#for your challenges because they’re something your supposed to hide. like?? NO

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ we listen & we don’t judge .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x influencer!reader

⤿ bakugou and yn did the we listen and we don’t judge trend.

“Why the hell are we doing this again?” Bakugou grumbled, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the couch, glaring at your phone like it personally offended him. You were fiddling with the tripod, humming a happy tune, completely unaffected by his usual sour mood.

“Because it’s fun, Katsuki,” you chirped, stepping back to check the angle. “And because I said so.”

“Tch. Stupid trend,” he muttered, but his scowl faltered when you gave him that look—the one where your eyes sparkled with excitement. “Fine, whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

You grinned, plopping down beside him and nudging his shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now remember the rules—‘we listen, and we don’t judge.’”

“Like I’d judge you,” he scoffed, though his ears turned a faint pink. “Just hit record already.”

You hit the record button and waved at the camera. “Okay, we’re doing the ‘We Listen and Don’t Judge’ challenge! I’ll start!” Turning to him, you smiled mischievously. “Alright, Katsuki. The first time I saw you in your hero costume, I thought your gauntlets looked like giant grenade-shaped marshmallows.”

He blinked at you, his jaw dropping. “Marshmallows?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“They’re poofy!” you laughed, covering your mouth. “Like, in a cute way! I love them now, though!”

“You think Dynamight—the badass hero—looks cute?!” he snapped, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey! We listen, and we don’t judge!” you reminded him, trying not to giggle at how genuinely offended he looked.

“Fine,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch. “My turn. That time you made me tea when I was sick? I dumped it down the sink because I thought it looked weird.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?! I made that tea with so much love! I even Googled the recipe!”

“It looked like sludge, YN,” he shot back, smirking now. “I wasn’t gonna risk dying over tea.”

“Wow, Katsuki. Wow,” you deadpanned, trying to hide your laugh. “We listen, and we don’t judge, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand. “Your turn.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think hard. “Okay, remember that time you thought the washing machine was broken because it kept making weird noises?”

“Don’t tell me…” he said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“It wasn’t broken,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I accidentally put one of your gloves in there, and it got stuck.”

“What?!” he groaned, throwing his head back. “Are you serious?! I spent an hour fixing that stupid thing!”

“Whoops,” you said innocently, leaning away from him as he glared at you. “We listen, and we don’t judge!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Last one, and we’re done.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious about what he’d say. He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Remember that time I told you I couldn’t hang out because I had extra patrol shifts?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah…?”

“I lied,” he confessed. “I stayed home because I wanted to finish watching that stupid rom-com you made me start. It was too good, alright?!”

You gasped dramatically, clapping your hands. “You mean The Proposal?! Oh my god, Katsuki! You liked it!”

“Shut up!” he snapped, cheeks blazing. “I didn’t say I liked it—I said it was decent.”

“You were laughing so hard at the Sandra Bullock scenes!” you teased, scooting closer to poke his cheek. “Admit it—you’re a closet rom-com fan!”

“Like hell I am!” he barked, swatting your hand away. “Next time, we’re watching something with explosions.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But you’re not off the hook yet—what’s your favorite part of the movie?”

“I’m not answering that,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Come on, Katsuki,” you teased, leaning against his shoulder. “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

He grumbled something under his breath, refusing to meet your gaze. Finally, he muttered, “The grandma dancing part was kinda funny.”

You burst out laughing, grabbing his arm as he groaned in embarrassment. “Oh my god, you’re so cute!”

“Shut up, idiot,” he growled, but his lips twitched into a small, begrudging smile as he pulled you closer. “This trend’s stupid, but I guess it wasn’t that bad.”

You smiled up at him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Admit it—you had fun.”

“Maybe,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. “But don’t think I’ll do another one of these dumb trends.”

“Whatever you say, Dynamight,” you teased, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as the camera caught his flustered reaction.

“Cut the damn recording already!” he barked, his blush deepening.

[digitaldaydreamm]

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | you tried the 'ick' trend you saw on tiktok out on rafe to see how long it would take to annoy him

warnings: cursing, reader annoys rafe and he's a little drama queen about it

a/n: i just love making hot men angry :p

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

You could tell Rafe wasn’t exactly thrilled by your idea, but that never stopped you. The ick challenge had been floating around for a while, and today, you were determined to annoy the hell out of him. You had the perfect plan—make a list of the most ridiculous icks you could think of and see how far you could push him before he snapped.

You pulled your phone out, aiming the camera at the two of you. “Alright, Rafe, let’s do the ick challenge. I'll just say a few things you do that annoy me. It’ll be fun.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed in irritation. “This is fuckin’ dumb.”

“Come on,” you insisted, already grinning. “Just one round. A couple icks.”

Rafe groaned but gave in. “Fine. But this is the last time I’m doing something this stupid with you.”

You pressed record and turned the camera back on both of you. “Okay, so first... You always have to give me a lecture about how to ‘be safe’ when I go out. I’m a grown-ass woman, Rafe. I know how to look both ways before crossing the street.”

Rafe shot you a look like you’d just cursed him out. “You never listen to me. Don’t act like I’m over here telling you to wear a helmet and knee pads to go to the grocery store. I’m just lookin’ out for you.”

You could see the annoyance bubbling beneath his tough exterior, but you pressed on. “Sure, sure. But also, you never let me carry anything. We’ll be out and about, and you’ll just grab the bags, even when I’m totally fine carrying them.”

“Because I don’t want you strainin’ yourself,” he growled. “If you weren’t so damn stubborn, you’d let me do it.”

You smirked, loving how easy it was to get under his skin. “Right, I’m sure it’s all about you being ‘helpful,’” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Next thing, you hold the door open for me because you’re ‘polite' and get mad if i open my own door."

Rafe scowled. “I am polite. What’s your point?”

You shook your head with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, well, you have this whole routine when you get home. You take off your shoes by the door so slowly. Like, what is that? You’re literally just taking off shoes, Rafe, not preparing for battle.”

“Don’t make fun of my routine. It’s called not tracking dirt into my place, alright? I’m not some slob.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, crossing your arms. “You always put your hoodie on the back of the chair and it stays there all day. It’s like you think it’s a coat rack.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t want to wrinkle it. It’s not like you don’t leave your shit everywhere either.”

“Okay, okay,” you shot back, loving how he was getting a little worked up. “You always ask me if I’m ‘good’ when I’m just sitting on the couch. Am I supposed to be doing something? I’m literally just chilling, Rafe.”

“Because you act like you’re about to pass out or something. I’m making sure you’re not about to fall asleep in the middle of the day.”

You threw your hands up in mock disbelief. “Oh, but wait, there’s more! You get so mad when I eat my food before you. Like, it’s just a fucking sandwich, Rafe. You’ll give me this look like I’ve just committed a crime.”

“I’m just sayin’, you’re supposed to wait for me,” he muttered, clearly annoyed.

You leaned in closer, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Also, you always wear those damn golf shorts. Seriously, what’s up with that? Are you carrying a golf club in those pockets?”

“They’re comfortable, alright? You're one to talk, you dress like a grandma sometimes,” he fired back. “You’ve got those goddamn oversized sweaters with a billion pockets in ‘em.”

You giggled. “Touché. But speaking of clothes, you’re obsessed with making me wear your shit. I don’t need your hoodie every single time I come over, Rafe.”

“You’re literally freezing when you come over. I’m not lettin’ you freeze your ass off just because you think you can tough it out.”

“Mmhm, right,” you teased. “You always act like you’re too good to eat fast food. It’s just a burger. Stop acting like you’re above it.”

"Because I don’t need to eat that shit. You eat fast food, you turn into fast food. Simple as that.”

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “Oh, but the best one, the absolute best one? You literally can’t ever let me do anything without you hovering like some kind of damn helicopter. I’ll be putting my shoes on, and you’re right there breathing down my neck.”

“I’m making sure nothin' happens,” he shot back quickly, the vein in his neck tightening. “You need help with everything.”

“Right, of course,” you said innocently, loving every second of his escalating frustration. “Okay, last one: You always text me like twenty times a day to check in. ‘What are you doing? You okay? Where are you?’ I’m not a child.”

“You think I don’t know what could happen out there? People are crazy, alright?” Rafe shot back, his tone suddenly rougher. “And I don’t trust anybody with you. That’s why I check in.”

You smirked, leaning back to take in his response. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched, but there was something else behind his eyes that made you pause. You didn’t quite know if it was pure protectiveness or something darker, but it had your attention.

Before you could think about it too much, Rafe snatched the phone off the table with a growl, stopping the recording. “Alright, that’s it,” he spat. “You’ve had your fun. I’m done with your little games.”

You blinked, trying to figure out if he was really mad or just messing with you. But the way he looked at you—like he was holding back—made you hesitate.

“Rafe, come on, I was just—”

He tossed the phone onto the couch. “Next time, don’t push it. If you keep testing me, you won’t like what happens next.”

You swallowed hard, realizing this was one of those moments when maybe, just maybe, you pushed a little too far.

“Okay, okay, no more icks, I promise.”

Rafe stared at you for a beat longer, then a smirk crossed his lips. “Damn right.”

[psformybss]

Press Tour Secrets

drew starkey x actress!reader

warnings: secret relationship, press tour chaos, tension disguised as banter, sarcastic flirting

The problem with press junkets isn’t the hours or the recycled air or the caffeine crash halfway through your fourth interview. It’s that everyone thinks they’re clever.

Especially this one.

“So,” the interviewer says, halfway through her notes, “your characters go from enemies to lovers this season. There’s all this tension, then bam—boat scene, rain kiss, that hallway moment in episode six? Pure heat. How do you prepare for scenes like that?”

You and Drew glance at each other, both of you schooling your faces like you didn’t just rehearse this exact type of question with the publicist twenty minutes ago.

Drew blinks slowly. “We read the script,” he says, deadpan.

You don’t look at him, because you will laugh.

The interviewer gives a little laugh, a forced one. “Sure, but come on. That kind of chemistry doesn’t just happen. Be honest—was there ever a moment on set where the lines got blurry?”

Here we go.

You lift your brows slightly, leaning forward with a bright, fake TV smile. “Are you asking if we got so into character we accidentally fell in love?”

She shrugs like that wasn’t exactly what she was hoping for. “I mean… if you’re offering.”

Drew crosses one ankle over the other, arm resting behind you on the couch but not touching. “We’re professionals,” he says, slow and smooth. “Very committed to the work.”

You hum. “So committed we shot that rain scene for eight hours.”

“Cold as hell,” he adds.

“Someone kept missing their mark.”

“You were distracting.”

You snap your head toward him with a look. He grins, not even pretending to hide it.

The interviewer latches on like a hawk. “So there was something.”

You wave a hand, sarcasm dialed to eleven. “Yes. Our deep, unspeakable love bloomed under wet lighting and a boom mic in our faces. It’s very romantic when the director yells ‘cut’ right as you’re supposed to look like you’re losing control.”

Drew snorts, covering it with a fake cough. The interviewer looks vaguely delighted and very confused.

“But really,” she presses, turning toward Drew, “you said in another interview that you ‘hadn’t worked with someone who challenged you like this in a while.’ What did you mean by that?”

Drew’s smile twitches. You see it—the quick flick of his eyes to you. Calculating. You brace.

“I meant exactly that,” he says smoothly. “She’s… sharp. Funny. Makes it impossible to phone it in.”

“And the kissing?”

“Also challenging,” he says, then tilts his head. “In the sense that, you know, I had to keep it together.”

You bite your cheek to keep from reacting. The host is full-on leaning forward now.

“Why keep it together?”

“She was spitting out gum between takes,” he says with faux sincerity. “Kind of ruined the magic.”

You choke on your water. The host barks out a laugh. The moment passes in a blur of jokes and one-liners and more back-and-forth that to anyone else probably sounds like flirty co-stars with good rhythm.

But you know better.

Because every time your knees brush under the coffee table, Drew doesn’t move away.

Because when the interviewer thanks you and the crew calls cut, he stays just a half-second longer in his seat like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You don’t make a beeline for the hallway this time. Instead, you drift out with him, casual but close, exchanging thank-yous with the team, grabbing a bottled water with one hand and his sleeve with the other when no one’s watching.

The corridor outside is empty except for a production assistant on a phone call near the elevator. You keep walking, past another suite, past a “Do Not Disturb” sign on a door.

“You,” you say, elbowing Drew gently, “are a menace.”

He raises a brow, all innocence. “What’d I do now?”

“‘She makes it impossible to phone it in?’ Really?”

He shrugs, stepping in front of you to walk backward. “Wasn’t a lie.”

You narrow your eyes, but you’re smiling, and he knows it. “One of these days you’re gonna slip and say something that actually outs us.”

“Maybe,” he says, low and teasing. “Or maybe I just like watching you panic a little.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

He grins. “A little chaos never hurt anyone.”

You pass another hallway junction, this one darker and quieter. The carpet muffles your steps. It’s a weird liminal hotel zone—between interview rooms and elevators, private enough to not be patrolled, but public enough to be a gamble.

Drew slows his steps.

You glance around, then back at him. “Here?”

He doesn’t answer. Just reaches for your hand and tugs you with him toward the corner alcove where two walls meet and a floor lamp flickers like it’s not quite screwed in right.

It’s dumb. Reckless. If anyone turns the corner right now, they’ll see you. You’ll be a blurry Twitter screenshot in five minutes.

You kiss him anyway.

Fast at first, a collision more than anything. You’d been holding it in for hours and now your fingers are in his jacket lapel and his hand is in your hair, tilting your head just right. He tastes like spearmint and coffee, warm and solid, grounding.

You break away with a breath, already laughing.

“That was stupid,” you whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back, then kisses you again.

His hand brushes your waist, your hips, careful but not innocent. You hook your arm around his neck and pull him even closer, until you’re pressed between him and the wall, and he mutters against your mouth, “God, I hate these press days.”

“I don’t,” you say, breathless. “Not if we get to do this after.”

You kiss again. And again. Between each one is a half-laugh, a breathless “wait, wait—” that neither of you listen to. It’s addictive, this mix of danger and giddiness, like teenagers sneaking around.

A door opens somewhere down the hall.

You both freeze.

Drew’s hand drops. You step back, fixing your hair, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Go,” you whisper, nudging his chest.

He straightens, smooths his shirt, nods. “You first.”

You glance at him over your shoulder as you head toward the elevator, eyes still bright, heart still pounding.

“You’re the worst,” you say.

He grins, walking the other way. “You love it.”

And the thing is—you really, really do.

an: i love writing them, it’s always so fun to come up with their banter

[simjaexy]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙔𝙤𝙪 | 𝙋.𝙎.

Pairing ⇀ Popular Boy! Park Sunghoon x Fem! Reader

Synopsis ⇀ Sunghoon is the enigmatic and talented ice hockey player, captivating everyone with his skill on the ice and his mysterious aura off it. He's the guy who doesn't say much but leaves a lasting impression. Sunghoon's dedication to his sport and his quiet confidence make him a true heartthrob, unfortunately he just can’t get your attention.

Genre ⇀ Smut

Warnings ⇀ MINORS DNI!!, Sunghoon is toxic (so is Jake a little), Making Out, Cum Eating, Hair Pulling, Mean Dom! Sunghoon x Sub! Reader, Pain Kink, Semi Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms

A/n ⇀ This is part 2 of the Wanting You Series.

Read Jongseong here.

Sunghoon was known for his icy demeanor and striking looks. He wasn't the type to show his emotions easily, and that made him even more intriguing. His friends often joked about his ability to make anyone fall for him without even trying.

But when one of them decided to make a challenge on who could pull you, Sunghoon didn’t even try hiding his smirk. He accepted the challenge, though he viewed it as just another game.

When Sunghoon heard about the challenge the first thing he did was ignore you. Not because he didn’t like you, but because he knew his friend, Jake was gonna have you first.

He knew Jake always loved being first in things, so it wasn’t a surprise when a few days later Jake said that Sunghoon can go for you.

“She’s pretty chill so I wouldn’t worry much.” Jake said.

Sunghoon grinned at him, “So why’d you take so long to get her?”

“Because she’s the kind that likes to play hard to get. Nothing too big though.” He replied.

Unfortunately for Sunghoon, you seem like you weren’t interested in him.

Students whispered and giggled as Sunghoon walked past them, unfazed that they’re talking about him.

It’s not the first time he’s got this attention, and it won’t be the last either. But when he walked past you, you didn’t even acknowledge him and just shut your locker and head the other way.

Sunghoon didn’t show and expression though. He just simply continued walking to his next class, he wasn’t gonna stop and beg.

If there was one thing Sunghoon hated about this class, is that there was always that one teacher that pissed him off.

He listens to his teacher talking his brains off about something he did over break, but why the hell would he care?

Sunghoon sighed and looked out the window. The view wasn’t all that either. He looked to his side and noticed a specific person walking past his classroom.

Immediately, he raised his hand, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Before the teacher could respond he quickly left the class. He was not trying to hear his teacher give him a lecture.

He scanned the hallways, but didn’t see any signs of you, that was until he heard a voice and saw you coming out the library.

You had two of the same books in your hand which left him confused, but didn’t ponder much.

Now that he thought about it, Jake’s been getting into books again. He rolled his eyes, thinking that Jake was still trying to keep you on hold while he tries to get you.

He knew Jake was a sucker for romance m, though he didn’t know he’d fall this fast. Sunghoon ignored his thoughts and went up to you shamelessly.

You bumped into him without seeing him and stared up, “O-Oh sorry.”

He looked down at you, “It’s fine. Have you seen Jake, he was with you the last time I seen him.”

He lied about the wanting to see Jake. He saw him not even that long ago but who cares. He has to get your attention somehow.

He did see you two together at one point today even though he wasn’t supposed to interrupt Sunghoons turn, but Sunghoon let it slide.

“Uh I think he went to a soccer game, they got called out early in the speaker.” You replied.

Sunghoon hummed and thanked you, walking away without a thought. You watched as he disappeared from your sight.

You and Jake haven’t been really talking as much since the incident in the library, sometimes he’ll just plain out ignore you when you tried talking to him in the halls, but texts you apologizing that he didn’t see you.

You’d sigh and would leave a message saying it’s fine. You’d still give him a book though, at least it’s one way to keep in touch.

He’d grab it in a secluded hallway and thanked you, kissing your forehead. He wouldn’t kiss you though, but you thought he just didn’t feel like it.

The next day Sunghoon got up extra early. Jake told him that you were going to the library so he decided to head there too. He already had a plan fixed.

He has to talk about something that’ll keep you interested, and he doesn’t think Jake won’t be offended if he used him as bait. The plan was quite simple.

He would talk about Jake and how he’s been ignoring you since Jake said it was for Sunghoon to get his game up.

You’d feel sad and disappointed and that’s when Sunghoon will come into view. His plan was simple and yet perfect.

As he made it to the library, he noticed that there barely anyone there. The librarians working on books while some students were reading or doing homework.

He averted his gaze to a specific hair color and walked his way towards you. You looked engrossed in a book. He approached you, his cold aura unmistakable, "Is this seat taken?" he asked, his voice smooth but distant.

You glanced up, slightly taken aback by his sudden presence, and shook your head. He sat down, barely sparing you a glance as he pulled out his own book.

The silence between you was palpable, but there was something about his aloofness that piqued your curiosity.

You wondered why he randomly wanted to sit with you. Maybe it was because you were talking to Jake?

It was silent for quite some time, the only thing heard were the sound of Sunghoon flipping pages of his book. You didn’t know he was interested in books.

“Is there something on my face?” He suddenly asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly turned back to your book, “S-Sorry.” You stuttered.

Sunghoon suddenly closed his book and stared at you, “Have you’ve been talking to Jake?”

You looked up from your book surprised. You didn’t know if he knew that Jake was ignoring you, “Not really, no. He’s been busy with practice I guess.”

Sunghoon hummed and leaned on his hand, “He doesn’t have practice on the weekends.” He spoke. Your eyes widened.

But he told you he had practice everyday? You felt your chest sting and took a deep breath, “He told me he did?”

“He doesn’t.”

The way Sunghoon cold honestly somewhat made you snap into reality. Jake lied to you. He always cancelled your plans on the weekends saying he had practice.

Sunghoon continued staring at you. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the way you looked.

Brows furrowed, lips parting, concentrated in thought. He definitely hit you where it hurts, “Jake has always been like that with girls. Lying to their faces. It’s in his nature.” Sunghoon chuckled.

But you just stayed silent. You slowly closed your book, “I-I think I should get going.” You muttered. Sunghoon doesn’t stop you when you rushed out the library.

Instead he yawned, closed his book, and headed out the library too. Plan a worked perfectly. Now all he has to do is put on his comforting character and care for you.

Class was just as boring as he remembered. Currently he had his head down, it was break and students were talking to each other. Sunghoon didn’t really have friends in that class.

He just talks to whoever comes up to him. Aside from girls, he ignored them or just give out short answers.

While feeling in the verge of falling asleep, he heard a group of girls speaking, “Yeah it’s tonight so I went to buy a cute dress yesterday!” A girl voice squeaked.

He then heard another girl talk, “You think Sunghoon and his friends will go?” A girl muttered, but Sunghoon heard loud and clear.

They began whispering while it suddenly clicked in Sunghoon mind. Today was the gathering of students good attendance.

Sunghoon and his friends did have good attendance, but never went to those. It was cringey and not worth their time from practice.

He then had an idea. You must be going to it, he knows you had good attendance, he won’t lie and say he doesn’t pay attention to you everyday entering your classes while he talked to his friends.

He lifted his head up and looked at the group of girls, “When does that start?” He asked them. They gasped as two of them squealed that the Park Sunghoon was talking to them.

“O-Oh uh it starts at s-six thirty!” One of them squeaked. Sunghoon got up and left the classroom as soon as the bell rang, not even thanking them.

He guessed he could skip practice if that means you’ll go.

He found out you were attending a small gathering and made sure to be there. He dressed up a bit formal and had his hair gelled. There’s no way you won’t fall for his looks.

As the night went on, you found yourself alone on the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze.

Suddenly, Sunghoon appeared beside you, his expression as unreadable as ever. "You look like you could use some company," he said, his voice low.

You were surprised by his sudden approach but nodded, feeling a strange comfort in his presence.

“It was too loud.” You said.

“Hate loud crowds?” He asked. You nodded and stared down.

“There aren’t really my thing.”

“I don’t like loud crowds either.” He admitted. You gave him a smile, but he didn’t really smile back.

As the conversation flowed, you realized that beneath his cold exterior, there was a depth to Sunghoon that was intriguing.

He spoke about his passions, his dreams, and his fears, all while maintaining that distant aura. It was as if he was letting you in, but only just enough to keep you wanting more.

You suddenly thought about Jake, the only thing you knew about him was that he’s talkative and likes to play soccer, and not to mention he’s pretty good at sex.

Your mind suddenly drift to Sunghoon, with his cold personality, you had a feeling that he was still good in bed. His strong biceps could practically choke you while he fucks you from behind.

Your eyes went wide. Why the hell were you thinking about that? You’re talking to Jake. You gulped hard and bashfully looked away.

Sunghoon suddenly noticed the shift of the air and smirked. You’re finally falling for his schemes.

“S-So Jake didn’t come?” You questioned. Sunghoon shook his head.

“None of us go to these gatherings.”

“So why’d you come?” You curiously replied. Sunghoon stared at you with an unreadable expression.

“Didn’t feel like a bad idea to see you.” He said. You felt your heart beating fast. Why were you feeling like this?

Maybe it was because Jake left you hanging these past few weeks that you forgot what it was like to have attention.

“Why’d you want to see me?” You mumbled. Sunghoon smirked and went next to your ear.

“I thought your dress would look good on you. Turns out I was right.”

You felt yourself gasp and stared up at him. He slowly cupped your face and stepped closer, “I know Jake hasn’t been giving you the attention you deserve. So use me while you can.” He whispered.

His breath hitting your lips. You didn’t know what to do. You knew that if you did something right here you’ll regret. But the way Sunghoon pulled you closer made you have other thought.

And just like that your lips connected. The kiss was slow and sensual, feeling every part of his lips. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

Sunghoon knew he shouldn’t be doing this, the challenge was just to make you like them, not giving you a satisfaction, but the way you looked so helpless to him made him want to ruin you in other ways.

He gripped your neck and entered his tongue in your mouth. You let him in so easily. He gripped your waist with his other hand.

You felt yourself getting dizzy just from kissing him. Your thoughts on Jake long forgotten with the way Sunghoon pushed you against the railing.

You suddenly remembered you were in a public area and broke the kiss, saliva connecting your lips.

“W-We shouldn’t do this. Jake-“

“I don’t care about Jake. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction you need.” He said. You felt yourself lowering your head.

Sunghoon lifted your head up with his finger under your chin, “You deserve someone who’ll treat you right. So what are you waiting for? I’m right here.”

And that was all he needed to say for you to kiss his lips again. You moaned when he put his hand under your dress and rubbed your cloth core.

He grinned, feeling your wetness damp your underwear, “Already so wet? You’re a curious one.”

You whined when he pulled away and dragged you back inside. You didn’t know where you two were going, but you were excited to say the least.

You both entered the family restroom as Sunghoon locked the door. He turned back around and kissed you again.

He picked you up and settled you on the sink. He pulled your dress over your body. He began trailing kisses down your body causing you to sigh.

He moved your underwear to the side and prodded at your hole, but stopped when he realized something, “Did Jake fuck you already?”

You stared at him dazed, but slowly nodded your head, “A while back.”

Sunghoon fucking knew it. He knew Jake fucked you the minute he saw Jake the next day. His ego was high that day. But Sunghoon knows how to ruin it.

“I’ll show you what a real fuck is.” He commented. Before you could say anything he entered not one, not two, but three fingers in your hole causing you to scream.

You felt your hole burning, but you were so wet that you couldn’t help but grind down on his fingers.

He began fingering you at an animalistic pace making your eyes roll back in pain and pleasure.

“You love that fucking pain don’t you slut?” He groaned. You frantically nodded your head, feeling your orgasm coming.

“A-Agh, I’m cumming, oh god-“ He cut you off kissing you and that’s when you felt your orgasm crashing.

Your legs shook in pleasure when he slowly grinded his fingers in you. He took them up and faced them towards you, “Suck.”

You sucked on his fingers, tasting your sweet cum on them, it made you feel wet again. He took his fingers out and harshly kissed you, biting your lip making you cry out.

He suddenly flipped you over, your pussy on full view for him, he cursed when he took out his hard dick, stroking it a few times before slowly entering.

You sighed feeling him fill you up. You began grinding back, missing what it was like to have a dick in you. Sunghoon let you grind back in him.

He knew that Jake wasn’t gonna satisfy you like this. He gripped your waist and started moving. You felt your eyes roll back, feeling him fill you up with his long dick.

He gripped your hair and pulled your head back, groaning feeling you clench on to him. You whined when he grind his dick in you slowly before going fast again.

He stared down seeing your ass jiggle when he made contact with your pussy. He felt himself getting hard even more if that was even possible.

You were a moaning mess, tears running down your eyes, face flushed in embarrassment and pleasure. Sunghoon wanted to fucking ruin you.

He felt a pang of jealousy that Jake fucked you before. If anything he should’ve been first to fuck you. But he thought it was okay, cause you’ll remember his dick whenever you fuck someone else.

You felt your orgasm coming again and lowered your head, “I-I’m gonna cum S-Sunghoon.” You whined. He smirked and kissed your back neck.

“Cum on this dick slut.” He whispered. That was all it took as you squeezed tight around him, you orgasms making squelching sounds as he continued pounding into you.

You felt overstimulated as he moaned and didn’t stop his pace, “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Was all he said and took his dick out, stroking it on your back, spurts of cum landing on you ass and back.

As much as he wanted to cum inside, he didn’t want a risk to get you pregnant, but he won’t lie and say you guys wouldn’t have beautiful kids.

You panted hard while Sunghoon breathed deeply behind you. He grabbed paper towels and wiped your back and ass.

“You okay?” He asked. You nodded your head and smiled sweetly at him. He felt his heart pang against his chest. You looked beautiful ruined.

“I’m perfect.” You replied. You got up and made a quiet noise, feeling your legs wobble. Sunghoon chuckled.

“I’ll take you home. Think you could walk?”

You nodded your head and out your dress back on, you fixed your face a little so it didn’t look like you just got fucked from behind (which clearly you did).

You both exited the bathroom and head to Sunghoons car. Driving as the sun slowly began setting down.

You felt at calm with Sunghoon hand on your thigh, occasionally rubbing it, soothing you. You felt your eyes getting droopy and soon enough you were asleep.

Sunghoon noticed and for the first time, he smiled softly. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way towards you, unfortunately he can’t help but feel his heart swell with warmth.

He looked back to the front. He’ll just have to see what his other friends will do to make you like them. For now though, he’ll enjoy what he has.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Sunscreen & Statistics (S.R.)

Summary: Reader asks for Spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and washing it off after).  Request: Spencer lecturing Reader on the statistics of wearing sunscreen, but his mind going blank when reader needs him to help put it on. A/N: This is my (first) entry to my Summer Sunshine Challenge! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Spencer POV, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, heavy petting, fingering, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, coworker relationship, so many statistics (showers, skin cancer, sunscreen, sex), schizophrenia mention, Reader wears a bikini Word Count: 5.6k

MASTERLIST

It was a beautiful day—the kind that artists had attempted to capture through many mediums. The summer sun was relentless, stretching its rays across every inch of the region. Even the shade hardly seemed spared, with bits of bright light slipping between green rustling leaves.

This seemingly idyllic set of circumstances offered the BAU a wonderful excuse to stay behind on the sunnier coast. Everyone was quick to buy new bathing suits and Rossi had already begrudgingly extended an invitation for everyone to stay at his favorite luxury hotel (on his dime, of course, or none of us would’ve made it).

The celebrations were already in full swing, and everyone was blissfully happy. It was, after all, the perfect day to hang out by the pool. So, they did. Each and every one…

Except for me. I stayed inside.

I wasn’t trying to ruin the fun. I had my reasons. Some were more reasonable than others.

Others were scary and slightly embarrassing. They wore a smile so bright it would rival the sun and managed to make me turn red even quicker than the star could. The kind of reason that turned me to nothing but a blubbering mess of a man.

I should’ve known better than to try to avoid her, though. Because that reason, that very important and tempting enchantress of a reason, always seemed to find me at the most inopportune time.

“Are you still hiding in here?”

I nearly jumped through my skin at the sound.

“No!”

I turned to find her staring back with an entertained, albeit disbelieving stare.

“Sort of. Maybe,” I felt compelled to continue.

When she still didn’t believe me—for obvious reasons—I finally conceded, “Yes.”

To my joy and eternal shame, she laughed like it had been an intentional joke.

“Well, I got banished back inside because I forgot sunscreen, so I’m trying to figure out where JJ left her bag,” she sighed.

Thankfully, that had been something I could help with. Despite everyone’s enthusiasm when they’d tossed the bags into the center of the suite lobby, I had managed to determine who owned which brightly colored pattern.

From my seat in the center, I reached over to pull JJ’s bag from the fray.

As soon as (y/n) spotted the motion, she was quick to exclaim, “My hero!”

Immediately, I felt the blood rush to my face.

I suppose there were worse places it could have gone.

“How did you forget sunscreen?” I asked.

“I hate the way it feels, so I almost never wear it unless forced,” she shrugged. Then, she turned to me, pointing the bottle like a weapon as she explained, “Plus, it always feels like they’re trying to trick me with all the numbers. I don’t know what SPF is. They could just be lying to me.”

“Well, the good news is that even a weak sunscreen is helpful,” I tried to reassure her. “Regular daily use of at least 15 SPF can reduce your risk of squamous cell carcinoma and melanoma by up to 50%.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I can tell you more about this product specifically, if you want.”

When I held out my hand, she was quick to hand me the bottle. I was, in turn, very happy to have an excuse to look at something other than her before all the blood left my brain.

“Okay, so, this one is an interesting formula. It offers a decent coverage and—,” I started, but my voice died just as soon as I looked up.

Because there she was, pulling her top over her head to reveal the barely-there bikini beneath it.

I knew I only had a few seconds to shamelessly ogle her before she would find out, and I greedily accepted the sight of soft curves that all consisted of and led to her.

My eyes traversed her body the way I wished my hands could until I was left practically trembling.

The blood wasn’t in my face anymore. It wasn’t even anywhere near my brain. To the point I’d barely even noticed she’d already taken her pants off until her voice snapped me back to reality.

“And what?” she said.

“What?”

“… You stopped talking.”

“I did?”

She reached forward and grabbed the bottle from my hand. If she’d noticed the way I had been looking at her, she didn’t say anything about it. She just sort of… smiled.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

I might’ve been able to answer honestly if it hadn’t been for the way she dumped the contents of the bottle into her hand and began lathering it over her legs.

“A-Anyways,” I tried to continue. With a wavering voice and wandering eyes, I rambled, “to maximize protection you should really use about an ounce of sunscreen with an SPF of 30. Anything over 30 is, well, like you suggested, sort of a scam.”

All the while, there she was, smoothing over slick skin that smelled like summer.

“An ounce, huh?” she hummed as her hands traveled between pillowy thighs to coat skin the sun could rarely reach. “Feels like you could make it a drinking game with enough motivation.”

“Drinking alcohol actually dramatically increases your risk of sunburn, so you should definitely wear more sunscreen if you’re drinking,” I muttered absently while my eyes stayed firmly fixed between her thighs long after her hands had abandoned the area.

“Noted,” she said, the end of the word tinged with a little bit of amusement.

I looked up at her to try to understand what had excited her, or perhaps annoyed her.

Or at least, I tried to look at her face. My eyes made a few involuntarily stops along the way. Once they settled safely back on her smile, however, she was quick to get my blood pumping in a different way.

“So, will you help me?” she asked.

“With what?”

She scoffed, then laughed.

“… the sunscreen? Duh.”

Despite my best efforts to make any sense of the request, I was, once again, a hopeless, lovesick idiot.

“W-What?” I babbled, “You… You want me to put it on? You?”

“I can ask JJ if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” I blurted out with both hands raised in opposition or surrender.

Didn’t seem to matter which.

I tried to explain it away, but my attempts to bolster my good character seemed even less convincing than the sudden outburst.

“N-No, no it’s fine. I-It’s… why would that make me… uncomfortable? I’m fine. I can do it.”

“Wow. Convincing,” she teased.

And that is what it was. There was no anger in her tone; not even a hint of resentment. She laughed, and I did, too.

“Okay, I admit that wasn’t very convincing. But seriously, I can do it. Promise.”

She spoke through her teeth when she muttered, “Whatever you say.”

When she tossed me the bottle back, we were both surprised to find that I’d caught it.

My hands, still shaky, were quick to close the gap between our bodies. The sunscreen felt nearly frigid compared to our skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, she rewarded the sensation with a dreamy sigh and a slight arching of her back.

That motion, however small, felt like fire to an already ruined man. I tried to stay focused on more innocent areas. I worked my hands over knotted muscles in her shoulder and tried to free her of those burdens, too. With each swipe of my thumbs, she would let out the most delicious rumble that made me want to do it again.

Each time that I pulled away to add more, I came back a few inches lower until my fingers nearly slipped beneath the top of her bikini bottoms.

At that moment, with her arched lower back pressed against my palms and my fingers brushing against the little fabric between us, she shivered. Silently, I watched as the goosebumps covered her skin like a sheet.

Reaching forward to grab hold of the couch in front of her, she arched her back once more. The movement seemed intentional, closing a couple inches of the distance between us until there was almost nothing.

With more speed than I’d intended, I stepped back and nearly fell.

“O-Okay, I-I think that’s it!” I said with a squeak.

To my dismay, she stayed exactly where she was for a long moment. In fact, she deepened the stretch and fell forward with a sigh before she whined, “Shame.”

I tried to calm my fast beating heart while simultaneously trying to run from the thoughts that continued to chase me the longer she stayed bent over. My hands were still buzzing from the contact, and I felt almost lightheaded from the strength of the unrelenting erection still struggling against compression shorts underneath my pants.

(I had been right that I would need them if she was going to be there.)

And there she was, finally standing and stretching her arms over her head. They dropped back down and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the effect of physics on her chest.

“It felt nice to be touched like that,” she sighed.

I couldn’t respond to that without making a complete fool of myself, so I tried to distance myself from the moment, instead.

“You’re actually supposed to wait 30 minutes after application to go into the sun, but, y-you can probably just sit in the shade and wait.”

“Did you already apply yours?”

“I’m not taking off my clothes so I could do it myself,” I explained.

I should’ve known better than to doubt her ability to get whatever she wanted—which, at the moment seemed to be my catastrophic defeat.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she whined, “I want to return the favor!”

“I-I mean… I’ll probably have to reapply it to my face soon, but I doubt you want to—.”

“Awe! Fun!” she cried before I could finish the thought, “Gimme!”

“Oh… um, okay.”

I handed her the bottle and whatever I still had of my heart. With expert fingers, she spread the chilly contents over my cheeks. We were both smiling, the expressions growing wider and more genuine as she started to play with pliable skin.

I involuntarily joined in on her laughter. Her hands and eyes were so warm, I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle in her palms.

The moment ended far too quickly. I missed her immediately, but she made sure that my smile didn’t fade.

“There. You’re only sort of pasty now,” she sighed contentedly before adding, “Mostly red, actually.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” I grumbled back. The sarcastic tilt to the sound wasn’t lost on her.

I realized in that awkward, somehow lonely quiet that I loved her more than I’d thought.

I almost wanted to tell her. I’d even opened my mouth, ready to spill the contents of my soul and hope for the best.

I never got a chance, though. Because before I’d uttered a single syllable, she jumped with her own realization.

“Oh, I forgot the most important part!”

“What?”

She turned away from me and dove her attention into the pile of bags without further explanation. I watched as she dug through clothing and whatever else she’d stuffed into her tote until she stood triumphantly with a closed fist.

“What?” I asked again.

She held up a single finger in reply.

I followed her instruction, waiting patiently as I watched her uncap a small tube of chapstick and use it to thoroughly coat her lips. Once again, I was left to shamelessly stare at a beautiful woman as she dutifully cared for herself in a way I’d wished I could.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that carried heartfelt confessions, I spoke again.

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” I teased.

Her eyes narrowed with what seemed to be a playful warning.

“Sunscreen application,” she explained flatly, “Duh.”

I paused. My head cocked to the side and my face twisted as I struggled to find any explanation for why she’d needed me for this part.

“Wha—?”

Then, just when I’d started to speak, it hit me all at once.

And by that, I mean she kissed me.

With both hands cupping already-reddened cheeks, she pulled me forward until I could taste flavored lip balm and her.

Her lips opened, sliding against mine with an undeniable affection that made my whole body tense. I tried to hold her, but it all happened so quickly that by the time I raised my hands to her arms, she was almost gone.

“There!” she said happily, “Now we’re ready.”

For what? I wanted to ask.

But before I could make myself speak, she was already gone.

I spent the next several hours outside.

The rest of the team seemed both surprised and not surprised about my decision to join them. After all, everyone knew I didn’t particularly enjoy pools or any body of water, and, despite my Vegas origins, the sun and I didn’t quite get along.

But they also knew I liked her.

It had never been more obvious than it was that day, when I emerged from the safety of darkness with freshly kissed lips and an expression filled with utter confusion.

(Y/n) was quick to greet me in her usual manner. She said nothing about the kiss.

Part of me had even started to wonder if I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe the doctors had all been wrong, and I was already waist-deep in psychosis that manifested purely through happy memories of her.

It would be an odd presentation, sure, but at the time it somehow felt more likely than her returning my affections. But as soon as I started to convince myself, she would flash me a glance that set my already overheated body on fire. Even as she peered up at me from the edge, I could still see her smile under the water.

She wore that same look in her eye she always did when we were alone. It was a slightly unnerving but mostly flattering feeling. It felt like being wanted by a beautiful woman.

I’m definitely losing it.

That was the only reasonable conclusion to reach. Because when she emerged from the pool, I could’ve sworn she paused before to make sure I was watching.

Of course, I was watching. I made sure that my flawless memory captured damn near every droplet as it caressed her curves. I stared, practically worshipped the sight of her lips parted with a relieved exhale that I could see leave her chest.

The blood was gone again. I was doomed.

“You’re still hiding, huh?”

I was too afraid to answer until she took the seat closest to me.

“No, not hiding, just… staying safe,” I explained through my typical awkward smile.

I pointed up to the umbrella above me, but she didn’t look. Her eyes stayed glued to me.

“It’s probably time for me to reapply, huh?” she laughed.

I liked the way it sounded, so, I laughed, too.

“Yeah, to be honest, you really should’ve done it a couple hours ago, but I didn’t want you to think I was… a wet blanket or a pervert.”

She snorted at the suggestion. Her eyes squinted, playful as always and carrying some meaning that evaded me.

“It’s very interesting that those were the two options that came to your mind,” she said.

I panicked.

“I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Me insisting you should let me touch you?” I rushed, “I’m not crazy, right? It’s… weird! It’s…!”

She sighed.

At first, I mistook the sound for annoyance. But when I looked into her eyes, I knew that wasn’t right.

Because she looked… like she had been caught in a dream. A melancholy fantasy of something she felt was just beyond her reach.

She was looking at me, I realized, exactly the same way I looked at her.

 “You’re not crazy, Spencer,” she said with a smile, “Just a little oblivious.”

My lips twitched as I fought a smirk that came through, anyway.

“I can accept that.”

She seemed pleased, as if I’d given the right answer.

“Well, the good news is I’m done with the sun for the day,” she announced.

Her eyes finally left me as she once again stretched her arms over her head and left me to ogle her like an idiot. Then, when I was thoroughly distracted, she glanced around like she was checking to see if anyone could hear her.

“They don’t seem to be calming down, so…” she said, much quieter now, “any statistics on what I should do with sunscreen when I’m finished with it?”

“No statistics, per se, but you definitely should wash it off. It can be pretty irritating for skin,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the salts and chemicals from the pool.”

“I see,” she laughed.

Then, when she realized that I was, in fact, a hopeless, perverted fool with no blood in his brain, she made her intentions much clearer.

“Will you help me with that?”

Not clear enough for me, though.

“What?” I asked.

“With the sunscreen,” she answered simply.

“Uh—.”

Even that eloquent thought couldn’t make it through a parched, tightening throat. With each passing second and every syllable uttered, my voice got higher and even more unstable.

“I’m sorry, are you—what—w-what are you asking me?”

That’s when she took my hand, bursting with laughter as she dragged me from me seat with the most terrifying, alluring, and magical answer.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

I followed her without question but many concerns—the largest of which was the fear that she was actually leading me to my demise by humiliation.

Those worries grew tenfold when she yanked me over the threshold into her private room.

I stumbled forward and practically fell into her arms. But she was waiting for me, seemingly anticipating the clumsiness. Her hands were still soft, still soothing on boiling skin as she guided my lips to hers for the second time that day.

That time, I was prepared.

My hands covered her sun-kissed cheeks and pulled her even closer than she’d done to me before.

She tasted like salt and sugar from summer fresh fruit. I gave her every breath that I had, panting hopelessly against her lips each time that we broke apart.

Her hands were gentle when they found mine. I was reluctant to leave her until I realized that she was simply repositioning them to less innocent areas.

Still, I hesitated to go any further. I let my hands rest softly against her hips while I struggled to express my relief.

“Thank god,” I laughed, “I was sort of worried you were going to beat me up for staring at you all day.”

Her eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that seemed almost insatiable.

“No, I like it when you look at me like that,” she stated so simply it hurt. “In fact, I think I want to thank you.”

Before I could ask her how she intended to that, she made her intentions very clear by grabbing my dick through the fabric of my pants.

“So, tell me… any statistics on why we shouldn’t have sex in the shower?” she asked.

I don’t know how she’d expected me to think clearly. It actually seemed like she was purposefully trying to make it harder for me to form any words at all.

“It’s actually—,” I started just to stop when she started stroking the full length of me with devilish fingers.

“It’s actually really dangerous to try to have sex in the shower,” I tried again.

That time, she began applying a cascading pressure through playful fingertips. I spoke faster, trying to finish any thought before I truly lost my mind.

“There is a—fuck—a 44% chance of injury,” I forced out.

Her hand stopped. She cocked her head to the side with a brilliant smile and asked, “Is that right?”

I was almost relieved. Almost.

“Yeah, and…”

Then she started taking off my pants.

“A-and it can be quite uncomfortable for a woman without additional lubrication,” I said while shaking my head.

Even my subconscious knew I was speaking against my own self-interest, that I could’ve just accepted her question as rhetorical. I could’ve just shut up and go along with whatever she wanted because I would always be happy so long as she was happy.

She dropped down as she pulled my pants to the ground and revealed a second set of bottoms. I couldn’t be sure of it, but she seemed vindicated when she realized how hard my body was struggling against the compression shorts.

“The movies make it look so fun, don’t they?” she hummed as she stood back up. “I guess it is pretty dangerous. And inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but also, I sort of wish I hadn’t said any of that,” I responded immediately, “Let’s do it anyway.”

Thankfully, she found my eagerness charming and not pathetic (or perhaps those were the same to her). Her fingers sneaked past the band of the compression shorts, but she didn’t make the move to remove them yet.

Instead, she used her free hand to lead mine straight to the knot holding her bikini bottoms together.

My fingers twitched. She leaned closer, her cheek pressed against mine and her breath hot on my ear as she said the most beautiful words.

“We can shower after, then.”

“Thank you god,” I cried.

Practiced fingers untangled the knots within seconds, and I fought the urge to stare at her newly exposed skin by kissing her instead.

Her skin, still wet, was chilled enough from the cooler air that she barely reacted when I backed her against the ceramic countertop in the bathroom.

She leaned back, groaning with relief when I finally undid the knots of her top.

Again, I shamelessly admired the wonderful world of physics as it was displayed before me. With each breath, her chest lifted and came closer to my own.

Seemingly sharing the same thoughts, she reached forward and practically tugged my shirt off of me.

As soon as I could, I held her naked body as close to me as I could. My hands covered her lower back and drifted further down her hips, seeking every inch of cold skin that remained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered. I couldn’t see most of her, but the memory from mere seconds ago was as vivid as it would ever be. “Words don’t exist that would ever do it justice.”

She pulled back, still toying with the tops of my shorts with that insatiable look in her eyes.

“I’d say take a picture, but I think your memory might rival a camera,” she giggled.

“I’ll never forget this,” I promised her, “I’ll never forget you.”

But there were so many other ways I’d yet to see her. So, after carefully loving each inch of her hips, I turned my attention to the burning heat between her thighs. 

At the same time my finger slid through slick folds, my lips found hers once more.

“I wanna make you feel good,” I slurred.

Her lips parted in a broken gasp as I tried to do just that. I inched eager fingers between tight muscles and didn’t even bother fighting the urge to moan into her mouth.

She swallowed that desire and returned her own with a growing enthusiasm. My fingers grew faster, sloppier in their gentle beckoning for her to fall apart.

“That’s it. Good girl,” I reassured her when her breathy moans became pitchy. “Oh, you deserve to feel so good, sweetheart.”

That spark in her eyes had turned into a wildfire further stoked by my praise. I leaned into it; I became more confident in my loving her. Her walls were tense and insistent, seeking something more than what my hand could give them.

I withdrew them despite her immediate protests. She recanted any complaint as soon as I moved drenched fingers to the small pearl at her center.

Her moans became shameless, and I accepted them as an imminent victory. She rocked her hips against my hand, riding it to find her elusive end.

All the while, her eyes were locked onto mine. She refused to look away, forced us both to acknowledge that I was the one who brought her here. To the edge of the abyss, to the ultimate euphoria.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” I said through a smirk, “Come for me.”

She followed the direction with the utmost enthusiasm. She fell forward, favoring me to the cold countertop. I caught her but continued my relentless efforts to please her.

I kept going, kept cherishing her until she whimpered from my touch. Then I held her. I pet her damp hair and laid a gentle kiss atop the crown of her head.

“Good girl,” I assured her.

But I wasn’t finished yet.

“Now turn around.”

She perked up the second she’d heard the order. Although she’d barely caught her breath, she turned on shaky legs without question.

My hands found her hips just like they had before. Except this time, there were no bikini bottoms. There was only pillowy flesh and the strong muscles of her backside pressed firmly against my dick.

Barely moving away from her, I finally freed myself from the confines of compression shorts. I groaned with relief and noticed how the sound made her back arch further.

When I lined myself up at her entrance, she rewarded the action with a dreamy sigh.

It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to see the look on her face, to hear the desperation in her voice before I gave her what I’d fantasized of from the moment I met her.

My hand knotted in her hair. I pulled her back from her comfortable position braced against the countertop. I held her up so that I could whisper in her ear the same as she’d done to me earlier.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I asked, as if her whimpers hadn’t been answer enough.

“Yes,” she moaned, “please.”

The sound of debauchery on her tongue sent shockwaves through me. My cock twitched involuntarily, bumping against satin skin now dripping with desire.

I barely resisted the urge to slam into her with full force. Instead, I stayed there, with just the tip of me inside of her as I groaned.

“Oh, I’d give you the whole world if you asked me like that.”

“This’ll do for now,” she giggled.

Her hips began to sway as she rocked on her toes. She chased even just a half inch more of me and rewarded me with beautiful sounds when I finally started to sink into her.

“That’s it…” I sighed.

Her confidence was quickly shaken, though, as my pursuit continued. Not even half of my dick was inside her when I felt her start to tremble.

“You can take it,” I assured her.

She responded by tightening her muscles even further, resisting the gentle stretch of her body as it accommodated my own.

“That’s my girl,” I groaned. The blinding heat of her demanded my full attention to the point that I was barely coherent as I slurred, “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

But all it took was one word to unravel my best efforts.

“Spencer,” she whimpered.

Any hesitance I had vanished without a trace. I thrust my hips forward to the hilt with so much force that she scrambled to stay on her feet. Manicured nails struggled to find a grip the ceramic before my next motion.

I took my time pulling back, and I watched her struggle with the fullness that was our bodies come together. I reveled in the sight of her heaving chest and clouded eyes.

That time, I didn’t fight the urge to slam into her. I even pulled her back as I did it, bringing our bodies together over and over again with a blissful type of violence.

With each thrust, I watched her reaction in the mirror. I made sure that my mind captured each second of her pleasure. Each time her jaw dropped open with whines and praise in the shape of my name.

“Please, Spencer,” she keened with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter.

I hadn’t been sure what she was asking for, so I continued to love her the same as I always had.

But she only became more frustrated, sobbing with pleasure the next time my hips crashed into hers.

“Harder,” she cried out.

And I tried. I tried to follow her instruction, to grant her the release that could only be found in the fullest expression of years of repressed passion.

The problem wasn’t my unwillingness to give my everything to her. Rather, it was the siren’s call of resistant, relentlessly desperate muscles.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I ground through clenched jaw. 

Then, with a small and wavering voice, she insisted, “I can take it.”

Every atom of my being burned with a suffocating desire. It felt nearly feral; fully free to show her just how badly my body ached to be with her.

She began slamming back against me with a similar fervor and I almost made myself stop.

“Fuck, I’m so close, but I don’t want it to end,” I begged her.

But that beautiful, evasive, brilliant star of a woman just giggled. I could practically feel myself leaving bruises in the shape of my fingertips and she couldn’t have been happier.

Through the mirror, she looked at me and reminded me of the full, unrelenting power of the sun.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, “we can do it again later.”

That was all it took. With just a look, she practically brought me to my knees.

“Fuck!” I choked as I slammed into her with my full force. We both nearly collapsed against the counter, but I managed to pull her hips down harder against me just as I found my release.

The blissful heat of her grew to new heights as I filled her. Each wave of pleasure caused her to shiver with sheets of goosebumps.

I watched through half-lidded, lust-clouded vision as she accepted every inch and every drop of my desire with a euphoric smile.

“Sorry,” I said while trying to catch my breath. Even when I managed to capture some breath, it escaped me with a laugh as I explained, “I… I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Don’t apologize,” she slurred.

I might’ve thought she was just being merciful if she hadn’t immediately followed, “That was fun.”

It was so obviously sincere, but I was so ridiculously stupid that I had to be sure, anyway.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The sound was even more beautiful when I could feel the vibrations from within. I groaned from the thought of how it might feel for her lips to be wrapped around my cock. It twitched inside her, and she responded with a small whimper.

My hips bucked one more time, forcing me to the hilt before I withdrew in one quick motion.

I stood there for a moment, holding her hips steady as I watched the evidence of what we’d just done drip down her thighs.

My stomach was filled with butterflies doing flips and there was no accounting for the blood that still hadn’t made its way back to my brain.

(Y/n) was patient as ever with a pitiful man.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she chuckled as she took my hand, “help me get clean.”

Despite my best efforts, there were significantly less attempts to get clean in the shower than I’d expected. It was only thanks to her self-preservation that we didn’t end up having sex in the shower, although we came pretty close.

I could never tire of kissing her, but I realized I could love her just as much with lather as I could with my lips. My worship shifted as I dutifully cared for her the way I’d always wished I could.

When it was over, I didn’t give up. I followed her into her bed and she made no attempt to stop me.

In fact, she moved closer to me until my arm could reach around her waist and her head rested on my chest.

“Any other statistics you want to share?” she mumbled, now sleepy from the sun and… other activities.

“Always,” I answered. “Like, did you know, I have now joined the 54% of people who have slept with a coworker?”

“Fascinating. Was it worth it?” she chuckled, having already known my answer.

“Yes,” I told her, anyway. But the way I always did when it came to sharing statistics, I couldn’t stop myself. “Although, there is a smaller subset of that group that’s even more interesting.”

She gasped, quickly pressing her fingers to my lips to stop me from ruining her moment.

“Let me guess—at least half of them fucked in the office,” she said.

And in that quiet, private moment, the only thing more beautiful than her hopeful smile was the fact she’d gotten it right.

“You are, without a doubt, the most attractive woman I’ve ever met in my life,” I confessed.

She gave her wholehearted admission that she felt the same in the best way she could.

With a cheeky smile and the utmost sincerity, she asked, “What are the odds of that?”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for another mutual pining summer-themed fic? Check out my 11.2k oneshot Lost Time, where Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave taking the Spring Break Spencer never got to have. 

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Thanks for reading!

[melosliving]

kelvin harrison jr x actress!reader

we listen and we don’t judge …

The TikTok begins with Kelvin already recording, holding the phone way too close to his face. His mischievous grin is the first thing you see, and you can already tell he’s about to start some drama.

“Hey y’all, It’s your boy Kelvin, and we’re about to do the ‘We Listen and We Don’t Judge’ challenge. So, uh, we listen… and we don’t judge, right? Cool. Here’s mine : I might have tried on your wigs once or twice when you weren’t near.”

Your head whips around so fast you almost pull something. “Kelvin what the fuck” He bites his lip to keep from laughing, but his shoulders shake from trying to hold it in. “You said no judgment ! That’s the challenge!”

The camera now focusing on y’all’s feet, you snatch the phone out of his hand, scandalized. “First of all, this is not the challenge. Second, which wigs, Kelvin?!”

He raises his hands like he’s innocent. “Just the bob ones! I look good in a bob!”

You stare at him, speechless, while he’s cackling like he just won a prize. Finally, you roll your eyes and turn to the camera. “This man is deranged. I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”

Kelvin leans into the frame, still laughing. “We listen and we don’t judge, though!” You hold up a hand to stop him. “No, because you’re doing this all wrong. It’s supposed to be about quirky things you actually do, not whatever nonsense that just was.”

He smirks, leaning back into the couch. “I mean, technically, I do try on your wigs…”

“Kelvin, I’m serious,” you deadpan, narrowing your eyes at him. “Can you behave for one second?”

“Alright, alright,” he says, putting on an innocent face that you know is a complete lie. “Let’s do it your way.”

You sigh, refocusing the camera. “Okay, I’m starting this over because clearly, Kelvin can’t be trusted. Now, we’re doing the ‘We Listen and We Don’t Judge’ challenge, the correct way. Let’s go. Kelvin, start.”

Kelvin takes a deep breath, clearly trying to hide his smirk. “Alright. We listen, and we don’t judge… but the first time I saw you, I said ‘smash’ in my head.”

Your jaw drops as you stare at him in disbelief. “bro !” He throws his head back, laughing. “What? I’m just being honest! I mean, have you seen yourself?”

You try to hold back your laughter, shaking your head. “I can’t believe this man just said that on camera.”

“This is a safe space,” he replies, smirking. “No judgment, remember?”

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes but grinning. “We listen, and we don’t judge… but sometimes I purposely mess up my lines just so I can hear you repeat yours. Your accent is distracting.”

Kelvin stares at you, stunned, before breaking into a wide grin. “Wait—hold on. You’re telling me I’ve been messing up my takes because you can’t focus ? Are you not ashamed ?”

“I am really proud of myself when thinking about this,” you admit with a shrug. “It’s not my fault you sound good like that.”

Kelvin leans back, hand on his chest like you’ve wounded him. “You know what? I’m not even mad. That’s a compliment, low-key.”

“High-key,” you reply, smirking. Kelvin shakes his head, still smiling. “Alright, my turn. We listen, and we don’t judge… but I once told my mom you were my favorite co-star, and she called me out for blushing.”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, covering your face. “Kelvin, stop! You’re lying”

“Im not, I’m just telling the truth,” he says, leaning closer to you. “Your turn.” You take a deep breath, pretending to think before confessing, “We listen, and we don’t judge… but sometimes I search myself on TikTok and click on edits of either myself or us because they’re so cute.”

Kelvin’s grin gets even wider. “You watch our edits?!”

“I do,” you admit, laughing. “Listen, they’re good! And honestly? The chemistry is undeniable.”

Kelvin smirks, clearly enjoying this. “See? Even the internet agrees we’re iconic.” The mood softens slightly as Kelvin says, “We listen, and we don’t judge… but sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough to show people how much I care about them. Especially you.”

You blink, surprised, before smiling warmly. “Look at him" you pout, your eyes glistening at him. "Kelvin, you’re one of the most thoughtful people I know.”

Kelvin looks at you, his grin softening into something genuine. “Alright, last one. We listen, and we don’t judge… but I think you’re one of my favorite people, and I don’t tell you that enough. Working with you on Mufasa was amazing, but getting to know you outside of all that? Even better.”

Your cheeks flush as you nudge him playfully. “Kelvin, you know what you’re doing. You’re never beating the allegations.”

“Let ‘em think what they want,” he says with a wink. The video ends with you both laughing as you lean into each other, the undeniable chemistry between you leaving the comment section in shambles.

#TikTok!Comments

@user 1 NOT HIM SAYING ‘SMASH’ I’M SCREAMING. 🫠

@user 2 The way they flirt so casually?? Get married already.

@user 3 Her admitting she searches their edits?? I’d do the same, sis.

@user 4 Kelvin really called her his favorite co-star, and I’m crying real tears.

@user 5 The chemistry is too real. aaron punching the air rn.

@user 6 They’re so natural with each other. This isn’t acting; this is love.

@The lion King Forget Mufasa. These two are the real stars.

@ melosliving 2025

[korraven]

Party on you…yeah

It never took a rocket scientist to feel the tension between you and the Winter Soldier.

Hell, even Tony picked up on it — and he wasn’t exactly the poster child for emotional intelligence.

It followed the two of you like smoke. Thick. Heavy. Unavoidable.

You were both Avengers, both soldiers, both broken in the ways that didn’t always show.

Was it lust? Yeah. It sat between you like a live wire, just waiting for someone to grab hold and not let go.

Was it hate? Maybe. You challenged each other, pushed buttons, cut deep when things got tense.

Was it friendship? At times. You understood each other in a way no one else really did. That kind of bond doesn’t form without some kind of scars.

But the truth?

It was something bigger. Something you never named. Something neither of you dared to touch.

Because you were a hero. An Avenger. You knew better.

And he… he was still learning how to forgive himself.

You never crossed the line. Not once.

When you were alone, it was quiet. Careful. Boring, in a way that felt almost painful.

Like walking a tightrope and pretending you weren’t dying to fall.

The only difference between you?

He was single.

You weren’t.

Nothing scandalous — you were dating a world-class reporter.

Clean record. Good heart. Someone your teammates liked.

Someone who smiled at press conferences and held your hand like you were the best thing that ever happened to them.

But he didn’t make your breath catch in your throat.

He didn’t make you question everything you thought you knew about control.

Bucky did.

He looked at you like he saw all the parts you tried to hide.

The damage. The danger. The hunger.

And still — he never turned away.

That was the problem.

It wasn’t love. Not exactly.

But it wasn’t not love either.

It was something you couldn’t name without setting it on fire.

Something wild. Something wrong.

Something real.

And you?

You were supposed to save the world.

But right now, all you wanted to do

was ruin it with him.

——

“Hey babe, did you still want tacos for dinner?” your boyfriend called, sticking his head out of your shared bedroom, his hair still damp from the shower.

You were curled up on the couch, phone in hand, TV on low volume but playing something you weren’t really watching. You didn’t answer at first. Just scrolled, pretending to be focused. When you finally glanced up, your nod was small, like your neck was too heavy to move fully.

“Yeah, tacos are fine,” you murmured.

He stepped out into the hallway, towel thrown over his shoulder, a pair of joggers slung low on his hips. His brows pulled together just slightly — not enough to show real concern, but enough to say he noticed.

“You okay, babe?”

You forced a small smile, eyes flicking back to your phone. “Yeah. Just thinking about something.”

He crossed the room and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. His hands were still warm from the shower, and he smelled like that cedar body wash he always used. Normally, it made you feel safe. Today, it barely registered.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked, voice softer now. “Another mission?”

You nodded slowly, lying without even blinking. “Yeah… a recon thing Tony wants to send me on.”

He stepped back a little, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Recon? Didn’t you just come back yesterday?”

You shrugged, eyes drifting back to the muted screen. “Evil never sleeps.”

He snorted at that. “Right, the Avengers’ slogan, apparently.”

You chuckled lightly, but your chest felt tight. You hated how easy this was. Lying. Dodging. Smiling through it. It didn’t used to be like this.

He leaned against the back of the couch, fingers drumming casually on the wood.

“Who are you getting paired with?”

You glanced up again. “Not sure yet.”

“Hope it’s Natasha or Wanda. Just not James,” he said with a teasing tone, but there was something behind it. Something a little too careful.

“Huh?”

He smiled, but it was the kind of smile people wear when they’re trying to make something sound like a joke. “Nothing personal. I know he’s a good guy. You guys are just… always paired up. It’s like a pattern.”

You looked back at your phone, jaw tight. “We work well together. That’s all.”

He didn’t let it drop. “I don’t think he likes me.”

You sighed. “Of course he likes you.”

“Has he said that?” he asked, keeping his voice light but direct. “Or is that just what you think?”

You hesitated.

“Both?” you said, but it came out more like a question than an answer.

He gave a slow nod, like he heard more in your pause than in your words. “Right.”

There was a silence. Not cold — just… different. Like the mood had shifted a few inches to the left.

You cleared your throat. “You want hard shells or soft?”

He grinned faintly, pushing off the couch. “Let’s do both. Live dangerously.”

You watched him disappear into the kitchen, heard the sound of cabinets opening, tortillas being pulled out, the fridge door squeaking. You should’ve gone after him. Should’ve said something to smooth it over.

But instead, you just sat there. Staring at the screen.

Thinking about someone else’s voice.

Someone else’s hands.

Someone else who made your heart beat faster for all the wrong reasons.

And you hated that part of you hoped it would be James.

Again.

The sizzle of ground beef filled the kitchen. He was humming to himself, low and off-key — some song he’d picked up from a TikTok and half-forgotten. You stood at the counter beside him, chopping lettuce. The air smelled like cumin and garlic, and for a moment, it almost felt normal again.

Almost.

“Grab the salsa from the fridge?” he asked.

You nodded, reaching over without a word. You could feel his eyes on you — not in a suspicious way, just… attentive. Like he was trying to figure out what was floating behind your silence.

He didn’t say anything for a few beats. Then, as casually as he could manage:

“You’re always different when you get back from a mission.”

You froze, hand still wrapped around the salsa jar. “Different how?”

He shrugged, taking a step back to lean against the counter. “Just quieter. Distant, maybe. You don’t really talk about what happens out there.”

You set the jar down a little harder than you meant to. “Because most of it sucks.”

“I get that,” he said gently. “But sometimes it feels like you’re not really here, even when you are.”

You didn’t answer. Just went back to the lettuce, chopping slower now.

He exhaled through his nose, tired. “And when it is James you’re paired with, it’s even worse.”

You looked up, sharp this time. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you,” he said, calm but firm. “And I see how you are with him.”

You opened your mouth to deny it — had the words ready on instinct. But nothing came out.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Not entirely.

You and Bucky had been paired so many times now that it didn’t feel weird anymore. You’d seen each other bleeding, broken, barely conscious — and you’d always come back alive. Together. There was something sacred in that. Something magnetic you never fully unpacked.

But you hadn’t done anything.

Not yet.

Your boyfriend rubbed at his jaw, glancing away. “I’m not trying to start a fight, alright? I just… I don’t want to be the only one noticing what’s going on here.”

You stared at him, throat thick. “Nothing’s going on.”

He nodded slowly, like he was giving you space to stick to that lie. “Cool.”

The timer on the oven beeped, sharp and unwelcome. You both flinched slightly.

He moved to take the taco shells out, muttering something about them burning. And just like that, the conversation was over. Sealed under a layer of melted cheese and ground beef and fake smiles.

But the silence that followed wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t warm or comfortable.

It was the kind that made you ache for noise — or maybe just for the right voice.

Because while he was setting plates on the table, you were picturing metal fingers brushing against yours in a med bay.

While he asked you to pass the guac, you were remembering the way Bucky had looked at you last week when you got hit — like the idea of losing you would’ve destroyed him.

And when your boyfriend laughed at something dumb on the TV later that night…

you weren’t thinking about tacos anymore.

You were thinking about how wrong it felt to be held by someone who didn’t make you feel like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You sat at the table while he finished loading the plates. The clink of cutlery, the hum of the overhead light, the smell of seasoned meat — all the normal things. And yet none of it felt… right.

Your boyfriend slid a plate in front of you and then one for himself. “Okay,” he said, sitting down across from you, “so hear me out—what if next weekend, we actually take a day off and do something? Like normal people?”

You gave him a small smile, picking at your taco shell. “Like what?”

“I don’t know… a beach day? Or just drive upstate? Hell, we could go full suburbia and hit a farmer’s market.”

You smiled again, this time a little more genuinely. “You, willingly waking up early for vegetables?”

“Okay, fair, I’d complain the whole time. But I’d still go. For you.”

You nodded, then took a small bite. It was good. Warm. Normal. Everything it was supposed to be.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” he added, watching you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It does.”

He hummed, like he was half-lost in thought, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “A party?”

“Party?” you blinked, pulled halfway out of your thoughts.

“Yeah!” he leaned back in his chair, suddenly energized. “Why not? It’s been forever since the avengers did something fun.“

You tilted your head, chewing slowly. “Since when do you plan parties?”

“I don’t,” he grinned, pointing at you with his fork. “You do.”

You scoffed. “Wow. Generous.”

“C’mon, babe,” he said, nudging your knee under the table. “You’re way better at that kind of stuff anyway. You’ve got the whole… Avengers social balance thing down.”

“That’s just code for my girlfriend is an avenger so she has hook ups for my next scoop.”

“Exactly.” He leaned in, eyes warm. “Just think about it. You, me, the team, a night off for once. It’ll be good for you.”

You gave him a small smirk. “Good for you, you mean.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, shameless. “But good for all of us too.”

You shook your head, pretending to be annoyed — but a small part of you was already cycling through logistics. Who to invite. How to keep it low-key. How to make it not feel awkward, especially with—

You cut the thought off before it could finish.

“Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll plan it.”

He lit up, tossing his fork onto his now-empty plate. “Yes. You’re the best.”

You stood to start clearing the table and muttered, “I know.”

As you turned, your phone buzzed on the counter. You glanced at the screen. A message from Natasha:

“Whatcha doing later?”

You snorted, typing back one-handed:

“Apparently. Planning a party.”

But just as you hit send, your eyes lifted toward your boyfriend. “Since I’m planning it Nat and Wanda doing it with me, cool?”

“Cool.”

——

[Party day]

Nat pursed her lips as she surveyed the overloaded shopping cart with something between amusement and mild judgment. There were LED lights, black and gold streamers, way too many disco balls, a fog machine that Wanda insisted on, and enough plastic cups to hydrate a small army.

“What kind of party even is this?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Something sexy,” you said with a grin, tossing a handful of metallic confetti into the pile. “Wanna get turnt the fuck up.”

Wanda laughed, holding up a pack of temporary tattoos. “Oh, we’re going full reckless.”

“I mean…” you shrugged, feigning lightness. “Why not? We’ve all been tense. I figured, let’s have one night where we dance like we don’t know what trauma is.”

Nat gave you a side-eye. “You sure this isn’t just a distraction from something else?”

You gave her a tight smile. “What else would I be distracting myself from?”

Wanda’s soft voice chimed in before Nat could press. “What’s the occasion, anyway?”

“Nothing crazy,” you replied quickly, like that made it true. “Just… wanted to have fun. So—who’s coming and who’s not coming?”

Nat, deciding not to call you out just yet, pulled out her phone. “Okay, let’s see… obviously Tony, Clint, Steve, Peter and his girl, Sam, Yelena, Vision, Bruce, T’Challa, Shuri…”

You nodded along, your mind trying to stay in sync with her list. But as the names kept coming, a hollow kind of weight settled in your chest.

You hadn’t heard his name.

Not once.

And you’d waited.

You’d given it time.

You’d told yourself he was busy — it was Bucky, after all. He could be anywhere. Maybe his phone died. Maybe he was off-grid.

Still, you pulled your phone out. Checked.

Your message from the night before sat there like a quiet mistake.

“Hey. Party this tomorrow night at tower. Come by?”

Read.

No reply.

You cursed yourself internally — not for texting him, but for checking again like you were in high school waiting on some boy who didn’t even know you existed. Except Bucky Barnes knew you. Too well. That was the problem.

Your phone buzzed.

Your heart stupidly jumped.

Hey just thinking about you, I miss you.

From your boyfriend.

Of course.

You stared at the message for a moment, lips parting like you might reply. But you didn’t.

Instead, you locked the screen and shoved it into your jacket pocket like the whole thing annoyed you more than it should’ve.

Wanda, bag of mini lanterns in hand, glanced over. “You okay?”

You forced a smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just debating if I bought enough tequila or not.”

Nat was still scrolling her list, pretending not to notice the shift in your energy. But you caught the subtle glance she gave you — sharp, knowing, quiet.

She always knew when you were lying.

“Okay,” you said, clapping your hands once with artificial brightness. “Let’s check out and get to decorating. Tonight is about forgetting. Or pretending. Or both.”

Wanda laughed again, “Sounds like a plan.”

The living room looked nothing like it did a few hours ago. Music was already playing low from the speakers — just a warm-up playlist — while the windows shimmered with fairy lights. You were stringing up the last of the black and gold banners while Nat stacked solo cups into dangerously tall pyramids that looked more like a dare than a decoration.

Wanda was on the floor, barefoot, crouched in front of a cluster of LED candles and a bowl of chips, deciding which looked more aesthetically pleasing beside the speakers. She kept humming, light and content, but every so often she’d glance at you.

You didn’t notice at first. You were too busy smoothing out wrinkles in the tablecloth that didn’t really matter and checking your phone screen when no one was looking — even though it hadn’t lit up in over an hour.

Still no message. Still nothing from Bucky.

Wanda’s voice broke softly through the haze. “You’ve been folding that corner for five minutes.”

You blinked. Looked down. The tablecloth was fine. Flawless, even.

“Oh,” you muttered. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Mmm.” Wanda stood up slowly, brushing off her leggings. “Thinking about him?”

Your eyes lifted. You didn’t say anything.

She gave a small shrug. “You don’t have to answer. I just… I feel it. The way your energy shifts when you check your phone. When someone mentions his name. It’s like you tense, then try to pretend you didn’t.”

You sighed, finally letting yourself sink onto the arm of the couch. The room was glowing now — warm and soft — and for a second you wished you could just feel it. Just be present. But your brain didn’t want to play along.

“I invited him,” you admitted. “He read the message. Didn’t reply.”

Wanda’s expression didn’t change. “Do you want him here?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes... I mean I invited everyone.”

“That’s fair.” She perched on the edge of the coffee table across from you, her fingers brushing lightly across one of the fake candles.

Wanda smiled sadly. “That’s the thing about two people who guard their hearts like weapons. Sooner or later, someone bleeds.”

You looked at her for a long second.

“I don’t even know why I care,” you finally said. “I’m with someone. He’s good to me. He doesn’t leave me on read. He texts just to say he misses me. And I keep waiting for a man who won’t even—”

Your voice cracked a little. You swallowed it back.

Wanda reached over and placed her hand lightly over yours. “Sometimes we fall for people who feel like war. And it’s hard to walk away from that, even when peace is standing right in front of us.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at the lights you’d strung up, watched the way they glowed gold across the wall.

“I don’t want to ruin anything,” you whispered. “But I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Wanda squeezed your hand once, then let go.

“Whatever you decide,” she said softly, “we’re always right behind you. Even if it’s wrong.”

The words settled in your chest — not as comfort, exactly, but as permission. To feel everything you weren’t supposed to feel. To not have all the answers.

From across the room, Nat snickered as she adjusted the lighting behind the drink table. “You sure you’re not throwing this party for him?”

You looked up, startled. “What?”

She shot you a smirk over her shoulder. “Come on. You haven’t cared this much about streamers since Tony’s birthday bash two years ago. And this whole just wanna have fun vibe?” She twirled a string of LED stars around her fingers. “You mean just wanna see if Bucky shows up looking hot and moody again.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile cracked through before you could stop it. “Wow. You’re both so annoying.”

“Correct,” Wanda said with a small grin, standing to help Nat with the lights. “But not wrong.”

You tried to fight your grin off, but it lingered anyway — soft, crooked, worn thin with nerves.

“Okay,” you admitted, voice dry, “maybe, like… 8% of this party was Bucky-motivated.”

Nat scoffed. “More like 80%.”

You shot her a look. “Don’t you have cups to stack?”

“I already did,” she said proudly. “And they look like a Pinterest board from hell, so I’m free to judge.”

Wanda giggled and looped an arm through yours, guiding you back toward the couch for a second of calm before the guests started showing up. “Listen, whether he comes or not, this night’s about you. Having fun. Dancing. Getting a little too drunk. Probably fake-laughing at something Tony says and then actually laughing when he falls in the pool.”

You huffed out a breath, letting yourself relax just a little into her side. “I just don’t want him to walk in and think it means something. Or worse… not walk in at all and I still wish he did.”

Wanda bumped her shoulder against yours gently. “You’re allowed to want both. Just don’t let it steal your night.”

And with that, the doorbell rang.

Nat clapped her hands. “Showtime.”

…

“Jarvis, play my favorite song of the week!” Tony shouted over the music, already halfway through whatever drink he had in his hand — something neon, suspiciously strong-smelling, and definitely not FDA-approved.

With a groan, you and Bruce exchanged a look from your shared spot near the kitchen island.

“Here we go,” you muttered.

Bruce adjusted his glasses with a small sigh. “God help us.”

A second later, the speakers shifted, bass dropping so hard it made the floor vibrate. The sound of Party on You by Charli XCX flooded the room — sharp, confident, unapologetic — and suddenly the whole party shifted. Louder. Wilder. People shouted in recognition. Nat threw her head back and screamed, “This is my SHIT!” while Peter tried to dance and not spill a single drop of punch, clearly failing both.

Tony fist-pumped the air like he’d just saved the world. “You’re welcome!”

“This is an odd song for Tony to be listening to on repeat,” Steve said, sipping his drink grimly.

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was something in you — tight in your chest — that didn’t ease with the music. Your fingers tapped anxiously against your cup. Your eyes kept drifting to the door.

Steve noticed.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just sipped his drink and leaned against the wall beside you, eyes casually scanning the party — but you could feel it. That quiet, observant weight only Steve Rogers could carry. Then he finally said, low enough for just you:

“Hey… you’ve had that look on your face all night.”

You smirked without looking at him. “What look?”

“The one that says you’d rather be anywhere but here,” he said softly. “Y/N, come on. I know you. What’s the matter?”

You glanced at him — at those familiar, kind eyes — and for a second, you considered telling him. Really telling him. Letting it all spill out in a messy confession of things you weren’t supposed to feel, names you weren’t supposed to want to say.

But instead, you forced a smile. Light. Dismissive.

“I’m fine, Steve. Just hungry.”

Steve furrowed his brow like he didn’t buy it for a second. “Is this about Buck—?”

You took a long sip of your drink and cut him off with a raised finger. “Mmm…”

Steve exhaled through his nose. You felt him hesitate, caught between pushing and backing off — he knew your dance too well by now. But before he could say anything else—

“There’s my favorite girl.”

Your boyfriend’s voice slid through the music and landed right between you and Steve. You turned, and there he was, grinning, drink in hand, walking toward you like he hadn’t a single care in the world.

Steve stepped back instinctively. His eyes flicked between the two of you. Then they caught yours — and something shifted. He got it. You weren’t just anxious. You were torn.

He gave a small nod, not saying a word, just clapping your boyfriend once on the shoulder as he passed and muttering, “Good to see you, man,” before disappearing into the crowd.

Your boyfriend slipped his arm around your waist without missing a beat.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “This party’s insane. You seriously did all this?”

You smiled automatically. “Nat and Wanda helped.”

“Well,” he said, raising his cup, “remind me to thank them before I get too drunk to remember anyone but you.”

You laughed — quiet, controlled — but your eyes wandered again. Across the party. Past dancing bodies and half-empty cups and dim lights.

Your boyfriend took a step back from you, his eyes wandering your body with a sweet smile, “You look so freaking good.”

“Thanks,” you smiled. “You too.”

“Dance with me,” he said grabbing your hand gently.

Your boyfriend tugged you toward the dance floor, and you let him — mostly because it was easier than explaining why you didn’t want to move. Why every inch of your skin felt two seconds too late for your own body. Why your chest was too tight in the middle of a party you helped plan.

Charli XCX still blasted through the speakers, her voice wild and bold:

“I only threw this party for you…”

The line hit you harder than it should’ve.

You smiled up at him — your boyfriend, the good guy. The sweet one. The one who adored you out loud, who didn’t make you guess or dig for his affection. He spun you lazily in a circle, grinning like you were the only one in the room.

You should have felt lucky.

Instead, the lyrics throbbed in your ears:

“I was hoping you’d come through…”

You closed your eyes for a second too long. Tried to blame the wine. The lights. The way Wanda’s glitter highlighter was somehow still on your cheek from earlier.

Your boyfriend leaned closer, hands gentle on your hips, swaying with the beat.

“You sure everything’s okay?” he murmured against your ear. “You’ve been kind of… off tonight.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m just tired.”

He nodded, believing you — because he always believed you. That was the worst part. He wasn’t clueless. Just trusting. And you had nothing but guilt tucked in behind your ribs.

You forced a grin and bumped his shoulder with yours. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted this party, remember? I just made it happen.”

“And you crushed it,” he said sincerely, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I owe you big time. Like dinner, flowers, foot rub kind of big.”

You laughed, soft and real, because he was trying. Always trying. He leaned in to kiss you, and you let him. Let his lips press to yours. Let your arms wrap around him like they knew the script.

But the whole time, the song kept going.

“And I’m waiting for you by the window, yeah.”

And you hated how much your eyes still searched the party.

How a part of you — the reckless part, the stupid part — still wanted to see him walk through the door again. Still wanted to know if he cared that he’d left you on read. Still wanted one damn look that said he remembered how you felt when the world went quiet and you weren’t pretending.

You pulled back from the kiss and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your eyes wandered back to Steve, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest — but you could tell by the way his body subtly shifted forward, by the flicker of something more alert in his eyes, that his attention had hooked onto the door.

He smiled, small but unmistakably real, and stepped forward like instinct.

You followed his gaze.

And there he was.

Bucky.

At 10:38 PM.

He was here.

At your party.

Your stomach twisted in a way that made your breath catch, like you’d swallowed something sharp and it lodged behind your heart. The room didn’t go quiet, but it felt like it did — like someone had hit mute on the rest of the world just for a second so you could watch him cross the threshold.

Black shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the dark glint of metal. His hair was tied back, his jaw set with that usual unreadable calm. But his eyes… his eyes scanned the room until they landed on you.

For one second — maybe two — no one else existed.

Not your boyfriend. Not the Avengers. Not the music pulsing through the walls or the laughter echoing off the ceiling.

[kayewrite]

...So much I think it must be

True love

(part 2 of "At the same time, I wanna hug you..")

seungmin x reader!! enemies to lovers troupe!! genre; fluff. word count:6.8k

summary; It’s strange to think that someone you once couldn’t stand is now the person you can’t live without. You both used to scoff at the idea of fate, but now? You’re not so sure anymore.

an: oh please i love this soo much. i hope you also do! (i know i said it will only short but...) Can be read as stand alone, but it was better if you read the first one.

listen to True Love by Pink

You and Seungmin have been together for two years now. It’s funny how things turned out. Everyone around you always says the same thing: “You two are perfect for each other.” It’s almost cliché, but they’re not wrong. Despite the ups and downs, your bond has only grown stronger over time.

At first glance, no one would have guessed you'd end up together. You and Seungmin were like fire and ice. You’d argue about the smallest things—who was better at math, who had the best grades, or even who would finish their lunch first. You were competitive to a fault, constantly trying to outshine each other during school days.

But somewhere between the sarcastic jabs and friendly competition, something changed. The bickering turned playful. The challenges became a way to spend more time together. Before you knew it, he wasn’t just the guy you argued with—he became the one person who truly understood you.

You went from rivals, to best friends, to… well, something much more. Seungmin is still that competitive guy who drives you crazy, but now he’s also the one who makes your heart race with just a smile.

You often joke that you and Seungmin are like a cat and a dog—always at each other’s throats, only to end up tangled together in some ridiculous hug moments later.

One time, after a particularly heated argument about who was better at a silly arcade game, you kicked him in the leg under the table. He dramatically doubled over as if you’d really hurt him, only to have you clinging to his leg five minutes later, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

Those playful moments make your relationship special. You pinch his arms, but later, those same arms become your pillow when you sleep. You pretend to hate his antics, but deep down, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the quieter moments, when the laughter fades and it’s just the two of you, you find comfort in how well you understand each other. On the vulnerable days, when life feels overwhelming, Seungmin is there, and it’s like you’re soulmates—soup mates, as you two love to joke, because he once insisted that the way you fit together is as comforting as a warm bowl of soup.

It’s strange to think that someone you once couldn’t stand is now the person you can’t live without. You both used to scoff at the idea of fate, but now? You’re not so sure anymore.

That evening, you find yourselves lounging on the couch, both of you too tired to do much of anything. The day had been long—work, school, life—but with Seungmin next to you, everything felt a little lighter.

A few rounds in playing your favorite game, you’re locked in an intense game. Seungmin is winning, and you can feel your frustration rising. You glance down at your cards, trying to hide your devious smile.

“Pick four,” Seungmin says with a laugh, tossing down the card as if he’s already won.

You frown, glaring at the pile of cards you’re supposed to pick up. “You think you’ve got me, huh?” you say, squinting at him.

He leans back, hands behind his head. “I know I do.”

You look at your hand and, with a grin, pull out the ultimate weapon. “Pick eight!”

His smirk falters. He glances at the new card on the pile and then back at you. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say triumphantly. “Pick. Eight.”

Seungmin frowns, staring at his hand. “I won’t... because you’re about to pick twelve!” He grins, tossing down another card.

Your jaw drops, and you stare at the card pile in disbelief. “No way!” you shout, quickly playing your reverse card. “Ha!”

“I anticipated that,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. He pulls out another reverse card, laying it down with a calm smirk.

“What?! No!” you shout, your voice rising. “That’s not fair!”

“Go ahead,” Seungmin says, still grinning. “Pick your cards.”

You glare at the stack of cards you’re about to draw. “Oh no,” you mutter dramatically, placing a yellow skip card. “I’m not losing this time!”

He looks down at the skip card and grins wider. “You sure about that?”

You squint at him. “Don’t tell me…”

Seungmin stands up, towering over the table, and slaps down his own skip card. “UNO!”, he shouts victoriously, laughing as he pumps his fist in the air.

You stare at him, completely stunned. And then... you start to cry. Literally cry.

Seungmin’s laughter dies down as he realizes what’s happening. “Wait—are you crying?” he asks, rushing over to you, his hands gently holding your face.

You sniff dramatically. “You always win,” you say in a pitiful voice, though deep down, you know you’re just being overly dramatic for the cuddles.

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Okay, okay. You win,” he whispers into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “You win. No more Uno.”

You sniff again, leaning into his warmth. “You better let me win next time,” you mumble, already feeling better as he wraps his arms tighter around you.

He laughs softly. “Whatever you say.”

Seungmin had always been your greatest inspiration, just as you were his. Whenever life got tough, he was the one who motivated you to keep pushing forward. You leaned on each other, growing stronger together, especially after high school when you both embarked on your college journeys. Seungmin was diving into music, while you pursued your passion for acting. Balancing the pressures of school and life was a challenge, but with him by your side, every obstacle felt a little less daunting.

You shared a small, cozy apartment—a space you quickly transformed into a home filled with love, laughter, and countless memories. It was perfect in its imperfections, a reflection of your unique bond.

One evening, after a long day of classes, Seungmin had cooked a delicious dinner. You collapsed on the couch, savoring the scent wafting from the kitchen.

“I cooked, so you’re on dish duty tonight!” you declared, a playful smirk on your face.

“Every time I cook, I end up washing the dishes too!” he replied, feigning exasperation.

You crossed your arms dramatically. “Then we’re watching Despicable Me later!”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Fine, I’ll wash. But we’re watching Pitch Perfect first.”

“Agh, not again! We just watched it last week!”

“Okay, how about we wash the dishes together, and then we can watch Alvin and the Chipmunks?” he offered, his smile returning. That was your shared favorite, after all.

“Deal!” you said, excitement bubbling in your chest.

Washing the dishes turned into a delightful mess. Seungmin started the playful chaos by gently tapping a bubble onto your nose. You laughed, unable to resist the urge to retaliate.

“Two can play this game!” You dipped your hands into the soapy water and smeared bubbles onto his face, pretending it was a beard. “Look at you, Mr. Clean!”

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very funny! But I think I’ve seen better beards in my life!”

As you both continued the playful antics, he teased you by lathering bubbles all over your face. You gasped, trying to chase him down when he darted away.

“Catch me if you can!” he called, his laughter echoing through the kitchen.

You chased him around the small apartment, and just when you thought you had him cornered, he turned and caught you in his arms, both of you still giggling like children.

“Alright, alright,” he said, breathless. “Now that we’ve completed our bubble fight, how about we take a shower before movie night?”

“Only if you promise not to hog the hot water!” you teased.

“Deal!” he replied with a wink.

After a shared shower filled with laughter and splashes, you both dried off and prepared for your movie night. As Pitch Perfect started playing, you settled into the couch, arms wrapped around each other, a bowl of popcorn sits between you, half-empty from the endless snacking. The familiar sound of his laughter fills the room as he playfully pokes you in the ribs, trying to steal the last handful of popcorn.

“Hey! No fair! I’m the one who made this, remember?” you protest, swatting his hand away with a giggle.

“Please, you just popped the bag. I did all the hard work by sitting here and looking cute,” he counters, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re insufferable,” you tease, and he pretends to be wounded, dramatically clutching his heart.

“Insufferable? Wow, I thought we were past all this name-calling. Just the other day, you called me your favorite person,” he says, winking at you.

“Only because you keep me entertained,” you reply with a smirk, leaning back to grab another handful of popcorn.

In the middle of the movie, the two of you began reminiscing about the past. “Do you remember that camp in middle school? The one where you pushed me into the mud?” You shoot him a mock glare.

Seungmin bursts into laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How could I forget? You looked like a muddy potato!”

“Thanks, very flattering,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest in mock indignation. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to wash that out of my hair?”

He grins, clearly enjoying this walk down memory lane. “I did it because you were so cute in those banana pajamas. My friends couldn’t stop talking about how adorable you looked. I got jealous!”

Your jaw drops in surprise, and you can’t help but burst into laughter. “You were jealous? So, you decided to make my life miserable? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? You remember me now.”

“Yeah, I remember you as the worst person ever,” you retort, but your heart swells with affection. “But now? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Seungmin's expression softens, and he leans in closer. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers, his voice sincere.

You share a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the warmth of your memories flooding over you. Then, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, filled with the tenderness that only two years of love can create.

Pulling away, you chuckle softly, “I guess I can forgive you for that muddy incident after all.”

“Just after that?” he asks, feigning shock. “I was expecting a bit more gratitude for making you who you are today.”

You roll your eyes again, but the laughter doesn’t stop. “Alright, fine! Thank you for pushing me into the mud; it led to this beautiful moment of us sitting on the couch, sharing popcorn and memories.”

“See? It’s all about perspective,” he says with a satisfied smile, his hand brushing against yours.

And in that moment, you know that this—this life with Seungmin, filled with laughter, teasing, and love—is everything you ever wanted. You hope it will last forever.

Seungmin was also your practice buddy, always there to help you with your lines.

“I am not doing something that will hurt Elizabeth!” you declared dramatically, trying to channel all the emotion you could muster.

He watched you with an amused expression, his lips curling into a smirk. “Oh really?” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Because it looks like you’re about to break into a musical number any second now.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. “Come on, I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Okay, okay. Let’s try again,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “Just imagine Elizabeth is right in front of you. Really feel it!”

You took a deep breath and repeated the line with even more feeling. “I am not doing something that will hurt Elizabeth!”

Seungmin burst into laughter, clapping his hands. “You know, if this acting thing doesn’t work out, you could always pursue a career in stand-up comedy!”

“Ahh, babe, you aren’t a big help,” you complained, playfully swatting at him. “You’re supposed to be my coach, not my heckler!”

He leaned forward, pretending to consider it seriously. “Hmm, maybe I should charge you for coaching fees. Let’s see... One kiss for each lesson?”

“Nice try!” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that!”

“Alright, how about this? If you nail this next line, I’ll cook dinner tonight,” he offered, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

“You’re on!” you said, excitement bubbling within you. “But if I don’t nail it, you have to wash the dishes for a week!”

“Deal!” he laughed, clearly enjoying the challenge.

You focused again, summoning every ounce of emotion. “I am not doing something that will hurt Elizabeth!”

His eyes widened as you delivered the line perfectly this time. “Wow! Look at you! That was amazing!” he exclaimed, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Such a moving performance!”

You beamed, proud of yourself. “See? I told you I could do it!”

“Alright, alright, you win this round,” he said, chuckling. “But don’t get too cocky. We still have more lines to practice.”

You smiled slyly. “More lines means more kisses, right?”

“Only if you keep up this level of talent!” he shot back, winking at you.

With that, you both dove back into practice, filled with laughter, playful banter, and the warmth of shared moments that made every day feel like an adventure.

One of your favorite memories with Seungmin was that time you caught a terrible fever. You had been feeling sluggish all day, and by evening, it hit you like a truck. Seungmin noticed the change in your mood right away.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. His brow furrowed in concern as he gently touched your forehead. "You’re burning up!"

You gave a weak smile, trying to downplay it. "I’m fine… just need to rest a little."

He shook his head, already on his feet. "Nope, you’re officially under Seungmin's care now. Doctor’s orders."

Even through the haze of your fever, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Doctor Seungmin, huh? Since when did you go to med school?”

He grinned down at you. “Oh, you didn’t know? I’m an expert at treating stubborn patients,” he teased, making you chuckle softly. “Now, stay put while I get you some water.”

For the rest of the day, Seungmin was by your side, making sure you had everything you needed. He cooked you a warm soup that he claimed was “an old family recipe,” though you were pretty sure he made it up on the spot. Still, it tasted like comfort, and you couldn’t help but appreciate his efforts.

“Want anything else, sick patient?” he asked, plopping down beside you after tucking the blanket around your shoulders for the third time.

“Maybe… a movie? Something light to distract me?” you suggested, snuggling deeper into the blanket.

Seungmin tilted his head thoughtfully. “Despicable Me? That’s your go-to comfort movie, right?”

You grinned, already feeling a bit better. “Yeah, but only if we can watch Pitch Perfect after.”

He groaned dramatically. “Not again with Pitch Perfect! But fine, since you’re sick and all… I’ll allow it.”

You nudged him playfully. “You secretly love it, admit it.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile. “I guess I have a soft spot for watching you geek out over the musical numbers.”

As the night went on, Seungmin kept checking on you, bringing you snacks, adjusting your blanket, and even giving you a forehead kiss here and there, pretending it was part of his “treatment plan.”

Despite the fever and exhaustion, having Seungmin by your side made everything feel a little brighter. You drifted off to sleep to the sound of his voice, and when you woke up, he was still there, holding your hand, fast asleep on the couch next to you.

It was in moments like these that you knew how lucky you were to have him—someone who took care of you, made you laugh, and turned even the worst days into something special.

There was also that time when Seungmin had an important music presentation for one of his classes. He had been practicing for weeks, perfecting every note, every rhythm, and you knew how much it meant to him. Unfortunately, your own schedule had been packed, with rehearsals for an upcoming play, and it seemed like there was no way you could attend his presentation.

“I get it, really. Don’t stress,” Seungmin had said, giving you a reassuring smile over breakfast that morning. But you could tell there was a little disappointment hidden behind those words.

Still, you hated the thought of not being there for him, especially when he was always there for you. So you decided to make it work. After an intense day of rehearsals, you managed to sneak out a little early. Without telling him, you grabbed a cab to the venue where his presentation was being held.

By the time you arrived, the presentation was already well underway. You quietly slipped into the back row of the auditorium, catching the last few minutes of his performance. Seungmin was standing confidently on stage, his hands on the keyboard, his voice filling the room with emotion. You could see the passion in his eyes, and it made your heart swell with pride.

As soon as he finished, the crowd erupted into applause, and you stood up, clapping louder than anyone. When Seungmin looked out into the audience, his eyes widened in surprise. He spotted you standing there, and his face broke into the biggest, brightest smile. The kind of smile that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Afterwards, he rushed over to you, practically jogging off the stage.

“You came!” he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Of course I did,” you replied, your arms wrapping around him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression soft and full of gratitude. “I thought you had rehearsals?”

“I did, but I snuck out early. Don’t tell my director,” you whispered with a playful grin.

Seungmin chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you,” you teased back, making him roll his eyes, though you knew he loved it. “You were amazing, by the way.”

His smile grew even wider. “You think so? I was so nervous.”

“I couldn’t tell at all,” you assured him, then added, “You’re always incredible.”

One of the best memories you had together was that spontaneous road trip to the beach. It wasn’t planned—nothing ever really was with Seungmin. One Friday afternoon, after a long week of classes and rehearsals, he had just shown up at your apartment with a grin on his face and his car keys in hand.

“Pack your bags,” he had said. “We’re going to the sea.”

“Wait, what? Now?” you asked, eyes wide in surprise.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yep. We’re leaving in five.”

Despite the suddenness, you couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. So, in true Seungmin fashion, you threw a few things into a bag, and before you knew it, you were both in the car, windows down, sun setting in the distance, and the ocean waiting for you on the other side.

The drive started off peaceful, with a soft breeze ruffling your hair as Seungmin hummed along to the radio. But then it came on—Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus.

As soon as the first notes played, Seungmin’s eyes lit up. He turned to you, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “You know what time it is.”

You laughed, already knowing where this was headed. “No way. I am not singing that.”

“Oh yes, you are,” he said, cranking up the volume. And without missing a beat, he started belting out the lyrics, with so much enthusiasm that you couldn’t help but join in.

“So I put my hands up, they’re playin’ my song—” you sang, matching his energy, your voice blending with his as the two of you practically yelled the lyrics together.

The car became a concert stage, the wind whipping through your hair as you danced in your seats, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Seungmin banged his hands on the steering wheel to the beat, and you threw your hands up in the air, living in the moment.

“It’s a party in the USA!” you both shouted at the top of your lungs, finishing the chorus with a triumphant fist pump.

By the time the song ended, you were both a mess of laughter and gasps for air, the car filled with the lingering sound of your shared joy. You glanced over at Seungmin, who was still chuckling to himself, and your heart swelled with affection.

“God, I’m so bad at that,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye.

“You’re the best,” he corrected, flashing you that cheeky grin that always made you smile. “Besides, if anyone’s listening, they’re just jealous of your skills.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Right, because off-key karaoke is a highly sought-after talent.”

“Hey, you sounded amazing,” he teased, reaching over to playfully poke your side. “You could totally go on tour.”

“Only if you’re my backup dancer,” you shot back, pretending to strike a dramatic pose.

“Oh, I’d steal the show,” he replied, and for a moment, the teasing softened as he glanced over at you, eyes filled with affection.

As the sun continued to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the road, you leaned back in your seat, feeling completely at ease. With Seungmin by your side, singing karaoke and heading toward the sea, everything just felt right.

But as much as your relationship with Seungmin was filled with laughter and warmth, it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes, happiness wasn’t just happiness—it was tested.

It happened during one of your most important group projects. You were cast as the lead in a film, and your group wanted it to be perfect—flawless. Seungmin, understanding what acting required, always supported your work. But this project turned out to be different. The script called for a kiss—something you didn’t see coming. At first, you brushed it off. It was just acting, after all. You were a professional.

But there was one thing you hadn’t done, something that began to eat away at you slowly—you hadn’t told Seungmin about it.

It wasn’t that you forgot; you deliberately chose not to. He had been so busy with his music major, drowning in rehearsals and deadlines. You didn’t want to burden him with something that could wait, something that would only distract him. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The day of the filming came, and it was tense. The set was buzzing with nerves, everyone eager to get things just right. You were in the middle of a take, preparing for the scene where the kiss was supposed to happen, when you noticed Seungmin in the distance. He had shown up unexpectedly, holding a lunchbox, his eyes scanning the set.

At first, your heart leapt seeing him. But then the weight of your secret hit you hard.

You hadn’t told him.

And now he was here.

When he saw you kiss your co-star for the scene, his face changed. You saw the surprise, then the hurt, and then… the anger.

He turned and walked away before you could explain. And just like that, everything came crashing down.

The next few days were a blur. Seungmin wouldn’t return your calls or answer your texts. He was always “busy,” but you knew something deeper was wrong. It went on for a week—long, agonizing days of silence. One night, he didn’t even come home. You didn’t know it was because he had been working late on his presentation, but the fear that he might be slipping away from you overwhelmed you. You spent that night crying, feeling like you had lost him.

Finally, after a week of this unbearable distance, you found him sitting at the piano in the apartment, his fingers absentmindedly playing a soft melody. His face was tired, his expression distant.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Seungmin, please… let’s talk.”

He didn’t respond at first, just kept playing. But then, slowly, he stopped, his hands resting on the keys. His eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of frustration and hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I should’ve told you. I didn’t mean to hide it. I just… I didn’t want to make you worry when you were already so busy with your major.”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “It wasn’t about the kiss. Not really. I know what acting is, and I get that. But you didn’t tell me. I found out by watching it happen.”

You bit your lip, guilt swirling in your chest. “I didn’t want to add to your stress. I thought it would just… complicate things.”

Seungmin shook his head. “That’s the problem. You didn’t trust me with it. You think I can’t handle these things, but I can. I just need you to be honest with me, like I’m honest with you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I was wrong for hiding it. I’ll tell you everything from now on.”

His gaze softened, and he got up from the piano, walking over to you. “It’s not about knowing every little thing. I just need to know we’re in this together. That we’re open with each other, no matter what.”

You wiped at your tears, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. “I promise, Seungmin. I’ll do better. I just don’t want to lose you.”

He smiled softly, pulling you into his arms. “You won’t. Just… don’t shut me out again, okay?”

You nodded into his chest, feeling his warmth, grateful that the weight of that silence had lifted. There was still so much love between you, and you both knew that even when things got tough, you’d find a way to make it through.

In that moment, as he held you close, you realized that relationships weren’t just about the easy, happy moments. They were about being able to weather the storms together, learning from the mistakes, and growing stronger from them.

After the rain, there was sunshine again—brighter than ever. 🌞

As you both lounged on the couch, the TV remained off, and the world outside seemed distant. It was just you two, basking in each other's company. The room was filled with the soft hum of contentment, the kind that comes from knowing you're right where you're meant to be.

“When we become successful, let’s buy a big house,” Seungmin said, his voice steady but full of excitement for the future.

You turned to him, eyes twinkling, “Yes! With a cinema room, so we can watch movies on a big screen!” You mimed holding a popcorn bowl, already imagining those cozy nights.

“And a kitchen. A big kitchen,” Seungmin added, smiling at the thought of cooking together, even if it meant the usual playful arguments over who would do the dishes.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “And then... we’ll have kids,” you said, a soft smile spreading across your face as you dared to speak about a future you had only dreamed of.

Seungmin, though caught off guard, smiled gently at you. He’d never brought up the idea first, always wanting to respect your wishes and the life you wanted. What if you didn’t want kids? He never wanted to push. But hearing you say it filled him with warmth.

“How many do you want?” he asked, curiosity mixing with affection.

You grinned mischievously, “I want ten.”

Seungmin’s eyes widened as he let out a chuckle. “Ten? That’s… a lot.”

“I want a basketball team, and we’ll need a cheerleader for them,” you giggled, already picturing the chaos.

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “If you want it, I’m here for you. But... according to my mom, she couldn’t even handle me, and I was an only child.”

You pouted playfully. “Well… our kid might be just like you.”

“At least I’m handsome,” he said with a mock serious expression, turning his side profile toward you like he was posing for a photoshoot.

“Yeah,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “but hard to handle.”

“Then we’ll handle him together,” Seungmin said, laughing.

“And after that, we’ll have a girl,” you added softly, imagining the little family you could build.

“They’ll probably fight each other,” Seungmin mused, a smirk on his face.

“And then love each other, too,” you said, completing the thought.

Seungmin squeezed your hand, his voice tender. “Yeah... just like we do.”

Your third anniversary snuck up on both of you, buried beneath the mountain of academic work and deadlines. It seemed like the day would slip by unnoticed, just another day marked by exhaustion. You came home, drained, longing for nothing more than to collapse into bed beside Seungmin.

But when you opened the door, what you saw made you freeze in place.

There he was, standing in the middle of the room, guitar in hand, a warm smile on his face. The room was transformed—soft candlelight flickered, casting a golden glow over delicate flowers arranged around the room. The scent of roses mixed with the sweetness of jasmine filled the air. It was as if the whole world had slowed, the weight of the day evaporating in an instant.

Your heart skipped a beat. You were about to cry, already overwhelmed, when Seungmin strummed his guitar and started singing *Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You*.

You stopped mid-step, forgetting about your shoes, your bag—everything. Your hands flew to your face, completely taken by the surprise. It wasn’t the first time he’d sung for you, but tonight felt different. His voice seemed to carry more than just notes; it carried promises, memories, and a future you had dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

As he approached, still singing the chorus, his eyes never left yours. Every note felt like a vow, every lyric like an unspoken question. By the time he reached you, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Even before the song had finished, you threw your arms around him, pulling him close, feeling the warmth of his body as he set down the guitar to hug you back.

Seungmin continued to sing, but now it was just his voice, soft and raw—no instruments, just the sound of his heart speaking to yours. He kissed your forehead as you held him tightly, your eyes brimming with tears of happiness.

You held him close, still amazed by how much your life had changed. How this person, who used to drive you insane with teasing, had become the man you couldn’t imagine living without.

As if reading your thoughts, Seungmin gently pulled away, reaching over to the table and grabbing a bouquet of flowers, handing it to you with a tender smile. When you finally pulled away from the hug, tears streaked down your face, and you quickly wiped them, laughing at yourself.

He chuckled, too. “I shouldn’t have done this if I knew I’d make you cry,” he teased softly.

You playfully slapped his chest, still emotional. “They’re happy tears. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help it.”

Seungmin grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’m just glad you’re crying from happiness this time. Not like that time I beat you in exams,” he joked, breaking the seriousness with that signature humor of his.

You shook your head, unable to find the words to express what you felt. But you didn’t need to say anything; the love between you was palpable.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispered, leaning closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “I love you.”

Your heart swelled again, and without thinking, you whispered, "I love you more than anything." You pulled him into another tight hug, feeling so safe in his arms, as if nothing in the world could hurt you as long as you had him. “And I think…” your voice trembled as you spoke, “I think I want to spend every year of my life with you.”

Seungmin pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft but intense. He reached into his jacket pocket, and you didn’t notice at first until he slowly dropped down to one knee.

Your breath caught in your throat as time seemed to stand still.

“I was going to wait,” he began, his voice steady, though you could hear the emotion beneath it. “I was going to wait for the perfect moment, the perfect day, but I realized… any day with you is perfect.” He took a small box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a delicate, shimmering ring.

You gasped, your hands flying to your mouth in disbelief.

“So, I figured… why wait?” His eyes never wavered from yours, full of love and sincerity. “Will you marry me?”

Tears spilled over, and you nodded, unable to speak at first. Finally, through shaky breaths, you whispered, “Yes… of course, yes!”

Seungmin’s face broke into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen as he slipped the ring onto your finger. The room felt warmer, brighter—like all the love you had for each other had materialized and wrapped itself around you both. When he stood up, you threw your arms around his neck, kissing him with all the love and excitement you could pour into that moment.

“I love you so much,” you murmured between kisses, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you were now engaged to the man you loved more than anything in the world.

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

The rest of the night felt like a dream. You had a candlelit dinner, toasting to your future together, the soft glow of the candles reflecting off the ring that now symbolized your love. The night ended with tender kisses, whispered promises, and the kind of intimacy that comes from knowing your heart has found its home.

It was a night neither of you would ever forget—the beginning of the rest of your lives together.

------

Three years later, life looked like a dream you both had worked so hard to build. You and Seungmin had finally reached the heights of your careers, but what made it even more special was that you had done it together.

You, now a well-respected actress and director, were creating films that moved people—stories that made audiences laugh, cry, and think. Seungmin, now a renowned singer and producer, was loved by millions, with his songs climbing the charts and his name celebrated all over. Despite your busy schedules, you always found your way back to each other, making time for the little moments that mattered most.

You lived in the house you had once dreamed about on your anniversary, a beautiful home with large windows that let in the sunlight and a garden filled with flowers. It had a cozy cinema room—just like you had imagined—where the two of you often curled up to watch movies on the big screen after long days of work. There was a spacious kitchen, perfect for the playful cooking battles you still had, and laughter often echoed through the halls as you lived out the life you’d envisioned, but even better than you could have imagined.

And now, you were happily married.

The wedding had been intimate and beautiful, surrounded by the people you loved most. Seungmin had cried as you walked down the aisle, and though he tried to play it cool, his trembling hands as he held yours during the vows gave him away. It had been a day filled with tears of joy, laughter, and promises of forever. And now, here you were, living that forever.

As you both relaxed in your living room, the glow of a soft sunset spilling through the windows, Seungmin leaned back against the couch, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Remember how much you hated me back then?” he asked, glancing at you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, I didn’t just hate you,” you teased. “I despised you. If I had teleportation powers back then, I would've dumped you right into the middle of the Pacific Ocean without a second thought.”

Seungmin burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. “You really would’ve, too! You used to look at me like you were plotting my demise.”

“Well, you didn’t make it easy,” you retorted, smirking. “You always laughed at my misery. You had this evil little laugh every time I got a lower grade than you. It drove me crazy.”

Seungmin wiped away a fake tear of joy. “It was so fun watching you squirm!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the smile playing on your lips gave you away. “And then that Romeo and Juliet project… I thought that was the universe punishing me. I had to be paired with you of all people.”

He grinned wider, eyes sparkling with fondness. “That project changed everything, though.”

You sighed, the memory tugging at your heart. “Yeah… I thought you were insufferable, but then I saw how serious you were about acting. You weren’t just the annoying kid who was good at everything. You actually had depth.”

Seungmin leaned closer, his tone softening. “And I thought you were just competitive for the sake of it, but you were so passionate. I admired that. You just wanted to be the best version of yourself.”

You smiled, the nostalgia washing over you. “I still can’t believe I went from wishing I could fling you across the globe to… well, spending forever with you.”

Seungmin reached out and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. “I’m glad I wore you down,” he teased.

“You didn’t wear me down,” you said, smiling. “You just… made me see you differently. And I fell in love with who you really are.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the teasing melted into something more profound. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Who would’ve thought that the girl who wanted to kill me would be the love of my life?”

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Life’s funny like that.”

Years passed, and now you were in the hospital delivery room, the atmosphere charged with anticipation and tension. The pain gripped you as contractions came in waves, and Seungmin stood by your side, his face pale with worry, tears already brimming in his eyes as he watched you struggle.

“Breathe, baby, just breathe,” he whispered, his voice shaky as he held your hand, his grip tight but trembling. He wiped the sweat from your forehead, looking helpless as he tried to offer comfort, though it was clear he was barely holding himself together.

Through the haze of pain, you saw the tears slip down his cheeks. He was crying harder than you’d ever seen him before, overwhelmed with both fear and love as he watched the woman he adored go through something so difficult.

When the baby’s cries finally filled the room, Seungmin broke down completely. The doctors placed your newborn son in his arms, and he hugged the tiny bundle, tears streaming down his face, whispering something soft and incoherent through his sobs.

“He… he looks like me,” he choked out, looking down at the baby boy swaddled tightly, the resemblance already undeniable. His voice cracked with emotion, and he couldn’t stop crying as he leaned down to kiss you, his heart overflowing with love and relief.

Still exhausted and weak, you looked at the two of them—your husband and your son—and a tired but warm laugh escaped your lips. “I take it back,” you said, smiling faintly through your fatigue. “I don’t want ten anymore. Delivering one was already too much.”

Seungmin chuckled softly, though his eyes were still wet. “Just one… is already perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You both looked down at the baby, now peacefully asleep in Seungmin’s arms. He shifted closer, wrapping his other arm around you so the three of you could be together, a family. He kissed your forehead softly, the weight of the moment sinking in as you shared a look that held all the love and emotion words could never fully express.

“I love you,” Seungmin whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

You smiled, your heart swelling with more love than you ever thought possible. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your eyes lingering on the tiny face of your son, knowing that this was the beginning of a whole new chapter—a chapter filled with love, growth, and the family you had dreamed of together.

---

an: a reblog, comment, and heart is very much appreciated. thank you for reading have a great day/ night!

[brunchable]

hello !! i love your bucky stories sm and i was wondering if i could request a oneshot ? basically bucky is dating reader (female or gn it doesn’t matter) but they’re in a secret relationship because she’s john walkers sister and maybe john walker finds out and gets super angry about it. i always see this with reader being a stark but i think it would be funny if reader was a walker instead !!

please take your time and you don’t have to do this request do you don’t want to :)

Secret's Out || Thunderbolt!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, F!Reader, Alexei Shotakov, John Walker Themes: Funny? And a Very angry John Walker.. A/N: I hope this is funny enough and lives up to your expecations.🫡 Thanks for the request, it was fun to write lol.

You knew it was going to be a nightmare when you started dating Bucky Barnes. Sure, you’d expected a few challenges: navigating a relationship with a super-soldier, keeping it secret from prying eyes, and, oh, the minor issue of dealing with your brother—John Walker. Captain America Wannabe himself.

John had a temper—one you tried to avoid at all costs. So, dating Bucky in secret had seemed like the best option. But then the Thunderbolts happened, and you ended up on the same team. It was a mess waiting to happen, and today, it all blew up in the most spectacularly hilarious way.

It started in the break room of the base. You were perched on the counter, sipping a cup of coffee, when Alexei—big, brash, and Russian through and through—sauntered in, practically tripping over his own feet. Bucky was leaning beside you, his eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, alert as always. You could feel the tension rolling off him.

“Relax, it’s just coffee,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his. “Nobody’s going to suspect anything.”

“Except the fact that you’re sitting on the counter,” he grumbled. “Which is something you only do when—”

“When she is being sneaky sneaky with you, eh?” Alexei’s booming voice interrupted, and you nearly choked on your coffee. “Like little rabbits!”

“Alexei!” Bucky hissed, glancing around frantically. “Will you shut up!”

But it was too late. A familiar shadow loomed in the doorway, and there stood John Walker, his eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. He crossed his arms over his chest, the classic ‘big brother ready to punch a guy in the face’ stance.

“What’s he talking about?” John’s voice was dangerously calm. “Sneaky… sneaky?”

You shot Bucky a panicked look, but before you could come up with some ridiculous excuse, Alexei clapped Bucky on the back, sending him stumbling forward.

“Ha! You know, Bucky is like big secret squirrel with relationship. Always hiding like spy movie!” Alexei grinned, clearly oblivious to the murderous expression on John’s face. “But I see you two! Many times! Kissing behind gym! Very romantic.”

John’s jaw tightened, his face turning a shade of red that was almost comical—if it weren’t for the fact that you knew how dangerous your brother could get when he was angry. He took one step forward, and you slid off the counter, putting yourself between him and Bucky.

“John, calm down. It’s not—”

“Are you kidding me?!” John exploded. “Him? Of all the guys in the world, you picked him?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but John’s glare cut him off. “Don’t even try, Barnes. You—you’re supposed to be on my team! And you’re sneaking around with my sister?!”

“Sneaking is strong word,” Alexei interjected with a dismissive wave. “They just—how you Americans say—bonk like bunnies?”

“Alexei!” you and Bucky shouted simultaneously, your faces heating up.

“What?” Alexei blinked at you, then shrugged. “It is truth, no? Bucky says all time—‘I can’t come to mission brief, I’m with—’”

Bucky’s arm shot out, clapping a hand over Alexei’s mouth. “Shut. Up.”

Alexei grinned behind Bucky’s hand, clearly enjoying himself. You, on the other hand, were not. John’s expression was pure, unadulterated rage, his nostrils flaring like a bull ready to charge.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your hands, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“So you haven’t been secretly dating this—this—” John struggled to find the words, gesturing wildly at Bucky. “This guy?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I think you mean this—man?”

“Shut up, Barnes!” John barked. “I’m not talking to you!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “John, it’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal? He’s supposed to have my back on missions, not be—be—” John spluttered, waving his arms around as if that would somehow convey his outrage better. “I’m going to kill you.”

“He will not kill you,” Alexei commented cheerfully. “Maybe just break couple of bones. But that is normal in family.”

“Alexei,” Bucky growled, “you’re not helping.”

“What? Why is everyone so upset? We should celebrate, da?” Alexei beamed, raising his arms as if to welcome the idea of a party. “Come! We do shots of vodka! In Russia, we celebrate when sister finds man to keep bed warm!”

“Alexei!” you hissed, feeling your face burn.

“Or, you know,” Alexei continued, undeterred, “when man finds bed to keep sister—”

“ARE YOU SAYING HE’S BEEN FUCKING MY SISTER?!” John roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “Barnes, you’re dead!”

“Wait, no!” Bucky stepped back, his hands raised in surrender, but John wasn’t having it. He lunged forward, and Bucky dodged to the side, barely avoiding a swing that would’ve knocked him out cold.

“John!” you yelled, but it was useless. He was in full-blown Big Brother Meltdown Mode now.

“You’ve been sleeping with my sister?! You’ve been—”

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not jump to conclusions!” Bucky stammered, backpedaling rapidly. “It’s not—It’s not like that!”

“Oh, it’s not? So you haven’t been—what did Alexei say?—bonking like bunnies?” John’s voice dripped with venom.

“Um—”

“RUN, BUCKY!” you shrieked as John lunged again.

Bucky took off like a bullet, sprinting down the hallway with John hot on his heels, cursing up a storm. They skidded around corners, ducked through doors, and raced past stunned agents who barely had time to jump out of the way.

Alexei strolled out of the break room, whistling casually as he watched John chase Bucky in circles around the main atrium.

“Ah, young love,” he mused aloud, stroking his beard. “Is good for health. Lots of cardio.”

John caught sight of Alexei and yelled, “Stay out of this, Russian bear!”

“Bear?” Alexei’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Da, I am bear! Bear of love and wisdom! I say you should calm down. Maybe do some breathing exercise—”

“CALM DOWN?!” John bellowed, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. “I’m going to kill him!”

Alexei sighed, shaking his head. “Americans… so dramatic.” With a swift stride, he closed the distance to the two men still racing in circles. Before you could process what was happening, Alexei reached out, grabbed Bucky and John by the collars, and effortlessly lifted them off the ground like two misbehaving puppies.

“Enough,” he said firmly, holding them both up as they flailed helplessly. “You are giving me headache.”

“Put me down, you Russian lunatic!” John kicked out, his fists still swinging in Bucky’s general direction. “Let me at him!”

“Nyet.” Alexei tilted his head to the side, peering down at John. “You need chill pill. Maybe shot of vodka.”

“Alexei!” you shouted, running up to them. “Put them down!”

“Okay, okay, fine.” With a huff, Alexei dropped them both unceremoniously onto the floor. John scrambled to his feet, but Alexei placed a giant hand on his shoulder, holding him in place with absurd ease. “John Walker, you need relax. Is normal for sister to date handsome man. Builds strong family, da?”

“Strong—strong family?” John spluttered, glaring daggers at Bucky, who was still sprawled on the ground, catching his breath. “I’m going to—”

“No.” Alexei’s voice rumbled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You want fight? You fight Alexei.”

John hesitated, glancing up at the towering Russian. “Uh…”

“Thought so.” Alexei grinned, giving John a little shake. “Now. You will go get drink, calm down. And Bucky…” He looked down at the man still lying on the floor. “You will… eh… no more bonking until brother says okay.”

You slapped a hand over your face, groaning loudly. “Alexei!”

“What?” He blinked at you innocently. “I am helping!”

“Yeah, thanks a lot, buddy,” Bucky muttered, rubbing his neck as he hauled himself to his feet.

John let out a long, suffering sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I need a damn drink.”

“Ah! Good idea! I join!” Alexei beamed, steering John toward the mess hall. “Come, we talk about sister. Very smart, very strong. Make good wife, no?”

As the two of them disappeared down the hallway, you turned to Bucky, who was still massaging his throat where Alexei had grabbed him.

"You okay?" you asked, resisting the urge to burst out laughing at the whole absurd situation.

"Yeah," Bucky wheezed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’m fine, but your brother... He’s insane."

You snorted. "Takes one to know one."

Bucky shot you a wry grin, but his eyes flicked down the hallway where John and Alexei had gone. “Do you think he’s actually going to calm down, or is Alexei just making it worse?”

“Hard to say. Alexei’s version of calming someone down is offering them a bear hug and vodka shots.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Maybe not dead,” you teased, poking his chest. “But possibly maimed. Severely bruised. Broken bones, if we’re being realistic.”

“Great, thanks for the pep talk, doll.”

“Anytime, babe.”

Bucky glanced down the hall again, then back at you, his expression softening. “So, we’re not hiding anymore, huh?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” You glanced around the empty atrium, then stepped closer, lowering your voice. “I know it’s not how we planned for it to happen, but… I’m kind of relieved. No more sneaking around.”

He tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. There is something nice about that.” His hand brushed against yours, fingers intertwining.

You smiled up at him, heart fluttering as he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. But before you could enjoy it, a loud, irritated voice echoed down the hall.

“ARE YOU TWO KISSING AGAIN?!” John’s furious shout reverberated through the base. “SERIOUSLY?!”

Bucky pulled back, eyes wide. “Crap.”

“Oh, you are so dead,” you whispered with a grin, shoving him away. “Run!”

“Right!” Bucky shot off like a rocket, sprinting down the hallway in the opposite direction. You followed at a slower pace, watching with equal parts horror and amusement as John rounded the corner, still bright red and fuming, and took off after Bucky like a man possessed.

“DON’T YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME, BARNES!” John hollered, picking up speed. “I’M GONNA RIP YOUR ARMS OFF!”

“Really?” Bucky called over his shoulder. “Like I need another metal one? I’ll pass, thanks!”

“Oh, you’re gonna need more than a metal arm after I’m done with you!” John shouted, his voice reaching a new pitch of anger.

“Better keep up then, Cap!” Bucky taunted, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

You couldn’t help it—you doubled over, laughing so hard your sides hurt. This was chaos, pure and absolute chaos, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Bozhe moi, Americans are strange,” Alexei’s voice rumbled from behind you.

You straightened, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes as you turned to face him. “You think we’re strange?”

“Da.” He nodded solemnly. “Is like watching two squirrels fight over same nut.”

“Pretty sure Bucky’s the nut here,” you muttered.

“Da. And your brother… big angry squirrel.”

“Sounds about right.” You sighed, glancing down the hallway where you could still hear the distant echoes of John’s yelling and Bucky’s laughter.

Alexei patted you on the shoulder, his grin wide and toothy. “Do not worry. I keep them from killing each other.”

“I’m pretty sure if anyone’s going to kill anyone, it’ll be John killing Bucky.”

“Da, da. Bucky will be fine.” Alexei shrugged. “Metal arm, very strong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think a metal arm is going to protect him from John’s wrath?”

Alexei’s eyes twinkled. “Nyet. But is fun to watch.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Should I get popcorn?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Is too bad.” Alexei sighed dramatically, like a child denied a treat. “Very entertaining. Maybe next time I make bets.”

You blinked. “Bets?”

“Da!” Alexei nodded enthusiastically. “Who will win—Angry Squirrel or Annoying Nut?”

“Alexei,” you said slowly, a grin spreading across your face. “You’re evil.”

“Only little bit,” he agreed, then gave a playful wink. “I keep them in line. You go. Relax. Be pretty, like sister who is not dating big squirrel.”

“I’ll try,” you said dryly, smiling despite yourself.

“Go! Go!” He waved you off, then turned on his heel, striding purposefully down the hallway after John and Bucky. “Okay, boys! Enough running like chickens! You want to fight, you fight big Russian! Come! I am ready!”

You watched, still grinning, as Alexei’s deep, booming voice echoed through the base, drowning out John’s angry shouting and Bucky’s laughter.

It seemed that your secret was out in the most ridiculous way possible. But you’d take it, insanity and all—because, somehow, amidst the chaos and yelling and chase scenes through the base, it felt like everything was going to be just fine.

Even if it meant Bucky getting his ass kicked by your overprotective brother… right after Alexei had his fun, of course.

[kash98]

She’s the Storm, He’s the Fire (Jungook x reader)

Pairing: Jungkook x reader, y/n Age restrictions: 18+ Ongoing Series: Chapter Three Read Chapter One: Curiosity’s a Dangerous Thing — So Am I Read Chapter Two: What Fire Does to a Storm Summary: The night may be over, but its consequences aren’t. One reckless dare at the after-party left more than just a lingering heat — it cracked something open. Now, in the quiet morning after, the tension between them simmers just beneath the surface. She’s poised, practiced, and pretending it didn’t rattle her. He’s amused, unbothered, and far too observant.

And when the city’s next party looms, she’s not sure she wants to go—until he makes it personal.

Some things aren’t just flirtation.

They’re challenges.

And neither of them knows how to walk away from those.

"Storms don’t leave quietly. And fire remembers."

Let the game continue...

Chapter Three: False Hope

Same Night

Dessert was supposed to be the wind-down—the soft landing after a meal. But as soon as the last fork scraped against a plate and someone pulled out a bottle of soju, the energy shifted like someone had flipped a switch. Laughter got louder. Bottles clinked. Music turned up as someone found a speaker in the corner, cueing up a playlist that was suspiciously designed to cause chaos.

“Why do I feel like the night just started?” you asked, half-laughing as Taehyung handed you a shot with a wink.

Jungkook leaned back on the couch, glass in hand, eyes already gleaming with mischief. “Because it did.”

Namjoon yelled, “Beer pong!” and just like that, the living room transformed. Jin and Hobi dragged the table to the center, Yoongi arranged the cups in perfect triangles, and Jimin took it upon himself to pour the drinks with dramatic flair.

You barely had time to protest before Alisha looped an arm through yours. “You're with me.”

Across the table, Jungkook tilted his head, smirking as he joined the opposing team. “You sure you wanna do that to her?”

Alisha grinned. “Please. She’s lethal.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked to you, amused and a little cocky. “We’ll see about that.”

You raised a brow. “Try not to cry when we wipe the floor with you.”

He let out a low laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t cry. I win.”

“Bold words for someone about to lose in the first round.”

Taehyung let out a whoop. “This is going to be so messy.”

And with that, the first ball flew across the table—wild, competitive energy in the air, the night nowhere near over.

Jungkook made the opening shot with a maddening level of precision, the ping pong ball landing squarely in the front cup.

Cheers erupted from his team. He didn’t even try to hide his smug expression as he looked at you.

“Beginner’s luck,” you said flatly, grabbing a cup and downing the beer without breaking eye contact.

He leaned on the edge of the table. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Your turn. You narrowed your eyes, calculated the angle, and flicked your wrist—clean hit. Jungkook blinked as the ball plopped into one of their middle cups.

“Beginner’s luck?” you echoed sweetly, batting your lashes.

Jungkook’s brows lifted in amused challenge. “Okay. You wanna play like that?”

“I was born to play like that,” you shot back.

Round after round, the game escalated. It was no longer about winning—it was about outdoing each other. He threw curve shots with annoying confidence, and you countered with precision that had him raising a brow every time.

“You practicing in secret?” he asked as you sank another shot.

You shrugged innocently. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

At one point, when he missed—barely—you clutched your heart. “Tragic. I thought you said you don’t lose.”

“I didn’t,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m just giving you false hope.”

“Aw. How thoughtful.”

The room was loud, chaotic, full of laughter and trash talk—but for some reason, it felt like it was just the two of you at that table.

And the night was only getting started.

“Okay, new rule!” Jimin shouted over the music, wobbling slightly as he poured more soju. “If you miss a cup, your team picks a dare for you.”

A chorus of chaotic agreement followed. Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle this?”

You smirked, arms crossed. “You worried about me, Jeon?”

“Worried for you,” he replied with a wink.

Two rounds later, Jungkook missed.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” you grinned, spinning the empty cup in your hand dramatically. “Let’s see... Taehyung, you got anything evil in mind?”

Taehyung didn’t even blink. “I dare Jungkook to kiss the person he finds the most attractive in the room.”

A loud “OHHHHHHHHH” went up around the room.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. He casually scanned the room, dramatically stroking his chin as if weighing options.

You rolled your eyes.

He took one step forward. Two.

And then stopped right in front of you.

Your smirk faltered just a little. “Cute joke.”

“I don’t joke,” he said softly, and before you could say anything snarky, he leaned in—close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath and feel the warmth radiating off him—but his lips brushed your cheek, just barely.

A near kiss. A ghost of one.

The room went wild. It shouldn't have meant anything. But your stomach still flipped like you’d stepped off a ledge.

You stared at him, heat creeping up your neck. He pulled back with a glint in his eye.

“False hope, right?” he whispered.

You blinked, gathering your thoughts. “Oh, you’re so getting destroyed next round.”

“Oh, I hope so,” he shot back, turning to refill his cup.

Game on.

You were still reeling—not that you'd admit it—when your team missed the next shot. Miserably. Thanks, Hobi.

Across the circle, Jimin leaned forward, chin resting on his palm. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

His smile turned wicked. “Okay, sweetheart. Since golden boy over there almost kissed you earlier”—he nodded toward Jungkook, who didn’t even flinch—“I dare you to whisper something dirty in his ear.”

The circle exploded.

Even Jungkook looked momentarily caught off guard, one pierced brow lifting, lips twitching.

“It’s harmless,” Jimin said, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just set the room on fire. “We don’t get to hear it, but he does. Fair’s fair.”

Taehyung leaned in, murmuring, “Do it. Melt him.”

Jungkook leaned back, clearly intrigued. “Come on. I can take it.”

You walked over slowly, the air buzzing around you as you closed the space between you and him. He watched every step—chin tilted up, arms sprawled, inviting.

You bent over, fingers grazing his shoulder for balance, your lips brushing just close enough to feel the heat of his skin. Then, casually, your mouth dipped to his ear… and you kissed it. Light. Barely there. A mirror of how he’d kissed your cheek earlier—sweet, deliberate, and just a little cocky.

He froze.

And then, with a breath warm against his skin, you whispered, “You’re acting all cocky… but I know you’re dying for me to kiss you.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes, when they found yours again, were dark and unreadable.

Revenge? Achieved.

The room broke into exaggerated “Ooooooohhhh!”s and playful shouts, everyone howling at the boldness of the moment.

Jimin practically fell over. “God damn, I didn’t think you’d actually do it!”

Alisha clapped like a seal. “That’s my girl!” But all the noise faded into the background as Jungkook tilted his head, lips ghosting just near your ear—his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

“You have no idea what you just started.”

His tone was velvet and promise, heat simmering beneath the calm. You shivered.

Alisha, squinting between you two with sharp curiosity, she added, “Wait—what did you just say to him?”

He pulled back with that maddening smirk, like he hadn’t just sent goosebumps racing down your spine.

“That’s between the devil and me,” he said smoothly, gaze still locked on yours.

And just like that, the game had changed again. You stood up, straightening your shirt and clearing your throat as if it didn’t suddenly feel five degrees warmer.

The others were already moving on to the next dare.

But Jungkook? He was still watching you like you were his next challenge. And for the first time tonight…You weren’t sure if you wanted to win.

-------------------------------------------------------------- The game carried on for a few more rounds—someone dared to do the worm (badly), another confessed to a long-time celebrity crush, and yet another tried to balance a bottle on their head for thirty seconds while everyone else tried to make them laugh.

Laughter filled the air, but it was slower now, lazier.

Jimin was curled up on one end of the couch, an arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, lips parted in deep sleep. Hobi wasn’t far behind—sprawled across the carpet with an empty snack bowl on his chest like it was his prized possession.

The rest of the group sat scattered around, slouched into pillows or hugging cushions, talking in lower voices. The buzz had mellowed into a warm haze of friendship and exhaustion.

“Okay, okay,” Taehyung said, yawning into his shoulder. “I think that’s enough chaotic confessions for one night.”

Someone hummed in agreement.

You stretched your arms over your head with a soft groan, catching Jungkook’s eyes across the room. His gaze dipped for a second—slow, intentional—before he looked away, biting back a grin.

The game might be over.

That was just getting started.

Just as someone attempted to get up—and immediately flopped back down like a ragdoll—Alisha clapped her hands, cutting through the drowsy lull.

"Alright, that's it," she announced, standing with the smug authority of someone who knew she was the only one sober enough to make decisions. “No one’s going anywhere tonight. You’re all sleeping over. My penthouse has six bedrooms—and enough spare blankets to build a whole village.”

There were a few groggy cheers, one sleepy “I love you, Alisha,” and another snore that sounded suspiciously like Jimin.

You really don’t want to see Taehyung try to parallel park while drunk,” Alisha announced, flopping back on the couch with a groan. “It’s like watching a toddler try to operate a tank. Chaos.”

“I’m fantastic at it,” Taehyung slurred from somewhere under a pile of throw pillows. “That pole had attitude.”

“Right,” Alisha snorted. “Which is why you’re staying. No deaths tonight, please and thank you.”

One by one, the group began to drift — some heading down the hallway to claim rooms, others surrendering to the pull of sleep where they were. Jimin and Hobi were already passed out, dead to the world.

“You got a room already, huh?” Jungkook said, strolling up. “Cousin privileges.”

“You sound bitter,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Not bitter. Just mildly offended. I was gonna offer you mine, y'know. Real gentleman stuff.”

You smirked. “And sleep where? The bathtub?”

“Please. I'd charm someone into sharing.”

You gave him a look. “Good luck with that. Most of them are unconscious.”

He chuckled lowly, then stepped in just a little closer — not enough to cross a line, just enough to notice.

“Well, guess I’ll manage,” he said, voice quieter now. “Unless you’re offering.”

You laughed under your breath, brushing past him with a teasing glance over your shoulder. “Not that charming, Jeon.” “Yet,” he called after you.

--------------------------------------------------------------

You stumbled into the bedroom, and the moment the door clicked shut behind you, your mind—unfortunately—did the exact opposite.

All you could think about was Jungkook. His voice. His smirk. The ghost of his fingers on your skin, and the kiss — too slow, too deliberate — from that stupid dare.

It all replayed in your head like a movie on loop—loud, vivid, and annoyingly addictive.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as if that would help clear the fog, but his ridiculously attractive face still flashed behind your eyes every time you blinked.

With a dramatic sigh, you stripped off your party clothes and grabbed the oversized t-shirt from your bag—the one you always traveled with. It was soft, worn-in, and hung loose over your frame, brushing past mid-thigh. No shorts, no effort. Just comfort.

You climbed into bed and flopped onto your side, hoping sleep would take over.

It didn’t.

At first, it was just an uncomfortable fullness in your stomach. Then it twisted—sharp and hot—before settling into a dull, burning ache.

You pressed a palm over your belly and muttered, “Ugh, too much food.”

And alcohol. And sugar. And those stupid vodka-soaked gummy bears.

The nausea came quickly after that. You barely made it to the bathroom before everything came back up twice.

By the time it was over, your throat burned, your forehead was clammy, and you were way too sober to pretend this was just indigestion.

After rinsing your mouth and catching your breath, you stared at the empty glass on the counter with growing despair. No water. No antacids. No patience left.

Barefoot and still a little dazed, you stepped out of the room and made your way downstairs, each step slow and careful so you didn’t wake the entire house.

You pushed into the kitchen, tugging open cabinets and muttering curses under your breath.

“Looking for something, or just cursing Alisha’s spice rack for fun?”

You startled — then groaned.

Jungkook leaned against the fridge, hair a bit messy like he’d just woken up from a nap he hadn’t meant to take.

“You scared me,” you muttered, slamming a cabinet shut.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. His eyes dropped to your legs, just for a moment. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

“Well,” you snapped, rubbing your temple, “apparently my stomach wants me dead.”

His brow rose. “Food poisoning?”

“Acid reflux,” you sighed. “Too much food. Too much drink. My body’s staging a coup.”

Jungkook opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of cold water, then handed it to you wordlessly.

You accepted it and mumbled a soft, “Thanks.”

He watched as you took a few slow gulps, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “I feel like a gremlin,” you added. “A bloated, angry gremlin.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Cute gremlin, though.”

You glared at him.

“What?” he grinned. “I meant that nicely. You’ve got that... post-party glow. With a side of murder.”

You rolled your eyes, finally cracking a tired smirk. “You're always this annoying when the sun’s down?”

“Only for you,” he said lightly. “Want me to help find something for the acid? I think Alisha has a drawer of emergency meds.”

You hesitated. “If you’re just going to stand there and flirt while I suffer—”

“I’ll be very respectful while you suffer,” he promised, holding up his hands.

That got a laugh out of you. Small, but real.

And when he knelt to rummage through the lower cabinets, his tone quieter now, he asked, “You alright otherwise?” You didn’t answer right away. Just watched him move like he’d done this a hundred times—like he belonged here. How many nights had they all spent here like this? Laughing, drinking, and turning Alisha’s penthouse into a second home. How many of those had you missed?

You kept staring, some part of you aching with the realization.

Maybe it was your workload. Maybe it was your talent for keeping people at arm’s length. Maybe it was that you’d never had enough close friends to begin with.

Whatever the reason, it hit you all at once—how easy it was for him to fit in. And how easy it would’ve been for you, too, if only you’d let yourself.

His brows were furrowed, just a little. Like he meant it.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just... not used to nights like these.”

“Guess we’ll have to fix that,” he murmured, handing you a small foil packet of antacids. “Start slow. No greasy fries next time.”

You took it, your fingers brushing his. “And maybe skip the tequila.”

“Speak for yourself,” he grinned.

You popped the antacid into your mouth and grimaced at the chalky texture. “Tastes like mint-flavored regret.”

Jungkook snorted, leaning his weight against the counter. “Still better than puking into Alisha’s ficus.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you said, rubbing your stomach. “At this point, I might as well give the plant some trauma too.”

He gave you a once-over again, slower this time. “You sure you’re okay? You look...”

“Say ‘rough’ and I swear I’ll find that ficus,” you warned.

Jungkook grinned. “I was going to say ‘hot in a chaotic, half-dead way,’ but go off, gremlin queen.”

You gave him a tired look but didn’t even try to argue. “I need air.”

Without waiting, you turned on your heel and pushed the balcony door open, stepping into the cool night. The breeze kissed your legs, goosebumps rising immediately — but the fresh air helped. You closed your eyes for a second.

“I said I needed air, not an escort,” you said without turning, feeling his presence following you.

Jungkook stepped out anyway. “Yeah, well, I figured if you passed out, someone should be here to catch you.”

“How chivalrous,” you muttered.

He leaned on the railing beside you. “Also, you looked like you might fight that poor ficus. Thought I should separate you two.”

You huffed a laugh. “It started it.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, side-eyeing you. “You always this dramatic when you’re tipsy?” “Only when I mix tequila and regret.”

Jungkook let out a laugh, warm and low. It lingered for a second before the quiet settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. You pressed your forehead gently against the railing, the cool metal grounding you as your shoulders slumped.

He glanced at you, expression softening. “You should sit,” he said quietly. “I’ll grab a blanket.”

You started to shake your head, but he was already turning back toward the door.

“I’m serious,” he added over his shoulder. “I know that look — five minutes from now you’ll either cry or fall asleep standing up, and I’m not prepared for either.”

You huffed a tiny laugh but didn’t argue as you lowered yourself onto the small outdoor loveseat tucked into the corner of the balcony. Your legs folded up without much grace, and your arms curled around yourself out of habit.

He disappeared inside, and you were too drained to stop him — and honestly, too cold. The city lights flickered below, far enough away to feel unreal.

He came back a minute later with one of Alisha’s giant throw blankets — the obnoxiously soft kind you always teased her about hoarding — and a bottle of water he’d snagged from the fridge.

“Here,” Jungkook said, draping the blanket over your shoulders like he’d done it a hundred times before. “Hydrate, gremlin.”

You took the water, smiling faintly. “Didn’t know you were moonlighting as a nurse.”

“I’m multi-talented. Very underappreciated.”

You let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the cushion as the warmth started to spread through your skin. He sat beside you, not too close, but not far either — elbows on his knees, head tilted toward the night.

After a moment, he glanced at you. “You okay now?”

You didn’t answer immediately, just leaned your head slightly toward him, the edge of your blanket brushing his arm.

“Getting there.”

Jungkook stayed quiet, elbows resting on his knees, eyes lost in the city lights below. The hush between you wasn’t heavy anymore — just still. Safe.

You leaned into him without a word, your blanket slipping slightly as your head found his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or shift away — just glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

Your breathing had slowed, each exhale softer than the last.

He was just about to ask, “Are you sleepy?” — but the words never left his lips.

You were already out, the weight of exhaustion tugging you under, lashes resting gently against your cheeks.

Jungkook let out a soft breath, his gaze returning to the night.

He didn’t move right away.

Only when the breeze turned a little cooler, and your fingers curled subconsciously at the hem of your blanket, did he shift — carefully, gently. One arm slid beneath your knees, the other behind your back.

You stirred faintly as he lifted you, but didn’t wake.

He carried you in without a word, each step slow, steady — quiet enough not to disturb the peace that had finally found you.

When he laid you down, tucking the blanket up to your chin, your lips parted slightly, still caught somewhere between dreams and the weightless stillness of being near him.

Jungkook stood there for a moment longer.

Then, with the barest trace of a smile, he whispered, “Sleep well, brat.” And turned off the light. --------------------------------------------------------------

Next Morning

You stirred before the sunlight reached your face. The first thing you noticed was warmth — not from the sun, but from the blanket wrapped tightly around you. The second was the faint scent lingering in the room. Clean cotton and something else.

Him.

Your eyes blinked open slowly. For a moment, your brain tried to catch up — bed? You didn’t remember making it to your room. You sat up slightly, blanket still bunched around your shoulders, and glanced around. 

No sign of Jungkook. Your chest ached with something soft and heavy — the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t touch. You sat there for a while, listening to the silence, fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket.

Eventually, you rose. The floor was cool beneath your feet.

The hot shower helped ease the stiffness in your limbs. You let it run longer than usual, as if the warmth could chase away whatever bits of confusion or hesitation were still clinging to your thoughts.

By the time you stepped out, your hair was damp but brushed out, left loose over your shoulders. You changed into a soft, knitted co-ord set — oatmeal beige with a wide neckline that kept slipping off your shoulder. Comfortable, but not careless. It felt like the kind of morning that needed softness.

As you made your way downstairs, the house was quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens when everyone’s still fast asleep — not the awkward kind, just peaceful.

In the kitchen, Alisha was the only one awake.

She stood at the stove, hair piled up in a messy bun, swaying slightly to music playing faintly from her phone. Pancakes sizzled on the pan, and a bowl of fruit was half-prepped on the counter beside her.

“You’re up early,” Alisha said without looking up, focused on the sizzling pan. “Didn’t think anyone would survive last night’s tequila showdown.”

You slid onto the stool with a yawn, pulling the sleeves of your knitted top over your hands. “Technically, I didn’t. I just reanimated.”

She huffed a quiet laugh and handed you a mug. “Drink this. You look like you wrestled your sleep and lost.”

You took a grateful sip. “Where is everyone?”

“Scattered like bodies after a battlefield. I’m guessing we won’t see life signs for another hour.”

You laugh, and the sound of heavy footsteps made both of you glance toward the hallway.

Namjoon appeared first — hair a mess, hoodie barely hanging on one shoulder, glasses askew like he'd wrestled with a pillow. He squinted toward the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he mumbled.

“Good morning to you, too,” Alisha said, already reaching for another mug. “You look like you tried to fight gravity in your sleep.”

He grunted, flopping into the stool beside you. “Gravity won.”

Right behind him came Taehyung, wrapped in a throw blanket like a toga, eyes half-lidded but still somehow managing to look ethereal and slightly offended at the morning. “Why is it so bright in here?”

“It’s called the sun,” you said helpfully, sipping your drink.

He blinked at you, unimpressed. “Can someone turn it off?”

“You guys sound like hungover raccoons,” Alisha muttered, sliding pancakes onto a plate.

“You invited us,” Namjoon said, muffled by his sleeve.

“And you’re getting fed,” she shot back. “So don’t push it.” You smiled into your cup, the warmth of the morning wrapping around you — a little too many bodies in now what feels like a small kitchen, still tangled in sleep and sarcasm. But it felt… good. You felt…happy. -------------------------------------------------------------- Taehyung had slumped sideways onto the couch with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

Namjoon was reading something on his phone, glasses now properly in place, muttering about needing to start journaling again. The kitchen smelled like syrup and butter and leftover dreams.

You stayed perched on the stool beside Alisha, the two of you in no rush. Quiet laughter, small talk, the kind of morning that didn’t demand anything.

Then came the telltale shuffling of socks down the hall.

Jimin.

He looked like a wreck in the most charming way—hoodie three sizes too big, eyes still swollen with sleep, hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He spotted you and made a beeline without saying a word.

“Ugh,” he groaned dramatically, dropping onto the stool beside you and slumping sideways until his head rested on your shoulder. “Kill me.”

“Hangover?” you asked, amused.

“I didn’t even drink that much,” he whined, burrowing closer. “Just...bad decisions in liquid form.”

You chuckled softly, lifting a hand to gently pat his hair. He sighed at the comfort, nestling in like a sleepy cat.

Time passed easily like that. The kind you didn’t measure in minutes, but in moments. Conversations drifted in and out. Laughter came and went.

But your mind had already wandered elsewhere. Not that you’d admit it. Especially not to yourself.

You rose slowly from your stool, stretching just enough to mask your real reason for leaving. “Gonna grab my phone. Left it charging last night.”

No one questioned it. Alisha only hummed, and Jimin, still half-buried in your side, gave a sleepy groan of acknowledgment.

The hallway was quiet. Light from the tall windows bled across the floor. You padded past a guest room, casually glancing in — only to find the bed untouched. Sheets still crisp. Empty.

You didn’t stop.

Your room was just as you’d left it. You didn’t bother closing the door behind you — you weren’t staying long.

At the dresser, you found your phone, still plugged in. The screen lit up instantly with a flood of notifications. Messages. Mentions. Articles.

Headlines painted the screen:

“A Vision in Gold — Grammy Showstopper” “Beauty, Talent, and Unmatched Presence”

Your photo stared back at you — poised, powerful, every angle curated by luck and camera flashes. You looked at it all without reaction. Not because it didn’t matter. But because you’d already expected it. And maybe… because it didn’t touch the part of you that was still tired.

Then—

A shift.

The unmistakable sense of someone behind you.

“Morning,” came a voice — low, unhurried, gravel-soft with sleep.

You turned.

Jungkook leaned against your open door, one shoulder braced lazily against the frame. A black shirt hung loose in his grip. His chest bare. His hair damp — strands clinging to his forehead and neck. Droplets of water trailed down his collarbones like they had somewhere to be.

You blinked. Once. Twice. “Did you… sleep well?” he asked, smirking like he already knew the effect he had on you.

Your brain faltered. Mouth opened, then closed. The way he looked — all morning heat and unbothered confidence — short-circuited something in you.

He noticed.

And stepped inside.

“I—” you started, then gave up. “Did you carry me to bed?”

He nodded, easy. “Could’ve left you curled up and freezing on that balcony. But,” he added with a grin, “I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, folding your arms — more for protection than sass. “Right. Sounds like you’ve been fantasizing about carrying me for a while.”

He chuckled low in his chest, stepping closer. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things,” he murmured.

Another step. Close enough now that the damp tips of his hair nearly brushed your forehead.

A single drop of water slipped from a dark strand — cool and sudden — landing softly on your cheek.

You flinched just slightly at the unexpected sensation.

Then stilled completely when his hand came up — slow, deliberate — and his fingers brushed the drop away.

A gentle touch. Warm skin against your face.

He didn’t pull back. Didn’t break eye contact.

“Like what you said last night…” he added softly.

Your heart did something stupid. You knew exactly what he meant — your dare-soaked words replaying like a taunt:

You’re acting all cocky, but you’re dying for me to kiss you.

You met his eyes, trying not to flinch. “Not even in your dreams,” you said, voice dry. “And definitely not when I’m unconscious.”

His smirk returned — slow, knowing, devastating.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice barely a breath, “if I want you… I’ll make damn sure you’re wide awake for it.”

You slapped his hand away with a scoff — playful, but edged. “Touch my face again and I’ll break those delicate idol fingers.”

He laughed, deep and unbothered, like you’d just flirted instead of threatened. “You talk a big game,” he said, voice low and teasing. “But that heartbeat says otherwise.”

You opened your mouth — to deny, to fire back, to say anything — but nothing came.

Because the heat in his eyes didn’t match the lazy curve of his smile. Because his gaze dipped to your parted lips for just a second too long. Because your body—traitorous, thrilled, sparked before your brain could stop it.

But he didn’t push. Just smiled — slow, maddening — and stepped back with easy grace, slinging his shirt over one shoulder.

“Try not to miss me,” he said, already turning. “I’ll be back before your pulse slows down.”

And then he was gone — leaving you flushed, flustered, and far too aware of how long it had been since someone really got to you.

You let out a shaky breath.

Goddammit. You were turned on. --------------------------------------------------------------

When you returned to the kitchen, you were composed.

No trace of fluster. No sign of the fire Jungkook had casually left smoldering in your chest. Your posture was calm, expression unreadable, like nothing had happened at all.

But instead of reclaiming your old seat beside Alisha, you circled the island slowly… and sat down right next to him.

Jungkook’s head turned slightly, eyes flicking toward you with a sliver of surprise he didn’t bother to hide. You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

Your presence was loud enough.

You took a sip of coffee. Slow. Smooth. Like a woman who hadn’t just threatened to break his fingers and then nearly melted under his gaze.

Jungkook’s smirk returned, curling at the edges. But he said nothing. Just shifted slightly in his seat, knee grazing yours under the table.

You didn’t move away.

Someone coughed lightly — Alisha, flipping through her phone, one brow raised. “Okay,” she said. “Heads up — there’s a party tonight. Big one. Jacob Parker's place. Invite-only. Paparazzi won’t get near it.”

You didn’t react. Just kept sipping.

“Yeah,” Namjoon added, not looking up. “Our team already RSVP’d. We’re going.”

That got your attention.

You were invited, of course. You were always invited. But attending? That was another story.

Alisha looked at you, expectant. “You in?”

You set your cup down, deliberately. Didn’t rush.

Then, bone-dry: “I’d rather drink lukewarm coffee in silence than pretend to laugh at a producer’s jokes.”

Jungkook choked — just barely — into his juice.

Alisha snorted. “Come on. It won’t be that bad.”

You sighed, “I’m not in the mood. Too much small talk. Too many people pretending they’re not just there to name-drop.” She leaned in, voice dipping toward persuasion. “You’ve ghosted the last three events. Don’t make me mingle with men named Bryce all night by myself. Also, I miss having you next to me when everyone starts name-dropping.”

A pause.

Alisha gave a tiny shrug, like she hadn’t expected to win anyway, and moved to rinse out her mug.

But then Jungkook let out a low hum, quiet, almost amused. Like he’d caught something in your tone.

“You sure that’s the reason?” he asked, eyes still on his plate.

Your gaze snapped to him, sharp.

He finally looked up, meeting your stare with just enough heat to make your pulse kick. “If you’re worried about being the center of attention…” he said casually, “I could take one for the team. Steal the spotlight.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose — a half-laugh, half-scoff. “That’s cute. You think anyone’s looking at you when I walk into a room?”

His smirk was slow. Dangerous. “Then prove it.”

The words hung in the air — a dare, not a suggestion.

You didn’t reply. Just met his gaze, steady. Calm.

But your fingers curled around your mug a little tighter.

Because part of you wanted to.

Not for the crowd. Not for Alisha. Not even for the game.

Just to prove him wrong.

You took another sip of coffee, eyes still locked with his.

And though you didn’t say yes…you didn’t say no either.

-------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Four: Coming soon.... Read Chapter One: Here Read Chapter Two: Here --------------------------------------------------------------

Hi Kookies,💜 Chapter Three got a little long...but can you blame me? I just didn’t want to end it 😩. Thank you for sticking through the tension, the dares, and all the chaos brewing between them. Your support means everything — seriously.

Drop your thoughts, fav lines, or unhinged reactions 🫣💬

Can’t wait to hear them!!

Love always,

xx 💌✨

--------------------------------------------------------------

[theeoriginals]

Sooo maybe Klaus kidnaps a young woman (in true Klaus fashion of course) who he knows is a powerful witch but all she knows is that she has this crazy magic and she can't control it. Also a little prompt/challenge with Klaus saying "you really are far more precious than I thought"! Can't wait to see what you come up with xx

extenuating circumstances | klaus mikaelson

pairing: klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

warnings: kidnapping (but it’s… lighthearted kidnapping), mentions of other violence, mentions of bad family members (vague neglect mentioned), klaus being an absolute menace (he’s just a girl), reader is pretty angsty/sarcastic but klaus thinks she’s great so somehow he’s become the sunshine of grumpy x sunshine, this is like pre-relationship like they just banter and are flirty

author’s note: i managed to write this at work so ignore this if it is bad or weird

The thing is, her powers have always been a curse. They have brought her family nothing but trouble, and in turn have pushed her out of the house, out of the love and comfort she once knew, because no one likes a monster they cannot control.

She wasn’t ever supposed to be this powerful. It was supposed to go to her brother. He was trained to one day lead their coven, and handle the burden that comes with that, but for some reason, she’d been chosen. She hadn’t even been paying attention at the ceremony because she knew her brother would be chosen and she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. The next thing she knew, of course, was hitting the ground and waking up with her family all standing above her glaring at her like she’d done something wrong.

It didn’t take them long after that to determine that she was some sort of usurper and she needed to go. It didn’t take much to convince her to leave, either. She knew well enough where she wasn’t wanted and they hadn’t bothered to hide it.

It’s been months since then. Months since she was kicked out, escaped, whatever, and she still doesn’t know what to do with all of this— energy inside her. Energy isn’t the right word, necessarily. Perhaps tornado is better.

A tornado of power that could bring death, bring life, bring god knows what else, if she couldn’t keep the lid on it. She’d managed to do it so far, but really, she didn’t think she could do it much longer.

It’s not unfamiliar at this point to wake up randomly. Most people would call it “blacking out”. She isn’t sure what she’d call it other than, “scared to sleep because it seems like her powers want to torment her with nightmares so she stays awake as long as she physically can until she literally passes out from exhaustion.”

So, it’s not really a new occurrence for her to wake up without remembering when exactly she fell asleep. But this— this is definitely new.

There’s a blurry figure standing over her, and she can hear muffled voices, but she can’t quite make out the words they’re saying as she regains consciousness completely. She grimaces at the way her head pounds and squeezes her eyes shut, opening them again to significantly less blurriness and it’s then that she recognizes the person in front of her. Above her. Whatever.

“Klaus.”

“Oh, lovely, she’s awake. I was wondering if you were going to sleep another day away, or if you’d finally grace me with your presence,”

She blinks up at the Original a few times before her face flattens into a deadpan glare. “This is the 3rd time this month. When are you going to learn that no one cares enough about me to fight you for my freedom?”

He holds up a finger, giving her a wry smile. “That is where you’re wrong. Someone cares enough about you to give me what I want in exchange for your freedom and safety,”

“I don’t remember my safety being at risk in the first place,”

He rolls his eyes. “Your idiot friend has called me a dozen times in the past hour. I have repeatedly tried to explain to him that you’ve been dozing, treating my home like it’s some sort of resort to lounge in instead of being a good little hostage.”

Isaac.

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she forces herself upright. “Isaac is harmless and you know it. He doesn’t have anything to offer you.”

Klaus steps away from her, taking a seat on the chair that’s been pulled up to the side of the bed. “Oh I’m well aware of all of his shortcomings. But I’m also aware that he has managed to remain in your family’s coven and harbor you like a little witch fugitive in his home since you were kicked out of the nest. Unfortunately for you, I need something from your coven and Isaac needs you in one piece, so he’s going to do as I say.”

She sighs again, exhausted and exasperated. “Your thought process doesn’t make sense to anyone but you,”

“I don’t need it to make sense to anyone else, as I always manage to get what I want.”

She mutters something unintelligible under her breath, pressing her hands into her eyes.

“You slept for quite some time,”

She stills for a second, pursing her lips. “How long?”

“18 hours.”

Her eyes widen and she can’t stop the shocked curse that slips from her lips. “There’s no way I slept for 18 hours, uninterrupted.”

“I take offense to that, I took great measures to keep it from being interrupted.”

She gives him a skeptical look, eyeing his relaxed posture in the chair beside the bed. “What, did you sit by my bed the whole time?”

“Yes, I did. Also, it’s my bed,”

She goes to quickly retort with something snarky, but clamps her mouth shut when his words register in her mind. “Wait, really?”

He shrugged, uncaring of her disbelief. “I tried to wake you up after I first brought you back here, but you didn’t seem to want to do much so I let you be. You seemed to need some rest.”

In an attempt to push away the sudden butterflies in her stomach, she looks away from him, eyeing the fabric of the blankets draped over her lap. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“I did just say I tried,”

“Obviously not that hard,”

“You know, one would think you’d be a bit nicer to me considering I let you sleep in my bed,”

She gives him an incredulous look. “Yes, let me just say thank you to my kidnapper,”

He points a finger at her, eyes narrowing with a teasing gleam in his eyes. “We are far past that stage of our relationship by now,”

“What would you consider our relationship to be if not one of kidnapper and hostage?”

Expecting another snappy response, she looks at him expectantly, but he just looks at her with something she can only identify as fondness in his eyes.

“You know, you really are far more precious than I thought,”

Her fingers twitch helplessly against the blankets and she huffs, looking to the ceiling to avoid his gaze. It’s making her feel far too human and she doesn’t know what to do with herself when someone looks at her like she’s anything but the tornado she now is.

“You’re ridiculous,” She mutters back, though there’s no heat in it. There hasn’t really been any heat in anything she’s said, but she is trying her best to ignore that. “Did I… I didn’t have any nightmares, did I?”

He sits up smoothly, standing. “Hard to say. If you’re still feeling tired, feel free to go back to sleep. Depending on how useless your friend is, you might be here a while.”

She stares at his back as he walks to the doors of the bedroom and drags her finger down a ripped stitch in the blanket. “Thank you for… you know,”

“That sounded like it physically hurt you,”

She smirks and presses her cheek into her knee where she’s pulled to her chest. “It did. Gravely.”

He hums, looking over his shoulder at her, that same look of fondness unwavering in his eyes.

“Don’t be mean to Isaac, he’s my friend.”

“What am I, if not your friend?”

Her smirk turns into a smile despite her effort to stifle it. “Kidnapper.”

[darksigns-exe]

dad omens - noah sebastian

word count: 767

warnings: unexpected pregnancy, a tiny sliver of angst

Jolly Ruffilo Folio

It wasn’t planned. The news hit him like a brick, and he’s out of it for a good day before he re-assembles his head and calls.

There was no fight, just a I need to think that you had expected from him. You had briefly talked about your thoughts about children and family when you had started going out, but had agreed that it would be something to revisit in a few years — not a year.

You hadn’t even made up your own mind about it yet. But regardless of what you’d do, you knew that you’d have to tell him.

When he calls, he sounds so awfully meek, asks if he can come over so that you can talk properly. Says that he’d understand if you don’t want to see him right now, when the opposite is true.

He shows up at your door twenty minutes later, eyes all red as if he’s cried a little too.

The conversation you have is very honest and open. He doesn’t hide that it scares him like hell, that he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But the bottom line is that he’s with you no matter what you decide. And if that means being a dad, he’ll grow into that. The boy doesn’t back down from a challenge.

Noah has a few expected moments of panic. He wants to do you and this child justice, and sometimes he just can’t stop the panic from settling in.

He’s getting band things in order so that he’s as free as he can be, and of course your friends are immensely supportive in all of that. Calendars are freed up, things are restructured to give Noah more free time. The guys are around to help with whatever they can. Noah tries to be there for as many appointments as he can, helps with everything he can, even though there’s always that little bit of fear in the back of his mind. And sometimes it does get the best of him.

That all changes as soon as he’s handed your baby boy for the first time. That’s his child, you made that little person together. He’s up changing nappies, making deals with your son as if he can understand a word of what he’s saying.

He takes great pride in the bedtime story being his duty. More of than not, you find him fast asleep with your son at his side.

As he grows up, it becomes very clear that he’s the spitting image of his father, and you’re left with not one but two menaces who live for benevolent chaos.

They’re a real dynamic duo, always on the go when Noah’s at home.

He’s showing that kid off to everyone, but draws a very clear line when it comes to showing his face in public. Until he can say yes or no to being on camera, that child is not seen on social media. That doesn’t stop him from taking just so many pictures.

You have physical albums full of your kid growing up, and Noah always takes a picture with him when he leaves for tour.

He tries to call every day when he’s away, tries to make as much time not just for your kid, but also for you. Loves when you visit and takes great delight in chasing your son through the venue.

Maybe he’s not the dad who picks your kid up from soccer practice (mostly because the try-outs for that ended with your son saying that he doesn’t think that the others are in it to win it. Count on your child to be ultra competitive at the age of six) but he’s at every parent teacher conference, and he’s supportive of most new hobbies your son gets into. He draws the line at the fifth sport in one year and sits your kid down for a talk about it instead of getting upset. Turns out sports maybe aren’t his thing and he’d rather do something creative, but somehow got it in his head that sports is what he’s supposed to be doing.

A week later, Folio’s teaching him the basics of playing the drums.

Noah doesn’t ask questions when your son needs a late pickup from somewhere, doesn’t press for details but makes it clear that he can tell you both everything. And that policy of honesty pays off when he tells you about his first kiss and how he thinks that he has a real crush on that boy.

Noah’s by far not perfect, but he’s trying his hardest and that’s good enough.

[otgfmybeloved]

Pinescone Vampire AU!!!!

“Um, where’s the bathroom?” Wirt asked.

“Amon, show him to the bathroom,” Pacifica commanded, waving her hand. One of her security guards stepped forward from a darkened corner, like a wraith appearing from a shadow. Wirt nervously placed his napkin on the table and stood up.

Dipper watched Wirt go to make sure he was out of earshot before he leaned forward and said to Pacifica, as stern and serious as he could, “What can I do to keep you from killing him.”

It was rare to see Pacifica caught off guard. Her life was curated to her needs– no one ever took what was hers. And yet here Dipper was.

“What do you mean?” Pacifica asked. If Dipper wasn’t mistaken, there was a tone of intrigue in her voice.

“I mean… I mean I don’t want him to die,” Dipper said. He wasn’t sure what magic words he could say to make Pacifica agree. He just had to hope that after all these years she still had a heart. Pacifica watched him, her surprise growing with every word he spoke. “I just– I really like him, okay? I don’t know why I’m so drawn to him, but the thought of you… of you killing him makes me ill. I want… I want to know him.”

Pacifica’s mouth crept open into an incredulous smile. “Ah! Do you have a little crush, Dipper?”

“I– I don’t know,” Dipper admitted. “There’s just something about him.”

Pacifica squinted at him. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to steal my meal from me? I worked hard to get this one, just so you know. I picked him as a personal challenge.”

Dipper looked up in horror. “No! I couldn’t hurt him. I just don’t want him to die! I’m so serious, Paz.”

Pacifica regarded him quietly for a moment before sighing in defeat. “Fine. You can have him. But like I said, getting him wasn’t easy. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for weeks.”

“Thank you!” Dipper cried.

But Pacifica continued. “You can get what you want on one condition: that you actually try to score with him. I’m not letting you save his life for nothing. If I can’t get my pleasure out of him, you’d better be able to get yours. I’m doing this for you because I love you, and I know you, and I don’t want you to pass this opportunity up. Oh, and another condition. You perform at my next party.”

“What!”

Pacifica smirked and sat back in her chair, arms folded over her chest. She closed her eyes and began to quietly sing the lyrics to Disco Girl, looking too pleased with herself. Dipper took the opportunity to quickly snag the wine glass from Wirt’s place at the table and hide it on the floor.

Pacifica opened her eyes. “You heard me, BABBA boy.”

Dipper covered his face with his hands. He would do anything. Even that. Even though he could hardly stomach the thought of it, it was a small price to pay for a life. He peeked at Pacifica through his fingers. “Fine.” He cleared his throat and placed his hands neatly on the table. “So why did you pick him?”

“For the challenge,” Pacifica shrugged. “He’s obviously not like the others. The humans I bring to dinner are so easy it’s laughable. I just walk up and say hello and it’s like they’re begging me to fuck and kill them. Wirt… my intentions with him were pure, at first. I really did need help with the new house. And he really is good. I was sad to see him go, so thanks, I guess. But he wouldn’t submit to me like the others. He wasn’t champing at the bit to sleep with me. He needed to be worn down, so I wore him down. It took months to get to the point where it seemed like he’d be down to fuck. Tonight was supposed to be the crescendo of our relationship, Dipper! But if you like him that much, you should do the honors, right? Maybe I should go for more normies in the future. I need that closure now. I like to finish what I start.”

Dipper struggled to empathize at all with Pacifica. He was just glad Wirt was safe. As if on cue, Wirt and the bodyguard returned. Both vampires smiled silently at him as he sat down. Dipper could hear Wirt’s breath catching, his heart pounding. They were being too weird. He had to say something normal.

“Hi,” Dipper said. Fuck. In what fucking world is that normal? What, next should I ask if he had a good piss?

Wirt smiled awkwardly at him and quickly looked away to smooth his napkin over his lap. “Hi.”

“Lord help us,” Pacifica grumbled.

[heliads]

i've got my money on things going badly

Lance Stroll should be delighted to watch his sister get married, but the only heart he's thinking about is his own. The one Fernando Alonso broke.

masterlist

To Lance, weddings are a kind of performance art. He’s gotten somewhat good at them ever since he was younger, when the Strolls were invited to everything. His father would get caught up in knots of expensive men wearing expensive suits, lost in business talks for hours, but Lance could slip away the second someone blinked, go find his sister disguised in a coat closet somewhere and talk about Pokémon or cable TV or something little kids like best. 

Now his sister is the one getting married, and, enfolded into someone else’s party of groomsmen, Lance has absolutely no chance of hiding, excessively large coat closets of the elite be damned. He likes Scotty, really he does, even went to the trouble of presenting him to Chloe as a potential husband in the first place, but ceremonies are always long and Lance, as per usual, is tired of it.

He should be good. He should like this. Weddings are wonderful ceremonies. You can appreciate them for the expensive decorations and myriad artistic decisions that go into them, if not the fact that they’re basically just one extended celebration dedicated to the love of your close friends and family. 

Lance is here for his sister and her future happiness with her recently declared husband. This should be an excellent day, and it has been, along with the rest of the wedding festivities that have been going on for ages, but now that the sun has set and he’s still here, starch-stiff in his dress suit, wishing he could go but knowing he can’t.

It’s not even the wedding’s fault, really, it’s just that Lance can’t stand spending so long thinking about the bliss of someone else’s love when he’s just lost one of his own. His sister is twirling in a white dress, a woman who hasn’t stopped smiling in hours, and Lance is standing in the shadows of this rosy glory with just one name on his mind.

Fernando Alonso.

It’s foolish, what this has done to him. Lance waved goodbye to Seb last year and told himself that he could look forward to another good relationship with another world championship teammate. Fernando would be challenging but rewarding as another Aston Martin driver, or so the motorsport gossip pages had told him.

What no one counted on was just how Fernando would make Lance feel. Not even Lance can do a good job of that, not really. There are no words in English or Spanish or even half-and-half lighthearted Spanglish that can sum up how Lance’s ribs ache like they’ve been bruised from sentences alone. 

He had not meant to love Fernando; hell, he wasn’t even sure he did until the abrupt ending, but now Lance is choking on the words he never got to say and wondering how he’s meant to pick up the pieces of a heart that was only ever Fernando’s to break. Lance was supposed to stay professional, and he didn’t, and now he’s the one suffering for it. So it goes.

It didn’t take much, actually. Four months to fall. One month to break. Now he’s standing alone in the corner of his sister’s wedding, hoping for an escape that doesn’t seem willing to come his way. He’d been stupid, thought he could take too much, but is that really his fault for trying? All his life, he’s been told that he could be anything, do anything, have anything, and now he’s found that limit and it hurts like hell.

It’s not like anyone told him that the meter on Stroll luck and expectation would fall short when it came to one Spanish two time world championship winner. Well, that’s not true. Esteban had tried. Lance had not listened. He cannot even say for sure that he should have, because Lance had been very happy up until the point when he wasn’t.

It almost makes sense that the whole affair was conducted over such a short period of time. Lance is impatient, he likes doing things fast. It’s why he was able to become a Formula One driver. It’s why he set his sights on the man most likely to break his heart and cut the brakes before either of them could back out of it.

And it was just. Fuck. Hands on shoulders on the backs of necks on waists. How Fernando kept whispering in his ear, so close he could feel the other man’s breath hot on his neck, even though/just because it made Lance h— they were on camera the whole time. It didn’t matter. They wanted what they wanted and they got it, too. 

Or, Lance had thought they had got what they wanted, and then he had dared to ask for a label for the unspoken thing he was sure both of them felt, and everything was lost for good. It was the end of the Miami race weekend, and Fernando was drunk on the glory of another podium, happy enough that Lance felt certain that he could have the conversation he wanted without it going sour.

They had been hanging around one of their driver’s rooms– which one, Lance can never tell, they kept swapping door to door until even the labeled placards felt like a joke of hospitality’s courtesy. Sprawled out on a couch, so close that Lance couldn’t stop staring at how their legs kept touching whenever he breathed too hard, he’d felt absolutely crazy with the knowledge that this was his.

Too much of a good thing can make you foolish, convince you that things will be that good forever. Lance had laughed to himself, then turned to Fernando with a grin. “We’ll still be like this next season, right?”

Fernando had given him this look as if he were being intentionally difficult. “Yes, Lance. My contract will not expire for another season. I will be on the grid.”

Lance had shaken his head. “No, duh, I mean like, hanging out like we are now. You know, like us.” 

Lance doubts he could have packed more meaning into that one syllable if he tried. He’s heard Fernando refer to the unbreakable us before too many times to count, like when they’re coming back from a bar late and Fernando, eyes dark and heavy, promised him they’d have fun like that again, just us. Or, scoffing at the other driver lineups– they’re not us, you know. They don’t get along as well. One hand on Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging into muscle, the others could never get along as well.

Fernando had cocked his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean? We’re teammates.”

Lance had rolled his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, but like, there’s more. You know that.”

The space between them went silent. He should have taken that as his first warning sign if nothing else. Fernando had cleared his throat carefully and said, “What else would there be?”

Lance can still imagine the cold feeling that had descended upon him, spreading from the back of his throat like ink. What else would there be? It was impossible that he could have misread every single signal, every touch, every unspoken word. Unless, of course, the hidden meaning he dedicated so much time to channeling had never been there at all.

Lance had waved his hand vaguely. “But we were– you know, we did. Things.”

Fernando’s expression was impossible to read. “Did we?”

It was condescending and pitying and Lance hated it, all of it. He felt like a boy again, small enough to watch his voice disappear into the stillness of an uncaring room. He’d shot up from the couch, pushing out the door and away before anything else could happen. If anything had happened at all, or if it would, that is. Apparently, Lance has made a habit of picturing things that didn’t fucking exist.

Now he’s left spiraling like he survived a bad breakup, but you can’t have a breakup if there was never so much as a spark in the first place. It’s impossible that Fernando could have missed it all. Impossible, that Lance could have simply invented it. He knows what he felt, he knows what Fernando did, but none of it was worthy of a single word of acknowledgement from the other half of two seemingly perfect parts.

He wants to scream and throw up and put his phone down for longer than ten minutes at a time. There are many, many things that Lance had wanted to tell Fernando, and it’s only now starting to occur to him that he’ll never get the chance. I wanted to transform. For you. I wanted to be good. You made me want to be better. 

It’s foolish for him to be thinking of things like this. Lance is a young man. He’s got time for his heart to grow up and even out. Maybe in a decade or less, he’ll meet some perfectly nice young woman, someone his father would approve of, someone with country club connections that won’t rival his own (who can) but could at least keep up with the game. They’d have a manicured front lawn and two docile children, including a son to keep up the Stroll legacy. It would be normal, it would not break his heart like this. It would be very dependable.

Lance doesn’t want dependable, though, he knows it as he thinks it. He wants wild, unpredictable, insane things like falling in love with your teammate and letting him convince you that he’d settle down for you. Lance wants to be the reason someone so used to choosing themselves chooses you instead. He wants Fernando, and he wants no one else.

This is a difficult thing to think about at a wedding. Across the crowded event hall, he can see his sister, happy and secure in the knowledge that her husband is hers, legally and emotionally. There are scores of couples smiling up at each other, content that their love is theirs and no one else’s. 

Lance stands alone, tapping his foot to the beat so he doesn’t look like a complete loser. Every time someone looks over at him, he wants to shout that he’s fine, actually, this is fine, he doesn’t need someone the way that everyone else seems to, but they glance away again before he can properly vocalize this.

The DJ spins another song, the beat drops and the dance floor shakes appropriately from a hundred stomping feet, and just when Lance is certain that he wants to give up and really tries in earnest to look for somewhere to go, the crowd parts and Lance sees him.

Fernando. Here. Impossible. Yet that’s still a glint of hickory eyes he’d know anywhere, even distorted by swimming shades of party lights. Lance feels physically immobile as the man who cannot possibly be his teammate skirts couples and friend groups, and then they’re standing in front of each other and even though this cannot be, it is, and this is the first time Lance has seen him since the argument.

Lance stares at Fernando, jaw dropped comically. He has the harebrained thought that he’s glad the only camera nearby is the one in the hands of Chloe’s Vogue-ordered photographer; if this was the paddock, he’d probably end up as yet another stupid reaction image, giffed into oblivion until not even Lance can recognize his face when he sees it again.

If this was the paddock, seeing Fernando wouldn’t be such a surprise. If this was the paddock, Lance would not feel the absurd urge to run, because Fernando would already be gone, separated by an impenetrable wall of PR officers and personal trainers and anyone else he could shove in between the two of them.

Instead, they’re in one of the rare quiet patches in the wedding reception hall, and Lance is watching Fernando watch him, and slowly, deliberately, Lance forces his mouth to shut enough to ask, “How did you get in here?”

Fernando chuckles, teeth flashing in the uneven lighting of the dark hall. Lance has taken to ranking his teammate’s grins on a sliding scale from closed lips to a shark’s predatory display. This one is somewhere in the middle, hovering between quiet and pleased. Maybe even real. 

“I bribed Daniel to get me past the door,” he says.

Lance casts an outraged look across the dancefloor until he catches the Australian attempting to foxtrot with Scotty. They should both be at least passable at it, but both men keep trying to lead, then follow, then lead again, endless cycles of not-quite-right. 

Daniel somehow feels Lance looking– twitchy, isn’t he, has been all day– catches sight of Fernando standing in front of him, and grins apologetically. Bastard. If Lance gets him for grid Secret Santa, if Daniel manages to make it back onto the grid before December, he’ll have to actually try this time. Lance might owe him big for this.

The DJ starts a new number, cueing flashing lights that cascade from the blinding storm on the dance floor to faint rays out here where the two of them linger in the shadows, occasional flashlight beams sent out to catch them.

Lance swallows hard, watches the LEDs dye Fernando’s hair with undertones of Renault yellow, Ferrari red, Aston Martin green. If he were in the mood to be honest, Lance would admit that he’s been looking at Fernando for a while, actually. Not just since Fernando joined his team, before that, too. Long before they were teammates, when Lance first started racing in Formula One and he was eighteen and Fernando was thirty-five, a fact that makes him shiver down to his toes every time he thinks of it, which is– more often than it should be, for certain.

Now that the issue has been solved of how Fernando managed to get past the security guards Chloe swore were unnecessary and Lawrence swore he wouldn’t hire, plus the overeager wedding planners and racing fans stuck outside the gates with iPhone cameras, Lance pivots to a new question, one far more important.

“Why are you here?�� Lance asks cautiously. 

He knows what he wants to hear, of course, but he can’t let himself get his hopes up just for them to be dashed yet again. This is not his wedding, of course. Fernando could be here to corner some Aston Martin engineers or strategists if they won’t return his midnight calls. He could even be here for Danny, which would explain why the Australian went to the trouble of letting him in, and he’s just stopping by Lance because he got caught while trying to get drinks. 

That thought makes Lance’s stomach twist in angry knots, and he’s only calmed from saying or doing something rash by Fernando’s following words, quiet in the dark but full of a lasting power.

“For you, Lance,” he says, “I came for you.”

God. Lance has spent the whole day witnessing lavish displays of affection, but for some reason it is seven simple words that makes him come undone. He stands there, stock still, and Fernando asks hesitantly, “Is that okay?”

It reminds Lance of how it had been before everything went south, when they were both dancing around a truth both ugly and glorious, that teammates do not stare like they did, that coworkers should not use getting drunk at an Aston Martin post-race celebration party as an excuse to keep their hands on each other, that Fernando didn’t keep interrupting Lance’s interviews to place his hands on Lance’s shoulders and whisper in his ear that he was Fernando’s hero just to get Lance to react like he always did. Not something he was supposed to do on camera, but neither of them could stop.

It is like the very beginning. Fernando, infiltrating Lance’s garage to lean down over the edge of the halo of Lance’s test drive and grip his gloved hands. How’s the car? Fernando, stopping by Lance’s driver’s room to hug him around the shoulders, cold and damp from the champagne that was still soaked through his race suit. I saw you out there. It was good, no? We are good? Fernando, with his hand on Lance’s leg when they’re supposed to be paying attention in a dry and stilted meeting with no one’s eyes on them for once. Can I? Is it alright? 

Lance never said no. Even when his breath caught in his throat. Even when he knew he was just sinking further into a pit he would never be able to escape. The falling was the best part, anyway.

“Fine,” he says at last, “Dance with me, then. If you want to talk, we dance. I’m sick of being a wallflower anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow impetuously, daring Fernando to make the next move. If Fernando’s actually serious about being here for Lance, he won’t mind this. He won’t mind the chance that someone could see them together and start to speculate. If Lance is anything other than a backroom missed connection, they should be able to dance without worrying.

Fernando nods once, accepting his challenge. He places one hand on Lance’s waist, the other on his waiting hand. His grip is strong, but not agonizing. Just a reminder that Lance will not be able to leave easily, not unless Fernando is satisfied that the situation has been handled as he planned.

Here, locked in the vise of another man’s arms, Lance thinks about how deeply he’s let himself get enthralled in Fernando’s way of doing things. He likes pretending that he’s the one in control, that Fernando is here to win him over, but the second Fernando’s hands are on him, Lance cedes that last bit of power over to him. Fernando does it easily, like a habit. It probably is.

Esteban warned him about this, after all, how easy it is to get sucked in. Lance, however, does not mind Fernando’s trap in the slightest. The rabbit must learn to love the snare. The bird likes its cage when the gilded bars keep it safe. 

“I was thinking,” Fernando begins.

“Always a good start,” Lance quips.

The hand on Lance’s waist tightens momentarily, a warning. Lance kind of wants to mouth off some more to see what the resulting action would be.

“I was thinking,” Fernando repeats, “that I may have gotten something wrong. I did not want to rush you, Lance. We have a lot of time. Being hasty can cost you.”

Unwillingly, Lance’s mind flashes to driver’s meetings, planning sessions with his engineer. Being a driver is knowing the difference between when to push and when to plan. Fernando  may have spent a lot of time guarding his pace, but Lance gets the feeling he’s finally ready to go for the trophy, the fastest lap. To sprint and never look back.

“I don’t want you as just a teammate,” Fernando continues. “I had not realized you thought we were past that. It would have sped things along, I think, if I had.”

“I thought we had plenty of time,” Lance comments.

“We do,” Fernando says smoothly. “But that does not mean I want to push this off any more if I don’t have to.”

“This?” Lance asks, feeling like he’s parodying that fateful conversation from so long ago, “And what’s this?”

Fernando meets his gaze coolly, calmly, and then he smiles and changes everything. Night brown eyes go caramel. “We have something better than anyone else, Lance. I do not want to lose it.”

There’s a sharp, triumphant streak in those words. Fernando Alonso has always been on a different level from everyone else. Hearing that he considers Lance on that distinct pedestal as well– it makes Lance lean into his touch a little more, and the last of his guard drops away.

“Why’d you tell me differently earlier, then?” He can’t help but ask. “You could have said you wanted me then.”

Fernando sighs, looks away. “I didn’t know I wanted it then. I didn’t count on how it would feel to lose you. I know now. I don’t want to feel it again.”

Across the room, they’re starting to cheer and shout from the center of the dance floor. It takes Lance a few moments to realize that the applause isn’t for the two of them but for the newlyweds, Chloe and Scotty, who are leading the group in an exuberant rendition of I Wanna Dance with Somebody. Lance thinks that it wouldn’t be entirely unfounded for the cheering to be for him, though. He feels like celebrating now.

And, when he looks back, Fernando’s lips are on his. Lance stumbles a little, and Fernando’s hand slides up his spine to catch him before he loses balance. It’s easy. It’s victorious. Lance never wants to let him go.

Fernando’s breath is hot against his throat, sending Lance into a feverish spiral. “I’ll see you in Monaco,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling away.

Lance watches him leave, but for once, it’s not a sad feeling. Instead, the emotion currently crashing through Lance’s bones is more one of anticipation. This is not the end, just the beginning. Fernando turns once, smiling at him before disappearing in a crush of people. Lance’s chest feels cold where Fernando’s hands had once been, but his heart’s racing enough to make up for the lost heat.

A voice by his shoulder; his sister, who has somehow fought her way through the crowd of well-wishers to find him. “Was that your teammate?” She asks, frowning.

Lance gazes softly at the place that had once been his. “Yeah, it was.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side with a frown, considering this. “Is something going on there?”

“Yes,” Lance answers her. Chloe looks like she wants far more of a response than just that, but Lance just laughs and helps her back to the dance floor. He will have plenty more days to explain it to her. After all, Fernando was right. They do have plenty of time.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you make a fic / short headcanon of how the COD men reacts to reader riding those bull mechanical? Their usual bar/pub has installed a new attraction which is that bull mechanical. Either they dared reader or reader wanted to try to ride, depends on the character. You know how those bulls move makes the rider look like they’re grinding?? Yeah I wanna know how the guys reacts to that 👀

ᴄᴏᴡɢɪʀʟ

Task Force 141 + fem! reader

Oh I just know that Kyle and Soap would catch a little crush. And they probably wouldn’t even try to hide it😅 Price is the obviously the overprotective dad and tells them to shush while Simon is acting like it’s not funny or cool at all… but we all know this man is feeling something.. At least a little bit.

This was actually supposed to be a x gn! reader but the title destroys it and I couldn’t find a better one. I‘M SORRY😭

I LOVE THIS IDEA. I just know I‘m gonna have so much fun writing this! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy<33🩷💝💘💖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was a night out after a complicated mission. Price suggested to go to that local bar together and everyone agreed. Well, expect Simon Ghost but you forced him to come with you.

As soon as you entered the bar, you saw a Mechanical bull in the corner of the bar

"If you manage to stay longer than 15 seconds on that bull, all your drinks are on me then" soap dares you with a challenging grin.

"Bet." you both shake hands and make your way to the machine.

You make yourself comfortable on it and it slowly starts.

Let’s say the boys were not expecting that. You were griding on that bull and you definitely looked good. You were laughing causing everyone to laugh too. Simon let out a chuckle but only loud enough for only to him to hear it.

After 15 seconds of desperate to stay on that bull for those free drinks, you manage to stop and walk back to the group.

"Damn, Y/N! Didn’t know you had this in you" kyle remarks causing you to laugh. "What can I say? I‘m a super talented person" you reply and turn to soap. "So, Johnny. Free drinks, aye?"

Soap laughs and buys you drinks. "You were WILD. How the fuck can you even move like that?" Johnny is fascinated and Kyle is invested in how you did that. Both if them clearly caught a little crush on you and they didn’t even try to hide it.

As both of them were bombing you with questions, Ghost sat there, not saying anything and just swallowing down his drink like it’s water. But deep down, he was also fascinated from earlier.

"Okay now you two. Stop with the questions" John, being the protective dad of the group, says as soon as he realized that they won’t stop questioning you and just search for a conversation with you.

Kyle was tipsy but you and Johnny were definitely drunk since you both started a new challenge without letting papa John know. You both ended up being super drunk and started to laugh about everything.

But nevertheless, you won the challenge but the price was you not being able to walk properly.

Simon picked you up in bridal style and said he will drop you off at your house, while John took Kyle and Johnny home.

Simon lived 15 minutes away from you while the others had a longer distance.

You kept talking about random stuff and Simon just listend to you.

As he tucked you in your bed, he made sure to leave a glass of water and pain killers on your night stand because as soon as you wake up, your head is definitely gonna kill you. He also left a little note with a skull on it and left your home, after making sure you were okay.

[cellarspider]

7/30 germs.

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We return to a movie that disrespects the archaeological importance of roads, Prometheus.

I am still not over that. I will never be over that.

This time, content warnings for continuing frat boy archaeology, cringeful application of racist terms to lily-white androids, me screeching about site contamination some more, and Apollo’s dodgeball striking this movie with a glancing blow about masking.

So, back in the theater in 2012, I had already lost sympathy for the cast. They were being set up as stock horror movie characters, they were doing their jobs in a way with a certain flair for the incompetent.

And one of them, I suspect, the movie intends to make into a “flawed but you feel for him” kind of guy. Or, I hope they intended to make him “the guy in the slasher movie who you hate and want to see die”. That’s Holloway, one of the two archaeologists. He’s robot racist.

Like, seriously robot racist. The whole crew is, David literally gets referred to as “boy” here, which isn’t so much a dogwhistle as a tornado siren. No wonder David is quietly starting to show his disdain for the human crew.

“They're making you guys pretty close [to human now], huh?” “Not too close, I hope.”

One of the few themes the movie handles halfway competently is the parallel between the humans stumbling all over themselves as they rush to go meet their makers, while David is already experiencing the disappointment of actually meeting his, and finding out they’re a bunch of clueless assholes. Are we supposed to believe the same of the Engineers? I don’t know. They definitely think of humans as lesser, though. More to come on that later.

Because right now, an expedition is barrelling toward the alien structure–again, driving all over the FCKING ALIEN ROAD–and they’re doing it with only six hours of daylight left, because Holloway literally says “It's Christmas [...] and I want to open my presents.”

I cannot communicate how heinous this character felt. The actor did a perfectly fine job playing him, but if Charlie Holloway was real, his name would be said with the same venom as that of the man pictured below: Heinrich Schliemann, the man who found the real, actual city of Troy, and immediately dynamited a trench through the royal palace, destroying who knows how many artifacts from the period the Iliad was based off of. Yes, I picked out the most assholish-looking photo of him I could find on purpose.

Also, Holloway’s an anti-masker, apparently.

I’m going to step back for just one second and list the one practical, movie budget reason why characters might take their helmets off. The costume designers did an admirable job coming up with something that fits the general requirement of a helmet in major studio releases, prior to The Mandalorian: make the actor’s faces completely visible, because without actors with a strong sense of physical presence and voice acting, you’ll lose connection with the audience.

They did a great job with that. Unfortunately, shiny helmets are a bastard to digitally edit film crew out of. 

It’s not impossible to place lights and crew so that the audience won’t notice them. Alien certainly pulled it off. Clear plastic elements in helmets also mean other logistical challenges, though: fogging being the main one. This, and cooking your actors in a fishbowl under studio lights.

Both problems can be simultaneously combated by installing A/C fans within the helmets, but because these helmets are entirely clear, you’re limited to hiding them down near the neck, and anybody who’s done similar for a cosplay or suit will know that it’s potentially noisy and not always effective. You can actually see condensate on the helmets in the movie, though whether that’s from the actor’s breath or a deliberate choice, I don’t know.

All this adds up to increased time resetting actors (i.e. cleaning sweat off of them without disrupting their makeup), more exhaustion from said actors, and the worry that the highest-paid, plot-critical actors may decide they don’t want to do a sequel if the shooting experience is too physically unhealthy.

And then there’s also more time spent carefully arranging crew and lights to hide their reflections, or more time making some poor VFX artist erase a transparent, curved reflection from frame and replace it with something else, or make the actors more comfortable by adding the glass in later with CGI, at the potential loss of some realism. The average modern movie studio would choose one of these VFX-driven options and demand it done in a week, which is why VFX artists need to unionize.

So. I understand at least a few logistical reasons why you don’t tend to make actors wear helmets for too many shooting days. But it has to be balanced with the story. It has to feel believable. It has to fit the story. It has to not make your characters look like mud-witted morons.

As soon as they find liquid water and the oh-so-deadly CO2 levels start to drop, Holloway takes his helmet off.

“Don't be an idiot.” “Don't be a skeptic.”

Flames on the side of my goddamn face.

Now, this is the moment a lot of people lost sympathy for the human characters, even back in 2012. It was a dumbass idea even then, in the pre-’rona years. Sadly, Millburn the biologist isn’t written smart enough to punch Holloway in the nuts over even thinking of doing this, because we have two problems with what Holloway’s doing here: Biology, and biology.

First, biology.

(https://www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/13-viruses-virus-3d-model/1071200)

Obviously, they don’t know if anything’s in the air. He could find out that humans are deathly allergic to alien dust mites. He could have just caught himself a case of space covid, which he and the lemmings that follow him can then transmit to the entire crew if he’s not kept in quarantine. They can sterilize the sealed suits, but they can’t sterilize the inside of his lungs. Yet.

Second, biology. 

Specifically, Earth biology. Do you know how carefully modern space agencies sterilize anything that’s headed for Mars, or anywhere else that might have a biosphere of its own? A lot! They sterilize everything a lot! Because microbes are hardy little bastards. We’ve never found extraterrestrial life, only precursor molecules that show the capacity for life to develop in other places. How are you going to verify you’ve found alien life, or even those precursors, if you can’t prove that your samples are uncontaminated? What happens if microbes from Earth manage to survive the trip and establish a foothold somewhere? What if they destroy native life?

This movie’s characters treat this with only a fraction of the gravitas that the cinematography does, which is part of why this remains so jarring throughout. The practical sets, the art direction, and the camerawork are all excellent. The editing continues to do its best, though it almost feels like things were cut very tight through this to speed things along and to give more time, unfortunately, to what the characters are doing. 

their crimes against my sanity are not done yet

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As a side note, rounding up some discussion from a previous entry: The most excellent artist @noordzee pointed out that the clashing artistic style of the moon and stars slapped onto the carving of Kʼinich Janaab Pakal I. In the previous post, I focused on the link between that carving and its use in ancient aliens conspiracy theories. But let's dig a bit into actual Maya iconography around celestial bodies instead.

Now, I am not an expert on Classical Maya stuff. Not in the slightest. And there is a lot of information on their art that is linguistically inaccessible to me, as a non-Spanish speaker. But out of the Maya art and writing that survived the book-burning conquistadors, we have some iconography for the moon and stars, and they don’t look like what’s in the movie.

I wasn’t able to find any specific pieces of art that contained stars, but I did find the glyph for star, ek’. 

I was only able to find depictions of a crescent moon in the context of the moon goddess, where she tends to be sitting on the crescent like a chair, or one part of it is shown behind her, almost like a tail (though I can’t be certain whether that’s due to chipped paint).

The moon by itself was somewhat harder to find. I couldn’t find any Maya depictions of it with my limited poking around of the spanish internet, but I did find a (much later) Mixtec depiction of the moon, complete with a lunar rabbit! Much like East Asian cultures, the darker markings on the moon are culturally interpreted as a rabbit shape.

Thanks again to nordzee for pointing out the dissonant art style, because the real mesoamerican art on this subject is phenomenal.

Next time, the movie will hurt me more, so if anybody else has fun facts to share or details to point out. PLEASE. Ease my pain.

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Alt text citations:

None this time. Many ramblings, though.