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vatelixx · 8 months ago

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The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone).

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar�� and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #giving him the happiness he deserved #he is my roman empire #his excess trauma is also #my #roman empire #thank u and good night america #i’m not even american

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byhuenii · 29 days ago

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Brain Hug

Pairing Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Reader

Synopsis Your kid accidentally hears about Hydra and confronts Bucky with innocent but awkward questions. It turns into a hilarious and sweet moment as he tries to explain things kid-style, with metaphors plush toys and brain hugs.

Word Count 1.1k

Themes + Warnings fluff fluff fluff

— Brain Hug “she said I was a sad robot dad”

Bucky doesn’t even flinch. He’s already awake, lying in bed with one arm under your head and the other extended across the sheets — the cool weight of his vibranium fingers flexing absently.

Then comes the whisper-shout.

“MOMMY. DADDY. WAKE UP. IT’S FATHERS DAY. THERE ARE PANCAKES.”

You groan and roll away from the noise. Bucky grins.

“I didn’t even smell pancakes,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple.

“She’s six,” you mumble. “She made imaginary pancakes last week with lotion and glitter. Approach with caution.”

Turns out, the pancakes are real this time. Kind of.

The batter’s lumpy. One is vaguely shaped like a rabbit, one is burnt on one side and raw on the other, and one has a Band-Aid cooked into it (which leads to a 10-minute conversation about why we don’t cook with boo-boo stickers). But she made them herself. With heart. And Bucky eats every bite with exaggerated “mmms” and “wows,” his eyes twinkling as syrup dribbles down his chin.

He’s wiping her sticky fingers when it happens.

“Daddy,” she says, casually licking a glob of peanut butter off her spoon. “What’s a Hydra?”

The world slows down.

Bucky’s hand freezes mid-wipe. He looks up slowly — like he’s expecting Steve Rogers to pop out of the pantry and yell “You told her WHAT?!”

You, halfway through a sip of coffee, snort and choke.

“Where’d you hear that?” Bucky asks, trying to sound chill and not like his six-year-old just name-dropped a terrorist organization at the breakfast table.

She shrugs. “Uncle Steve. He said you once punched a Hydra guy so hard his teeth flew into another zip code.”

Bucky sighs and sets the wet wipe down.

“Well, uh. He’s not wrong.”

She blinks. “So is it like… a big snake or something?”

He lifts her into his lap and runs his hand through her hair.

“Kind of. Hydra was a group of really bad people. They had a snake for a symbol. And a lot of evil plans. Daddy used to… work for them.”

“You worked with bad guys?” Her voice is small. Not scared. Just surprised.

“Sort of. They tricked me. Hurt me. Made me do things I didn’t want to do. For a long time.”

Your daughter watches this exchange calmly, legs swinging. “He said you were like a robot, but sad.”

You press a hand to your mouth to hide your laugh.

“Like a robot?” Bucky repeats, turning slowly. “A sad robot?”

You and your daughter are curled up on the patio couch with Bucky in the middle, his arm around both of you.

“She doesn’t think you’re a robot,” you whisper, kissing his cheek.

“She said I was sad robot dad,” he grumbles, glancing at her where she’s now snuggled into his side with a picture book in her lap.

“Not anymore,” your daughter says proudly. “Now you’re happy hero dad.”

His expression softens immediately. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Your brain is full of love now. And maybe some scrambled eggs. But mostly love.”

You wheeze.

Bucky laughs — real, warm, quiet — and pulls her tighter against his chest.

“Well,” he says, “then I guess I better keep feeding it pancakes and hugs to keep it running right.”

“Can I give you a brain hug?” she asks innocently.

He furrows his brows. “A what?”

She climbs into his lap and squishes his cheeks between her hands, bringing their foreheads together.

“Brain. Hug.”

You’re crying. You’re literally tearing up at how cute this is.

Bucky blinks slowly. “Okay. I take it back. That fixed everything.”

She moves over to him and leans into his chest, small fingers curling around the dog tags he still wears out of habit. “Are they still around?”

“Not anymore,” he says softly. “And even if they were, they wouldn’t dare show up here. You know why?”

“Because you’d punch them?”

He smirks. “Because I have a six-year-old who’d definitely get to them first.”

She reappears in the living room with her arms full of stuffed animals.

“We’re gonna play Daddy vs. Hydra,” she announces.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Am I Daddy or Hydra?”

“You’re Daddy, silly. This snake”—she holds up a glittery purple boa plush with googly eyes—“is Hydra. He’s evil.”

Bucky picks it up and gives it a voice. “HISSSSS. I HATE PANCAKES AND HAPPINESS.”

She gasps dramatically. “How dare you!”

Bucky grabs her Captain America Build-A-Bear and makes it punch the snake. “BAM. Get rekt, snake dude.”

“Not enough,” she declares. “Bring in the heavy artillery.”

He grabs her ballerina hippo. “The hippo is trained in ballet and Krav Maga.”

You walk in with a plate of actual pancakes this time, and stop in your tracks at the sight of your daughter standing on the coffee table, wielding a plush unicorn like Thor’s hammer, yelling:

“YOU MESS WITH DAD, YOU MESS WITH ME!”

Bucky beams. “She’s definitely your kid.”

That night, after bath time, bedtime stories, and one more “brain hug,” you find Bucky standing at the doorway of your daughter’s room, just watching her sleep.

“She thinks I’m a hero,” he says softly, as you wrap your arms around him from behind.

“She knows you are.”

“She really doesn’t care,” he says after a long moment. “About the Hydra stuff. The Winter Soldier. My past.”

You kiss his shoulder. “She only sees the man who eats glitter pancakes and fights plush snakes for her honor.”

He chuckles, low and full.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” he murmurs. “A kid. A day like this.”

“You deserve it,” you whisper. “More than anyone.”

“She makes me want to be better.”

“She doesn’t need you to be better,” you say gently. “She just needs you to be you.”

“She called me sad robot dad and then gave me a forehead hug. I think I’ve been reprogrammed.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “I think Steve should explain time travel next.”

“Oh God. He’ll probably tell her I went back in time and kissed a dinosaur or something.”

You snort. “Wait until she finds out about Wakanda.”

He smiles, turning to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t care what she finds out. As long as I’m the one telling her the truth. As long as I get to be this—” He gestures to the quiet, the home, the sleepy little girl in the room beyond. “—I’m good.”

“You are more than good,” you whisper.

And when he pulls you into his arms, you can feel it: he believes you. Maybe for the first time in a long time.

(You’ve got mail!) HAPPY FATHERS DAY !!! Here is a quick cooked up Father’s Day Bucky Barnes fanfic, and if you don’t celebrate Father’s Day I hope you still had a wonderful day!

Tag List (For Mr. James Buchanan Barnes is open)

@bbsbrina @herejustforbuckybarnes @barnesandbouquets

#bucky x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #i need him so bad #james buchanan barnes #dad!bucky #HAPPY FATHERS DAYYYY #james barnes x you #james barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes

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wormvermin · 2 months ago

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Hi do you like knights? Do you like it when two men hate each other but need to be in each other’s guts so bad? I have some of those for you….

Please meet Sir Horatio Ignatius Heronwillow III, & Sir Elethar Sigrún, lifelong rivals and frenemies-with-benefits. They can’t stand each other. And yet, they can’t trust anyone but each other.

YES Elethar is a centaur. YES it’s kind of sort of a metaphor for transgenderism (to me).

I’ve so far made two comics about them, which you should definitely go read if you enjoy unhealthy dom/sub dynamics & desire so intense you feel it in your stomach.

A KNIGHTLY DALLIANCE 🔞 is the main course. 30 of the most beautiful comic pages I’ve ever drawn: intimate, character-driven erotica drawn using the full force of my obsession. (But please, do heed the content warnings on the itchio page.)

REQUIREMENTS FOR A KISS 🔞 is a short supplemental story about a drunken encounter in their past. It’s only 9 pages, but it packs a LOT of heat. And quite pretty as well, if I do say so myself.

My next project with these two will be a prose story called THE BOG WITCH’S CURSE. It will explore an AU where Elethar is forced to become human (under threat of banishment) by accepting a witch’s curse. Horatio has to accept his truest desire is also Elethar’s worst nightmare, and he must help find a way to reverse it. As a human, he doesn’t have the anatomy Horatio expects... And yes they sleep together.

Stay tuned for that! And check out my “knight worsties” tag for all the myriad drawings I’ve done of them :•)

#knight worsties #wormvermin txt #wormvermin art #needed a big READ THEM post 😙

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jellofish-plant · 3 months ago

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A 101 Step Guide to Win His Heart

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader Genre: Fluff, Slight Chaos, Mutual Pining Setting: Gotham, modern day

[Masterlist]

Step 1: Don’t fall for the emotionally unavailable, motorcycle-riding vigilante. …Oops.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, gripping your phone like it personally offended you. The screen glows mockingly with the tab still open: “101 Ways to Win His Heart.” It's a dumb article. It's clickbait. It's also bookmarked.

Because unfortunately, you have a massive, incurable, stupid crush on Jason Peter Todd. Yes, that Jason. Ex-Robin. Current Red Hood. Hotter than the Gotham heatwave and about as emotionally stable as a raccoon in a dumpster fire.

Still. You’re in deep.

Step 12: Find common interests.

Turns out, Jason likes books.

You also like books. Perfect.

Except his taste is Russian literature and tragic antiheroes and yours is witchy romances with glittery covers and spicy tension.

So when you spot him in the bookstore’s café (half-buried in Dostoevsky, black coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up like a crime), you panic and grab the first dark-looking book off the shelf.

…It’s a YA vampire romance.

You sit beside him like you're totally chill. “Love the… metaphorical depth,” you lie, clutching the sparkly book like it’s your thesis.

Jason peeks over the cover, lips twitching. “Did you just pick that up to impress me?”

You blink. “What? No. Obviously not. Who does that?”

He quirks a brow. “It still has the security tag.”

“…I’m gonna go die now.”

Step 45: Make him laugh.

You didn’t expect Jason to be funny.

Dry, sarcastic, subtle but when he really laughs? It’s this warm, unguarded sound that makes your knees weak.

So you start collecting terrible jokes.

“Why did Batman and Robin never use smartphones?” you ask one night.

Jason’s eyebrow lifts. “Why?”

“Because the Bat-Signal was enough.”

He stares.

Then snorts into his drink.

You mark it as a win.

Step 67: Be there when it counts.

It’s pouring when he shows up at your door bloody, bruised, soaked through and silent.

No words. Just your eyes meeting his. The way he sways a little, exhaustion pulling at him.

You don’t ask. You just pull him inside, patch him up, make him tea, and let him fall asleep on your couch with your throw blanket barely covering his long frame.

In the morning, he’s gone.

But your bookshelf has a new addition: a well-worn copy of The Idiot with a sticky note inside.

It reads: You’re not one. But I like that you try anyway. – J

Your heart does a triple backflip.

Step 101: Be yourself. Even if you’re a little chaotic, a little nerdy, and a lot in love.

You’re mid-rant about Gotham’s trash system when Jason grabs your hand during a late-night walk.

You blink.

He shrugs, cheeks faintly pink. “I’ve read a lot of books. Been through hell and back. Fought monsters, real and metaphorical.”

He pauses.

“But no one’s ever tried to win me like you do.”

You stare.

Then smile.

“Is that a compliment?”

He smirks. “It’s a confession.”

Bonus Tip #102: Sometimes, all it takes is being the one who stays. Who laughs. Who brings band-aids and bad jokes. Who loves without expecting him to fix himself first.

And sometimes? That’s all he needs to fall for you, too.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

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juliettejwnewinesa · 29 days ago

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Hellloo, I was wondering to see if there was anyway for you to do an nsfw with Seong Je? Like the reader is a new addition to the Union and her and Seong Je are like a little competitive towards one another but one night the reader gets ambushed and is covered in bruises and Seong Je sees and comes in to help.

And then after taking her back to the garage she removes her shirt and just has like a lot of tattoos on her and Seong Je is amazed and then gets turned on or something…idk sorry😭🥸😀

Title: Ink and Bruise Pairing: Seong Je x fem!Reader Setting: Weak Hero Universe – You’re a new addition to the Union Word Count: ~920 words😭 Rating: Explicit (18+) Content: Rivals to lovers, enemies-to-lovers tension, smut, light degradation & praise, possessive!Seong Je, rough sex, aftercare, emotional intimacy, tattoos, bruises, hair pulling, choking, cum play, oral (f receiving), clothed male/naked female, post-fight care, NSFW, tattoos as vulnerability metaphors.

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Ink and Bruise

You’d barely been in the Union for a month, and already, Seong Je hated your guts.

Or… that’s what it looked like.

Every time you walked into the garage, his eyes followed you. Every time you made a cocky remark, he snapped back. Whenever the others praised your fighting skills, his jaw ticked—just slightly. And when Siyeon once joked that you were "Seong Je in a prettier body," he didn't even pretend to laugh.

So when you got ambushed that night after handling a solo job—three men cornering you in a back alley before you could reach your bike—it wasn’t Seong Je you expected to show up.

But he did.

The fight was dirty. You took one down. Another got a few solid hits in. Your ribs ached; your jaw stung. You were just barely upright when footsteps echoed behind you and the last guy dropped suddenly—like a bag of rocks.

You blinked. Seong Je’s fist was still in midair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you croaked, wiping blood from your lip.

He looked down at the unconscious body, then back at you. “Cleaning up your mess, apparently.”

You scoffed. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” he replied instantly. “But you bleeding out in the middle of a job makes me look bad.”

Still, he didn't let you walk home. He half-carried you back to the garage, jaw clenched the whole time, like helping you offended him on a spiritual level.

The office in the back was dim. You sat on the table, shirt soaked, chest rising and falling in shallow pants. Seong Je tossed you a first aid kit and stood back, arms crossed. Watching.

“Are you gonna keep staring or help?” you snapped.

“Help you with what? You’re the one who thinks she’s indestructible.”

But his voice was lower now. Less sharp. His eyes flicked to the way your hands trembled, fingers barely able to open the alcohol wipes.

With a sigh, he stepped forward, grabbing the kit. “Fuck’s sake. Sit still.”

You hissed when he pressed gauze to your ribs.

“Pussy,” he muttered.

“Dick.” (were naming body parts now)

His smirk was faint, but it was there.

When he moved to the wound under your arm, you reached down and peeled off your shirt.

And that’s when everything changed.

You didn’t think twice. The fabric was sticky, half-ruined anyway. But the moment your shirt dropped to the floor, the silence in the room sharpened.

Seong Je froze.

His hand, midair with the bandage, stilled completely.

And his eyes—normally so unreadable—widened just enough for you to notice.

Ink covered your skin. A full piece over your ribs, dark and sharp—claws, smoke, scales. Running up your side was calligraphy, delicate and haunting. A spider lily sat between your breasts. Names hidden under your ribs. Small, quiet memories and weapons of war, all living on your body like armor.

You raised an eyebrow. “What? You gonna judge me for ink now?”

“…No,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Just didn’t expect it.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed. “You hide it.”

“Maybe not everything's for showing off.”

His gaze dropped to your ribs, the ink mixed with bruises. “You’ve had these for a while.”

“Yeah.”

He reached out—slowly—and dragged two fingers down your side, where the calligraphy curled into a bruise. The touch was barely there, but it set every nerve on fire.

“You got this one for someone?” he asked.

You flinched. “Yeah.”

His jaw tensed. “They still alive?”

“No.”

Something shifted in his eyes. Like restraint cracking.

When his palm spread across your ribs, covering both ink and wound, you felt his breathing deepen. So did yours.

“I didn’t know you were hiding all this,” he said lowly, almost to himself.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I didn’t,” he rasped. “Until now.”

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was violent. Nothing soft. Teeth, tongue, bruised mouths pressing together like punishment. His hands roamed your sides, tracing tattoos like he was trying to memorize them.

You yanked at his jacket, fingers fisting in the fabric as he backed you against the table. His mouth moved to your neck, biting where it already hurt. You gasped.

“You like pain?” he growled, lips brushing your ear.

“Maybe I like you angry.”

He laughed, breath hot. “Then you’re gonna fucking love this.”

You were still in your pants, but he didn’t bother undressing you gently.

His hands hooked into your waistband, dragging them down without preamble. You hissed as the cold hit your thighs. Seong Je stepped back just long enough to yank his shirt off—muscles flexing, scars on full display.

But it was his eyes that made you tremble. Dark. Heavy-lidded. Focused on your inked, bruised, half-naked body like you were the first and last girl he’d ever touch.

“Get on the table,” he ordered.

You obeyed.

When he shoved two fingers between your legs, you were already soaked.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “This what pain does to you? Or is it me?”

You glared. “Keep running your mouth and see who finishes first.”

He smirked—and dropped to his knees.

His tongue was ruthless. He didn’t ease into it. He sucked your clit into his mouth like he owned it, fingers curling deep inside you while his other hand spread your thighs wide.

You gasped, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you with his mouth.

“God—Seong Je—”

He looked up, licking his lips, chin wet. “Say it again.”

“Seong Je—”

“Louder.”

“Fuck—Seong Je—!”

He stood, undoing his belt.

You barely saw him yank down his pants before he grabbed your legs and pulled you to the edge of the table.

He lined up. “You want this?”

You nodded, breathless.

“No. I want to hear it.”

“Fuck me, Seong Je. Please.”

His smirk was feral. “Good girl.”

And then he pushed in—deep.

You weren’t ready.

Not for how big he felt. Not for how deep he hit. Not for the brutal way he moved, slamming into you like he’d been starving for this.

Your back arched, hands gripping the edge of the table.

“Loud now, huh?” he growled, pounding into you.

“F-fuck—you’re—”

“I’m what?” he taunted, hand wrapping around your throat. “Say it.”

“You’re so good—fuck, don’t stop—!”

He choked you just enough to make your eyes roll back. His other hand gripped your thigh, pushing your legs up to fuck you deeper.

“Is this what you wanted?” he hissed. “Mouthy brat, always trying to outdo me—just wanted to be fucked dumb, huh?”

“Yes—yes—Seong Je—!”

You came suddenly, back arching, screaming his name. He didn’t stop. Not even as you trembled beneath him.

When he finally pulled out, pumping himself hard and fast, he came all over your bruised stomach, eyes fixed on your ink like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

You lay there, gasping, covered in sweat, cum, and bruises.

Seong Je grabbed a towel, wiped you off gently. Almost too gently.

You watched him in silence as he pulled your pants back up and helped you sit up.

“I still hate you,” you mumbled.

He chuckled. “Sure.”

“You gonna pretend this didn’t happen?”

His eyes flicked to your tattoos, your mouth, your eyes.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m gonna do it again.”

END

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radlovesfics · 4 months ago

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ok but what if the Variants had their own version of childhood best friend reader where they DID meet and fall in love (somehow bc we freaky like that) except in every reality besides mainstream you:

Die to Nolan/ Get mercy killed/Eaten bc u know cannibalism and love metaphor or u die before he can do that/ get a terminal illness/ overall just something horrible happens and ur gone and it’s BC OF THAT the variants go “fuck it we ball” cuckoo bananas then after going to mainstream marks world are like “wtf u get to have her but alive???? naw that’s not fair “ and just basically it’s a free for all or with their collective crazy caveman brain they decide some sort sharing custody agreement LMFAO

OR LIKE ANOTHER SCENARIO WHERE U

still fall in love with mark in every reality but mainstream Mark is the only one where he pushes u away for ur own safety and won’t tell u the reason why (if he’s just not told u about his powers) or if he decides to be like fake mean and nasty and pulls a “you’re just a distraction and make me weak” *cut to him flying away sobbing like a baby bc he didn’t wanna do it but felt like he had to* so u hate him and love him but also hate him so much and now all these variants are pulling up and mainstream mark realizes he’s FUCKED when all these other assholes are obsessed and hellbent on finding u bc why would they not love u to their fullest ability?? they’re too selfish for that so queue funny/horrible interactions with all of them bc you’re still so mad and pissed at mark but also so in love with him it’s insane

Same scenario but kinda different: let’s say like u had ur own powers and could actually go toe to toe with mark and that shit he pulls pisses u off BAD bc u can take care of urself!! like mark gets u angry enough to attack him/make u hate him bc he’s such a martyr ofc and u fuck him up!! u both never interact again in any positive form and idk if he still gets with eve here but there’s def still pinning on his end for u anyway ofc the variants invade and reader gets sent out to deal with them while mark is MIA and maybe the variants’ reader was weak/powerless in every reality except the mainstream one so this is like. hard drugs for these crazy marks who are like “oh my god you’re so hot please beat me” u know?? and ofc u do bc u hate mark here and take out ur aggression on them

but I’d like to think (for added drama) ur superhero costume involves a mask to hide your identity and since ur were weak/dead in their realities, as these variants are fighting u they have no idea who u are and are not going easy or pulling punches and are being just awful but u know!! one sends ur mask flying or breaks it somehow and suddenly everything comes to a dead stop and whichever one ur fighting will freeze in disbelief bc wtf this is the loml??? the last person they expected ?? and she’s so strong?? and even more amazing than they remembered ??? u however will not give an actual shit and continue beating their variant asses as they all immediately change their attitude when fighting u and it’s just a LOT of flirting/ snarky compliments/ actually mark being gross and horny on main but this obvs sets u off and they realize mainstream mark never ended up with u and u in fact HATE him as they witness u literally crush one of themselves and well obvs they see themselves as better to the mainstream mark so they’re like “ok we can work with this :)” and blah blah blah run a train on u, kidnap u, lotta hate sex, whatever

and for the mainstream mark (to those that love him including myself): the above scenario ends with him trying over and over to save u and finally some epic and dramatic love confession with lots of yelling and then y’all fight together and have ur cute wholesome reunion and then fuck like crazy LMAOOO

I need to be sedated

#invincible imagine #invincible x reader #invincible #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #variant invincible #omni mark #mohawk mark #sinister mark #viltrumite mark #uhhhhhh I don’t write at all but these r scenarios I have in my head rn #I just love mark so much omfg

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despairots · 1 year ago

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PIECE OF LOVE! — till ivan | alien stage.

till said he liked you, but he always looked at mizi whenever she walks past. maybe if he looked back, he would notice you. waiting, staring, wanting it to be your turn before you finally looked the other way.

content warning | character deaths, swearing, unrequited love, brief cannibalistic metaphors, love triangles, male reader but not mentioned (they/them prns).

till never looked at you, if he did (which is rare), it would be because of you talking to him just to get his attention. despite him saying he liked you when you both were young, he never gave you anymore attention once mizi arrived. till never talked to her, always expecting her to look back at him without asking her for it.

maybe that’s what you felt when someone you love is looking everywhere but you. you were always there for him, he knew too, always comforting him in his darkest times, praising him when he did a good job at his practice, making him gifts so he can be happy, but not once did he return it.

does he appreciate it? yes. returns your love? no.

till doesn’t know it but maybe if he looked back, he would see who was waiting for him all this time. it was only a matter of time before they turned away from him too when he finally looks back, and you were just waiting for you to eventually give up on him.

praying, wanting, needing for it to happen. if only things could be that easy, you would’ve been a lot more free. instead, you’re bounded to be hopeless forever, no matter how many times your alien owners tried to cheer you up. gifts, clothes, toys, stuff you needed to live until this day, it would never work.

it was until recently, at the rip age of 17, that you finally grew up and matured. turning around and living the life of a young star, your owners busting their asses for you to live a life of a celebrity. it felt good to finally be free, maybe you missed being chained down to till, after all, you still cared for him.

you wanted him to be apart of you, you still wanted him carnally, sinking your teeth into him, almost like you could smell his flesh from miles away. all that you concluded that you wanted to let go so bad, was that you still loved him.

till never looked at you.

“ [name]? “

ivan’s touch on your cheek woke you up, realizing you slept on a couch, uncomfortably so from the neck in your pain when you sat up. his black pupils that had a hint of red stared right back into yours as he kneeled infront of you while cradling your hands.

“ivan..?” you trailed off before realizing he won his match, making you softly smile, “congratulations.” ivan nodded back in acknowledgment before he stood up, pulling you up with him to bring you into a hug, putting your arms around him as you buried yourself in his neck. you were lucky ivan was here with you, loving you like till could never bring up the courage to do.

now, as you raise up your platform, dressed in white with the boy you once called yours beside you, a look of concern glistening in his eyes, wondering why you weren’t looking at him like you used too. all you were doing is staring at the ground, like you lost the will to win.

till never looked at you.

watching ivan die, just to save till with no regrets while giving him a goodbye kiss as he fell to ground made you realize something, ivan looked at both till and you, just to die for both of you. when he died, you died alongside him, now till has to go up against you.

till watched you walk up the stage, wanting to get this round over and down before he followed you like a lost dog. he never heard you sing before, he never listened to your rounds or music, he was too busy with his but once he heard you live, you sounded ethereal, pulling him into your downfall.

he didn’t notice that he was being your back up vocals before you grabbed his hand, mic just inches away from your lips, did he start his singing part. till noticed how dead your eyes looked, how cold your skin felt, and how you harshly let his hand drop yours grasp.

his eyes kept following your figure, noticing how smooth and soft your movements were, aswell as how soft your voice was being when you looked at him whenever he looked away from you. despite everything, you could never hate him.

you, who didn’t wish him harm.

you, who wished he looked back at you.

and you, who didn’t want to win.

because of that, you grabbed his wrist to pull him into a short kiss, pulling away until he pulled you back in, shocking you more than anything. a part of you wanted you to believe that he was only doing it because he missed mizi, that you were just filling in the role of her until he pulled away.

a sad smile on his face as his lips moved, saying words that you weren’t able to hear, there was a ringing in your ears, the scoreboard showing that you won. till managed to catch the look of disbelief when your eyes went back to him, he was glad that the glint in your eyes were back, just not the way he didn’t want it to come back.

the tight feeling on his neck disappeared, reaching up to grasp at it did he realize you placed it on yours. no, no! he’s already lost mizi, ivan, and now, you? it’s like the world didn’t want him to be happy with the amount of blood splattered on his hands.

your smile, and ivan’s smile will now haunt his dreams, watching your body collapse onto the ground next to him with your blood on his cheeks did he yell out of despair, cradling your body close to him as the crowd watched in disbelief.

till never looked at you.

he always did, whenever you weren’t looking in that case.

“i’m sorry for not loving you enough.”

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alchemistc · 8 months ago

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He's been good. He's been - pretending to be good well enough that no one has been suspicious.

It's just -

That was it. That was The One.

And sure. He can get back out into the world. He can fall in love again. There is a beautiful man somewhere out in the world who will make him laugh, make him cry.

He's just not sure he wants to put the effort in anymore.

For a hot second he'd really thought -

Not that it matters, anymore.

He's pretty sure his leg is pinned. The cockpit is more smoke than air, at this point. He can feel his toes, but honestly that might be more a curse than a blessing.

He's been staring at the phone in his hand for the last five minutes. Ever since he realized he didn't have the leverage to try to move the bracket keeping him from slipping free of the broken, crunched in door frame.

It's selfish. It's the most selfish fucking thing he's considered since he decided to break his own heart instead of letting someone else.

But logistically he's got about seven minutes until there's too much smoke and not enough air in here, and that's only IF the fire doesn't catch somewhere else.

He's got enough bars. And there are two numbers he could call. Two ways this could go.

The phone rings through four times, and on the fifth, someone answers.

"This is a bad time, Tommy," Eddie says, and Tommy feels a little hysterical. The laughter comes in fits, only slows when he gets a nice good whiff of smoke straight up his nose.

"Sure is."

The tone shifts. "Are you okay?"

"It was a bad idea anyway."

He feels woozy. Glances down at his leg and realizes that stain he'd thought was shadow is... definitely blood.

"Listen. I'm - when Evan gets the call, don't let him go alone. It's my fault for not updating my ICE."

The silence on the other line is deafening. "Tommy, where are you? Don't - don't make any decisions you can't come back from." It's a panned line he'd heard at the VA the half dozen times he'd gone.

"Yeah I didn't really make this decision myself. I'm just - I'm losing a lot of blood, here, and there's not a lot of ways for the smoke to get out of this cabin, and -."

High alert has a very specific sound and feel to it.

Eddie's cursing, something is shuffling, he's snapping his fingers in the distance. God, they're probably at work. "Where are you?"

Tommy rattles off his last known coordinates. "I already told dispatch, Eddie. I'm just. They're not gonna make it in time, and I need you to promise me you won't let him be alone when -."

It'd been a trip he would have been riding shotgun for, if Tommy hadn't made sure he wasn't. He's grateful for that, at least.

He's really not expecting much, he thinks. Eddie doesn't have to go far out of his way to support Buck. It'll hurt him, true. But Tommy's gotten pretty used to being the cause of that. And. He'll be dead, anyway, so he won't have to carry that guilt for long.

And then Eddie betrays whatever vestige of friendship they had left, because it's not Eddie's voice that responds.

"Hey asshole. Do you have enough leverage to break the window?"

He's got a good voice. A little gruff, a little heavy.

Tommy doesn't want this.

"No."

"Actually no, or are you just accepting your fate again without even talking about alternatives."

It's not how he thought he'd go. Dramatic final hour phone call, the end of their relationship as a metaphor for the bleakness of his situation. "I'm sorry, Buck."

He's having trouble focusing his eyes. There's a beat behind his ears that keeps slowing down. He thinks he might be hearing sirens but -

"Evan," Tommy says for the first time in six months. "I'm so sorry, Evan."

He says - something. The tone of it is there, even if he can't quite make out the words.

Tommy blinks. Coughs.

There's a phone in his hands.

Why is there a phone in his hands, he's supposed to be flying a -

He'd crashed it, actually.

Well shit.

Damn.

Eddie's gonna be so pissed if he has to find out second hand that Buck's going to get a really fucking shitty call in a few hours.

He should call.

---

When he blinks open his eyes, he finds his fingers first, nearly has a panic attack when they don't move they way he wants them to, except - oh.

There are fingers interlocked with his.

Tommy follows the line of the arm, even though he knows.

"Sorry," Evan says, and there are tears unshed at the corners of his eyes but he looks mad as hell. "You only get one dramatic exit out of my life in a calendar year."

#bucktommy #crash that helicopter #bucktommy ficlet

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northopalshore · 2 months ago

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ପ Lunar Return Chart ଓ

Observations

🪞 A lunar Return chart refers to the chart you get based on the position of the moon, returning to where it was (sign & degree) as in your natal chart. every month. This post only applies to the lunar return chart & it's overlay with the natal chart! Based on both personal experience and those observed from people in real life. Meant to be a guide and not a 1:1 occurrence!

Please don't repost on other sites without permission ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ

Northopalshores' Masterlist| lunar return chart | paid readings

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

꒰ა. (get a personal lunar return reading from yours truly ♡) stackable! ໒꒱ ‧

🍡 Mars in the 2nd House means you will be very prone to overspending or making "blackout" purchases

🍡 Pluto & Chiron in the 2nd House can mean taking out or paying a loan, overspending, or in some cases even lawsuits. If you have a business it can mean a loss of income as well.

🍡 Pluto in the 1st House you'll be changing something about your looks

🍡 Pluto in the 6th House you'll be adding or subtracting something to/from your routine from now on; exercising, getting a job, studying

🍡 Chiron in the 1st House your skin could get paler this month, or you may be finding ways to improve your looks. If Venus or Neptune is accompanying Chiron here then it could be a strong desire for a glow up (which you will take action upon).

🍡 Venus & Chiron in the 1st House you may change your look but feel rather insecure or unsure about it at first (think it went wrong or made you look worse). Though, you'll grow attached to the look eventually.

🍡Venus in Pisces in the 8th House (especially in Cancer degrees) you could be reminiscing a close friend or lover, someone that was dear to you that had passed or separated from recently (or a long time ago) but still remain close to your heart

🍡 Lilith in the 3rd House regretting something you've said before, being confronted for something verbally or online, catching arguments, you may feel like you're stumbling your words a lot this month

🍡 Moon in the 10th House wanting to be seen, feeling rather pressured (people may expect much from you this month)

🍡 Sun in the 3rd House going for interviews, giving speeches, short trips, having a busy schedule

🍡 Uranus in the 10th House switching up careers doing something extra with how you present yourself, putting yourself out there, gaining more recognition and making a bold decision for yourself reputation/career wise (even something you never thought you'd do).

🍡 Neptune in the 8th House past experiences coming to haunt you, it doesn't have to be bad or traumatic but it does bring heavily feelings especially if you've experienced a loss recently. You're just more sensitive this month.

🍡 8th house Stellium aside from feeling drained, potential rude awakenings or changing something about yourself, things you own can start to break down or need replacement. Renewing something in your life whether literally or metaphorically.

🍡 Uranus in the 6th House unexpected work coming your way! A sudden change of plans and routine that you didn't really plan to happen. If you were busy before this, then this offers you more time to relax.

🍡 Jupiter in the 2nd House you may gain more money this month, or feel more generous with it

🍡 Chiron in the 12th House lack of sleep, insomnia, feeling incredibly tired throughout the month

🍡 Aries 1st House Stellium you might want to make sudden changes to your appearances (not something planned), craving a new fresh look that's louder or gives more life into the way you look or dress

🍡 Fama (408) conjuncting Ascendant you'll gain more recognition this month likely for your looks (it doesn't have to be that big or a boost but still, it's more than usual!)

🍡 Marriage asteroids in the 2nd, 6th & 10th House it's like you're married to your work or job lol. You'll commit more of yourself into your responsibilities is what I mean.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

🥠 Mars in the 6th House a lot of things will require your attention this month, your schedule could be stacked & you may be covering more ground (doing more work) than you usually would. Also, you could start working out or focusing on your health.

🥠 Mars in the 5th House a potential suitor could show up somewhere this month or some sort of competition, other than that you could be more eager to go on fun trips with friends. That desire to do something fun is strong this month, subsequently the opportunity for that to happen may show up a couple times throughout the month.

🥠 Venus in the 2nd House spending money on beauty products, buying clothes or supplements, you could be earning a decent sum of money this month.

🥠 Saturn conjunct Neptune in the 1st House looking, feeling acting tired. Could be due to a lack of sleep this month i.e you could notice your skin getting duller than it usually is.

🥠 Jupiter in the 10th House your image or reputation will increase this month, people may look up to you or you may meet people who admire & respect you. People may vouch for you this month.

🥠 Jupiter in the 11th House you are likely to gain some popularity or attention this month, you could also gain new friends or followers that like you. You may also be in contact with more people (communicating especially online). Either way, your social circle is expanding.

🥠 Sun, Venus Mars or Neptune in the 8th House you may be stalked this month in some way this month.

🥠 Eros (433) in the 1st House or Conjunct the ascendant you are likely to be more passionate, and have more perseverance this month. You could want to appear sexier too (or just come off that way subconsciously).

🥠 Mars in the 10th House you may be in charge of a program or managing someone/something. Either way, you'll be directing people to do certain things somewhere within the month.

🥠 Mars in the 12th House you are likely to receive more breakers or moments of stagnancy throughout the month, some things may be cancelled or delayed and you may feel less energized. (If Mars is in the 12th in your LRC but LRC Mars lands in your natal 6th house when overlayed, then past delayed work may catch up with you or you may be a lack of motivation or energy even if/because you have a lot to do)

🥠 Chiron in the 7th House misunderstandings, fights, "cheating", flaking or bailing on you/someone, competition, or other stress inducing issues may arise between you and a partner (whether romantic or not), especially if in Pisces, Scorpio or Aries!

🥠 Mars in the 4th House moving towards home. You could move back to your parents house, visit them or come back home after a long, long departure (like if you've been traveling for months or lived at a different place before this).

🥠 Uranus square Saturn a very, very rude long-term awakening awaits you

🥠 11th House ruler in Pisces in the 12th House a possible loss of an old friend

🥠 Stellium in the 12th House feeling lost, unsure or tired & overwhelmed with thoughts and life, fears and expectations colliding. For some though, it can mean leaving or moving homes/countries/towns.

🥠 Venus in the 12th House or Venus retrograde in the 7th regretting or reliving past romantic mistakes or feeling left out in your love life. Someone from the past returning.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Ciao, angels of darkness. Support?

@northopalshore

#lunar return chart observations #lunar return notes #lunar return astrology #lunar return observations #lunar return chart #astrology notes #astrology blog #astrology observations #astro notes #astro observations #astrology content #astrology #astrology community #astrology ramblings #lrc

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aernx · 9 days ago

Text

CLOSE TO YOU ⋆ lee heeseung

"pull the trigger on the gun i gave you when we met"

ㅤ ׅ 𝄂 𝄞ㅤ He's gone now, out of reach. Under the gleams of glamour, stands the boy you longed for, not quite a lover nor a friend. The line between them was a blur, and you think it's too late, not when he's already chased by the spotlight. So you do what you love─you write. It's harmless at first, a little song you wrote and posted on TikTok for fun, just to let go of your feelings, clearly not expecting it to blow up and reach the ears of your muse.

──── wc. 4.8k

⤿ warnings: yearning, angst (with comfort), college au, kissing

AERNOTES ꫂ❁ lots of plotholes prob but wtvrr NOT PROOFREAD!! TYPOS!!! kinda bad guys wrote this when i was like mad n annoyed N ALMOST MADE IT SAD ENDING but it's not!! dw happy smiles only 😼

this fic is inspired by the song close to you by gracie abrams !

"I don't have a single problem with provocative." Your shoulders opted for a small shrug, the bone bumping with the red polyester of Yujin's tracksuit. Your friend scoffed in return, her tone reeking of disbelief. Sneaker soles thump against creaky floorboards. Currently, your body is walking to class, but your mind has drifted someplace else, occupying your vacant thoughts with repressive ones.

Before you even know it, you are greeted by cushioned chairs and stairs of long tables. You grip the strap on your backpack a little tighter─like it was the last thing grounding you in the lecture hall before you float away like a balloon filled with helium. You try to imagine yourself as that, free enough to stay buoyant and not chained in one place.

The room is eerily quiet. You and Yujin must've been a few minutes too early. You two moved slowly through the place, not wanting to draw the attention of the already present students, each immersed in their own private affairs. Clicks of keyboards echoed throughout the hall, the noise colliding with distinct music in the background. You settled into the seats at the center. Not too close to be noticed─but not too far to lose focus.

Yujin shifted her gaze towards you, eyes expectant, like she already knew the secret you hid in your metaphorically locked journal before asking you for the key. "You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" Bingo.

You try to scan the empty chairs before you because you can't look at Yujin, not right now. Not when she can read you like an A1 poster on the billboard. "You should move on. He left, just like that, no explanation. And suddenly BOOM! His face is all over the internet." Your friend's advice went in the left ear and left through the right. Though the reminder itself was enough to return that gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of your stomach.

He always wanted to be a renowned singer and songwriter.

You weren't mad at him─no. He's chasing his dreams like he once said to you, back when he would confess all his yearnings and hopes for the future to you like a secret meant to be kept as his fingers stayed entwined between yours. You were just disappointed. After all, he talked about his plans as if you were in them.

But one day, he just disappeared. Gone were the sounds of his laughter in the hallways, the ones that always reminded you of hot chocolate on a winter night. Only his traces remained, the black hoodie he left accidentally in your dorm, the little notes of poetry he wrote for you to occupy his boredom, the little things that would be a constant reminder─reminder that he was there. It's the quiet things, items that blur in the background but also haunt your setting in the meantime.

Then you realize, you don't owe him anything. You're not his lover, just a friend who tethers in the line between. "I guess I wasn't just that important to him." Your whisper is light, though it is weighed with something heavier. The feeling makes you feel like you are sinking in a pit of quicksand; the more you move, the faster you will drown.

"Yn, you realize what you just said, right?" Yujin sneered before continuing her point. "That boy was head over heels in love with you. Everyone with a pair of eyes could see it. He just didn't dare to confess."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, not fully believing her remark. Though a deep part of you longed for it to be true, echoing a silent wonder. It won't change the present. You tuck that feeling back into the bottomless pit as you resurface to the shore. But it would change the way you see him.

"He doesn't, Jinnie. Quit your fantasies."

Yujin irked her eyebrow at your reply, like she knew your denial was coming. You hate it─hate that you are so easy to read for her. How your eyes gave away all the emotion you bottled, and in a single glance, Yujin can decipher them all. "Have you ever heard any of his songs? Babe, they're all clearly about you."

You pick the strings of your old guitar gently. The feeling is foreign but also familiar─nostalgic. Your fingers still against the instrument all of a sudden as you realize. It was your first time picking up the guitar after he left. Thousands of memories flooded through your mind, drowning you in the process. You try to swim against the current, fight back all the past memories haunting you with all your might, before your mind pulls you down to a specific memory of him.

BEFORE

A string of melodies echoed through the small walls of your dorm. Heeseung and you sat in the center of your bed, legs crossed and facing each other. Your acoustic guitar sits proudly on his thighs as he serenades you with the symphony of your dream.

"That is a song I wrote." His confession is delivered through a whisper as he finished, and you catch it like a lone firefly amidst twilight. "It's beautiful, Hee." Your eyes are wide─dazed, from the song or from him, you don't know.

(a/n: if u r curious, hee's song in this one is blue by kamal)

The boy downplayed your compliment; the flush on his ears remained hidden underneath the hood of his black hoodie. "I'm serious!"

"Yes, but your song was better." There is no insincerity laced beneath his tone, but one full of genuine praise instead. If there was anything common you share with Heeseung, it's your love for music and songwriting.

There is a certain epiphany in it, how you hide easily between the chorus and the verse. That when you write and you sing, there is no line to cross, no boundaries to jump over, and no expectations to exceed. You blend with the melody, fingers strumming the strings of your guitar as your voice ventures through the lyrics like a forbidden emotion, messy and unkept, but doesn't make it less valuable.

Though your passion burns deeply along the symphony of music, you're not brave enough to dwell in it. Your love for music is strong, but your value in stability in life is stronger. But Heeseung is different. Courage rushes deeply in his veins, and he is not afraid to fail. Not if it leads to an opportunity to live the life of his dreams.

You drown in the eyes of the boy before you, an ocean of emotion so deep that you would gladly suffocate in it. The tension is thick and his gaze is heavy. Your mind is already shifting elsewhere, and Heeseung's eyes wonders a little to long on your lips.

Your mind is frozen, and so are your limbs, like your brain has no longer gained control of its movements. Anticipation flared like an angry flame at the center of your heart, merging with a sense of desire you've been suppressing all this time. Your eyes are still locked, and no one dared to make a move.

Until he did. His touch is light on your skin, uncertainty brushing through the contact. The taste of his skin on yours makes you want more─more of him. His fingers graze your cheeks, movement slow and gentle, like he was caressing a precious sculpture in the museum, priceless and guarded.

"You are freezing, Yn." You don't even notice how cold the room is─how your body is trembling under his touch. Not when he's a few centimeters away from you, his own body heat radiating towards you like a bonfire in the cold forest.

He's moving, faster than your mind can comprehend. And suddenly, something warm is draped on your shoulders, similar to a hug in the cold, harsh night. His hoodie is gone now─no longer his. The thick fabric swallows your figure, blanketing you from the temperature.

"That's better."

Heeseung smiled, pleased at how you looked before, drowning in his hoodie. He doesn't make any effort to hide his containment, triggering your heart to triple its rhythm like a metronome.

His hand is now on yours, his digits enveloping your own like a silent prayer. There is a certain shift in his eyes, and he's holding onto you like you would float away if he let go. Your other hand hovered over his, a reminder that you're here and you're not going away─not ever.

Heeseung opened his mouth, yet no words came out of it. His eyes tell a thousand stories behind just one glance, and you want to memorise them all in your head and embed them in your soul. Your gaze ventured to his features, the slight crease of his eyebrow, and the uncertainty masking his visage. He's hiding something from you, but you don't push─you never do. Because you don't want him to grovel before you like he was forced to, you want him to unfold.

"Yn I...I lo-" He stops himself, his grip on your bedsheet is hard enough for it to crumple under his fist. "I have to go." Confusion took over your demeanor, making the guilt pooling in Heeseung's heart worsen.

"Are you okay?" Worry bled in your tone as you looked up at his now standing figure.

"I'm fine."

You're still cross-legged on your bed, gaze locked on him like he was the answer to all of your prayers. Heeseung thinks that if you begged him to stay with you, right here, right now, he wouldn't have the heart to leave. "I have to go, Yn." His hand is on the doorknob, the muscle of his arm pulls the lever down before creaking the door open.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right? At class?" Your question lingers in the air, frozen for a minute as Heeseung stayed amidst the open door, almost as if he was hesitant to leave. "Y-yeah."

He didn't turn his head when he closed the door, because if he did, he wouldn't trust himself to leave, not when you're there, eyes glued on him, looking like the answer to his prayers.

That was the last time you saw him.

PRESENT

Tears spilled unwillingly against your cheeks, dampening your features with a touch of sadness and longing. You missed him, and no amount of denial is ever going to stop that feeling from surging in, invading your mind with his lingering presence.

It's almost like you could feel him behind you. Back pressed against his chest, his fingers atop your own on the string of the guitar as you both play a melody you've grown accustomed to.

And before you know it, your hand grows a mind of its own, subconsciously reaching for a pen and your journal on your desk, as it writes away all your feelings blurred in a series of verses and rhymes. You can't stop it─you don't want to, so you give in. Indulging all the pain and yearning into poetry and uniting them under the guise of a symphony. But in reality? It's just a sequence of raw and unfiltered emotions.

You don't know what got over you when you decided to post it─the song, the sound of your heart, but you continue. Fingers that strung the guitar now hovered on the keyboard screen of your phone, typing the caption of your little TikTok video before pressing the post button.

"This is a song I wrote, for the boy I loved. Not a lover, but not exactly a friend either. I see him everywhere except beside me, not like he used to. This is a confession not a demand. Just something I need to get out of my system. I don't expect him to see this, but if he does, this is for you."

The video plays, the string of your guitar echoed through the walls of your white-painted walls.

"I don't got a single problem with provocative..."

Your voice started, gentle as a breeze, though it is woven by hundreds of different emotions. The energy builds up in the chorus, you're strumming your guitar harder, and you're singing louder─more desperate.

"To be close to you Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met I wanna be close to you Break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight Just let me be close to you, close to you, close to you."

You repeat the last three words as the high goes down. Close to you. Like a whisper─like a plea. And you vision him close, right next to you. You could almost see the smile he harbours. He would've been proud, proud of your courage to share your talent with anyone other than him and Yujin.

Then the music stopped. Your voice came to a halt, and your fingers moved to wipe the tear strumming down your face before sending a small smile to the camera as you ended the video.

You don't expect it to blow up─your TikTok's never do. Not even those little trends you make with Yujin ever went above a thousand views. So you were surprised to see that video having almost 2 million viewers in the span of one night, brimming your notifications with thousands of comments and your DMs with hundreds of others.

You wake up from the sound of a phone call. Yujin, it read, and a thousand missed ones too. Your fingers hovered on the accept button, pressing it as you open your eyes gorggily. "Oh my god, Yn, check your TikTok account, right now!" Her excited sequel pierced your ear like a knife through the head, and you feel like fainting, mind awake, but your body is still in a daze.

You nodded at her words, fingers automatically pressing the music app like it was muscle memory. Though you feel as if a bucket of water is splashed on you as you are greeted by the video you posted impulsively last night. "My best friend is going viral! Babe, you're famous."

Yujin's voice blurred at the backgorund as you skimmed through the comments of said video. Most of them relate to your yearning, and some complement your lyrics and voice.

A notification pinged on your phone, the little message preview teasing you like bait. You gasped as you read the sender's name, almost dropping your phone in the process.

Heeseung I saw the video you posted your song, it's beautiful, and most importantly, it's you I'm so proud of you for sharing it with the world :) let's meet up. I wanna talk but not over text I know you're mad and you have every right to be but please, Yn just hear me out Then you can decide what you want to do from there on

He saw the video and he listened. Once, twice, thrice, you don't know. He also knew, knew that it was about him. Of course it was, who else would it be? You read over his text, again, and again, and again until the words are engraved on your mind like a mark. Like, if you didn't go over them once more, the words would disappear from your screen, mocking you with a hallucination that he cares.

A big part of you is screaming at you to decline, reject him, or worse, leave him hanging. He disappeared for months, you posted a song about him and all of a sudden, he's back?

But there is a small tug in your heart, a puddle of curiosity slowly flowing. You missed his face, his voice. You missed him, and he was about to give you an explanation of why he left without saying goodbye.

You stared at the screen, the grip on your phone slightly loosening as you ventured back to the song you posted a few hours back. You didn't notice it before, but now it's fully drawn to you. You were wearing his hoodie, the one he left on you the night he disappeared.

Your lip is probably bleeding due to how much you've been biting it. The taste of iron slipped to your tongue, unpleasant but not as bitter as the feeling you harbor in your heart right now. You're contemplating the options laid before you. Though before your brain settles on your decision, your heart already makes one for you, taking control over your limbs as fingers typed the messages.

You cover your eyes from the harsh beams of the sun, blocking the light with your hands before entering the cafe in front of you. You look behind the tinted glass, eyes glued to the star that reigned the sky, and you felt like it was mocking you, almost.

The cafe is adorned with a light atmosphere, the breeze of the air conditioner and the view of the greenery from the vertical garden welcomed you in contrast to the blazing sun outside. You went in slowly, steps careful as your eyes ventured to locate a certain someone.

It wasn't hard to. The cafe was empty, with only a lone figure sitting in the corner. Hood above his head and a cap low on his face, an attempt to hide his features with the clothing. It might work for any passerby, but it doesn't work─not for you. You've seen him plenty, too many times, maybe. He was always wherever you were, and he carried himself with a certain poise so distinctive you could spot him even in a sea of people.

You peer closer towards the hunched figure, promptly taking a seat opposite from his. The man finally looked up, noticing the movement before him. And just like that, you locked your gaze with each other as the feelings resurfaced.

You let go of the breath you didn't know you were holding, and the space around you felt like it was shrinking. You feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, like the walls are closing in on you and you're trapped in the center of the madness. The sound of his voice snapped you out of your mind prison, calming you from your own thoughts.

Your heart sinks upon realization. How could he be the disease yet also the cure to this infection you feel invading your heart and mind?

Wooden chair screeched at the friction of movement on the floor, disrupting the music humming gently on the air. "Yn, you're really here."

"I don't leave people hanging." Your tone is sharp, almost crude. Heeseung felt your words cut through like a newly sharpened blade ready to slice its first victim. "I guess I deserved that." His chuckle aired, an effort to remove the heavy tension and your current ill feeling towards him.

But you don't reply─not like you would've a few months ago. Your eyes move, looking at everything but him. "Yn, I'm sorry, I really am. I have a reason, why I disappeared without telling you."

Your head turned at the start of his paragraph, attention now fully averted as he attempts to satisfy your current predicament. "My manager he...he wouldn't let me contact anyone you because he thought it would be bad for my image."

A scoff left your lips, disbelief ringing through the sound, almost mocking his reason. Did he really think you would believe that? "Did your brain stop working after you left college? 'Cause how did you think I would buy that?"

Heeseung bit the inside of his cheeks, the shame settling heavily on his shoulders. You were cold, and he could almost feel the temperature dropping at your remark. He's never seen you like this; he never had the reason to. He hated it, every moment of this meeting. He was expecting you to be mad, yes, but not indifferent. He wants you to scream, push him off, and let out all your anger on him. After all, he booked the whole cafe for this reason only.

"Then what do you wanna hear, Yn?" His voice is low, laced with a blend of frustration. "The truth." Your request is simple, yet it's expensive even for a rising star of the music industry like Heeseung.

The singer took off his cap, ruffling his hair before resting his gaze on yours. "I couldn't." His whisper is like the first snowfall of winter, barely there but easy to catch. You could see all of his face now, his features that have been engraved on your head, the way your fingers memorised every curve and dip of his dimples, and the times you spent kissing his skin with your affection.

He looks different. Not unpleasant, better maybe, but different. There is a subtle change only some would notice, yet it alters with the version of him before─the version of him that was yours.

"Why?" You echo a silent plea, hidden beneath the lace of disdain and disappointment. Heeseung bit his bottom lip, the truth fighting its way out of his tongue. "Because I wouldn't be able to leave if I said goodbye."

A scoff ran through you once more, reeking of incredulity. "I was scared, okay? Scared that if you asked me to stay, I would stay. And I won't bring myself to leave." Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his reason. Did he really know you at all? In no way would you ever hinder him from chasing his dreams─not when there was an opportunity laid out for him to take.

Disappointment rushed through your veins and straight to the pit of your heart. You shook your head sideways, shifting your legs as you moved out of your seat. You're done, done with Heeseung and everything about him. You're leaving this cafe, along with the remnants of him in the process.

Your back is turned against him as you make your way to the exit. But before you could rush out, you felt a gentle force, anchoring you to stay in your position. "Yn, please." He said the word like a prayer, like he wants to embed it to your head. He'll say it as much as you want as long as it would make you stay.

"I'm sorry, please. Yn, for everything, for leaving without a word."

You're still not facing him, yet your words reached him like it was accustomed to ripping him apart. "If you really did know me, you would've known that I would never ask you to stay. Not when your dream is being handed on a platter right in front of you."

You felt a tug on your entwined hand as the grasp tightened under his hold. "I know that, I know. But I just couldn't imagine saying goodbye. I can't see you crying because it'll only make me stay."

"Too late for that." You whispered, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. You don't want him to see you─not when you're like this, open wounded and bleeding. You try to walk away, you try to untangle your laced fingers but you physically couldn't. Then he moves, fast. All of a sudden he's in front of you, blocking your pathway to the door with his body.

"Yn please, give me a chance." You made your first mistake when you connected your gaze with his. If your heart were bleeding, then he is already dead due to blood loss. You could see it, all the pent-up emotions sewn under his plea. "Why now?" Your voice started small, barely noticeable. But a small spark can easily turn into a large flame, and you are no different. "Why bother now, huh?!" You pushed him off, your bottle of feelings exploding akin to the reaction of mentos dropped into a bottle of coca-cola.

And Heeseung just stood still, not moving an inch even after the harsh shove of your hand on his chest. He succumbed because he knew he deserved it. Leaving you without even a message, an implication that you weren't worth his time. It's not true, of course not. Not when all he ever did at the intensive training was think about you. All the songs he wrote, published, and performed were all for you. But how would you know that in the first place, right?

"I...I was a coward, I was afraid." You stop hitting him but your hands are still on his chest, halting at the sound of his voice. Heeseung faltered under your touch, tears freely running down his perfect face, his mask, one that is carved for the public to see, is now shattering before you. "I thought that it would be easier if I just disappeared. You'll move on and find someone better, someone thats more stable."

His grip is on the sides of your shirt, fist clenched hard enough to mess the straightened garment. He holds on, hard, like thats the only thing keeping you away from slipping past his fingers, from his life. You don't talk, you can't even find your voice. Only your heart remained, broken, bleeding, and laid out in front of him. "Never once did I not think about you. Everyday I would go to your number, I would reread our old chats." He paused, containing himself for a moment before continuing. "I wanted to call you, everyday, every fucking moment. But I was scared."

His breathing is labored, head all over the place. Your faces are drenched now, with tears and suppressed emotions. "My manager said that it would be extremely busy few months before and debuting. So I thought that...that-" His words are broken but they're honest and raw, the sincerity that seeps through it pierced through your heart like an arrow. "But then I─I heard your song and...and-"

And just like that he broke. Legs succumbing to the floor as he fell into his knees. Your eyes widen, surprise taking over your features before attempting to lift him up. "Heeseung, get up. We're in public, this is bad for your image."

"I'm sorry, Yn, please. I'll do anything for you to look at me like before again. Please, Yn."

He's not listening, he's not even trying to. He didn't even care about the public─not right now. Not when his whole world is standing in front of him. "God, Heeseung, get up. Your PR team is going to kill you." You grumble under your breath, mind fully occupied by the boy before you.

But he doesn't budge, his lips echoing more please and more sorries instead. You peered your eyes down to look at him─really look at him. It's pathetic, sure. Rising star Lee Heeseung got on his knees to beg for forgiveness to his not-even-girlfriend. It would make the headlines, definitely.

But then your heart soften ever so slightly. At the way he clung to you like you're his anchor, the only thing holding him ground, like the only purpose for him yo breathe. "Okay, Hee, I forgive you." Your voice is soft, laced with worry and something deeper. "Now stand up."

The singer paused for a second. The words settling slowly on his mind like forbidden knowledge. Then he looked up at you, eyes wide and teary, looking at you like you're the answer to his prayers. "I forgive you, Heeseung. Get up." You repeat once more.

Without wasting another second he got up, long arms engulfing you in a tight hug, a promise─a reminder that he won't let go, not anymore. "I read the caption of your video." He gasped out as you lean on his chest. His fingers caressed the back of your head in a gentle manor, like he was afraid that everything was not real, an illusion his mind made to cope.

"Is it true?." He paused, eyes looking down at you. You met his gaze in the middle, and Heeseung read them all, all of your pent up feelings, love, frustration, anger, doubt, pooling in your vision.

You opted for a small nod, not trusting your voice to not betray you. The boy took a sharp breath upon realization, eyes wide as he looked at you with devotion. His hand trailed up to your shoulder, your neck, then settled on your cheeks. Caressing the skin like it was worth more than the most precious diamond in the universe. His eyes find yours again, now lighting up with a new emotion: desire.

"I love you, Yn."

Heeseung swallowed the air in his throat, gaze averting from your eyes to your lips in circle. You knew it, what he was doing. So you didn't stop him when he leaned in.

It was gentle at first, his lips settled on yours softly, like he's afraid you'll evaporate from his touch. But then you pull him in─closer, on the nape of his neck, channeling all your bottled emotions into the kiss, almost as if he'll disappear again. He meets you halfway, his hand that was on your cheeks tilted your face slightly, deepening the action.

His mouth left yours, though his kisses remained. Trailing your jaw and your neck, peppering them with bliss as you tugged his hair at the feeling. "Heeseung."

He stopped, giving you a small peck before looking at you with his doe eyes, swollen lips, and messy hair. You clenched your fists, ignoring the temptation looming in the depths of your mind.

"Let's go somewhere private."

AERNOTES ! the ending is so rushed but oh well. also pls giv me a tutorial on how to write kiss scenes bc?? IT'S SO HARD N FOR WHAT😭😭

©️ AERNX 2025

#enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #heeseung x yn #enhypen x you #enhypen scenarios #enhypen au #heeseung enhypen #enhypen heeseung #heeseung x you #enhypen imagines

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ambrosia-vinca · 8 months ago

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There's a kind of defensive attitude towards criticism re:Lucanis' romance in many corners of the fandom that I partially understand because Veilguard gets a lot of shit thrown at it, and if you enjoy something you naturally want to defend it. But this type of attitude also rubs me the wrong way when people who loved the way his romance played out say that anyone criticizing it must just not understand slow burns/not like slow burn as a genre/not understand Lucanis' character and his trauma properly/must have been expecting explicit sex scenes and a Zevran 2.0.

Maybe some people criticizing his romance don't like slow burns, or were wrongly expecting him to be a sex god, or ignore his trauma. I've seen a few. But that's not all the criticism there is.

Personally, I love slow burns, it's my favorite genre both to read and write (I'm the type of fic writer to think up 200k words enemies to lovers longfics where they've barely kissed after 100k words). I'm also the type of ace person who's not into extremely explicit sex scenes or super kinky romances (especially with male dom stuff, which I personally dislike). And lastly, I'm the type who picks the angstiest possible romance choice.

All this to say that Lucanis and his romance were theoretically made in a lab for me. Slow burn because the character doesn't trust easily and is traumatized by his past experiences and has many things he must resolve, excruciatingly slow to open up? Unexpectedly very sweet, wet, sad man with puppy eyes? Romance scenes that are caring and romantic instead of outright steamy? Perfect, right up my alley! I keep romancing Fenris in DA2 exactly for that reason because I love him dearly, and he breaks up with Hawke for 3 whole years! Still my favorite!

But the whole point of a slow burn are the steps. It's a slow burn, which means little step by little step, the relationship slowly builds to a conclusion, from tentative acquaintances who don't trust each other, to slooowly evolve into something more, and it's precisely these crumbs that make the trope enjoyable.

To me, Lucanis' romance doesn't feel like it does little steps, it feels like it skips steps. I can see the main story beats of a good slow burn, but not the crumbs that make a slow burn. I don't want him and Rook to jump each other after 2 scenes, I want to see more of the fumbling, the hesitation, the dancing around each other. No, dragon age isn't a romance game, I'm aware, but if romance is an option, and it is written to fit a specific trope, I would like it done properly. They've done slowburns and angsty before, and they were good (even Solas', and his romance is super short). I want the evolution of the relationship shown to me, not told in broad strokes and big steps, and I don't want to have to write half the romance in my head or rely on ao3.

We get nothing between the coffee date and the almost kiss, absolutely no reaction of any kind to the flirting, not even a blink. If Lucanis and Rook were capable of having an entire conversation about coffee and kisses metaphors when they barely knew each other, then I think they can flirt a bit more in the following conversations when you pick the romantic option, dance around each other, have Lucanis fumble a little more like he does with Neve when he actually registers Rook is sincerely into him. Even just a sign that he heard Rook when they pick the romantic option in the following conversations, because as it is he immediately resumes whatever he was saying. And if his lack of reaction is because he's suddenly afraid and thinks it's a bad idea, I would like it shown on his face, or as an actual noticeable pause/hesitation. It didn't look like he thought it was a bad idea at Café Pietra, unless he just thought Rook was flirting just to flirt and wasn't serious, but again, none of that is hinted at in any way.

Then there's the almost kiss that follows and is the first actually romantic moment we get after the coffee date, and suddenly Lucanis is all smooth and confident about flirting again. With nothing in between ever since *Illario voice* he got all romantic about roasts. Was he reluctant before and that's why he didn't react to Rook's flirting/caring concern? We have no idea, because while he warns Rook it's a bad idea to be attracted to him, he doesn't seem scared, more amused at their daredevil tendencies. The first time in his entire romance we get a clear indication he's afraid and won't open up for a long time is at the end of this specific scene, when he pulls away, and the way it happens is like Lucanis himself wasn't expecting his fear to overcome him. He wants, he lets himself be pulled forward, and then he suddenly gets drowned by overwhelming terror, and he pulls away.

The beginning of the romance (the date + almost kiss) reads to me as if Lucanis was trying to forget the Ossuary, letting himself flirt and feel attraction and just simply live again as if nothing happened, believing if he didn't think about his trauma and forcefully moved forward then it would stay buried, and then the Ossuary unexpectedly caught up to him, because you don't just bury things like that, it always comes back up at some point if you make no effort to actually process what happened.

And then there's nothing again for a long while. I can imagine Rook leaving space for Lucanis because they're considerate of his feelings and they can see something is deeply wrong, but still, something big and awkward happened between them! Not even one conversation where they try to gently broach the subject and Lucanis immediately clams up? What about some mentions of how awkward things suddenly are between the two? Even through party banter? We got plenty about Hawke and Fenris' situationship in DA2 after Fenris pulls away. The other companions comment on their breakup and how it's painfully obvious they're in love still, no matter what happened, and there are a few banters between Hawke and Fenris themselves. Surely things are a little tense and awkward between Rook and Lucanis as well at that point, and their friends would notice? They don't spend as much time together as they used to, Lucanis doesn't talk directly to Rook much anymore unless he has to, can't quite look them in the eye, doesn't want to stay alone in a room with them. He is still protective of them because he obviously cares very much, but can't bring himself to have an honest talk about his feelings and fears because he's still completely locked in his mind prison and would rather deal with his problems by stabbing his enemies.

Rook being lost because they haven't been inside his head yet and they're not sure if it's because of what Lucanis has been through, or if they did something wrong to get them rejected, and they're stuck because Lucanis completely refuses to open up. There are so many little things that could have been implemented to actually serve as the little steps for the slow burn. You're telling me even Emmrich or Neve, perceptive as they are, wouldn't have noticed their two friends suddenly being awkward and sad and not try to talk to Rook about it at the very least?

And then there's the mind prison where Rook gets all Lucanis' fears and insecurities explicitly told to them. Immediately followed by the scene where you lock in the relationship as he makes them dessert.

Were they in a relationship?? When did they get together? Do they get together right there in the kitchen by the sheer power of cake (ok, relatable)? You don't know! They almost kiss, things are theoretically painfully awkward between them for a while, Rook discovers the substance of his trauma, and poof. They're a couple. Yes, I know that Lucanis' love language is acts of service, but did they communicate at all at any point about what's going on between them? Surely even if Rook helping him out of his head puts him on the road to eventual recovery, it didn't suddenly erase all of Lucanis' trauma and fears and doubts.

I liked Rook calling out the subtext of what Lucanis says in that scene (“it's nothing, or not enough”/”it is, and you are”), I did think it was sweet and perceptive of them. But still, we go from attraction to pulling away to suddenly committing to a relationship with never actually discussing exactly what goes on between them. Never outright deciding they want to try something serious. There wouldn't have been much actual flirting or sincere conversations between them after the almost-kiss, for obvious reasons, so how does Lucanis know Rook hasn't moved on/isn't angry at him after all this time, considering how they didn't communicate at all afterwards and he's not exactly the best at feelings and self-confidence? He just talks as if it's a given they're attracted to him still, and only worries about not being good enough for them. I wanted crumbs of reassurance from Rook, more than what we got, because Lucanis' probable guilt is never actually tackled in any way – he had perfectly valid reasons to pull away, of course, but considering how much he blames himself for anything and everything, I'm pretty sure he would also blame himself for hurting Rook's feelings, even if they're understanding and not actually angry with him at all.

Idk. I have a lot of thoughts, especially about the middle of his romance. The last big scene we get is one of my favorites through all dragon age games, it was so sweet, but I still felt like the entire middle part of the romance lacked a lot of slow burn crumbs, and I was still hungry when I got to the end.

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rookanis #dragon age veilguard #veilguard spoilers #veilguard critical

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