#jeg elsker deg

[alecrytr]

Mathias x Erik in an alternate reality

In an alternate universe, Eric sent a Pokémon selfie to his bf instead of Olivia.

[jyangfashion]

Et frieri - si det med rosene - Vis din kjærlighet med roser

Det er mange som skriver om forskjellige måter å fri til noen. Noen velger å være enkel og direkte, noen velger å ha en liten seremoni på en uventet måte. Uansett hvilken måte. Dersom du velger å gi kjæresten din blomster, da er det lurt å få vite språket til blomster. Jeg liker roser. Derfor bruker jeg litt tid på å finne ut mer om roser. Rosen er kjent som ‘Dronningen av blomster’, og har…

[moog-enthusiast]

toki sappy drunk lol

[granitxhka]

i love you martin<3

[f4teofthestars]

It is tomorrow! I did not do it yet. 😅 gotta wake early and be there be 8:45

Thank you though, going to try my best👍😄 hopefully I bring home that medal!

Going to state for Speech and Debate. Terrified✅

Confident✅

Ready and prepared✅🤷‍♀️

[erosire]

the little 'yippie' 😭

COUGHING AND HACKING AND WAILING HE'SSO

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (7.5)

chapter 7.5: limbo

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; minho's pov; non-explicit smut, kissing, grinding, implied unprotected sex; alcohol consumption, non-linear storytelling (jumps around a few random scenes before we get back to the present that picks up from the end of chapter 7), cursing, the final line :-?; not that unedited i am so so sorry lol word count: 5.6k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Wishing fountains, we pray for change in the dark Moving mountains, we end up right where we start The world’s not falling apart But you and I, baby we are

Wishing Fountains - Bad Suns

“What does it say?” Minho asks.

You sigh, your eyes trailing the words on the small piece of paper in your hands before you shove one half of the fortune cookie in your mouth. It seems dry; you look like you can barely swallow it.

“Bullshit,” you say simply, a little bitter before you hide behind a mask of indifference, turning to him as you ask, “Yours?” 

He breaks his own fortune cookie in half, pulling out a similar piece of paper that reads, “‘Jeg elsker deg’ means ‘I love you’ in Norwegian.”

You're both lying on a fluffy rug on the floor of your bedroom, with an empty bottle of rosé sitting somewhere near your head. “That’s... random,” you say, casting your eyes to the ceiling. “But I mean, at least it’s kind of educational. Now you know a phrase in Norwegian.”

“Sure,” Minho laughs, testing out the syllables in his mouth and butchering them in the process. “Who would I even say it to?”

“Impress your future girlfriend with your worldly knowledge. Or say it to Hyunjin, I’m sure he’ll swoon and blush like a schoolgirl.”

“That’s the last thing I want. He’s already clingy enough as it is.”

“Alright. Well, your loss then.”

He only hums in response. “You’re really not gonna tell me what yours is?”

“I told you. It’s bullshit.”

“Wanna tell me why the fortune cookie is evil at least? I’ll fight it for you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a playful scoff. “It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

It takes a minute for you to gather your thoughts into one semi-cohesive pile. 

“Just… reminds me how I don’t really fit into anyone’s life,” you start, your voice coming out a little small and timid before you seem to let the alcohol give you enough confidence to say what you want. “I don’t feel like I’m worth anyone’s time. Everyone’s going to outgrow me eventually, if they haven’t already. Their lives will only get bigger and bigger, and they’ll have to leave me behind at some point. All that space but none for me.

“I think I’ll be stuck like this forever, in this fucking… limbo. And I know it’s dramatic because we’re still young and we’ve got our whole lives in front of us and whatever else that people say. But it feels like wherever I go and whatever I do, my life will always be this small while you all move on. Chan and Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, Felix, even Hyunjin and Jisung when they’re not too busy being idiots. Everyone’s got everything all planned out, and they have other things to fall back on if those plans don’t work out. If I fall, I think I’ll just keep falling until I hit rock bottom.

“And you… you’re gonna do great things too. You’re gonna live your life and it’s going to be a good one, and you’ll forget about me too. A few years from now, when everyone’s already moved on, I’ll just be a girl that you used to know. I’m just a stop along the way.”

Then you pause, and the laugh you let out afterward is choked up and not at all sincere. You rub your hands down your face, groaning a little when you say, “Ugh, that was depressing. Sorry, it’s the wine. Forget I said anything.”

You have beautiful eyes, that’s what Minho has always thought, the kind that holds all the universe’s sparkles and all its sadness too, a bittersweet balance. The kind that makes one want to stop and admire for a while. He loves when they light up before the joy gradually spreads across your face, like watching the sun peak over the horizon before it colors the sky with ethereal pinks and purples and blues. You’re a wonderful sunrise, his favorite part of every day.

He even loves your faraway gaze when you’re here but you’re elsewhere simultaneously, hiding in your eyes musings that are privy to nobody else. You’d stare into the distance and he’d watch you the whole time, wondering if any of the thoughts that occupy your mind are about him.

Minho has an urge to take you into his arms and hold you tight and tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That no one’s going to forget about you because you’re not someone who can be forgotten so easily, let alone be forgotten by him. That he isn’t going anywhere if it’s not by your side, that he wants to be in your life until you decide you’re sick of him, not the other way around.

He wants to tell you he loves you because that’s the truth. He was gone the minute he saw you at that stupid party years ago when you had walked in shyly with Chan and Jess. You had tried to make yourself smaller in a roomful of strangers, but you’ve always been the only one Minho could find in a crowd.

Years and years from now, when he thinks back to his youth, the highlight reel that will pop up in his mind will be of his idiot friends and the good memories they’ve shared with one another. How they laughed and cried, how they fell and got back up together time and time again.

And at the center of it all will be you. Green grass, blue skies, his golden days and you, the focal point of his youth.

He loves you. Would it help, or would it scare you?

He doesn’t let himself debate that question for long. Regardless of what the answer is, now isn’t the right time. So instead, he says, “For what it’s worth, everyone’s just taking it one day at a time, even if they seem like they have it all planned out. You’re not falling behind. You’re going at your own pace, who cares about other people?”

You turn your head to stare at him, your cheeks flushed with a rosy tint from the wine you had shared and a pensive look on your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but he holds your gaze anyway.

“And I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ll always have me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

A quiet moment passes. If Minho focuses hard enough, he thinks he might be able to hear the faint beats of your heart.

His gaze flickers to your lips for barely a second before it returns to your eyes, quick enough for it to escape your notice.

Then, you’re holding yourself up on one elbow and shuffling into his orbit until you’re right by his side. He doesn’t move a single inch; he only watches as you get closer, and closer, and closer until there’s no more space between the two of you. He blinks, and in that split second he misses the way you let your eyes shut as you lean down to press your lips to his.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so.

You taste like rosé, like something he’s always known that he wants to chase.

It stuns him enough that he forgets to respond, his mind focused solely on the feeling of your soft lips on him, the scent of your jasmine perfume and how you’re so warm pressed against him like this.

Maybe it’s the stillness of his body that shocks you out of it, because you pull away after a few seconds with an instant look of mortification in your eyes, trying to scramble back to your original spot on the rug like you’ve just committed an unspeakable sin. Running away, he thinks, is your first instinct.

But Minho is just a tad quicker than you are. He doesn’t let you stray very far when he props himself up to cup your face with one hand and bring you back to him.

He’s kissing you again and for a brief moment, he feels like he could die.

You don’t break from him this time. Instead, you’re kissing him back just as deeply. You let him lower you back to the floor as he holds himself up above you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips while his thumb strokes your cheek softly, keeping you there in his loose hold so you could still run if that’s what you want to do.

But you stay with him, your hands trailing up the expanse of his chest to find purchase on his shoulders, your legs parting so he could perfectly slot himself into the space that you’ve allowed him.

When he rocks his hips into you experimentally, you bite on his bottom lip, a whining sound from your throat comes out muffled against his mouth.

He strays just long enough and far enough so he could look into your eyes, with your pupils blown much darker than they had been at the start of the evening.

He says your name, the gentlest sound in the world, then a question. “What do you want?”

Minho half expects you to overthink your answer and come back to your senses, to choose flight because it would be the easier option.

But you don’t. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you lock onto him, and there’s something underneath the pool of lust in your gaze that leaves him breathless and wondering.

“You,” you say quietly, “I want you.”

And it’s with this simple answer that you pull him back to you again, not the other way around. You kiss him more fervently than before if that’s even possible. When he slides his arm around your waist, you let him pick you up to cross the few steps it takes to get to your bed, his lips never leaving you even after he has laid you onto the mattress. They follow the path where your jawline leads down to your neck, then where your neck meets your collarbone, and he savors every little whimper that you make for him even though he’s barely touched you yet. There’s hardly any patch of skin that he leaves unkissed, and when he reaches where your shirt begins to hide the rest of you from him, he only looks up at you, quietly asking for more permission.

You don’t give him a verbal answer. You take matters into your own hands, lifting your top over your head and flinging it somewhere on the floor.

Then your bra follows to join your shirt, wherever it may be. Minho assumes they’ve landed on the bottle of rosé, only guessing by the sound of the glass being knocked over and rolling around. He’s not sure but he doesn’t care about it enough to look, not when he’s got you right here under him, so beautiful and so willing that it makes his head spin.

He’s imagined this before, just a few times whenever he's drunk enough to let his mind wander without the guilt that comes with it when he’s sober. He has wondered before what it would feel like to kiss you breathless and have you kiss him back, to touch you in ways that no one else ever has, to taste how sweet you are and feel your warmth. None of it is appropriate, not at all platonic. He’s well aware of it.

It's been years, ever since Minho met you at that party when he was 19 and you had been too awkward to start a conversation. Years of walking with you in the rain after class, sharing umbrellas that are too small to shield the both of you but it’s okay, because he doesn’t mind leaving half of his body exposed to the harsh weather as long as the rain doesn’t get on you. Years of making sure you get home safely after nights out with your friends, years of insisting that he sees you walk inside your building and up to your floor whether it's 11PM or 4:30AM. Years of lingering glances, of pretending he isn’t bothered whenever Felix offers to introduce you to someone, of smiles sent your way that are far too endeared to mean nothing at all.

Years of loving you in silence because he’s your friend first and foremost, and his friendship with you means more to him than the feelings he has for you.

And yet...

He’s here in your bed, watching you with mesmerized eyes as you take off the rest of your clothes before helping him discard his, as you kiss him just as deeply as he’s wanted to kiss you for the longest time, as you keep pulling him into you even when he’s already as close to you as humanly possible. His lips on yours, his heart pressed against the other side of yours. His fingers intertwined with yours when he slips inside of you, and how your hands stay interlocked the entire time you’re wrapped together. You cling to him so tightly, as though it would hurt you if he were to ever let go.

It’s the way you look at him, like he’s the only person that exists in your universe. It’s the broken moans that you give him, the nonsense babbles that make his chest swell with pride at the knowledge that he’s making you feel so good that the only thing you know how to say coherently is his name. It’s the heaven between your thighs, absolutely divine and infinitely better than any fantasy that he could ever let himself indulge in.

Just for tonight, Minho can pretend that you're his, even though he knows that he’s already been yours since the first time you met. He’s been yours for as long as he can remember, even if you don’t know it yet.

Later on, when he’s collapsed next to you on the bed, there’s a safe distance between your tired bodies and a certain tension in the air that’s heavy with the consequences of your actions. When he takes your hand, the one that’s shaking as you grip the sheets between your fingers, it alleviates some of that anxiety.

“The fortune cookie, what did it say?” he asks, like you’re simply continuing the conversation from before.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Seriously?”

He gives you a lopsided smile, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Seriously.”

You purse your lips as you look at him for another second before you cast your eyes to the ceiling again, like you’d done just an hour ago. “It said ‘You’ll be loved.’”

You are, he thinks to himself. You’re loved.

“Open wide.”

You give him a look, to which he only responds with a shrug and a sly grin. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say, but you take the spoonful of chicken soup that he offers you anyway. You can’t focus on the taste but it’s warm and the relief you feel is instant when it soothes your throat.

You’ve practically been on bedrest for the past three days, slowly rotting away in your apartment with a bad strain of the seasonal flu until Minho came over and unleashed his inner mama bear on you. Now here you are, wrapped up like a burrito on the couch (Minho insisted; he wouldn’t have it any other way) while he spoon feeds you homemade chicken soup.

You were stubborn about it at first, as one could probably imagine. When you told the group chat that you wouldn’t make it to movie night at Chan’s place last weekend, you were adamant that you would be able to sleep it off and bounce back in no time, despite Minho offering to make you some food and bring over some meds and cough drops.

The symptoms worsened overnight though, and you developed a fever along with a cough that’s worse than any you’ve ever experienced. When Minho called you to make sure you were still alive, you could barely even speak.

He hates your cavalier attitude when it comes to taking care of yourself. He hates himself even more for believing in your nonchalance and not bulldozing his way over sooner.

“I’m enjoying this because I was right,” he says, feeding you more of the soup. “I told you instant ramyeon wouldn’t cure you.”

He lets his I told you so triumph go easily, even though he suspects that you have much more to bite back at him if you could get through half a sentence without wanting to hack your lungs out. You make a noise, and he isn’t really sure if it’s one of agreement or protest but it’s most likely the latter. He thinks it’s cute that you close your eyes after every spoonful, lazily eating like one of his cats back home whenever they’ve run out of energy. You’re probably tired and can’t wait to get into bed.

When the soup is finished, Minho fetches you your meds and a glass of warm water. He doesn’t know if the scrunched up face you make after every pill is because you hate the bitter taste or if the tablets keep dragging against your already sensitive throat on their way down, but he strokes your hair all the while you wash it down with water, a gentle hand on your head as if to say You’re doing well.

He tucks you in bed not long after, despite your weak protests as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you had managed to croak out. “I’m not that helpless.”

“I know,” came his response and a teasing smile. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

You’re pliant once you’re laid gently on the mattress though, idly watching Minho as he wraps the duvet around your shoulders and fluffs your pillows just the way you like. This is awfully domestic, he notes, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to your forehead, not when he’s absolutely endeared by the way your tired eyes try to keep themselves open just so you could look at him.

When his lips leave your warm skin, he thinks he might’ve imagined the blush that colors your cheeks.

But he blinks, and you’re still flushed, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him, mild surprise evident in your drowsy gaze.

Something passes over the two of you, a kind of silence that he isn’t accustomed to when he’s with you. It isn’t bad, it’s just… strange.

One beat, then another. “Want me to stay with you?” he asks.

He knows you’d say no, and yet he can’t help the disappointment when you tell him, “You don’t have to. Go home, Min. Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“You sure? I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure. Chan and Jess said they’re coming to check on me in the morning.”

Minho lets out a hum, and purses his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you look like you want to.”

“Just… y’know,” he starts, gauging your reaction all the while, for any signs of physical discomfort or otherwise, “I like you like this. You’re not hiding when you’re like this.”

“You like me frail and on the verge of death?”

He rolls his eyes, pretends to flick at your forehead. “You know what I mean.”

When you giggle, it’s immediately followed by a wince, like the movement is hurting your sensitive throat. “Do I hide when I’m with you?”

“Sometimes.” He moves his hand to caress your face, gentle fingertips tracing the apple of your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him, if only for a little while. “It feels like you’re always ready to leave.”

“Are you worried I’m gonna run away?” you ask, covering your hand over his to move it away, but you still let his touch linger when you only lower his hand to your neck, where he starts twiddling your hair between his fingers. It feels like you want him close, close enough that it matters, close in a way that still lets you have control over how it matters. “I physically can’t. I’m sick.”

“Does that mean you’ll run away when you get better?”

You seem to ponder the question for a moment. You’re holding onto his wrist and Minho is almost certain that you can feel his pulse. He would do so many things for you if only you’d let him.

When you answer him, you keep things light but your tone is soft, gentle in a way that tells him your sentiment means more than the words you cherry pick on the surface.

 “No, I have finals in two weeks.”

The first time that Minho gets to wake up next to you, nothing feels real. Not the pleasant scent of your shampoo greeting him the minute he opens his eyes, not your soft breath fanning his bare collarbone where you lay with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, not even the feeling of you in his arms, safe and warm, as though this is where you’re meant to be. None of it seems like anything other than a dream.

When memories of the previous night come rushing to the surface, it also brings back the annoyance he felt watching Yeonjun openly flirt with you at the party, and the bitter feeling that accompanied the reminder that Minho couldn’t even really do anything about it but stand idly by. 

But you stir in his arms, and all of the annoyance and bitterness goes away. Because you’re here with him and not anybody else. There’s a certain ego boost knowing that he’s the one you kiss, the only one you allow in your most personal space. To know you is a privilege, and it’s one that you grant no one else but him.

Last night, something happened. Something changed, he felt it when you were the one who asked him to stay. You let him put his shirt on you, let him hold you as you slept, even welcomed his embrace and snuggled further into his body in a way that you’ve never done before.

How you kissed him just hours prior, how you looked at him… God, he thinks he could just spill all of his secrets if you did it again.

But when you open your eyes, Minho is already pretending to be asleep again. How would you react? He’s curious to know. Would you scramble away the second the realization kicks in that you let him break your rule? Would you leave his side and act all nonchalant about it when you inevitably have to face each other later? He’s willing to bet that you would.

But you surprise him again. He feels you watching him for a moment, then your touch ghosts upon his features. It almost makes him falter in his act, your gentle fingers tracing his temple, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose down to his lips. There’s a sigh that you exhale, and he misses your touch the very second it leaves his skin. He itches to bring you closer to him again.

So that’s what he does. Minho keeps the facade going, pretending like he’s now just waking up with his limbs stretching out. You stiffen when he hugs you tighter, but you soon relax after he starts stroking your hair. 

Nothing has changed for him, but can you say the same?

“Dude!”

Minho flinches into action when a voice calls his name right by the car window, loud enough to startle him even through the thick layer of glass. When he turns his head, he finds Changbin’s face all pressed up against the window, struggling to hold three bags full of supplies that are threatening to spill out. “Help me with these!” his friend says.

It’s the week of Jisung, Felix and Seungmin’s birthdays; you lot tends to go all out for the quadruple birthday bash every year (Chan’s birthday is only 11 days later after all). Seungmin’s family has a lakeside cabin a couple hours from the city, that’s where everyone goes to unwind for a long weekend with plenty of food and even more drinks. This year, it’s no different.

Minho and Changbin are on drinks duty, tasked with picking up all of the alcohol and refreshments for the weekend ahead. He doesn’t really know what the rest are doing, just that you and Jeongin are babysitting Hyunjin to make sure the latter doesn’t deviate from the proposed budget and go way overboard when getting snacks and decorations. You sent Minho a text a while ago, a video of you facepalming and rolling your eyes before you flip the camera over to show Hyunjin and Jeongin bickering like children over a mega pack of chips.

Once everything is in the car – cases of beer safely loaded into the trunk, bottles of water and soft drinks set in their designated plastic bags in the backseat, Changbin comments from the driver’s seat, “You looked weird. You were smiling.”

Minho only stares at him for a moment, a neutral expression on his face as he blinks those typical Minho blinks, before he turns his head to the other side to lean against the window.

He was thinking about the first time your tradition started, the first year Jess had to drag you on the trip. She used to do it often; you were shy in the beginning.

He’s got a favorite memory of you, and it wasn’t you and him sitting together on the bank of the river during the sunset, while the others were in the water, splashing around and having the time of your lives (you two were the only ones who couldn’t swim, but it was okay, you didn’t feel like you missed out on anything because at least you had each other).

His favorite memory of you wasn’t running into you in the middle of the night when he went into the kitchen for some water and you were out by yourself on the adjacent balcony, sitting with your chin resting on your folded knees and the crescent moon for company. He stayed there for a moment, dazed, wondering if he was still dreaming or if it was just you. When Minho finally made his presence known, you told him you couldn’t sleep and he suggested that you break into Hyunjin’s secret ramyeon stash, because going to bed with a full stomach always made him feel better whenever he was restless. 1:58AM, you ended up almost burning your hand on the stove, too busy trying to keep your giggles down when he made a stupid joke.

Minho’s favorite memory wasn’t of you falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back either, with you squished in the backseat between him and Felix, and your light snores reminded him of Soonie whenever the cat would doze off on his chest. It wasn’t any of these moments, even though he thinks he might’ve loved you in every instance.

His favorite memory of you was the evening before that trip had to come to an end, the last night you all spent together before you had to leave your safe little bubble. It was after dinner and some drinks, everyone was buzzed and the air was crisp, chilly every now and then. When you were gathered on the dock overlooking the lake, each holding a sparkler that Jisung had prepared, you were laughing. Everyone else was laughing too, but yours was the only sound Minho could focus on.

“Be quiet. I’m gonna take a nap,” he tells Changbin, ignoring the comment entirely as he closes his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Chan’s.”

The lights, and your friends, and the moon hanging high up in the sky like a guardian angel back then.

You were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. He was watching you.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

His question hangs in the awful silence as you stare at him. Minho can see your nails digging into your palms where your fists are clenched, your glassy eyes and the frown between your brows, like you’re trying your hardest to hold back tears. Why else would you be so upset?

He’s known about it for a while, or at the very least, he’s had an inkling of how you feel about him. He knows he isn’t in over his head when he says there’s a certain glow that radiates from within you when you’re together, a side of you that’s tender and at peace, one that he’s never seen you show anyone else. The way you look at him, it’s the same way that he looks at you even if you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it out loud.

It hasn’t been one sided for at least some time now, he knows it.

But it’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to fight it. He’s the only one holding on, and you’ve been willing to let go at every turn.

“See what?” you challenge.

This isn’t how he planned to ever say these words, but the moment is here whether he likes it or not. It’s staring at you both in the face even if you are doing your best to hide from it.

Minho holds your gaze for a few seconds before he steps toward you again. This time, you stand your ground.

“You asked me if things changed for me and I said no. That was the truth, I never lied to you. We’re friends but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you as something more from the beginning.”

He pauses there, watches your eyes and how you take it in. They soften a little, filling up some more as you process his words. There’s surprise in the look that you wear, sure. A little confusion, yes. But most of all, you just look sad. When you call out his name, he can tell by your tone that it’s a warning, that you’re about to run away for real this time if he presses on, and yet he can’t stop until he says his piece.

“If you want me to spell it out for you, I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you, and it drives me crazy that you don’t see any of it. The thing that makes me even crazier, do you know what it is? I think you feel something for me too, but you won’t admit it to yourself and you always resort to shutting down instead of facing your feelings. How much longer are you going to run away from me?”

When the first tear unintentionally spills over from the corner of your eye, Minho knows he’s struck a nerve. He wants to reach out and wipe away the tiny stream that rolls down your face but you beat him to it, wiping at your cheek in angry motions.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is tight when you tell him, “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s the only thing that you address.

Sometimes, he searches for your answer at the bottom of a glass, or on the other end of looks that seem to linger just a beat too long. But as he’s standing here, right now, he finds it in your hesitation to speak, in the lie you give him when you finally do.

It’s the answer he’s always wanted and yet, the knowledge brings him no satisfaction at all. It only lodges a lump in his throat, an overwhelming sense of dejection when he sees how hard you’re trying to fight this.

“I know you,” he sighs after a moment, a little defeated. “I know when you’re lying.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well after all.”

You’re stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn.

Minho takes another step forward. It feels like it’s a step closer to the end as you both know it, because how else is your relationship going to come back from this? He sees the slight shake in your shoulders that you try to suppress, but he’ll always be the one to notice. 

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he says quietly, his final resort. A challenge but it sounds an awful lot like a plea. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that things can take a turn for the worse in just two weeks’ time. The last time you both were here, you’d kissed his endeared smile and held him so impossibly close to you. Now, everything is falling apart, the seams coming undone one by one. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Minho meant what he said, about how loving you drives him crazy sometimes. Even when you’re breaking his heart, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. A noticeable sting settles in between the cracks of his ribcage at the sight of your quivering bottom lip, your balled up fists and his own reflection in your glassy eyes.

“Do you want me to say it so badly?” you ask, and he can only stare at you when your voice comes out harsher than it was before, though it cracks toward the end as you try to keep up with the facade. “Fine, I’ll say it.”

It’s not what he asked, but it’s confirmation nonetheless. It’s acceptance but not how he wants it to be. Acceptance that you do love him, and yet, you say it in a way that he’s never expected to hear from you.

“I don’t want to love you.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 28.08.2024]

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Lost in Translation 🇳🇴📰

Ingrid Engen x reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

summary :

In your cozy Barcelona apartment, you and Ingrid sit down for a Norwegian lesson. In hopes to help you prepare for your upcoming trip to Norway and making you feel more confident about meeting her family.

Ingrid sat at the small round kitchen table, sunlight pouring in through the large windows of your cozy apartment in Barcelona. Her long hair was tied into a loose bun, her focus completely on the cup of coffee in her hand. Across from her, you sat fingers tapping lightly on the notebook in front of you.

"Okay," you started, flipping to a new page, "I’m ready. Teach me some more Norwegian."

Ingrid chuckled softly, setting down her coffee. "You’re so determined, I love it."

You had been trying to learn Norwegian for weeks now, ever since Ingrid had playfully teased you for only knowing how to say "jeg elsker deg" (i love you) which, to be fair, was a solid start. But you wanted more. After all, Ingrid had worked so hard to learn English when she moved abroad for football, and you felt like it was time to return the effort.

"Let’s start with something simple today," Ingrid suggested. "How about we go over some common phrases?"

You nodded eagerly, holding your pen above the notebook, ready to jot down every word. Ingrid smiled, her blue eyes sparkling with affection as she watched you.

"Alright, how do you say 'good morning' again?" she asked, knowing you'd already learned this one.

"God morgen," you said confidently.

"Very good! Now, if I wanted to say 'have a nice day,' I’d say...?"

"Um…" You hesitated, wrinkling your nose as you tried to remember. Ingrid leaned in, her voice soft as she gave you a hint.

"Ha… en…"

"Ha en fin dag!" you exclaimed, finally remembering.

"Perfect!" Ingrid grinned. "You’re getting the hang of it. Soon you'll be fluent."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m trying."

Ingrid leaned across the table, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re doing amazing. But, maybe we should add some more useful phrases? What would you say if you were visiting Norway with me?"

"Like, asking for directions?" you asked, scribbling the new idea into your notebook.

"Exactly," she replied. "Let’s say you’re lost and need to ask someone where the train station is. You would say, "Unnskyld, hvor er togstasjonen?""

"Wait… "Unnskyld"? That means 'excuse me,' right?"

"Exactly." Ingrid beamed. "Then "hvor er" means 'where is,' and "togstasjonen" is the train station."

You repeated the phrase a couple of times, trying to wrap your tongue around the unfamiliar sounds. Ingrid watched, her expression softening as she saw the way you furrowed your brows in concentration.

"It sounds so much better when you say it," you mumbled, embarrassed at your attempt.

Ingrid laughed lightly, reaching across the table to take your hand. "You’re being too hard on yourself. I love hearing you speak Norwegian. It’s cute."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart swelled at her words. "Alright, what else should I learn?"

Ingrid tilted her head thoughtfully before a mischievous smile crept across her lips. "How about some romantic phrases? For example, "Du er vakker"."

You blinked, looking at her suspiciously. "Okay, I’m going to assume that’s something nice, but I’m not sure."

"It means, 'You are beautiful,'" Ingrid said softly, her gaze locking with yours.

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced away for a moment, suddenly flustered. "You say that all the time, but now it’s even sweeter knowing what it actually means."

Ingrid chuckled, standing up from her seat and walking over to you. She wrapped her arms around your shoulders from behind, her chin resting on the top of your head as she whispered, "Jeg elsker deg."

You smiled, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. "I know that one," you said, your voice teasing. "I love you too."

She kissed the top of your head gently before sitting back down. "You’re getting there, love. Soon, you’ll be able to speak with my family when we go to Norway for Christmas."

"Yeah, about that," you said, your tone turning a bit nervous. "What if I completely embarrass myself?"

Ingrid shook her head, her expression turning serious, but still filled with love. "You won’t. Trust me, they’re going to adore you no matter how much Norwegian you know. They’ll probably be impressed you’re learning at all."

You sighed, feeling a bit reassured. "I just want to be able to talk to them without you having to translate everything."

Ingrid smiled gently, reaching across the table to hold your hand again. "You’re already doing more than enough. And besides, we’ll be together. That’s what matters, right?"

You nodded, your worries slowly melting away as you gazed into her eyes. "Right."

A comfortable silence fell over the room, only the sound of birds chirping from outside filling the air. Then, after a moment, you cleared your throat and asked, "Okay, serious question though: how do I ask for more cake in Norwegian?"

Ingrid burst out laughing, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I should’ve known you’d want to learn that. It’s "Kan jeg få mer kake?""

You repeated the phrase a few times, testing it out, before grinning. "Perfect. Now I’m ready for Norway."

Ingrid laughed again, her face lighting up with joy. "I think you’re going to do just fine."

You knew you wouldn’t be fluent by the time you went to Norway with Ingrid, but with her by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And if all else failed, at least you knew how to ask for more cake.

[cowgremlin11]

i love you and your brain brother.

i totally feel like Mordecai would be pissed at the mess and force Viktor to soak in the bath, and only after a very thorough groom would he even consider giving Viktor a kiss.

this, basically (i drew this hours ago lmao feast your eyes brother)

"im strangle holding this fish right now"

aka im on the phone and jokes were made and one thing led to another

[suckerforblondeathletes]

Comfort Calls - Ingrid Engen

Ingrid Engen X Fem!Reader

Summary: Comforting Ingrid after the... rather unpleasant... game when she was in Norway

Warnings: Had to use that picture of Ingrid lol, Sad Ingrid and reader, use of Norwegian, translations into English listed! If the translation is wrong don't blame me, blame translate on google.

Authors Note: Find of short but hope you enjoy!

You felt your heart shatter when the game whistle blew, Norway had lost a very important game, a devastating loss was felt all over Norway, and the team.

Your thoughts immediately get to your girlfriend, the beautiful, kind Norwegian who you gave your heart too on December 16, 2022.

You knew she would be upset, everyone would.

Your questions were answered when the tv cut to a clip of all of the Norwegians crying on the pitch, your brunette girlfriend being one of them.

You felt tears prickle your eyes just watching her cry, hours away, you couldn't do any thing from Barcelona but watch her cry.

Unable to wrap your arms around her until she feels better.

After the match, and about 2 hours after, you decided to call her. Knowing you gave her enough time to calm down and go back to the hotel.

The phone rang for 3 second before being picked up. You could hear sniffles in the background, signaling she had been crying in her hotel room.

"Hey baby, are you okay?" Your voice calm and comforting, knowing that she is in a vulnerable state and very upset.

"Yeah, just disappointed." Your heart breaks again hearing the sadness and quietness in her voice, you aren't not used to hearing your happy and bubbly girlfriend so upset.

"I wish I could be there with you right now, babe." The words getting stuck in your throat, and your throat starting to burn by holding back tears.

"I wish you could be here too kjærlighet, very badly." (Love) She breaks out into tears mid sentence, making you start to cry as well.

"Its okay baby, you can cry as much as you want to." You never wanted to jump through the phone and kiss and hug someone so badly as you did right now.

You both sat there for a couple minutes as she calmed down and she spoke again.

"I tried really hard, I didn't want to disappoint you." She says the last sentence quieter, almost hard to hear but you caught it.

"Love you didn't disappoint me at all. You never could do anything to disappoint me. Never, do you understand?" Seriousness is heard in your voice, the voice you rarely use with her but you wanted her to know you were serious.

"Yes, jeg elsker deg så mye" (I love you so much) You could hear a smile in her voice, she always smiled when she said she loved you. She didn't know why she did, but she couldn't hold back a smile when she would say the words.

She also almost never said it in English. not that she couldn't, she just wanted you to know she seriously meant it when she used her mother tongue."

"I love you too baby, get some rest my love and I will see you soon."

"Okay, goodnight kjærlighet, you get some sleep too," (Love) You hear another smile in her words and smile to yourself at the sound.

"Yes of course, goodnight babe." You make a kiss sound into the phone and she mirrors it before hanging up.

When the call ends you smile before putting the phone away, you always knew after hard away games, all she needed was a comfort call from her girlfriend, and she would be just fine.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[userparamore]

Kjære Isak. Nå sitter jeg der vi traff hverandre for første gang og tenker på deg. Snart er klokken 21.21. Jeg har lyst til å si tusen ting til deg. Unnskyld for at jeg skremte deg. Unnskyld for at jeg såret deg. Unnskyld for at jeg ikke fortalte deg at jeg er bipolar. Jeg var redd for å miste deg. Hadde glemt at det ikke går an å miste noen, at alle mennesker er alene uansett. Et annet sted i universet er vi sammen i uendelig tid, husk det. Elsker deg. Even

6.5K CELEBRATION: SKAM, 03.09 ↳ 💌 for @thepunkpanther

[x-junwrites-x]

HELLO!!! based on ur most recent Edd request, can i request something similar but with tom and/or tord?

Hi Anon,

It might not be the same playful vibe as the one with Edd, but I think anything with Red Leader needs a little more;)

Enjoy!

-Jun

Early Mornings

Tord(Red Leader) x Reader Fluff

Tw: mentions of previous burn scars

You woke slowly, feeling sluggish in the early morning of the day. You had settled onto your right side before you woke up, gripping the bedsheet as you stretched your arms out over the bed. You moaned slightly, humming as an arm wrapped around your middle. Despite the early time that you didn’t like waking up at, this was usually the time Tord got up for work. A hand smoothed over the warm skin under your sleep shirt, the Norwegian’s nose burying into the back of your neck. Surprisingly he kept still instead of rolling out of bed with a kiss. You waited a few seconds, expecting him to stir again but being surprised at the light snore he let out in your ear. You stifled a noise, moving an arm to caress his side as his front was pressed against your back. He usually never cuddled this much in the mornings, so you weren’t complaining.  

His puffs of breath tickled the back of your neck the longer you laid there, making you squirm away from him. 

“Don’t leave.” He croaked out roughly, making you turn your head to look over your shoulder at him. His eye was still closed, brows pinched together. A frown tugged at his lips, only being soothed when you ran a hand over his cheek as you turned around in his hold. 

“Hey, I’m not leaving,” You said softly, moving to place a kiss over the crease in his brow. It eased significantly as you ran your fingers through his dusty blond hair. The hand that was around your waist, smoothed over your skin as he moved back from being plastered against you. You missed his warmth as he moved enough to look at you. His silver eye traced over the features of your face for a second before he was leaning in to give you a peck on the lips.

“You ok?” You asked after a second, knowing that he usually wasn’t this affectionate right off the bat in the morning. He nodded shortly, nuzzling into the hand that was resting against his cheek.

“Mareritt.” He murmured into the quiet between you two. Your eyes softened, moving close to leave another kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m here, you’re ok.” You assured him quietly, smoothing a thumb over the skin just below his left eye. His sleep patch was removed from over his right eye gently, he watched silently-almost reverently-as you turned slightly to place it on the nightstand.

“Jeg elsker deg.” He whispered, reaching for your hand as you moved to lay back down comfortably on your side. You gave him a small smile, bringing his hand up to your lips.  You kissed his knuckles, taking care to kiss over the bruised skin lightly. Most days he came back unscathed, but some days were worse than others.

“Come back to me in one piece today.” You said to him, seeing the way his silver eye flashed in recognition. 

“As much of me as I can bring back.” He let out a huff. You rolled your eyes, smile tugging at your lips.

“Alright, Red Leader.” You teased, earning a nip to your own knuckle as he laced your fingers together in his hold. 

“Careful, I may not be so gentle with the rest of you later.” He replied, smirk playing over his mouth as you heated up at the idea.

“Only if you get home at a good time.” You shot back, making him groan.

“Only for you.” Tord answered, starting to sit up. Your eyes followed him, watching in appreciation as the covers slipped from his chest. The scars adorning his body looked faint in the early light of the morning. Adorning the planes of muscle carefully sculpted through years of training and fighting. For everything he’s ever wanted to build for you and him. An empire. 

You were about to say something before he leaned down, tipping your chin up with a finger and kissing you on the mouth again. You hummed into it, feeling him nip your bottom lip as he pulled back. 

“Du har mitt hjerte.” You said to him as he began moving out of the bed. He smiled, something small and quiet. The scars on the right side of his face stretched slightly as he did so. 

“I know.” He turned around, giving you his back. You saw burn scars and the small ones that were left behind from that one time with his friends from his past on his side as he lifted his arms up to stretch his shoulders. He sighed as he leaned to grab his robotic arm from next to the night stand. You closed your eyes as you heard it click, knowing the way it perfectly aligned onto the divot of his arm. 

Tord moved to the wardrobes around the room, piecing together his uniform one by one. Piecing together his armor for the day. Until he turned back around to you, catching sight of the wide look.

“What?” He asked, shifting as he fit his boots on. The high collar of his jacket feathered over his cheekbone before he moved back to look at you.

“Just you.” You breathed. The Red Leader was standing in your room. “Tord Larsson.” You hummed. 

“Just to you.” He responded back, moving to your side on the bed. You leaned back, tracing over all of him. He seemed so powerful. “Stay out of trouble.” He murmured, leaning down to give you one more kiss before he was leaving the room.

You watched as he left before your head hit the pillows again. What a morning.

[granitxhka]

every time someone speaks swedish …. have i learnt the wrong scandinavian language

[skipper1331]

Argument // Guro Reiten

Guro came home from training not very happy. And as soon as she saw you she only got angrier. It wasn‘t because of you - it never was. But it was about you. She heard a few of the staff members talking about you or rather your relationship. "Guro doesn’t deserve Y/n" or "Y/n is way out of her league" and much more than that. It made her mad. How could they say these things?

When you gave her a kiss (like you always did when she comes home) she walked past you, ignoring you. She loved your kisses, she really did but not after she heard what she heard. "What‘s wrong, baby?" you asked - she just snapped. After that everything is a blur. You both said things you shouldn’t have said but the both of you couldn‘t stop and your argument only grew. Neither of you backed down. Normally, arguments never came this far because the two of you would communicate your feelings. But Guro felt trapped, trapped in the sentences the staff stated.

"Well then. Go! Go fuck someone else!" you shouted. "I will!" Guro grabbed her keys and stormed out of your apartment. "What?" you frooze, shocked. With all her anger she slammed the door.

You moved like someone was controlling you as you sat down. She wouldn‘t, would she? You couldn‘t think, couldn’t breathe, everything hurt. Tears ran down your cheeks yet you couldn‘t cry. The tears ran, nothing more.

When Guro left she didn‘t no where to go so she simply sat in her car. She had to calm down. Go fuck someone else - she would never. No matter how mad she was, she would never do something like that. She loved you. You were the love of her life. And she hurt you. This wasn‘t supposed to happen. When she heard the staff talking all she wanted to do was to come home and be with you. She would‘ve told you about her day and you would‘ve resured her that she was the only one. But as she saw you smiling her mind was thrown back to the staff. They were right. You deserved better.

Did you think that she‘s fucking someone else right in this moment? It was dark when she left the car, hours later, you were probably asleep - she hoped you would be. Quietly, she put her keys down and took her shoes off. As she went further into the apartment though she noticed the lights in the living room. There you were, sleeping on the couch, curled into a ball. Guro could see the tear stains which made her heart ache. She picked up in a bridal style and carried you to bed. The brunette wrapped the blanket around you, made sure you were comfortable before she laid down herself. She didn‘t know If she should cuddle you because how things ended earlier but she also couldn‘t sleep without holding you so she just did it. As soon as you felt her strong arms around you you were awake. You turned in her embrace to look at her. You had to know "Did you do it?" you whispered, your voice quivering. "No," she breathed. Relief washed over you "I sat in the car doing nothing" there was no reason not to believe her. Her voice was sincerely and you could tell when she was lying - which she wasn‘t. "I would never" the winger took your trembling hand and placed it on her chest, right above her heart. "Do you feel that?" her heart was racing, beating fast. You nodded. "It always does when you‘re around me" she kissed your forehead "i promise you’ll get a big apology and explanation in the morning but lets sleep now. I missed you so much today, min kjæreste" she pulled you closer, your neck resting in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. You had missed her too.

She still owed you an explanation but for now it was enough that she was with you.

"Jeg elsker deg"

—————————

[garbagechocolate]

STOP CALLING ME FRENCH CHOCO, I AM NOT OUI OUI BAGUETTE I AM TEA, TEA, CRUMPETS, SCOTLAND FOREVERRRRR 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿, IRN BRU, NEEPS AND TATTIES DAMMIT

They don't know they're norwegian

It's okay, jeg kan snakker litt norske. Jeg elsker deg emmmyyyy

[red-leader-langfeldt]

Take all the time you need. I will be here.

You know where to find me.

Sorry for radio silence these past couple days. I have been trying to put my focus into making amends and fixing what I have done wrong in person rather than online. For obvious reasons that is quite difficult. I have not gotten much of a chance to speak with either of them for more than a few minutes.

I suppose a post will have to suffice.

@magnus-land and @staysafe-bluesoldier, this message is for both of you.

I deeply and sincerely apologize for everything I have said and done wrong. I make irrational decisions in the stress of tense moments, and it often leads to saying things that I do not at all mean.

Now that I have had time to organize my thoughts and feelings and figure out how to phrase them, I feel ready to approach this better than just panicking and blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

Magnus, you are a strong and capable individual and I feel lucky to have had the chance to get to know you. You are not a backup plan. You never were. You mean so much more to me than I am able to express. I truly apologize for being so horrible at showing it, even going as far as showing the opposite. It was wrong to lie to you. I do want you. I was scared, and I acted irrationally, and I wish I hadn’t. I am so sorry.

And Thomas. Tom. I fell into the pit of lying to avoid trouble, and then finding myself in even more trouble than I would have been originally. I never should have gotten into that habit in the first place. It’s a vicious cycle, and I hate how it resulted in me hurting you. Both of you. I care for you both so deeply and I am so sorry that I have not been showing it.

There are a lot of problems with me and how I interact with other people. This is a known issue that has affected my relationships for years. With my friends, with my romantic interests… and also with my siblings. I am trying to rectify it. I promise.

I love you both. And I understand if neither of you want to accept my statements. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to get everything out on the table. You both deserve to hear me say I was wrong. I was very wrong.