and this might be against my better judgement): but I believe the first post I saw referenced Bell Hooks, and then I later saw someone else say that the use of her quote was bullshit. The quote had to do with being compassionate towards men, and then the person responding said that wasn't what the quote is about (iirc, it's been a few days and my sense of time is not great) but having read The Will to Change (which I believe the quote was taken from), that's exactly what it was about.

[adding a read more because this became much longer than I intended it to be]

The book discusses how the patriarchy hurts not just women, but ALSO men, and how it's so much harder to rehabilitate men from it because: they think they stand something to gain from cramming themselves into the box they're supposed to fit into, and, many of them just have no idea that their life could even be different. That they could be an artist if they want to, they could dance if they want to, they could go into childcare if they want to or grow their hair long or write poetry or paint their nails-- that there are no "boy colors" and "girl colors", that there are no "men's jobs" and "women's jobs", that they could just do what they want because it makes them happy. They don't even know that being happy is more important than filling their sociological niche that someone else has carved out for them. It reminds me when I learned the story of Siddhartha Gautama when I was little, and that he had no idea that poverty, sickness, and suffering even existed because he had never been outside the palace walls and, not that I'm saying every man can achieve nirvana in an afternoon (or even in a lifetime), sometimes someone who knows what's outside the walls has to let you know that there is even something beyond the walls.

Which is also not to say that women need to be doing all the work for men. I spent ten years trying to disabuse a man of the "things he has to do to be manly" and it ended with him breaking up with me and joining a trad christian cult.

Some men (like my ex) are just extremely resistant to change because change is terrifying, but they also have this sense of Sunk Cost Fallacy, where if they were doing this thing the whole time and it's not working, then what were they wasting their time on?? (I feel like you see this with a lot of evangelical/trad Christians as well, where the idea that they might have been wrong is so scary that they double down on their beliefs in the hope that it will work out for them.)

But, there are also men like a book reviewer I was watching a few days ago (whose name I don't know), who admitted that he really had no idea women were catcalled as much as we say we are, until he was grocery shopping with his girlfriend and she went into the next aisle (literally like five feet away, just with the wall of food between them) and he heard a man catcall her. Like, the second she walked away from him and she no longer obviously belonged to him (in the mind of horrible men like her catcaller) she was suddenly fair game to be harassed in public. And he said that he never didn't believe his girlfriend, but to witness something makes it so much more real. To use my "wall" metaphor another way: he and so many men are still inside the palace, experiencing what they think is the same life others experience, while women are outside of the walls, struggling. The incident of hearing his girlfriend (who is an adult women and who shouldn't need him constantly around as protection from horrible men) being treated like an object while she's by herself was like someone grabbing his hand and pulling him outside the walls without even asking if he wanted to go, showing him a truth that can only be experienced by someone who is not him.

Back to Bell Hooks because there was something I wanted to add: yes she does say that it is at least partly the job of feminists to help to deprogram men. Men, as a group, have been brainwashed to think that they have to be The Provider, The Protector, The Leader, and not all of them are good at providing, protecting, or leading. Maybe some of them want to do the things I mentioned before like care for others (in the way we would describe as "maternal" and attribute to women), maybe they want to create art or do crafts or other things not considered "traditionally masculine", and that's not even taking into account that the "traditional idea" of a man is to be constantly wanting sex, and that men could never be sexually assaulted because they're in a constant state of wanting to fuck (obviously this is a lie; anyone can be sexually assaulted, and not everyone wants to fuck). You can't just take a dog who was taught only to fight and put it in a house of children, it won't know how to act around them and might attack them: it needs to be rehabilitated first.

And Bell Hooks does note, that the problem with trying to deprogram men comes from how they're raised. I'd like to submit this video about men and empathy, since I've already typed a bunch:

When I was reading The Will To Change and I got up to the part about her dad, I realized how different my dad is. And, because you don't get to choose your parents, I consider myself very lucky that my dad has always been unconditional in his love. For a moment I almost found this strange because his older brother was the "golden child" and his younger brother was "the baby", so he should have been somewhat neglected because they always got more affection from their parents, but I think it's because he was the favorite of his four girl cousins who would take him everywhere and fight over him (even now, he's the one they're excited to see and they shittalk the other two lol). So, I have a sneaking suspicion that the only reason he didn't end up shitty like his brothers, is because when he was a child he had four girls who were showing him what unconditional love was like and that you don't need to meet the criteria of your niche in order to receive love.

Which, I have to thank them for, because it's so much easier not having to decide whether or not I want to talk to my own parents as an adult because they've gone Fox News Insane. Both my parents will actually ask me about things they don't understand - like trans rights, queer rights in general, voting (I made them a paper of who/what to vote for for the election since the props always need extra research), geopolitical things - and I've even caught my dad making fun of conspiracy theorists and the thinking that trans women are ruining sports (he's a big sports guy and he mostly watches women's bball because he likes that they actually have to play as a team in a team sport). Life is a lot easier when both parents have empathy and don't have to be convinced to care about others.

And I think that's why the OG post I saw quoted Bell Hooks, because the "we need to rehabilitate men otherwise we can't have the feminist future we want" contingent of feminism never really took off; there was one-- I believe they were originally called "Meninists" as in "men who are feminists" and I've seen a picture of them from a parade in the 70s, but it died out because they were fighting such an uphill battle trying to convince other men to join. So now, we have more women who are independent and who have de-centered men from their lives, but also a bunch of men who were never rehabbed and who don't know their life doesn't need to revolve around "being a man." Being a man means being strong, it means being able to provide, it means being attractive; and the Tates and Fresh and Fits and all the other scam artists of the world sell them this on steroids: buy my book and you WILL be hot, you WILL be a millionaire, you WILL have women who want to fuck you...

Never mind that those guys are probably on actual steroids, they only have that money from scamming other men, and many of them have been found to hire escorts (which, there's nothing wrong with hiring sex workers, but there's a difference between selling the idea that you'll be so charismatic that women will throw themselves at you and having to hire a sex worker because your personality is so bad that no one wants to go near you.)

They're selling a false ideal to men who don't even know it's false in the first place.

But going back to Ms Hooks again: she did talk a great deal about how we need to raise our boys (as a society). She talks about how the whole thing of telling a nine-year old "Take care of your mother" is an insane notion, because he's nine and he can't do anything, and she's an adult woman who is actually the caretaker; and about how boy babies are treated so differently even to the point of "baby boys should not cry as much as baby girls". Like, the gender requirements are there before they can even talk, no wonder they're so damaged and hard to convince of anything later in life.

Reads with Rachel and her husband, Carlos, had two really good discussions about masculinity; one about real masculinity vs performed masculinity as they compared two books about being a man:

As Rachel says after Carlos complained about being made fun of for cleaning his nails after working on his car ("I work an office job and I have cleanliness standards"): "It's not enough for you to know how to work on a car, you also have to be dirty in order to be the manliest man."

The other is in the context of talking about how Patrick Rothfuss isn't the feminist he thinks he is because he still wants the women around him to perform femininity so he can perform masculinity and feel like "a big strong man" before going into a general discussion about masculinity (from about 9:01 to 53:55):

Together they ask a really good question (pardon me if I don't remember it verbatim): "Why does it take someone acting in a particular role for you to feel like a man?" And it's easier for Carlos to be able to deal with that question, because he started deconstructing from the patriarchy when he was 25 (he said he's 32 at the time of that video). It's something he and Rachel have done together as they learn and grow and live their lives together, him deconstructing from the patriarchy and her deconstructing from her fundamentalist christian upbringing (which is basically just The Patriarchy, but More, and +God.) And they've done this because they came to realize their upbringing was wrong, and they didn't want to raise their sons to be saddled with the same baggage that they both grew up with that made their lives worse.

So yeah, I forgot where I was going with this anymore since finding the one video took so long. The majority of men are resistant to changing their mind and it's because they were raised to be unemotional and not care about others but, sometimes, if maybe you've been friends with someone a while and take the time to explain something in a way they understand, you can change someone's mind. Story time:

I was a mod for a streamer for about a month and a half roundabouts January to February of this year (I ended up leaving because trying to get a bunch of randos to behave was stressful - esp since the streamer's rules weren't clear - and I ended up not really liking the streamer as a person). One person in the discord said that they hated the phrase "It's not my job to educate you" because it was condescending. I defended it as people being tired of having to explain shit to people just because they're black or trans or a woman but a bunch of people latched on and started saying anti-left things, which was weird because the streamer and his discord were supposed to be leftist (it's part of why I left, he was just weirdly antagonistic towards leftist ideals despite calling himself a leftist and he was attracting some *ahem* weird types). Anyway, a day goes by and a trans person comes in and says something like "I don't think I should have to explain my existence to random people on the street just because I decided to go outside," and a bunch of people descended on them, telling them they were wrong, and I'm pretty sure they ended up leaving the server.

[Like, the original group-agreed-upon argument came down to "I shouldn't have to google things or look up books to read or do my own work to discover anything new about the world, I should be able to demand of a random person's time and energy, even though I'm not giving off the vibe of someone who is actually ready to listen" and when I pointed out that people know when someone is and is not ready to listen, the streamer himself asked me how I knew and I was like like "do you think that I, a woman in her 30s, is somehow incapable of being able to discern intent?" Most women and queer folk KNOW who's a bad actor before they open their mouth, the idea that any of us wouldn't was just wildly ignorant.]

I complained to my friend (who I had met in the server) that the streamer was wrong and everyone's reaction was bullshit and, at first, he agreed with the position that a trans person should be prepared to debate people on their own rights if they deign to step outside their home. I countered with "You know, [streamer] doesn't it get it because he's a straight white man. He's the default. Other straight white men already know what it's like to be a straight white man so they have no questions for him. But to be trans or otherwise queer or a woman or any other person outside of a white man, is to have people question whether you have a right to be where you are. Trans women I've known have told me that they've had complete randos ask them if they've had bottom surgery and just-- how is that their business? People act so invasive towards non-straight non-white non-men in a way that no one does towards straight white men that they literally just can't understand what it's like to have your existence questioned just because you went outside. Asking a stranger if they've had bottom surgery is LITERALLY sexual harassment, and no one would ever walk up to someone like [streamer] and ask him like, "How big is your dick?" or something of a similar nature because that's just insane behavior, but when it's a trans person or a woman, it's suddenly okay? Like why do you think that is?" And my comparison to how white men are treated vs everyone else, and my stance that asking a stranger if they've had bottom surgery is sexual harassment (it is, no one needs to know about your genitalia) got through to him and he agreed with me. Awhile later I even heard him saying something similar to someone else about a situation that was similar and taking up the stance that I had given him.

So like... yeah, I probably wouldn't do that for a random man on the internet who is determined to hate me, but I can do it for a friend who I know might be receptive to what I have to say to him, and help steer him away from opinions that could end up dragging him down the wrong path.

As this post's OP said: "it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it!"

It's up to you if you want to try effecting the people around you, but if they've dug in their heels that much then it's okay if you want to leave and not speak to them again. Just know that, it's only so hard for you because they were brainwashed since birth to think the way they think and that's REALLY hard to undo. And that's not a pass, that's just the reason why this is so fucking hard for the rest of us (when they're adults and harder to reason with because they're so invested) and also, the reason why mothers of sons need to maybe rethink how they're raising them. Like, don't raise them with "boy colors" and "girl colors" raise them with "colors." Dance isn't something a girl does, it's something a body does. Women don't cook because cooking is a woman's thing, people cook because they want to eat. And... I'll be honest, I've known a few women who are just so mean to their husbands in a "why can't you be a real man?" way, and I just DON'T see how that makes him want to be a better person, but then again, those woman probably need as much deprogramming as their husbands do since they just keep reinforcing something that (she may not even be aware) is hurting them both.

So yeah, sorry if this was a bit rambling, but seeing people fight back and forth for the past week and seeing people take up some really... Mad Max-ian, like, ultra-anarcho-capitalist positions of "we shouldn't help any man at all, fuck em!" was really weird when it was being said by people who purport themselves as being feminists when feminist ethics is supposed to be more compassionate. There were just a handful of reactions I saw that seemed very "pull yourself up out of the patriarchy by your bootstraps" but like... what if their boots don't have bootstraps? What if they don't even have shoes on? What if they don't even know they could have shoes?

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

[thecoiledserpent]

↻ ROMANTIC PARTNERS' APPEARANCE FROM YOUR CHART

basics of vedic astrology. ask box. masterlist.

while there exist many peculiarities and details that may be considered for analysing one's partner, i will be sticking to a certain method here to avoid overcomplicating things. note that i consider more factors when we talk about spouse explicitly, but consider this to be representative of both spouse and other partners.

for those seeking a female partner- check your venus

for those seeking a male partner- check your mars

i use this as a general rule but i haven't had the chance to check this for lesbians / gay / trans people etc so i would recommend following the same rule, unless you have a solid reason not to.

note that for skin colours, undertones and shades, general heights etc, always consider what is considered the norm in your family or bloodline. like for most english people, white skin tone is the norm so when we say 'light skinned', we mean a milky, snow like complexion. when we say 'dark skinned', we mean a tanned complexion. don't go by country, go by what is the norm in your own family or a certain race / nationality that your partner could be most likely from.

MARS / VENUS THROUGH THE SIGNS

MARS / VENUS IN ARIES — the partner's skin is light, and sensitive to strong sunlight. their skin would easily develop a reddish tint in sunlight, and they would have a strong skull with scars present on their upper body. they would be average in height, and walk in long strides. they could have small ears, or small hands. they would be sensitive to the partner's emotional needs and try to cater to it, but are naturally inclined to stubbornness and anger.

MARS / VENUS IN TAURUS — the partner's skin is an earthly, warm shade of brown. it seems to resemble earthly tones and has a fresh touch to it. their face is square in shape, and symmetric; their face is aesthetically pleasing in terms of symmetry and overall body composition. everything appears to be in proportion, and their height may be from short to medium. they could have a love for food and be attracted to luxurious resting places. they would be stubborn, and it would be difficult to convince them. they don't change themselves for others.

MARS / VENUS IN GEMINI — the partner's skin appears to be sun-kissed, as though they are standing in the sun at all times. due to this they may appear to 'wilt' in extremely modernised or rigid surroundings; it doesn't sit with their composition. tanned, naturally warm skin with a tendency towards walking or talking quick. they would be medium to averagely tall in height. they could have a protruding face. they would be extremely unstable in terms of decision making and go from being the wisest saint to the most stubborn person you have ever seen. they are also professional yappers.

MARS / VENUS IN CANCER — the partner's skin would be fair, and their face structure would resemble the moon. either in shape or in marks; beautifully marked. they could have acne, or freckles. they would be short in height and have a disposition towards shyness. they could either be mentally weak or extremely strong, no middle point. they could even be manipulative at times. they would dislike rigidity is structure and would be adjusting in nature themselves to ensure others feel at home. marital bliss can be restricted for female partner seeking natives.

MARS / VENUS IN LEO — their skin could have a glowing look. note the minor difference between gemini and leo, gemini appears to be shining under the sun so artificial environments filled with white lights takes away their shine. leo, on the other hand, is the shine itself so it shines even under scrutiny and artificiality. nothing stops them, and nothing tops them. stubborn people and unwilling to change their ways, even at others' expense. they are medium in height and enjoy bed pleasures. they adore being adored, and are in love with loving.

MARS / VENUS IN VIRGO —— they have warm and naturally soft skin, slightly tanned and on the brownish side. they are usually on the taller side and the female partner is usually rather finicky. they could be extremely detail oriented and unwilling to change their decisions. however they are emotionally perceptive, so if you give them enough reasons, they might adjust with you. they are rather complex with emotions too, and can have a tendency to unintentionally hurt others with their critical nature which stems from their self hurt and extends outwardly.

MARS / VENUS IN LIBRA — the partner's skin tone is dark, but it has a burnt shade to it. like imagine those warm brown shades that make you feel all fuzzy inside. they are quite tall in height and have a certain striking beauty mark or distinct feature about them. perhaps a beauty mark placed perfectly, or symmetric lips, a well tipped and high rise nose, beautiful hands etc. it usually does not influence the hair, eyes, ears and bust. most men having this placement have wives with an hourglass proportion or wider hips. they would have an agreeable personality and be of sacrificing nature for the general good.

MARS / VENUS IN SCORPIO — the partner's skin tone is light, but with a muddy undertone to it. they have an average height and strong shoulders. some sort of scar or mark on the body is present, which may include stretch marks or growth marks as well. they could be unwilling to give up and be extremely stubborn. but don't push them too much, or else they might end up emotionally isolating themselves. they would be lean, and problematic around elders at times.

MARS / VENUS IN SAGITTARIUS — the partner's skin tone is light too, but with deep brown undertones. they could have oily skin, and facial hair in case of a male partner. they are tall in height, and are of dual nature. they keep diverting their opinion about whether or not they wish to change; switching as they will between liberal in the relationship and bring preachy about how the partner should be. they would, regardless, have a certain glow that self assurance and knowledge brings in a person. this is a good placement to have.

MARS / VENUS IN CAPRICORN— the partner's skin tone is muddy brown, and may appear to be blemished in a quiet way. like er, think about skin that has those small dot things which aren't really acne, but not really negligible either. they are on the taller side, and may have hooded eyes with bags under them, the skin there might be bluish or veins might show, but they are quite good looking regardless. seriously overworked, or may have sleeping issues. they are adjusting and caring by nature, but they could be lazy and sullen.

MARS / VENUS IN AQUARIUS — the partner has muddy brownish red skin which accumulates dust quickly. they are quite tall, and of an eccentric style. this is not limited to funky colours; anything that goes against norm and gives them the excitement to be rebellious. like kawaii, punk or goth styles, glitter makeups, or just anything that isn't common in their culture. like in conserved societies like india, even wearing revealing dresses is rebellious. but in more open societies, well it takes more than a revealing dress for a scandal. so apply that as you will. again, the partner will be rigid in their ways and may not see the problem with their approach to life.

MARS / VENUS IN PISCES — the partner's skin tone is fair in the upper portion of the body and grows darker as you move downwards. they have well formed feet, and with strong legs. they appear short when they put on weight and tall when they lose it. their face is narrow at the start and beautifully formed. they are of dual nature and indecisive, often not able to decide how they are supposed to approach matters that inconvenience them but are uncomfortable to speak of.

MARS / VENUS RECEIVING ASPECTS FROM PLANETS

SUN— they could have gallbladder disease. the influence of sun makes them such that they draw others' attention, but it is dependent on their own nature whether or not they are able to retain it. they could have beautiful round eyes that easily entrance others.

MOON— they would be fond of travelling. they could be night owls, due to which they may have eyebags. they could have clear skin, or a pleasant face.

MARS (for venus only) — they could have strong, well built arms and shoulders. they could be built like a bull, or be physically active. this aspect can also lead to fights.

MERCURY— they could have foxy features like a tipped nose, small ears, quickly moving eyes etc.

VENUS— they could have symmetric facial features and have a conventionally attractive physique. people would be easily attracted to them.

JUPITER— they could have a fleshy waist or even a potbelly, not that it's a bad thing. they could have thin hair, or poor hair quality. they could neglect their physical appearance at times.

SATURN— they could have a bluish tinge under the eyes and appear exhausted most of the times. they could be extremely beautiful too, or just be sullen and lazy. that is, if saturn lets you marry at all.

KETU— they could have some sort of beauty cut. like around the eyebrows, or lips etc. it could be natural, or even done by themselves for aesthetic value.

RAHU— they could have moles or beauty marks. they could have seductive or sultry eyes and be of calm disposition, which is mostly a façade.

ॐ नमो भगवते वासुदेवाय नमः

[http-shield]

honey, you're familiar- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: lil angst, establlished relationship, seperation, post cw (not endgame canon cause fuck endgame) bestie steve, me being sad cause I kinda fell out of the avengers fandom and coming back kinda felt like coming home and this is me pretending I'm coming back to bucky, no use of y/n, honey is a replacement for y/n ~ wc: 2.k ~ not proofread

"Honey?" your name is sweetness on a tongue you once knew. 

Long ago, perhaps too long, a distant memory you thought you had left behind, yet here you are, those two syllables falling from his mouth as if no time had passed. 

You turn slowly, your head already spinning at the surprise. He is behind you. You know he is because who else croons your name like that, has that flirty lilt in his words, and you can hear the smirk without even looking at him? You know his voice, know his presence, know him. 

"Bucky?" with closed eyes, you turn, afraid that maybe this isn't happening and that you would be faced with a coworker or friend, that you had imagined the entire thing, the very real love of your life is not behind you. Maybe this is a dream?

You want to open your eyes, to have the truth revealed to you, but you can't. The fear of reality holds you in an ice-cold grip, spindly frozen fingers holding your eyes shut. The familiar scent of leather and bergamot engulfs you before you feel the warmth of his body, the heat thawing fear's vice grip on your body. 

"James, is that you?" His use of his government name makes him chuckle as he steps closer, hands reaching out to grab yours. Cold metal slips against your fingers just as naturally as his hand of flesh and bone.

A whimper leaves you. 

"Sweetheart, you need to open your eyes to see if it's me." Warm fingers brush over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ears as he cups your cheek. 

"If I open my eyes, you promise you'll still be there?" there is no hiding the desperation in your voice. 

Bucky chuckles again, his fingers winding with yours in a silent oath.  "I promise." 

You inhale, deep and fulfilling and open your eyes. 

Before you stands the man you have not seen in five years.

The last time you had been near Bucky was at the airport, surrounded by suitcases that contained nearly every earthly possession of yours; your fingers gripped the boarding pass that you desperately did not want to use but had to. It was necessary to create space between your hearts, too afraid of being bonded by trauma and circumstance. There had been too much guilt surrounding you both regarding the other. There was too much self-sabotage in a relationship that involved nothing more than two hearts desperately beating for one another. No titles or official labels were given to your union, so it was easier to let go, to wedge that gap of a few thousand miles between your bodies, to create distance and hopefully smother whatever had been blazing. You couldn't take advantage of him, his mind too raw from being brought back a final time, thawed out into a life of permanent peace, so what gave you the right to swoop in and demand his attention, his heart? 

However, Bucky thought of you the same. Why should you give up your entire life for a war criminal? A weapon no more than the blood on his hands? It wasn't fair, and the distance, the break was the right move, so why was it so hard to say goodbye? 

Bucky hadn't let go of your hand since you left your shared apartment earlier this morning. His right hand in yours, squeezing tightly as if he could commit the lines of your palm to memory. Throughout the ride with Steve, as you walked through the large airport, customs, baggage check, and security, he was holding you, but it's not as if you wanted him to let go. You never acted upon pulling your hand from his, never wanted to be more than two feet from him. 

"Can you ask me to stay?" you whispered tearfully as your boarding call was announced over the PA. 

Bucky turned to you, jaw clenched to hold back his tears as he brought your entwined hands to his mouth. A ghost of a kiss pressed to your knuckles as he whispered back. "Can you ask me to go with you?" 

A tear-filled giggle filled the space between you but disappeared as another call for boarding was announced. 

You stood, hands still together, and turned to gather your carry-on. Silence filled your little bubble, awkward and tense, as you both calculated once again if this was right. Your heart was making so much noise that it was hard to hear rational thoughts, and the urge to rip up the ticket and fall into the arms of your love had your fingers twitching. As if Bucky could read your thoughts, he slipped the small piece of paper from your fingers and tucked it between the pages of the journal Steve had gifted you just moments before as a parting gift. 

"You're not allowed to come back until you fill every page," Steve instructed while handing over the small green book. Its cover, with gold fairies etched into it, was the deciding factor for Steve in choosing the appropriate gift for you. 

"And if I fill it up in a week?" you asked, tears already pricking at your eyes. 

"Then I guess we'll be here to get you in a week." You didn't miss the small sniff from Steve as he offered you a soft smile before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Thank you for everything you've done. I'm gonna miss you, kid." 

You hugged him tightly, heart aching at the thought of leaving your friend. You weren't just leaving Bucky; you were leaving your whole life. Years of memories left in a city that would no longer be your home. Steve pulled back, tears glistening in his blue eyes, but he wiped them before any could fall, squaring his shoulders like you had seen him do a million times before a mission or press conference. It was a habit you had picked up on, following in his footsteps since day one, and now it was a part of you, an instinctive quirk that you couldn’t seem to shake. Maybe you'll find new traits in your new life, find new friends, and steal mannerisms, and when you get home, you'll be an entirely new person. 

"I'm gonna go back. There was a book I wanna get another look at." Steve smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. A squeeze to your shoulder was his final goodbye.  

Metal fingers brushed against yours, twining together as he pulled you closer.

"If I miss home, will you be here to pick me up?" you asked, suddenly fearful of being forgotten by someone you never wanted to forget. 

"I'll get on a plane and come and get you," Bucky assured,  gliding soft fingers over your cheeks. 

Your skin burned, suddenly very thankful for the coolness of his vibranium arm against your blazing face. You tried so hard to keep the tears at bay, distracting yourself at every point where you felt the lump in your throat and the burn in your eyes, but there was no distraction now. There was nothing but you and him, and the weight of reality crashed down upon you. 

"Stay with me." Bucky begged in a whisper. 

Your heart lurched. 

"Come with me." 

Tears began to line his eyes, falling despite his best efforts, and a fresh wave of guilt pummelled you. 

"Buck," you started, your voice cracking, but you had to say it. It was now or never; you needed him to know to get it off your chest before everything changed. "James Buchanan Barnes," you attempted again, your voice still breaking, but you continued, knowing there was going to be no stop to the tears. 

"I love yo-"you started, heartbreaking with each syllable.

Bucky shook his head, well and truly on the way to sobbing, as he exhaled a shuddering breath. "Please don't say that. Don't say it because I won't stop thinking about you, and I need you to go out and live your life." 

You grip his shirt tighter. 

"Please, I can't just let you go if you say that. Please, darlin', " Bucky whispered, his bottom lip quivering as he hopelessly tried to stop the tears. 

His name was a soft sigh as you broke down. The sobs couldn't be stopped, your breathing ragged as you cried fat, heavy tears that had your chest aching. Bucky let go of your face to wrap his arms around you, holding you close and tight to shield you from the world around you. He whispered words of comfort into your neck, voice shaky and breathing just as uneasy as he desperately tried to console you while he broke just as hard. 

"I love you so much. Fuck, I love you." he grits out, fingers digging into your sides.

A huffed laugh escaped you. "How come you're allowed to say it, but I'm not?" 

You pulled back to grip his face, stubble rough under your palms. 

"Because I'm old." was his only retort before leaning in to kiss you. 

His mouth moved soft against yours, savouring the feel of your mouth on his, but as you sniffed, trying to stop the tears that still fell, his turned into something more. Years of unwritten memories and unlived lives were seared into your lips. Moments that either of you never thought would happen are kissed into the other: Christmas mornings, birthdays, and anniversaries. An entire future the two of you had envisioned for yourself was no longer attainable, and as far as either of you knew, this would be the last kiss that would be shared. There was no need for anything else apart from one another; if you were to die from lack of oxygen right then, your entire body breaking down under the sheer force of the love you felt for him, you would die a happy death. Never had to know anything but his touch, his kiss, his love, but that wasn't going to happen. 

Your final boarding call boomed through the speakers, breaking your perfect bubble. You pulled back, panting from both the kiss and the tears, Bucky just as breathless.

"I love you, Bucky Barnes." you whispered, thumbs collecting the tears marring his cheeks. You promised you would never forget the feeling of his face in your hands; even if you lived for a thousand years, you would remember how it felt. 

And you never did.

"Hi, sweetheart." Bucky grins as your tears begin to fall. 

You launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as you crush your body against his, clinging to the man who had been your home for so many years. Strong hands grab your waist before his arms snake around you, squeezing you tightly. The smell of leather and pine and something so distinctly Bucky curls around you, wrapping its fingers around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs until there is only the scent of Bucky. A sob claws its way out of your chest, the cries following it primal and broken. The years apart had done nothing to dull the heartache for him, had done nothing to ease the pain in your soul at the very sight of him, and now that he is here again, in your arms, you never want him to let go. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling in the tresses and anchoring yourself to him. The way tree roots dig into the dirt, securing their position in the earth no matter the wind or rain, that is how you are going to secure yourself to the man in your arms; you are not letting him get away again, not after everything you had just gone through. 

"I missed you so much." you sob into his chest.

Bucky's chest rumbles as he chuckles. "Fuck, you have no idea." 

You take a second to pull away, turning your face towards his and lean into the kiss. His mouth slots against yours as if no time has passed. Your lips part under his, the taste of salt and mint mix on your tongue. Bucky's hands cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking over tear-slick skin, and you feel him smile into the kiss. 

"What?" you whisper, words muffled by his mouth. 

Bucky doesn't want to stop kissing you, unable to pull his lip from yours as he replies into the kiss. "You taste the same."  

[saltnsugarbear]

hey....its freakbob...

carmy's head lying over the edge of the bed, moaning around lip's cock as you ride him. lip likes pressing in deep, feeling carmen choke on him as he leans in to kiss you EVERYBODY CLAPPED!!!

or perhaps you and carmy in a 69 position, but instead lip is plowing into you from the back while carmen cranes his neck, alternating sucking your clit and lip's balls...or you and carmy making out with lip's cock between your lips WH000.00 SAID THAT???? ARREST THEM!!!!!

sigh

i fucking love you, by the way

word count: 1.2k whoopsies

content warnings: MDNI!! afab reader genitalia, vaginal penetration, oral (m receiving), cowpoke position, grinding,

To your surprise, Lip is the one that needs more convincing. Not that you are entirely surprised, but Carmy was more agreeable to the idea than you thought he would be.

You and Lip met Carmy through Richie.

Richie had made a scene when he first met Lip about him being Carmy. It was one of those bizarre moments you only saw online with celebrities that you could swear were the same person. Like Natalie Portman and Kiera Knightley, where they look so similar, you convince yourself they could be related.

Thankfully, the Gallagher and Berzatto family lines don't overlap at all. The three of you had been incredibly thorough in your search to ensure there were no relations. It took two outside opinions to convince Lip and four to convince Carmy. The original three look overs were enough for you, but the boys weren't as trusting as you were.

You knew Richie through Tiff, who you knew from high school. Tiffany had never mentioned Carmy when she met Lip the few times she had, and maybe she didn't think it was noteworthy. Maybe she didn't see it or didn't want to talk about her ex's family.

Nevertheless, Carmy was possibly the best introduction to your and Lip's lives.

The sharing took some getting used to for the both of them, surprising given neither one of them was an only child. But everyone has a learning curve.

At first, it was just petty bickering and possessive movements. Eventually, it all culminated into a snap of tension that was incredibly aggressive. What had originally started as a first fight somehow ended with you between both of them, hot mouths biting and kissing at your skin.

That was one of the few times you got to share a bed with them in that context. Which... Was fine. But you wanted more.

Not to say you didn't like when one of them would watch, either waiting for his turn or getting off by himself. But you wanted them to enjoy each other too. It didn't seem fair that only you got to enjoy both of them in a one-way transaction of all the affection.

You had noticed the more obvious lingering looks Carmy gave Lip after giving you a kiss goodbye or when Lip kissed your forehead when he said hello. Lip was a bit better at hiding his yearning, keeping lingering looks and touches to sporadic moments, always hiding it when no one's watching.

Maybe you shouldn't have been surprised Carmy agreed so easily....

Carmy was not only eager to please you, but to please Lip as well. You saw how he flourished under Lip's praise, preening for it whenever he could. Almost asking for it whenever he did something he thought Lip would like.

So, being used as a personal fleshlight seemed like the obvious thing for him to agree to. That and the fact you would be riding him, so he had some form of gratification.

Lip was a little more hesitant to the idea. He blew you off before coming back later and asking questions. Once you clearly explained and helped him figure out what he would be comfortable with, Lip agreed happily.

Which is how you ended up sitting on Carmy's lap, grinding like two teenagers in the middle of the bed. Lip waited by the doorway, watching you rub your bare cunt over the bulge of Carmy's boxer briefs. The stain of both your arousal is dark in the middle of the fabric. The moans and whines being made by both of you are being traded in your mouths like smoke.

When you reach down to the waistband of Carmy's underwear, Lip removes his own boxers. Carmy helps you shuffle his boxers down his thighs so his cock can fall back against his stomach. Settling yourself against his hips, letting him rest against you as you coax him to lie back.

Carmy is quick to listen, laying down until his head falls back against the edge of the bed. You can't help but watch as Lip walks to Carmy's side, bringing his hand to cradle his face. Carmy needs no prompting when Lip brushes his thumb over his lips and takes Lip's thumb into his mouth.

With Carmy distracted, you slip your hand around his length and lift your hips up before slowly sinking down. Carmy groans around Lip's thumb once you're fully seated on his cock, bucking up a little into you.

"Alright, bear.." Lip whispers, slipping his thumb out of his mouth. Carmy is eager to listen, opening his mouth wide as Lip positions himself in front of his mouth.

The sight of Lip slowly thrusting into Carmy's mouth makes you clench around Carmy. This results in a chain of Carmy groaning around Lip's length, his throat contracting around him and making Lip swear under his breath. One of Carmy's legs comes up, jostling you on his lap, so you have to rest your hands flat against his chest for support. The new angle is deep and has your clit drag delightfully against his happy trail.

The star of your show is watching Lip pull back out before thrusting in, watching the imprint in his throat each time. You almost forget your role in this agreement until Carmy is grabbing for your waist. At first, you think it's his way of telling you it's too much, but the three taps never come. Instead, he weakly lifts you up before sitting you back down.

When you don't get the hint the first time, you hear Carmy huff before lifting his other leg, planting his feet on the mattress so he can thrust up into you. Whatever noises you could have made are swallowed by Lip as he kisses you roughly, snapping his hips into Carmy's mouth.

The room is filled with the sound of whining and skin against skin. Carmy sneaks his hand between both of you, rubbing gently at your clit. You can tell Carmy is near his own end, the way his thrusting has become more sporadic, his length twitching inside of you.

You're panting heavily against Lip's mouth when you feel Carmy come inside you. With a few more tight circles of his thumb, you feel the tension in your stomach snap, walls clenching tightly around Carmy. With both of you satisfied, Lip wastes no time chasing his own release, bringing his hands to hold Carmy's head still as he thrusts into his mouth. Carmy's whining and groaning are audible even around Lip, making him grunt softly until he stills. You watch, catching your breath, as Lip grinds softly into Carmy's mouth before pulling out.

Carmy inhales sharply, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. Lip is just as disheveled, breathing heavily as he sits down on the edge of the bed, turning to kiss you quickly before settling back down.

What Carmy does next shocks you.

With Lip sitting on the edge of the bed, he's easier for Carmy to reach. His movements are jarring as he sits up and reaches for Lip's cheek. Carmy is quick to bring his mouth to Lip's, licking into his mouth. Lip grunts out of surprise before he groans at the taste on Carmy's tongue, quickly taking over the kiss. You watch, mouth agape, as Lip licks at Carmy's mouth as if he can't get enough.

It feels like they go on for hours before Carmy pulls away to catch his breath. Carmy looks dazed as he pants softly, turning back to look at you instead of Lip.

Lip pants heavily before he turns to face you with a cocky grin.

"You were right.. Was great.."

[white--moon]

"Oh, you were bein' a smartass?" There's a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone while he rolls his eyes. But it's good to hear that Ichigo is still thinking of his sisters in this. Ever the protector. Has to make sure his sisters are alright, had to interrupt his own life to make sure Shiro gets through this treat.

He smirks slightly about that. "What would it be about? What it's like runnin' around the streets doin' everyone else's dirty work?" He scoffs, but it's good natured. "Whatever, I'm not that hard to figure out. How to understand a back alley drug dealer for dummies." He laughs, amusing himself.

Aiming a look at Ichigo, he arches a brow and disagrees. "I always need a bunch a' guys saying yes to me. Preferably hot ones." Not that he's sleeping with his staff. He tried that exactly twice. The first time was disastrously annoying and it was not a fluke.

It is a fair question, and he wants to argue that, but Ichigo keeps going to answer the question anyway. "I wasn't asking what you think, I was asking exactly what I asked." But he got Ichigo's option anyway and it doesn't surprise him. He notes that Ichigo didn't actually say yes or no to wanting him there, though. He's talking around the answer the same way Shiro did about the shirt. "I already plan on laying low for a while. As much as I can, at least. I think I'll stay in the penthouse for a while. It's a lot safer than the mansion but it'll seem less like hiding." And he can higher some muscle to keep around easy enough, like Ichigo's suggesting, he's stubborn about it. He has always been his own muscle. He's never needed security or guards, but this is getting bigger than he can handle on his own. It's getting bigger than he thinks he warrants, but he has made himself notoriously hard to get rid of.

He doesn't know how to feel about Ichigo trying to keep him and his maybe-boyfriend situation intact. It's good of him, it's the morally right thing to do. The only real problem with it Shiro has is that it's just further proof that he and Ichigo have no chance of being together again. "I'll figure things out with him, you don't need to worry about it." Or he wont. Maybe he'll sabotage his own building relationship and blame it on all the chaos of attempted assassination. His features even out. "All my habits?" This better not turn into a lecture. "He thinks I indulge a little too much sometimes, but otherwise he tolerates it. I doubt he expected anything less from a dealer. Most people don't know I was ever clean, only you. It was always weird for me not to use the product I was sellin'."

He slides into the driver seat and starts the car, then looks over at Ichigo and snorts. "You mean boring?" He shrugs. "I needed something with more cargo space that didn't stand out so much. It's easier to clean, too. Less work for my cleaner."

He's expecting Ichigo to turn this into a You're Not Going To Die conversation, but instead it circles into maybe Ichigo dying instead. It drops a stone into his guts. Maybe he shouldn't be allowing Ichigo to get himself involved. Maybe he should be trying harder to push Ichigo away, so he stays out of it, out of harm. On the other side of things; Ichigo's very profession puts him in danger and if Shiro's not selfishly taking up his time now he might not get to later if Ichigo gets himself killed. "You better not." He doesn't even know what he'd do, but it wouldn't be good.

He snorts at the mild offense Ichigo takes at his description of Ichigo's day job. "No, you're right, that is pretty cool. You gonna write a book, then? So in three hundred years some stranger you can't comprehend right now can perceive you? Maybe I need to write a book." He's not going to write a book. That's way too much sitting still for his brain to tolerate. His brows go up a little bit. "Yes I have been and I have no regrets and no intentions of stopping now."

The fact Ichigo wants to go shopping with him at all is a little surprising, but not because he seriously thinks Ichigo judges his fashion sense. Just more the spending time together thing. It's been startling easy to fall into a comfortable companionship again. And sure, they're side stepping and ignoring some really big things, but the company is still easy. "I knew that. You're just being a shit." He's not great at tolerating that.

His attention corners when he feels like Ichigo's looking at him. He shrugs a noncommittal shoulder. "I get it. This isn't the best place to be right now anyway." It's too hard to defend, too hard to properly monitor and barricade. He's not dumb. "Do you actually want me going on that job?" He made a bit of a fuss about it, but he doesn't need invited out of pity. He can entertain himself. He's just scared that if they part now, it'll be the last time they see each other. He shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't. Why do you seem like you're trying to push for that? I would'a said that's what I wanted if that's what I wanted. I have no trouble speakin' my mind."

For a second, while he watches Ichigo look over his car, he wonders what they'll do if it's rigged. Call in Ichigo's team, he supposes. But Ichigo slides out from under the SUV and gives him the go ahead. He turns to a lockbox on the wall and punches in a code, then pulls the keys off a hook and closes the box again. He uses the remove to unlock it as he walks toward the vehicle.

[aaksuitac]

[04:24 am] science? yours only.

wc: 2.3k

a/n: [fluff viktor brainrot thanks to @dilemmars. t dije q me vengaría baby, así q zas, un payback por tus podcasts jdjfjjsd. hope u like cause its ur fault]

he’s humming something you don’t quite understand, a distant tune that sounds familiar —probably you’ve heard him sing it before—, and even if you don’t recognize the melody aside from that, you can’t help but appreciate it.

his hands fidget with whatever he can reach as he sighs once more, as if he was stealing breaths from the world, heavy, almost as lidded as his eyelids. his hair falls on his eyes and in between his slender fingers while he curls the untamed strands, and you fall into an endless pit of staring at him as he scribbles, grunts, sighs, and finally pinches the bridge of his nose.

“statistically speaking, i’m starting to feel like the chances of me getting this right are adversatively proportional to the chances of you accidentally swallowing a fly.”

and you just blink, once, then twice.

he stares at you, gives you a pointed look. he can’t really say if you understood that you were just staring at him with your mouth parted, but you squint at him, snickering.

“what,” his low voice fails to ask, unbothered, knowing that you’ll answer regardless.

and you do, answering. “you haven’t even uttered a word in a while. i was just surprised that you could still talk, is all,” you grin cheekily, playing with a screw on the table as you turn left and right on the chair you’re sitting on.

viktor looks at you, and he can’t help but crack a smile. point for you.

“what you laughing for, mhh, mister science?”

“isn’t it enough to bother me from the moment i get inside the lab in the morning that you need to do it at night too?” he pretends seriousness, side-eyeing you teasingly.

“fair enough. i will consider your offer, man of fleeting memory, and take it upon myself to bother you longer.”

his mean stare wouldn’t even make a kitten mewl, but you take you hand to your heart, pretending to be wounded.

“don’t look at me like that! you’ll hurt my feewings,” you pouted, much to his amusement.

“fleeting memory?” he scoffs, accent rolling off his tongue. “when’s the last time you lost a hairtie, mmh?” he mocks.

“unfair!” you can’t help but giggle as you pretend to hide your hair from his view. point for him. “besides. i take better care of my hair than you do of yours.” you pouted smuggly. “mine looks prettier.”

“what?” he finally asks, letting out a chuckle this time as his eyes land on you for the first time in the good part of an hour.

you play with your hair to style it, and funnily pose, hands on your cheeks as you lay your elbows on the table.

“what, don’t I look pretty?” you smiled, letting out a cheeky giggle.

yes. he doesn’t say it, but his eyes haven’t dodged back to his papers just yet. it’s another point for you. so very pretty.

he doesn’t dare. he knows it. his mind, or at least the small portion of his mind that still ties him with the occasional reminder that he’s human, looks at you and wants you in a way that he’s never wanted before.

so viktor resolves in looking at you. maybe only for a moment, maybe only on those fragments of time when he’s tired enough that he looks at the stars and at the moon, yearning to reach them, only to think he’ll miss the moonlight, finally blinking to the realization that he had been staring into your eyes for too long.

his eyes are dull as he stares at you, and your expression of worry at the fact makes his heart skip a beat. “viktor?” you mumble, softly, sleepily, warily. he can’t stop staring at you, and while he supposes success and defeat can look the same in a mirror —therefore, he doesn’t really blame your confusion—, he finds no words to explain which one he’s feeling as you move your chair towards him by a push against the floor, solely accompanied by the sound of the little wheels rolling to him.

he grabs his walking stick and turns it around, pretending to poke at your chair, as if to teasingly shove it away. if you realize that he settles the walking stick just in the correct place so that your stool can’t move back, he doesn’t know. viktor just stares at the floor, to pretend that maybe the way your eyes turn tender when his reflection shines on them has nothing to do with what you’re about to say.

tsk, tsk. clueless viktor.

he’s expecting it, yes, but even with that on mind, he can’t phathom how your course of action chooses laughing as you fidget with the loose button on his vest, the second one from the top down. viktor purposely forces himself to stable his breathing, worry seeping into him, thinking that maybe you could feel his heartbeat grow faster beneath the layers of clothing.

and he feels like the remnants of a cheap ring that stain a finger blue, when comparing himself as he stands —sits— close and next to you. maybe its because you usually wear rings, and he can feel the ghost of them as your hand trails up and absentmindedly fixes his collar.

he can almost see it. your mind working, the pieces falling into place, the—

“either my eyes are deceiving me or yours have been on my lips for a rather long time.”

and he can just. blink. as if that could break how mesmerized he feels, how his heart swells up and covers his throat, how inexplicably he feels when you’re with him, near and alone. the need to know more. the need to use every trinket and screw to map out your body for him to explore, and to map out the wonders of your mind for the world to admire and maybe then find out the reason of his inability to look away.

he was so focused before. used to be.

he is. now, at you. of you. on you.

you.

another point for you. he isn’t keeping count, but something tells him he’s losing.

and as his gaze falls back to your lips in between a battle against your eyes, lost in which to stare and sink into their devotion, he hesitates again.

he thinks its funny. so funny, viktor holds back the dry chuckle that threatens to go past his lips. how to cherish you in a way that matters. how to love, the scientist wonders. is there a way that would allow him to unveil and unravel himself to you? could there be some kind of language, able to express the depth of his insides, that you, too, could understand?

what is love, anyways? is he in love with you because his coffee tastes better when it matches the dark of your pupils? because when he takes the mug from your hand and his fingers brush against yours, it seems warmer? because he notices how the dark shade in your eyes seems to mix with that of your irises, and the way the black eats the colour when you stare at him? because he claims to hate company while he studies alone, but one chair remains empty as he works, waiting for who it was meant for? because when he fails and surrenders himself to the fall, throws his walking stick against the wall, he yearns for your embrace and how your hair smells in the evenings?

is that love? and if it is, could you understand it?

if it is love, and he could say it, would such a short word convey its meaning, or was he speculating just a couple of paragraphs ago? was he assuming the meaning of what love entails?

even so. if he said it, would you repeat it? would you claim you love him because he loves you, claim to love him too? would you instead claim to love him despite everything, even the uncertainty of love itself?

…does he accept it himself?

he’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount of voices in his head. there’s too much chatter. too many questions he can’t answer, too many commas, too many question marks. too much, too much, too many.

so he silences them. makes the voices dim to a deep silence. and when his lips find themselves suddenly against yours, he finds out the true, effervescent meaning of quietness.

his hand fails to pull you closer because of the damn walking stick that gets in the way. or maybe its the chairs you’re both on that clash against each other. maybe its matter itself. for a while, its the first time viktor doesn’t want to know.

in a bold statement, he couldn’t give a fuck.

he’s kissing you.

and it should be bad because of all the unanswered questions. he’s skipping procedure. he’s gone from the fuck around to finding out and he doesn’t know where he is at this point.

what he does know, is that your hand pulls him by his necktie, and he’s gone. science? yours only. the science that he’d study all of the nights he may have left. the science behind what makes you. the science behind how your hand craddles his face while stroking his cheekbones. the science behind how you’re the closest you’ve ever been to him and somehow still not close enough. the science behind the reason why when you pull away makes his heart beat so loudly, as if it had forgotten how to a second ago.

your forehead rests against his. he shouldn’t have done that. he just… did it. maybe that was bad. was it? could it be? he had been waiting for so long too. he never thought he would…

“viktor, what are we?”

and he’s dead. he knows what the question implies, but he doesn’t want to answer. he could follow you like a lost puppy through piltover and zaun and hell knows where else. if he wasn’t dead now he would die right there and now without a second thought, because the feeling that overcame him was that love was suddenly a sentence or two away.

he knows he doesn’t dare. it’s one of the only thing he knows, one of the things he’s sure of.

but somehow, he moves. he stands up, takes the walking stick, and attempts to walk out the feeling that bounces inside him.

the walking stick always makes a noise when he walks, one with dificulties to interpret in terms of onomatopeia. not quite a thud, not deep enough to reach that quality. not a clack, for it is not entirely made of metal. still, as if it was a mix of both, he keeps walking.

viktor is nervous. thud-clack. he’s not moving far from his chair, nor is he going somewhere else. thud-clack. he still keeps pacing. thud-clack. maybe the answer is somewhere in the room. thud-clack. maybe he can reply.

thud-clack, thud-clack, thud-clack.

only does he then realize that he hasn’t answered your question. and a non-answer statement might as well be a rejection.

no. no, no, no. fuck.

he’s sitting again, but you stand up. your hair follows, long. moving and brushing against the skin of your shoulders in a way that he can’t help but claim it to be endearing.

you’re walking. you don’t make any kind of extra sound when you walk. your heels reverberate against the floor like any other, yet also they mark the beat of his heart.

he can’t reach for you. you walk too fast.

you stop when you feel the walking stick on your side. the part made for him to lean on as he walks hooks you, and you stand, not facing him.

he doesn’t use the walking stick as he stands. no, he keeps it hooked to your core, scared that you might leave. you could, he wouldn’t blame you. but he can’t allow it.

he holds it in the air as he takes one step. another step. you’re turning, surprised to see him standing, and you gasp when he lets himself fall on you.

your touch surrounds him. yes. that’s the closeness he needed. he drops the walking stick, his hands slithering on your body, pressing you against him, for no reason at all yet because it is all needs.

“what can we be?” he whispers. he takes the science approach. the viktor approach.

he isn’t too clueless after all.

he raises enough to look at your darkened, sleepy eyes. he wants to drown in them.

“if i wanted to kiss you everytime you hand me coffee, wanted you to sit on the same chair as ne and hug me from behind as I work, wanted you.” he swallows dry. “then, what can we be?”

he doesn’t want to say the words, and its petty.

it’s the 31st when the clock strickes five am and your hands travel through his hair to kiss him again. to unbalance him enough that he falls back on his chair and you follow him, sitting on his lap.

and as he kisses you, his hands worshipping the skin he can touch, the warmth he can feel through layers of clothing, he feels like maybe there’s a life worth living, so he can’t ask.

he’s heard boys and girls when he was young talk about it. “he didn’t want to celebrate our month-versary,” a girl cried as he played with his little boat, watching from afar as she was comforted by her friend.

it’s the 31st. and he can’t really ask the question now, because if he says it, how could you celebrate each month?

he moves the chair and holds you in his arms as your back falls against the table before him. maybe he can kiss you until next month. until the clock strikes and it’s the 1st.

he smiles as he kisses you, feeling you pull his necktie off. he thinks it’s the best idea he’s had in a while. and a true scientist always tries out their hypothesis.

~k.k. (☆) have fun!

aaksuitac, november 2024 ©

[bratzkoo]

merging arrangements | wonwoo pt. 3

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, smut Rating: NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: for my Anna, my beautiful nurse. No smut scene here but I'll keep the rating NC-17. I'm sorry for rushing the fic but I'm planning on taking a break for a while and want to queue up as many fics as i can so my blog will update even if i'm technically on hiatus.

summary: Jeon Wonwoo's been smitten with you for years, as the two of you enter an arranged marriage, he hopes you'll feel the same.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @childish-fear

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Seoul skyline glittered in the early evening light as Wonwoo stood at the window of his office, a tumbler of whiskey untouched in his hand. The past few weeks since returning from his honeymoon with Y/N had been a whirlwind of business meetings, family dinners, and stolen moments with his new wife. Yet despite the growing comfort between them, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Y/N seemed distracted lately, her smiles not quite reaching her eyes.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Come in," he called, turning to see Mingyu enter, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Hey," Mingyu said, fidgeting with his tie. "Got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you about."

Wonwoo nodded, gesturing to the plush leather chairs in the corner of his office. As they sat, he noticed the tension in his friend's shoulders, the way Mingyu's eyes darted around the room, avoiding direct contact.

"What's going on, Mingyu? You look like you're about to confess to a crime," Wonwoo joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Mingyu let out a strained laugh. "Not a crime, exactly, but... well, it's complicated." He took a deep breath, then blurted out, "I'm married. To Ela. We've been married for six months."

The words hung in the air between them. Wonwoo blinked, trying to process the information. "Married? To Dr. Ela? But... how? When?"

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Wonwoo recognized as a sign of his friend's agitation. "It happened fast. We've been dating for a while, and when her father started pressuring her to consider an arranged marriage with some businessman's son, we just... we couldn't bear the thought of being separated. So we eloped."

"Six months ago," Wonwoo repeated, his mind racing. "That was right before..."

"Right before your engagement to Y/N was announced," Mingyu finished. "I wanted to tell you, but with everything happening so fast with your marriage, and the merger... it never seemed like the right time."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, trying to reconcile this new information with what he thought he knew about his best friend. "Does anyone else know?"

Mingyu shook his head. "Just Y/N. Ela told her recently. We've been keeping it quiet because of Ela's family. Her father... he wouldn't approve of her marrying someone who isn't from old money."

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Wonwoo. Here he was, in an arranged marriage that was slowly evolving into something real, while his best friend had secretly married for love and was forced to hide it.

"Why tell me now?" Wonwoo asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

Mingyu's expression softened. "Because you're my best friend, Wonwoo. And because... well, I've seen how things are developing between you and Y/N. I thought maybe, if you knew about Ela and me, it might give you hope. That love can grow in unexpected places."

Wonwoo felt a warmth spread through his chest at Mingyu's words. Despite the shock of the revelation, he couldn't help but feel happy for his friend. "I'm glad you told me," he said softly. "And I'm happy for you, truly. But Mingyu, you can't keep living like this. Hiding your marriage, sneaking around... it's not fair to either of you."

Mingyu nodded, looking relieved to have finally shared his secret. "I know. We're working on a plan. Ela's making a name for herself at the hospital, building her own reputation separate from her family. Once she's more established, we're hoping her father might be more accepting."

As they continued to talk, Mingyu sharing stories of his secret romance and married life, Wonwoo found himself reflecting on his own relationship with Y/N. They had started as strangers, brought together by family obligations and business interests. But now, weeks into their marriage, he was beginning to see glimpses of something deeper, something that made his heart race and his palms sweat like a schoolboy with his first crush.

Later that evening, as Wonwoo made his way home, his mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Mingyu's revelation. He entered the apartment he shared with Y/N, calling out a greeting as he removed his shoes.

"In here," Y/N's voice came from the living room. Wonwoo followed the sound, finding her curled up on the couch with a medical journal. The sight of her, glasses perched on her nose, hair pulled back in a messy bun, made his heart skip a beat.

"How was your day?" he asked, loosening his tie as he sat beside her.

Y/N marked her place in the journal and set it aside. "Busy. There was a multi-car pileup on the highway, so the ER was chaos for most of the afternoon." She rubbed her temples, and Wonwoo resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. They were still navigating the boundaries of their physical affection outside of the bedroom.

"Sounds stressful," he said instead. "Have you eaten? I could order something in."

Y/N shook her head. "I grabbed something at the hospital. But thank you." She paused, studying his face. "Is everything okay? You look... preoccupied."

Wonwoo debated for a moment whether to share Mingyu's secret, but decided against it. It wasn't his story to tell. "Just a long day," he said with a small smile. "How about we watch one of those medical dramas you like? I could use a good laugh at their inaccuracies."

Y/N chuckled, the sound warming Wonwoo from the inside out. "Alright, but don't blame me when you start yelling at the TV about improper CPR techniques."

As they settled in to watch, Wonwoo couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this felt. Sitting with Y/N, laughing at the ridiculous plot twists of the drama, occasionally brushing hands as they reached for the snacks between them. It wasn't the passionate romance of Mingyu and Ela's secret marriage, but it was something. Something real, something growing.

Little did Wonwoo know, the peace of this moment was about to be shattered by revelations that would shake the very foundation of their budding relationship.

---

The next day found Y/N in the break room of the hospital, her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of the turmoil in her heart. The door opened, and she looked up to see Alexys and Ela enter, deep in conversation.

"I'm telling you, that new resident is a disaster waiting to happen," Alexys was saying. "I swear, if he mixes up another blood sample, I'm going to— Y/N? Are you okay?"

Y/N tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "I'm fine, just... thinking."

Ela, ever perceptive, sat down beside her. "Thinking about what? You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The concern in her friends' eyes broke something in Y/N. Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "I think I still have feelings for Seung-cheol."

The silence that followed her confession was deafening. Alexys, who had been reaching for a cup of coffee, froze mid-motion. Ela's eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"But... but you're married," Alexys sputtered, finally finding her voice. "To Wonwoo. Tall, handsome, ridiculously rich Wonwoo. Who, might I add, looks at you like you hung the moon and stars."

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands again. "I know, I know. God, don't you think I know that? It's just... Seung-cheol and I, we have history. And being around him every day, seeing him care for patients, remembering all the plans we used to make..."

"Oh, Y/N," Ela said softly, rubbing soothing circles on her friend's back. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Since the wedding, I think," Y/N admitted. "Maybe even before. I thought it would go away, that once I got to know Wonwoo better, these feelings for Seung-cheol would fade. And they have, in a way. Wonwoo is... he's wonderful. Kind, supportive, everything I never expected in an arranged marriage. But then Seung-cheol will do something, say something, and it all comes rushing back."

Alexys, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly exploded. "Are you kidding me right now? Y/N, do you have any idea how complicated this is? You're married! To a chaebol heir! Your families have merged companies! And now you're telling us you have feelings for the guy from ward?"

"Paid department," Y/N corrected weakly, but Alexys wasn't finished.

"Whatever! The point is, this isn't some drama where you can just follow your heart and everything works out. There are real consequences here. For you, for Wonwoo, for both your families. Not to mention poor Seung-cheol, who's probably been pining away this whole time thinking he missed his chance."

Ela shot Alexys a warning look. "What Alexys is trying to say, in her uniquely tactless way, is that this is a very delicate situation. Y/N, have you talked to Wonwoo about any of this?"

Y/N shook her head, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "How can I? We're just starting to build something real. If I tell him I have feelings for someone else... it would destroy him. And probably end our marriage before it's really begun."

"Okay, okay, let's all take a deep breath," Ela said, ever the voice of reason. "Y/N, you need to really think about what you want here. Are these feelings for Seung-cheol just nostalgia for what might have been? Or are they something deeper?"

"I don't know," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. "That's the problem. I don't know what I feel anymore."

Alexys, who had been pacing the break room, suddenly stopped. "Oh my god," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh my god. This is insane. We're in the middle of a real-life love triangle. A married love triangle. With chaebols and secret feelings and... oh my god, I think I'm having a panic attack."

"You're having a panic attack?" Y/N said incredulously. "I'm the one living this nightmare!"

"Ladies, please," Ela interjected, but her own composure was starting to crack. "We need to stay calm and— oh, who am I kidding? This is a disaster. Y/N, how did we end up here? First Mingyu and I with our secret marriage, and now you with your secret feelings, and... oh god, is this karma? Is the universe punishing us for all those times we sneaked extra pudding cups from the cafeteria?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Y/N couldn't help but let out a watery laugh. "I'm pretty sure the universe has bigger concerns than stolen pudding cups, Ela."

"You'd be surprised," Alexys muttered. "Those things are like gold around here." She took a deep breath, visibly trying to collect herself. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You're married to Wonwoo, who you're starting to have real feelings for, but you also have lingering feelings for Seung-cheol, who you've known longer and had a connection with before your arranged marriage. Meanwhile, Ela here is secretly married to Wonwoo's best friend, which adds a whole other layer of complication to this mess. Did I miss anything?"

"Just the part where both our families are expecting an heir to secure the company merger," Y/N added glumly.

"Right, because this situation needed more pressure," Alexys said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Anything else? Any other bombs you want to drop? Maybe you're secretly a long-lost princess or something?"

Y/N shook her head, a hysterical giggle bubbling up in her throat. "No, I think that about covers it."

The three friends looked at each other, the full weight of the situation settling over them. Then, as if on cue, they all burst into laughter. It wasn't happy laughter, but rather the kind that comes when a situation is so absurd, so overwhelming, that the only response left is to laugh or cry.

"Oh god," Ela gasped between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "What are we going to do?"

"I have no idea," Y/N admitted, her own laughter subsiding into hiccups. "I just... I needed to tell someone. To get it off my chest before I exploded."

Alexys, who had slid down the wall to sit on the floor, shook her head in disbelief. "Well, consider it thoroughly off your chest and splattered all over this break room. Seriously, Y/N, only you could turn an arranged marriage into a K-drama worthy love triangle."

"It's not like I planned this," Y/N protested weakly.

"Of course not," Ela soothed. "But Y/N, you know you're going to have to make a decision eventually, right? You can't keep going on like this, torn between Wonwoo and Seung-cheol. It's not fair to either of them, and it's certainly not fair to you."

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of her friend's words. "I know. I just... I need time to sort out my feelings. To figure out what's real and what's just... nostalgia or fear or whatever this is."

"Well, you've got us," Alexys said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Whatever you decide, whatever happens, we've got your back. Even if I think you're certifiably insane for getting yourself into this situation in the first place."

"Thanks, I think," Y/N said dryly. She looked at her friends, feeling a rush of affection for these women who were willing to weather this storm with her. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."

"Probably make much more sensible life choices," Ela quipped, earning a weak smile from Y/N.

As the three friends sat in the break room, the gravity of Y/N's confession settling around them like a heavy blanket, none of them noticed the shadow that passed by the partially open door. None of them saw Wonwoo, who had come to surprise Y/N with lunch, freeze in his tracks at the sound of his wife's voice. And none of them saw the play of emotions across his face – shock, hurt, confusion, and finally, a deep, aching sadness – as he quietly backed away from the door, Y/N's words echoing in his mind.

"I think I still have feelings for Seung-cheol."

The lunch in Wonwoo's hand suddenly felt like a lead weight. He turned and walked away, his mind reeling, his heart breaking with every step. The truth had been unveiled, but at what cost?

---

Wonwoo found himself wandering the streets of Seoul, the bustling city a blur around him as Y/N's words played on repeat in his mind. He had come to the hospital on a whim, wanting to surprise Y/N with lunch from her favorite café. Now, he wished he had never set foot in the place.

He replayed every interaction he'd had with Y/N since their wedding, searching for signs he might have missed. Had her smiles been forced? Her laughter hollow? Had every tender moment between them been a lie?

No, he decided. Whatever Y/N's feelings for Seung-cheol, Wonwoo couldn't believe that everything between them had been false. He had seen the genuine surprise in her eyes when he supported her career, felt the real warmth in her embrace when they lay together at night. There was something there, something real growing between them. But was it enough to overcome her history with Seung-cheol?

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the city, Wonwoo found himself in a small park. He sat heavily on a bench, his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do with this information? Confront Y/N? Pretend he had never heard? The thought of facing her, of seeing the guilt in her eyes when she realized he knew, made his stomach churn.

"Wonwoo-ssi? Are you alright?"

The voice startled him, and he looked up to see Seung-cheol standing before him, concern etched on his features. For a moment, Wonwoo felt a surge of irrational anger. This was the man his wife had feelings for, the one who might steal her away. But as quickly as it came, the anger faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

"Seung-cheol-ssi," Wonwoo acknowledged, straightening up. He gestured to the empty space beside him. "Please, sit."

Seung-cheol hesitated for a moment before taking a seat, maintaining a respectful distance. An awkward silence fell between them, the air heavy with unspoken words and shared history.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Seung-cheol finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "Is everything okay? You looked... troubled."

Wonwoo let out a bitter laugh. "Troubled. Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it." He turned to look at Seung-cheol, really look at him. This was the man Y/N had history with, the one who still held a piece of her heart. Wonwoo searched his face, trying to see what Y/N saw.

"Can I ask you something, Seung-cheol-ssi?" Wonwoo said abruptly.

Seung-cheol nodded, a wary look in his eyes. "Of course."

"Did you love her? Before... before our marriage was arranged. Did you love Y/N?"

The question hung in the air between them, charged with emotion. Seung-cheol's eyes widened, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face – surprise, pain, regret.

"I... yes," Seung-cheol admitted softly. "I did. I do. But Wonwoo-ssi, you have to understand, I never—"

Wonwoo held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just... I needed to know." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I heard Y/N talking to her friends today. She still has feelings for you."

Seung-cheol's sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the quiet park. "Wonwoo-ssi, I... I don't know what to say. I never meant to come between you and Y/N. When your marriage was announced, I stepped back. I've tried to be respectful, to maintain proper boundaries."

"I know," Wonwoo said, surprising himself with the lack of anger in his voice. "I've seen how you interact with her at the hospital. You've been... a good friend to her. A support."

"She's an amazing woman," Seung-cheol said softly. "Brilliant, compassionate. Any man would be lucky to have her love."

Wonwoo nodded, feeling a strange mix of pride and pain at Seung-cheol's words. "She is. And that's why... that's why I can't just let her go without a fight."

Seung-cheol looked at him, surprise evident in his expression. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "The truth is, Seung-cheol-ssi, I've been in love with Y/N for years. Long before our marriage was arranged. I fell for her at a charity gala years ago, watching her passionately discuss her dreams of becoming a nurse. Her determination, her compassion... I was captivated from that moment on."

Seung-cheol's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting this revelation.

Wonwoo continued, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "When our families arranged this marriage, I thought it was a dream come true. A chance to finally be close to her, to build a life together. But I never wanted it to be just a business arrangement. These past weeks, getting to know her, seeing all the sides of her I'd only imagined before... it's only made me fall deeper in love with her."

The admission hung in the air between them, a challenge and a confession all at once.

"So what now?" Seung-cheol asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo stood, brushing off his pants. "Now, I go home to my wife. I fight for our marriage, for the love that I've carried for years and that I hope can grow between us. And you... you respect her choice, whatever that may be."

Seung-cheol nodded slowly, standing as well. "For what it's worth, Wonwoo-ssi, I think you're a good man. Y/N is lucky to have you."

"Thank you," Wonwoo said, extending his hand. Seung-cheol took it, the handshake firm and respectful. As they parted ways, Wonwoo felt a strange sense of clarity. The path ahead wouldn't be easy, but he knew what he had to do.

When Wonwoo arrived home, the apartment was dark and quiet. For a moment, he thought Y/N might not be home, but then he saw a sliver of light under the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He knocked softly before entering. Y/N was sitting on the bed, still in her scrubs, her hair a mess as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly. She looked up as he entered, and Wonwoo's heart clenched at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Wonwoo," she said, her voice hoarse. "Where have you been? I was worried."

He moved to sit beside her on the bed, maintaining a small distance between them. "I'm sorry. I needed some time to think."

Y/N nodded, twisting her hands in her lap. "Wonwoo, there's something I need to tell you. I—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "About your feelings for Seung-cheol. I overheard you talking to Alexys and Ela at the hospital today."

Y/N's sharp intake of breath was loud in the quiet room. "Oh god," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Wonwoo, I'm so sorry. I never meant... I didn't want you to find out like this."

Wonwoo reached out, taking her hand in his. "I know. And I'm not angry, Y/N. I'm hurt, yes. Confused. But not angry."

"You should be," Y/N said, a sob breaking free. "I'm a terrible wife. We're just starting to build something real, and I'm ruining it with these... these lingering feelings."

Wonwoo squeezed her hand, waiting until she met his gaze. "You're not a terrible wife, Y/N. You're human. We entered this marriage as strangers, with our own histories, our own emotional baggage. It's natural that there would be... complications."

Y/N stared at him, disbelief written across her features. "How can you be so understanding? I just admitted to having feelings for another man."

"Because I love you," Wonwoo said simply, the words falling from his lips with surprising ease. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I believe that what we're building together is worth fighting for."

Y/N's breath caught, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Wonwoo, I... I don't know what to say. I care for you, deeply. What's growing between us, it's real and beautiful and I don't want to lose it. But these feelings for Seung-cheol, they're confusing everything."

Wonwoo nodded, reaching up to wipe away her tears. "I know. And I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. I'm not giving you an ultimatum. What I'm saying is... I'm here. I'm committed to us, to our marriage. And I'm willing to work through this, together, if you are."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them, Wonwoo saw a mix of gratitude, affection, and determination in their depths. "I want to try," she whispered. "I want to work through this. With you."

Wonwoo felt a weight lift from his chest at her words. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she cried, her tears soaking into his shirt. They had a long road ahead of them, full of difficult conversations and emotional hurdles. But as he held his wife, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, Wonwoo felt a spark of hope.

Their marriage may have started as an arrangement, but it had become something more. Something worth fighting for. And fight they would, together, against all odds.

As the night deepened around them, Wonwoo and Y/N remained entwined, the first truthful words of their new chapter hanging in the air between them. The truths had been unveiled, painful and raw. But with those truths came the possibility of a deeper understanding, a stronger bond.

The future was uncertain, but for now, they had this moment. This honesty. This chance to build something real from the ashes of their arranged beginning.

And for now, that was enough.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Did you ever write a meta about the First Wizarding War?

I am just so curious about it, although we know almost nothing of it. I know in fanfictions, people tend to make the war something very open, very active, with the Order fighting the Death Eaters in the streets but it feels... off to me?

Like, first of all, how would they know when the DE attack? By the time they would learn about the attack, it's most likely the DE would already have left. And overall, when you read about the 2nd Wizarding War, they never attack place like Diallon Alley or Hogsmeade, but rather kidnap people like Ollivander and Fortescue. Which make me wonder how Voldemort was able to ask teens James and Lily to join him (like said in JK's interview).

When you read what Arthur said about this war:

"You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed. The terror it inspired… you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside… Everyone's worst fear… the very worst."

Well, it sounds more like they would attack people at their home, so the DE are more likely to target people when they attack, while they would cause havrock in the Muggle world. Something that made sense since they don't want to destroy the Wizarding World and the wizards.

Although to be fair, it's not like they have much place to attack in the Wizarding world: the only place we know are Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley and the Ministry.

I just have a hard time imagining how the war would be like, considering the Ministry was not taken by Voldemort. It's like this world is too small for a war of that kind.

Also, it makes me wonder what was really the role of the Order? Like what did they do? What kind of mission would they do? How would they know when to intervene? I know Remus had missions with werewolf during the 2nd war, but we don't know if he had the same during the 1st. Sirius was away busy with a mission during Harry's first birthday, but I wonder what he was doing. Was it a last minute battle?

"No, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. They weren’t alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things… They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first.”

It's implied people actually thought Voldemort had the right ideas, which makes me wonder if back then, the muggleborns were less accepted. What was the climate that made it happen? Was it that a bit like with jews, which is how Hitler got to powers?

Also the line in bold always interested me because it didn't feel like the Blacks knew about the Horcruxes, so I wonder what else would give them cold feet.

Sorry for the long text, I just never found someone to talk about it. Nobody seems to get me when I try to think too much about how it was like lol

Hello 👋

Honestly, this is really interesting and I have written about the first war as part of my Voldemort analysis here and here and also here and here. And I'm honestly really curious about the timeline of the first war and what exactly the Order and the DE actually did.

I would say you're right about it not being a war. I mean, for a war, you need armies and countries, and there wasn't a single army involved in this war.

The DE are somewhere between a cult and a terrorist organization. In the first war (and in the second one while Voldemort manages them, tbh) their operations are limited to more targeted killings and in general spreading fear and chaos while keeping a not-super-high death tool (in the first war) and avoiding hurting muggles when possible. Like, up until 1979, basically no one died. We have less than 10 unnamed and named characters that might've died before that and the rest died afterwards. Like, almost all deaths happened in the final 3 years of the war.

Then you have the ministry, which doesn't have an army, it has law enforcement. The aurors and DMLE are not an army and don't really function as one. They are trained to catch criminals, not to fight large-scale battles (not that there were any battles in the first war).

The Order, which if we're generous we can call a paramilitary group (but realistically it's a vigilante armed civilian group).

So, it's hardly a war when it's small-scale attacks and skirmishes fought between a cult/terrorist organization, the police, and an armed civilian group. Its timeline and death tool and how it operates as a whole really doesn't fit a war. Well, it's a terror guerilla sort of war, but not your traditional kind of war. The second Voldemort war was more of a real war than the first one, and even that wasn't a traditional war in any sense and I would hardly call it one. But at least it had battles. Like 2.5 of them.

I outlined more of the timeline here with the evidence for it, but in general:

1967ish - Voldemort returns to the UK and has his interview with Dumbledore. At this point, he already has somewhat of a following. Unclear if these were his "friends" from school or their children, but they are likely the older "friends" from school:

“Then if I were to go to the Hog’s Head tonight, I would not find a group of them — Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov — awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post.”

(HBP)

1970 - the war starts.

“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.”

(PS)

Since Dumbledore says this on November 1981, it means the DE started operating in late 1970. Arthur tells us Death Eaters outnumbered the Order 20 to 1, but I think the Order only started operating later in the decade.

I believe that in the early 70s, they weren't too violent yet. There were some attacks, some chaos similar to what we see in the World Cup perhaps:

I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn’t resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them,” he finished disgustedly.

(GoF)

Attacks that strawn fear and unrest and stretched the ministry and the DMLE thin with how many obliviations had to be done — but no one died, not yet. At least, no one important. We know all of the Order members that died were only killed after the infamous photo was taken much later, so it seems in these early days of the war, they didn't really kill anyone perhaps a few muggles here and there (but not as many as the fandom sometimes like to think!) but no wizards died, at least not at first.

I assume this period is mostly marked by small-ish riots and growing normalization of anti-muggle and anti-muggleborn propaganda.

This is the point where Voldemort amassed his followers and purebloods like Walburga and Orion Black thought he had the right idea. Even during the time in the books, muggles are seen as beneath wizards, and muggleborns like Hermione are quietly pressured into not talking about their muggle families because no one cares. Muggleborns like Hermione and Ted Tonks clearly leave their muggle families behind and don't look back and that's accepted as the norm in the wizarding world.

Even in the 90s we see Slughorn is surprised Hermione, the muggleborn, is so talented. Bigotry is still very much present and as I calculated here, muggleborns are only around 5% of the population, with the majority being purebloods (or wizard-raised half-bloods). The blood purity agenda was always there, Voldemort didn't even believe in it himself, he just used it because it was an easily accessible platform that was just there. It was an easy way to gain followers and create unrest, so he took it. It was opportunistic.

So, in that way, yes, it is similar to Nazi Germany. Antisemitism was already there and prevalent in the culture for centuries, Hitler made use of the ideology already present and normalized it, and even made it righteous to believe in his horrid and bigoted ideology. He pushed the culture to more extremes, but the ideas and philosophies were already there, he didn't invent antisemitism in Germany. It was opportunistic. It didn't come out of nowhere and it wasn't just recent either. Antisemitism has a long history in Europe which I'm not going to go into in this post.

1975 - the war gets more violent and wizards are actually killed. We know from Pottermore that:

Eugenia Jenkins 1968 - 1975 Jenkins dealt competently with pure-blood riots during Squib Rights marches in the late sixties, but was soon confronted with the first rise of Lord Voldemort. Jenkins was soon ousted from office as inadequate to the challenge.

(From Pottermore)

It's said Jenkins was ousted from office "soon" after the rise of Voldemort, which again, suggests the more violent attacks only started mid-70s, around 1974 and 1975. From the list of deaths in the post I already linked throughout this post I posed the deaths that ousted her from office were Mr. and Mrs. Bones who we don't have a death date for and were likely important enough in the magical community to send the shockwaves of war that would get the minister kicked out of office. After all, you need something big to rock the wizarding community, a few muggle deaths aren't going to cut it.

(Also the mention of pure-blood riots earlier in the 60s show blood purity was nothing new, just something Voldemort took advantage of that was already there)

This is the point where Walburga and Orion probably got the cold feet Sirius mentioned. Because it's not just muggles and muggleborns anymore. Two pureblood wizards were killed — and that scared the shit out of purebloods who were a little smarter. The realization Voldemort would kill them too if he thought it necessary. It's not that they grew to care about muggleborns or blood traitors, it was self-interest. They realized that Voldemort didn't have any limits and that they weren't safe just because their blood was pure. That's at least, my take on it.

1976 - The Order of the Pheonix is founded

The Order of the Phoenix was likely founded around 1976-1977 after Voldemort and the DE got more violent and a few people actually died and it became clear to Dumbledore the ministry couldn't handle it on their own.

I believe the Order was kinda late to the party (considering how late Dumbledore was when dealing with Grindlewald). I think he advised the ministry on what to do and really hoped the ministry and the DMLE could resolve it at first. When it appeared they couldn't, that's when he founded the Order.

Now, you're right, the first war doesn't seem to have had any actual battles, my guess is that is was as I mentioned above — targeted attacks and skirmishes.

During the first war, Voldemort holds a pretty tight leash on his Death Eaters and who they kill. That's why they kill at homes and kill only specific ministry personnel and Order members for the most part. It's very targeted and specific. They aren't rounding up muggleborns as Lupin says these laws were new in the second war:

“People won’t let this happen,” said Ron. “It is happening, Ron,’; said Lupin. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”

(DH)

This is only in the second war. In the first one, there was no muggleborn registry or compulsive attendance at Hogwarts. The first war was all targeted terror attacks. The DE didn't have the ministry the way they did in the second one. Yes, they had quite a few members in the ministry who probably tried to pass various laws, but it wasn't the complete control they had in 1997-1998.

I assume, what the Order did in these years, was try to gain intelligence about where and when these attacks would happen so they could wait for the Death Eaters there. Again, sort of skirmish warfare and not quite open battles. Very few combatants were probably present for each of these fights.

Most of the Order missions would've been along the lines of:

Protecting expected DE targets

Recon missions and gaining intelligence through various means

Blocking DE in the ministry from getting the intel they are after or passing their laws.

Stuff that is more targeted and doesn't require a full-scale army.

1980 - The Prophecy and Potters going into hiding

(Edit: More notes regarding the timing of the photo and corrections to this section here. James and Lily went into hiding in the winter of 1980, but the Order's photo was taken while James and Lily were in hiding in July 1981, meaning all the Order members died in the 4 months between Harry's birthday and the end of the war)

The prophecy was made about two months before Harry was born:

He stepped forward. Not as tall as Ron, he had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some sixteen years previously, and below that: S. P. T. to A. P. W. B. D. Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter

(OotP)

We also know from Harry's birthdate that Lily would've gotten pregnant with him around late October 1979. Due to how the Fidelius Charm works I believe the Potters went into hiding before Harry was born, right after the Prophecy was made, so around May 1980. All this means the photo Moody shows Harry was taken at some point in 1979 or early 1980 before Lily's stomach was showing with the pregnancy, but I'm leaning towards late 1979.

This means that almost all deaths in the war (and all the deaths of the Order) happened after 1979. This was probably caused by two things:

Voldemort escalating for some reason (after 1980 the prophecy might've had a hand in the escalation of violence for various reasons I discussed in the linked posts)

Wormtail started spying mid-1980:

“DON’T LIE!” bellowed Black. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!”

(PoA)

So it's possible Wormtail revealed exactly where and when the Order was waiting for the DE and the DE could get the jump on them with more wizards than the Order thought there would be.

These two combined factors practically wiped out most of the first Order.

But we're still talking about skirmishes, just larger ones with a higher death tool, but still no large-scale battles like the Battle of Hogwarts. Enlisting the giants wasn't really because Voldemort used them in the war, there were no battles to use them in. They were a threat, kinda like nukes. It was something you have so your enemies won't attack you. Werewolves were similar, although they were probably employed in some of the skirmishes.

This time period since 1979 is probably when this quote from Sirius becomes the case:

“Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing . . . the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere . . . panic . . . confusion . . . that’s how it used to be.

(GoF)

More wizards are now being killed/targeted. Most of them probably get tortured/imprisoned rather than killed. Like Neville says about the Carrows:

“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.”

(DH)

These are terror attacks meant to create compliance. So most are tortured, kidnapped as ransom and assurance of loyalty, or imperious rather than killed. Those that are killed would only be those that really have no hope to turn them onside — like the Order, hence why Voldemort allowed them to be killed.

1980 - The added deaths and skirmishes caused another minister to be kicked out of office:

Harold Minchum 1975 - 1980 Seen as a hard-liner, he placed even more Dementors around Azkaban, but was unable to contain what looked like Voldemort’s unstoppable rise to power.

(From Pottermore)

As I mentioned, in the final years of the war, shit got way worse with more deaths happening in the span of these 3 years than all the 8 years of "war" before combined. So another minister who doesn't know how to crack down on the terror organization is kicked out.

October 1981 - Voldemort goes after the Potters and the war ends.

And we know what happens from here.

These are my thoughts about the timeline of the first war and how it went. We don't know as much about it as I would've liked to know, but this is my impression of how it went down more or less.

[bustybounty]

Because you helped a elderly witch cross the street, she has given you the blessing of perfectly fitting genitals compared to your girlfriend and increased stamina to go as long as you need to satisfy her. That same witch however had placed a curse on your girlfriend on a different occasion after she insulted the witch. This curse makes it so that everytime she cums, she would grow just a little bit so she would always need a bigger rod to satisfy her. She also made it so the time she can go without sex becomes shorter and shorter. Up until now you havrn't had any issues with this, but it is starting to become cumbersome for the both of you.

Her behavior was noticeably different than before, rubbing my inner thigh a lot, whispering in my ear, doing things she'd only do when she was extremely horny...except that was really becoming the norm.

At times it was obvious that she was wet due to the coloration of her pants around the crotch area.

Of course, not wanting to always leave her seeking pleasure and not getting any, I made sure to get things rolling for both of us, and thanks to my blessing, things couldn't be easier.

Whether it took minutes or hours, I'd always be able to fuck her and stretch her out just a bit to give her the most bliss possible! However, something that was uncommon but started becoming regular was her asking for second rounds, third rounds...her arousal was really getting the better of her.

Though I couldn't say I wasn't at fault either, after all, due to how she was affected by her curse, she was growing larger, taller, a wider, deeper hole, wider hips, all perfect for taking bigger and bigger cocks. Which resulted in me having to satisfy her further with the swelling I was gifted with. While the blessing was, at first, only positive, with how much she was growing, becoming a full on minigiantess, it started also becoming cumbersome on its own, having to carry a massive bulge in ill fitting custom clothes just to go out in public to do absolutely anything.

And even in public, my girlfriend, who wasn't one that really thrived in showing public affection, was really keen on it all of a sudden, even if that affection was more often than not, intimate and sexual in nature. Not just kisses, but full on makeout sessions. Not just hands over the hips, but over the butt, thighs, and sometimes even outright touching either mine or her private areas.

I couldn't say I wasn't in love, she was still the same woman I fell in love with, just hornier! Though, to be fair, with how much I was growing, I was getting hornier too...

At this rate, I'm going to end up with a skyscraper dick for my building towering, giantess girlfriend...I wonder if the witch will reverse things at all... though I feel like she might have made this whole thing completely permanent... Oh well... I'm mostly worried for the city, because when I end up cumming in her, her cumblimp of a gut will surely cover the entire city in a pure show of lovemaking quality <3

[basmala260]

The basic dynamics of Hirano and Kagiura's relationship

First of all, I don't like comparing the two because they both fall into the spectrum of ideal romance and the other into complicated romance, But just to make things clear, Sasaki To Miyano is more genuine and romantic while Hirano To Kagiura is more on the complicated side discuss identity crisis where hirano is dealing with his self issues and Kagiura deals with his concept of love Unlike Sasamiya where everything was perfect, friendship, admiration, feelings, time to give a proper answer, mutual feelings

But I will use this in some paradoxes between natural and complex relationships to illustrate some points, fair enough

1. Kagiura's personality is the fastest to develop in this relationship. He just loves his roommate, trying to make sure of his feelings, but thanks to his friend's support, he determined his proper definition of love. Of course, a large part of him is inclined towards his parents' relationship* and as I mentioned before His desire to feel Hirano's feelings for him turned into a physical desire because he couldn't get the look he wanted from Hirano's eyes.

* With that said, I want to touch on this point since this is one of the ways the manga shows how childish Kagiura is, it's something where you ask a child what they want to do when they grow up and they'll tell you they want to be like their mom or dad

I actually asked one of the kids in the family a couple of days ago what she wanted her partner to be like when she grew up, and her response was simple "a kind and a caring person." (You can pull any child near you and they will give you the same answer).

Isn't that exactly what Kagi loves about Hirano? (I mean I know this is a natural trait of the person you love but usually it is not only this, I hope this makes sense) What I'm trying to explain here is how Kagiura is always referred to as a child

Not only that, but Hirano's rejection of him activated the stubborn (and seemingly childish) feeling inside him. Hirano had already rejected him twice (9 - 23.5) But he was vehemently denying it, confident that Hirano would "REALIZE HIS FEELINS" and not "give up." (Because I used to see a lot of people saying that Kagiura is forcing Hirano)

As I mentioned before, this is blind optimism.

Unlike Sasaki, who didn't think he had much hope, and in the time he gave Miyano to think, he was happy that Miyano was thinking of him and didn't want anything else, and even if he had rejected him I'm sure everything would have stayed the same and he wouldn't ask Miya to think again at any chance He was really grateful to have Miano in his life, just it

2. Move to Hirano who The one on his side of the relationship is much slower and also late, since this was the first time he experienced something like this, he had no one to confess to, he had no one to love, and he had never been in a relationship before, Hirano struggles to define and understand love itself, He is not looking for a clear concept, he is trying to find a concept

He had never thought about it before, and it seemed to him that everything he did to Kagiura, from pampering and loving, was a natural act, as he was searching for a sense of responsibility throughout the story.

He was the only child of his parents, intellectually intelligent, but socially stupid, qualities that formed fertile ground for the desire to feel responsible.

We can see how he is a supporting character in the main manga like Hanazawa, but unlike Hanazawa who was driven by anxiety, Hirano was driven by responsibility.

Every time Kagiura gets close to Hirano physically and Hirano doesn't move, it's not that Hirano wants Kagiura to get closer, it's not that Hirano trusts Kagiura not to get closer, but it's already made clear that Hirano doesn't mind Kagiura touching him, it's just that he doesn't understand what this should mean, it's not that he doesn't want to or that he wants to, he just stands helpless not understanding (The thing is, in chapter 20, he was just surprised, but he wasn't bothered by it)

Unlike Sasaki and Miyano, there was a boundary and a line between the contact between them.

The most likely idea for me is that Hirano is slow to understand his feelings because he is trying to understand Kagiura and has never tried to understand himself.