#love how casually those two are saying these things

[forever-rogue]

Salty

AN | Hello, as you all know Joel is alive and well and there are shenanigans afoot in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language 

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Joel.

Joel loved you (you hoped anyway) and Ellie.

Ellie hated you.

After just over half a year in Jackson, you had finally put two and two together. All those little things you’d thought were accidents or odd coincidences weren't that at all.

Everything came down to one Ellie Williams. And that led to you making a decision you immediately hated.

“I don’t think we… should spend time together anymore.” The lump in your throat was thick, and you focused your attention on the vegetables you were tending, refusing to look at the man. You’d rehearsed this very moment in your head about two hundred times, and still, it wasn’t going to plan. Sigh.

The man next to you was silent for a few beats, trying to decide if you were being serious. When you didn’t say anything further but he heard your sniffle, he realized this wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh? And just how did you reach that conclusion, darlin’?”

“I just… I dunno, Joel. It just seems like the right thing to do.” You shrugged, adding the carrots you'd unearthed into the basket between the two of you. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m… interested.”

A heavy silence fell over you; you tried to continue working, but Joel remained dumbfounded, watching your every move.

“Okay,” he eventually said, causing you to relax slightly. “I’ll do as you ask and respect your wishes and all that. You gonna tell me what changed suddenly?”

“Nothing,” you lied. You’d thought about telling him the truth but highly doubted he’d believe you. He’d never think his baby girl would do something so downright vicious. “It’s just… what I want.”

“Alright.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, capturing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it. I think you can handle it from here, right? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Joel—” His name came out as a huff, but before you could get any further, he had already walked away.

You watched after him until he was out of your sight before hastily wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks. This hurt even worse than you had anticipated. Ellie would probably leave you alone now that you weren’t pursuing her dad or trying to take him away from her.

“I guess it’s just you and me again.” You pulled a few more carrots out of the dirt and tossed them to the side. You were going to need a new hobby to occupy your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time something strange had happened, you had been baking a cake for Joel's birthday. You were in the restaurant kitchen, having talked Seth into letting you use the space to keep your plans secret.

You were almost done mixing the dry ingredients when you couldn’t find the sugar.

“Where is it…” You looked through cabinets, sure you’d seen the container at some point. Without sugar, you definitely weren’t going to finish this cake.

“Looking for this?” There was a smile on Ellie’s face as she set an unlabeled bag down next to your bowl. You relaxed and nodded. “Sorry, I was using it earlier. Totally forgot to put it back.”

“No worries at all,” you said, grabbing the measuring cup and adding the sugar to your bowl. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“Hmm.” Ellie watched you work in silence for a few minutes. “What’s this for?”

“I’m making a cake… for Joel.” Your face warmed as a flash of annoyance shot across hers. She was well aware of what you were doing, having overheard you talking to Tommy. “I figured it’d be something nice for him.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” you agreed.

Unfortunately, fortune seemed determined to make a fool of you.

You’d stopped at Joel’s house to deliver the cake, wanting to make it casual.

“Happy birthday,” you sang, holding up the cake with an eager look. Your heart beat nervously as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s amazing,” he whispered, heart constricting at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since someone had baked him a birthday cake. “C’mon in. We can cut right into it.”

“Oh,” you smiled shyly, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he said, firm but still soft. “And I insist.”

“Okay.” You followed him inside, setting the cake on the table. Joel grabbed a couple of forks, plates, and a knife. “Is Ellie here? Should we cut some for her?”

“She’s off at Dina’s,” he shook his head. “It’s just us.”

“Well here, let me.” You cut into the cake, placing large slices on each plate. You sat down across from him, pushing a plate toward him. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It certainly is now.” You tried not to freak out as you took a bite. Joel did the same.

As soon as you started chewing, you realized it tasted… terrible. Gritty and salty. Anything but sweet and decadent. You reluctantly swallowed and cast a forlorn look at Joel, who was clearly trying to school his expression.

“This is disgusting,” you said, horrified. “I—I must’ve added salt instead of sugar. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention, but I thought… Ellie handed me the sugar.”

“It’s…” Joel, bless his heart, tried to make it seem better than it was.

“Terrible,” you insisted, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.”

“It’s not… the worst thing ever.”

“Joel.”

“It’s pretty bad,” he admitted with a grimace, “but it’s the thought. Even if that’s cliché.”

“Well,” you sighed with a grimace, “maybe next time will be better.”

Joel reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours. His touch made your stomach flip. “It’s okay, really. Thank you for this.”

“Happy birthday,” you whispered. Your face was warm, and you swore you saw a light blush on his cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you were sure that you had bad luck. Everyone has bad luck sometimes, right?

It was spring, finally warm enough not to require multiple layers. There was a barbecue going on, and Joel had asked if you wanted to go with him. He hadn’t said it was a date—but he hadn’t not.

You’d put on a sundress, feeling prettier than you had in a long time.

But as you walked to Joel’s house, something slippery on the porch made you slide off and into a lingering patch of mud.

A scream escaped your lips. You weren’t hurt—just covered in mud from head to toe. Your shoes had fallen off. Tears of frustration fell down your face, which only smeared the muck.

“Are you okay?” Joel ran outside, worried. When he saw what had happened, he had to fight a smile. He was glad you weren’t hurt—but it was a little funny. You let out a frustrated huff. He stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “Oh, darlin’.”

Just as you reached for him, he slipped and landed next to you. His surprised face made you giggle. Reaching over to wipe a spot off his cheek, you shook your head.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’d say we make a fine pair.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to clean up and change before we do anything,” you teased. Joel looked at you with nothing short of fondness. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said, leaning in. You leaned in too. “I’m just thinking I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh?” You were ready to finally close the gap when the front door burst open.

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice made you both jump apart. “What happened?”

“Slipped and fell,” you both said in unison.

“You should be more careful,” she said directly to you, brown eyes hard. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

Then she turned and went back inside. A shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mon.” Joel got to his feet and helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Something inside your stomach twisted. Something was going on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you were sure that none of the things that had been happening were accidental.

Joel had asked you on a date—made it very clear it was a date. Even though it was just Joel, you were full of butterflies.

You settled on an outfit and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Everything needed to be perfect.

Until… you tried to leave the bathroom and couldn’t. You jiggled the knob, convinced it was stuck, but after a few seconds of no success, you realized you were locked in.

You exhaled sharply, trying not to panic. This wasn’t an accident—but you weren’t in real danger either.

You banged on the door. “Ellie! Let me out! Please let me out!”

No response. But you thought you heard creaking down the hall. She wasn’t coming back.

You sat on the toilet, head in your hands. This was the worst. All you had wanted was a date with Joel. You couldn’t even have that.

Eventually, you pried open the bathroom window, grateful you lived in a one-story house. You squeezed out and fell a few feet onto the hard ground with a small oof.

Brushing yourself off, you made your way to Joel’s house, ready to set things straight.

Only one light was on. He wasn’t home. Your heart sank.

You knocked loudly. “Ellie!”

After a moment, the door flew open. She stood there, surprised. You laughed bitterly. “Surprised to see me?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Cut the shit,” you snapped, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. “Why have you been doing this to me? And don’t even try to lie—I know it’s been you.”

“I…” She didn’t even bother to lie. “Stay away from Joel. He doesn’t need you. We’re fine without you.”

“Is that what this is about? Me and Joel? Why does it—”

“He doesn’t need you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my dad.”

The door slammed in your face.

You stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, you trudged home, your heart heavy, when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Joel catching up.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “What happened? I waited for over an hour, then went to check if you’d gone to—”

“I was locked in my bathroom.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Joel stared at you, waiting for a punchline. But then he saw your expression—serious.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“How did you…”

“Weird accident.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, stopping and gently grabbing your wrist. You turned to face him, fighting back tears. He touched your cheek.

“Things have been a little… off lately.”

“Guess I’m just having a spot of bad luck,” you shrugged, refusing to say the real reason. As angry as you were with Ellie, you understood. Joel was her stability—and in her mind, you were a threat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Did you still want to grab dinner?”

“Actually, I kind of just want to go home.” You hated the way hope faded from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Joel. Have a good night.”

“Good night.” He gave your hand a squeeze but watched you walk away, his heart heavy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two weeks passed.

You caught glimpses of Joel, but that was it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You missed him.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, a knock came at your door. You almost ignored it—but you knew better. No one in Jackson would let you live it down.

With a sigh, you trudged to the door, already annoyed.

“What?” you asked before even looking—only to find Joel standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I think we should talk.” You swallowed thickly. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah.” You stepped aside and led him into the living room. You sat across the couch from him. “What’s up?”

“Ellie told me what happened,” he said. Your shock was evident. “She explained what she did.”

“Oh.”

“She said she hated seeing me so miserable all the time,” he continued, and you realized you weren’t the only one hurting. “She said she felt some remorse.”

“I don’t… I do blame her—because she did those things. But I can understand where she’s coming from.” You shrugged. “She’s trying to protect you. You’re her family. She doesn’t want to lose you. It’s her way of showing love. I can’t fault her for that.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me everything. But it doesn’t make what she did right. You could’ve been seriously hurt. I told her that no matter what happened between us, my love for her wouldn’t change.”

“Of course not.”

“But tell me… were you really ready to never speak to me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Your face flushed and you couldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that was best for everyone…”

“Do you really think that would’ve been best?”

“Well… no. Now it seems trivial.” You met his honeyed gaze—reverent, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He scooted closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You still want me to stay away?”

“I’m kind of thinking I want you to finally kiss me.”

You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but it had been long enough.

“Is that so?”

“It is—”

Joel kissed you gently, cutting you off. It caught you off guard—but it was perfect.

“Yeah?” His hand was on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

“Again?” Your soft request made him chuckle. “Please?”

And he didn’t waste any time.

He kissed you again.

[abbotjack]

Consumed by the thought of Pope being with someone who calls him sweet little pet names just because it's natural to them and they love him etc. but him having to get a handle on that because the way they coo "baby" and "sweetie" sets off something in his brain that reminds him of Smurf.

Anyway I take your characterizations of Pope and Jack as gospel so was wondering what you think of them with pet names? Just because I think they can say so much about a character! I feel like Jack would be easy with them but Pope would just stick to someone's name, but I think it would be so special for him to get to a place where he can be called loving names and have them actually feel like love, you know?

(Same Pope Anon as before, Season 5 is tearing me apaaaaart, I will never get the way his voice broke when he told Deran about blacking out out of my mind, ok thank you so much!!!)

Ah, yes—two men for whom love-language is a ruin. Not just damaged, but decimated. Emotional blast zones, littered with the debris of things they needed to hear but never did. Like abandoned train stations where tenderness was supposed to arrive and never came—just echoes, just rust.

ANDREW "POPE" CODY : Canonically haunted. Biblically undone.

Pope doesn’t use pet names. Not because he thinks they’re silly. Not because he’s too macho. But because to call someone something soft requires a certain vision of love—one that was never modeled for him. Affection, in the world he was raised in, was surveillance dressed as care.

When Smurf cooed “my baby,” it wasn’t an act of love. It was a lock clicking shut.

To Pope, pet names don’t feel like sugar—they feel like a test. He associates them with manipulation. With ownership. With someone peering into his ribs and calling it comfort while rearranging his bones for their own use.

So when someone tries it—when someone who means it slips in a casual “baby” or “honey” or even “love”—it doesn’t feel casual to him. It feels loaded. His body stiffens before his brain even catches up. Because something in him remembers.

Remembers what it was like to be sweet-talked by someone who would slit your throat with the same voice.

That’s what Pope fights against.

This is a man who wants love like a drowning man wants air—but doesn't always recognize the shape of it when it comes. It’s not that he doesn’t need tenderness. He craves it. But craving something and knowing how to receive it are oceans apart.

He’s the kind of man who will flinch at “baby,” but memorize the way you say his name. He'll use your name like a prayer, a grounding technique, a confession. He doesn’t say “sweetheart,” but he’ll brush your wrist with the back of his hand when no one’s looking. He won’t say “I missed you”—he’ll stare at the door ten minutes before you’re due to walk through it.

It takes time—biblical time—for Pope to rewire the synapses that tell him love is a threat. But when he does start to accept it, when those words start to sound like freedom instead of control, it’s a rapture of its own kind. Quiet. Earth-shifting. Sacred.

Because here’s the theological truth of Pope Cody:

He doesn’t trust what comes easy. But he remembers everything that’s offered in faith.

And when he finally calls someone “baby”— in a cracked whisper, in a moment when the world is on fire and his heart is steady only because you’re holding it—that name becomes holy.

JACK ABBOT : War medic. ER attending. Human sandbag.

Jack Abbot, on the other hand, gives language like it’s blood. Like it’s something he owes you for surviving another day in a world that takes and takes.

Where Pope withholds softness because he was poisoned by it, Jack offers it because he understands the cost of not hearing it.

He’s spent too many nights telling people “You’re okay, you’re alright” while pressing gauze into open wounds. He’s seen last breaths. He’s memorized the look people get when no one’s ever called them “love” before they died. He doesn’t play with words. He wields them.

Jack is a man of contradictions. His words are tender, but his voice is wrecked. He calls you “darlin’” with the cadence of someone who has said it to people bleeding out on concrete. He says “babe” when he’s teasing, sure—but “sweetheart” only when he’s scared.

He’s the kind of man who says “hey, gorgeous” while pulling a bullet casing from a trauma log. Who sighs “baby, c’mere” when he’s too tired to process anything else. Who says “my girl” under his breath in the middle of a 2 a.m. debrief like it’s a lifeline.

But here’s what makes it Jack-coded: he doesn’t use pet names to make you feel small. He uses them to remind you you’re still here.

Where Pope avoids nicknames because they once meant ownership, Jack uses them because he’s spent years trying to build a new language—a better one. One where no one bleeds alone. One where kindness can sound like a whistle across a busy trauma floor and still mean something real.

And yet—it’s not performative. He doesn’t hand them out like candy. You earn Jack’s pet names by witnessing him. Not just the soldier. Not just the doctor. But the man who folds your laundry on nights you don’t come home. Who memorizes your sandwich order. Who knows when not to say anything at all.

Because here’s the gospel truth of Jack Abbot:

His love isn’t loud. It’s discipline.

And that discipline bleeds into the way he says your name like it’s armor, the way he calls you “baby” when he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose after a 14-hour shift, the way he’ll whisper “mine” only when he’s too tired to pretend he’s not terrified of losing you.

Pope has to relearn language. Jack has to redefine it.

Pope hears “baby” and flashes back to being a pawn in someone else's empire.

Jack says “baby” and means, "You're still alive. You're still mine. Thank God."

Pope doesn’t trust words. Jack has to use them, or he’ll drown in silence.

One was raised in a house where love was used like a gun. The other became a gun, just to keep the people he loves from ever bleeding out again.

And that’s why pet names matter.

Because for Pope Cody, learning to let someone call him “baby” is the most vulnerable thing he’ll ever do. And for Jack Abbot, saying it is the most honest.

[halfblooddprincess]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ meeting the parents

draco malfoy x fem! reader fluff

synopsis: you’ve been dating draco for almost a year now, and you’re finally getting ready to meet his parents, when you receive an unexpected surprise

notes: no voldemort au, affectionate draco, established relationship, partial nudity, kissing, very fluffy, a little rushed but i was having so much fun with this idea !! honestly just wanted to write some fluffy ooc draco!! i’ll probably write some angstier draco sometime soon…

wc: 2.6k

Dinner with the Malfoys. For a long time, the suggestion of it had seemed like one of those niceties your boyfriend had been bringing up for the sake of maintaining interest. He hadn’t ever meant it, you’d always thought. Dinner was a step beyond whatever casual relationship the two of you had started up, all those months ago. Then again, the more thought you gave to it, the more you realised, it had been drifting beyond the realms of simply casual.

For starters, Draco had been a somewhat more attentive boyfriend than you’d thought he would be. He’d bought you flowers almost weekly since you began your relationship, beautiful ones, a bright batch of daffodils sparkling with pixie dust to welcome spring, a beautiful bunch of peonies in your favourite colour for your birthday, and even an incredibly rare flutterby bush in full bloom to celebrate the end of your exams. And that had just been the start of things, everywhere he went he was singing your praises with the ferocity of mersong, telling everyone who could hear, in a voice heavy with pride, that you were his girlfriend. It didn’t feel at all like a fling anymore, no mere highschool romance. You’d been together for almost a year, and once or twice, you’d even heard him say those fated words. I love you. Draco Malfoy, saying I love you? When you’d first met him, pompous and arrogant, pointed noise in the air and sneering at everything that moved, you’d had hardly thought it was possible.

He’d been saying that his parents would love you, too, since your first date, if it could really be called a date, for it had ended up being a slightly rainy walk around the school grounds, taking shelter under a deliciously grand oak tree when the drizzle had turned to a storm, telling you, in a voice peaked with the same fluttering enthusiastic and dreamy romantic sincerity that had fit such an occasion, just how wonderful Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy would think you were.

“I’ve written to father about you, of course.” He’d said, two months after the relationship had truly kicked off. “Him and mother are just dying to meet you.”

A similar sentiment had been repeated a week before the end of term, when Draco had suggested, exams now over, your head in his lap as you and a raucous crowd of his Slytherin friends lay lazily beneath the same oak you’d hidden under on that first date, “My parents would love to meet you, Y/N. They told me to invite you to the manor this Summer.”

Despite his surety that his parents would, in fact, like you, you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit anxious. Confident in your own adequacy as you so often were, you had no idea whether or not you’d be able to charm his family, one of the oldest and most well respected in Britain. You’d always been so confident, so self- assured, and Draco had been drawn to you for that very reason, but couldn’t help but feel nervous about whether or not you’d impress the Malfoys. Failure to enchant them would surely lead to the destruction of a relationship you’d begun to value more than you could even put into words. Not to mention, they did truly adore their son. A more doting and affectionate set of parents would have been hard to come by. You know, truthfully, that they’d want nothing but the absolute best for their beloved only child.

It was that encounter, however, that forced into stark focus the stark cognizance that there was absolutely no way to put off meeting the Malfoys forever, and that if it was to be a disaster, it would be far better to rip the bandaid off now, rather than allow the injury to fester. So despite your reasonable nerves, and lingering reservations, you agreed to spend an evening in Malfoy Manor, the illustrious Wiltshire estate of which Draco had recounted so many illuminating tales about. Draco had assured you, on the last day of term, when all the plans had been set in place, that he’d pick you up just before the sun set, and, you both having successfully passed your apparition test the year previous would apparate to his home, and he’d walk you up to the front door like the picture- perfect boyfriend he was turning out to be.

For as long as you spent waiting, you spent it in a deep state of overthinking, throwing a haberdash mixture of clothing from your wardrobe to the bed and eventually, when they dissatisfied you, to the floor with significant frustration. Choosing an agreeable outfit was turning out to be more of a challenge than even your hardest N.E.W.T papers. You’d given up on the knee- length purple velvet dress you’d worn to a birthday party last Easter holidays, and you’d stared in repulsion as one of your favourite dresses- a royal blue slip with a pattern of silvery stars around the hem- had turned out to be nowhere near as perfect as you remembered. With the possibility of choosing a perfect outfit now seeming completely dim, you’d resigned to silently finishing your makeup in the mirror across from your messily made bed, hopscotching your fabric- adorned floor with learned steps, deciding that, at least, makeup was not so much a complicated pastime.

Just as you’d finished applying the last of your eyeliner, a smooth black streak in a perfect flick across your lid, with the low buzz of music humming from the Wireless resting on your bedside table, you here a sudden crack loud as a whip from just behind you. It cuts through the steamy summer air like a blade, causing you to jump what feels like a mile out of your skin.

“Well don’t get all dressed up for me,” a teasing voice drawls, in reference to the sleek black underwear set you’d been lounging in as you completed your makeup.

“Draco!” You gasp, spinning around on your heel, reaching instinctively for the black robe you’d left hanging on the edge of your bed in a display of sudden modesty, “Doors exist for a reason! You could have knocked.”

“I was too excited, darling.” He says, in that same tone of teasing affection. You roll your eyes, quickly, at your boyfriend, who’s nudging a balled up dress with the edge of a black dragon- leather shoe, as he examines your room (of which he’s visited only once before) with mild fascination, clearly marvelling at the astonishing mess you’ve made. “I thought I told you I’d be here at dusk.”

“The sun hasn’t even started setting! You’re early, and I’m hardly ready! Can’t you just… wait outside?” You say, in a tone of slightly flustered agitation, wordlessly summoning the dress closest to him, and banishing it back to the wardrobe, before wrapping your robe around your shoulders, and slipping grumpily into its silky depths.

“But the view is so much better in here,” he pouts, sardonically, settling down on your bed, head thrown back in a familiar swan- like languidity. You’d appreciate his careless teasing and effortless charm on any other occasion, but when you’ve got parents to impress and nothing more than a pair of lacy underwear covering your body, you fail to find his humour as appealing as it ordinarily would be.

“The view is fine enough in the corridor. And you’re-“ you point your wand in a somewhat accusatory way at him, “Sat on my shirt.”

He pulls a face of mild surprise, withdrawing a crumpled black satin shirt from beneath him. He examines the garment, holding it up in one hand. “You’re not wearing that, are you?” He laughs. It’s the same shirt you wore to a distant family member's funeral, a slightly old fashioned acquisition that hardly shows you off to your best, all dull cotton and charmless ruffles, awfully ill- fitting and somber in shape. You should have discarded it months ago, wearing it would be almost a death sentence to any reputation of fashionability you might have wielded. Nonetheless, you don’t appreciate his mockery, despite the validity behind the words and you can feel heat rising through your cheeks.

“I don’t know what I’m wearing!” You reply, in an exasperated tone, snatching the shirt from him, and banishing that, too, to your wardrobe, now a horrible mess of lazily scrunched up fabrics in a variety of your favourite dark jewel tones. You reach for the same midnight coloured slip you’d discarded before, planning on tossing it on the rest of the heap, feeling rather overwhelmed by the mess you’ve created. There’s no way you’d be able to find anything in the disorder. Draco waves his own wand, in response to your sudden move to tidy, and the heaped clothes fold neatly into a pile for you to deal with at your own leisure.

He responds, then, in a measured voice, “You’d look beautiful in anything, Y/N. You even look beautiful now, though I much preferred your outfit when I arrived.” He smirks, jovially, and you crack a small smile in response, rolling your eyes. With the clothes out of the way, and Draco’s charmingly derisive compliments to temper your feeling of stress, appreciating his teasing feels ever so slightly easier, and focusing on anything other than your own frustration and anxiety becomes suddenly facile.

You notice, for the first time since his arrival, just how handsome he’s looking. His silver- blonde hair glows golden in the dying sunlight that spills through your window like molten honey, and he’s dressed in a handsome dark green shirt and black suit pants, patterned with slightly silver pinstripes. The sight of him, sitting there, looking so effortlessly perfect, quells you almost completely. Sighing, you take a seat on your bed, at his side, resting your head on his chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart in an attempt to calm your own.

“I just… want your parents to like me.” You sigh, speaking aloud the fear that has been gnawing ferociously at your inside. There’s no getting around it. Admitting it, at the very least, means you’ve acknowledged it. It’s in the open, rather than bottled up so tightly that it might as well have suffocated you.

Draco shifts, in clear surprise, nudging you upwards with a hand placed determinedly on your arm, staring firmly into your eyes with his own, moonlight- grey irises. “Is that what all of this is about?” He asks, jaw tightening ever so slightly, brow furrowing.

“Of course it is!” You respond, shaking your head, as you slowly pull back, in an attempt to continue your desperate hunt for an appropriate dress.

“And of course they’re going to like you!” Draco responds, laughing in bemused surprise. “My parents won’t let me invite just anyone into our house, Y/N. You don’t need to worry.” With that, he rises, too, walking over to the wardrobe behind you. He stands there, momentarily, head resting atop your own, as his eyes scan the mess that is your wardrobe, before pointing his wand at a glinting corner of green fabric, shimmering delicately, behind the carelessly thrown pile of clothes within. It wriggles slightly, squirming out of the suffocating knots of tangled fabric before extrapolating itself from the wardrobe, hovering in front of you both, shiny green and sleek as a serpent in the golden- hour haze of the room.

You’d forgotten about that dress, a deep pine- needle green fabric, knee length and adorned with tiny glass beads at the neckline. It’s the same one you’d worn to that ridiculous Slug Club Christmas dinner party, where you and Malfoy had first noticed each other as more than simply classmates or distant friends. Where, he’d told you, he’d first fallen in love with you. How had you forgotten about that dress?

“Why don’t you wear this one?” Draco asks, and you can hear the reminiscent smile in his voice as you turn to face him. You take the dress from where he’s levitating it, holding it up to yourself, a hand running over the delicate fabric, feeling its smooth, silky composition beneath your fingertips. The shimmering fabric still smells faintly of your favourite perfume, an oddly comforting odour, you notice, as the smell takes you back to the night in the dungeon office, where Draco had told you how nice you looked.

“You remembered it?” You say, with a sparkly laugh.

“It’d be hard not to.” He responds, airily, as you take the dress to the mirror, examining the way it looks in front of you, just as it had all those many moons ago, bringing out the colour of your eyes and the shade of your hair. “You made everyone else at that stupid party look like trolls.”

“I thought it was goblins.”

“Those too.” Draco laughs, and spurred on by the encouragement, you drop your dressing gown, allowing it to fall to your ankles in a rippling heap of dark silk. Quiet effortlessly, you slip into the dress as if it's a second skin, and stand, your back facing Draco, as you ask, “Zip me up?”

He complies wordlessly, as you feel a steady hand rest gently on the small of your back, the other brushing the bare skin where the zip remains open. There’s a quiet buzz of zip teeth interlocking, before the pressure on the base of your back subsides, leaving a lingering feeling of sparks shooting up and down your back. His affections, his touch, never quite grow old. You couldn’t give it up for the world. The terrifying thought of having to forces you back to reality.

There’s a momentary pause, before, in an uncharacteristically mouse- like voice, you say, “You’re sure your parents will like me? I mean… if they don’t… well. They have to, don’t they?” You try to laugh off the question casually, as if its inconsequential, as if its answer isn’t horrifyingly cataclysmic.

“But they will.” Draco replies, careful hands spinning you in place, so that he can stare down at you, steely firmness in his grey eyes, no sign of humour of levity remaining in them. “It’d be impossible not to.” His voice has lowered into a faint whisper, and he leans down to place a feather light kiss on your lips, warm as the sunlight that’s enveloped you for the entirety of your meeting. You feel the nerves ebbing away from you in billowing waves, and for the moment it lasts, you’re filled with an incandescent bliss that fills you from head to toe.

When he pulls away, you notice a glimmer of your lip gloss sparkling on his own lips. You giggle, despite yourself, despite all your nerves at the sight of your shimmering imprint on his otherwise perfect visage. As he steadies you in place, smiling back, you gaze up into the eyes of a boyfriend who you are appreciating anew.

The sun has just begun to set outside, in shades of indigo and sapphire, and you can’t help but want for time in this room to stand still, as you reach up to wipe away the smudge of pink gloss from your boyfriend's lips and say, smiling, “You should break into my bedroom more often. Who knew you were so good at giving out advice?”

“What can I say?” Draco laughs, pulling away, “I’m a man of many talents.”

“That you are.” You ready to go, then?”

He takes your hand, and you steel yourself for the evening of a lifetime, knowing that Draco will stay by your side.

[ofeliaxoxo]

to play charlos with u… on the top of ur head what are some of ur favourite unhinged charlos moments?? or just some that make u feel particularly insane and/or u feel dont get enough attention im curious haha

Yay thank you for playing charlos with me it’s my favourite game

Ohh so hard to choose because they have one million moments that make me go Heurgh. I’m gonna list some that I particularly really like, not so much ones I don’t think get enough attention.

Ok so number one is the Abu Dhabi 24 podium. This is what broke my brain. Pre Abu Dhabi weekend I liked charlos well enough. But that hug……..like omfg. Omg!! It’s so sensual and erotic. Not to say they themselves would have experienced it as erotic but the actual shots themselves really are. Like the champagne everywhere, they’re wet, the embrace itself is not casual. Carlos big hairy hand gripping the side of Charles face. The final glance between them as Carlos pulls away. The way it starts because they have a genuinely casual hug which Charles then changes by pulling Carlos back in.

Like HELLO. It’s so intense! There are not a lot of teammate pairings on the grid I could imagine sharing this type of very charged podium hug. This is an impeccable scene from which to build rpf. For me this is the most sensual and cinematic moment and it’s always my number one. Especially since it’s the exact moment that converted me to charlos obsession. The entire weekend was completely insanity inducing in and of itself but this was the absolute cherry on top.

Another one that instantly comes to mind is one I’ve made posts about before but it’s the video where Charles is watching a match with Carlos et al. And Carlos is super into it while Charles blatantly isn’t. What gets me about that is not actually Charles just doing it to hang out (which does still get me. He wants to join….the scholars have pointed this out and I delight in the concept of Charles love language as quality time) BUT what really gets me is Charles PRETENDING to be on the same level. Not only does he not care as much but he wants them to think he cares a lot…he’s literally speaking Spanish in multiple clips (and being ignored😭) to try to engage with their conversation, he’s sitting next to Carlos and focusing on the screen while very obviously not really compelled by it. You know that thing where cats like to mirror because to them it’s hanging out and showing love. So if you go on your laptop they also want to Go on Laptop. Carlos is like hell yeah football time and Charles is like ok yay:) I know how to do Football Time:) let’s do Football Time together:D it’s his little performance that really sends me into orbit. He doesn’t just want to do football time together he wants Carlos to KNOW they’re doing it together and to look at him and acknowledge that.

I really like the video from vegas 24 when they have to sign young photos of themselves because they’re all up in each other’s space in this very casual way. They’re not really touching or anything but you still get a sense of intimacy and familiarity. Like the passing of the pen, the way Carlos’s coffee is in front of Charles so he reaches over for it at the end, all those little infringements of personal space. There’s a calm energy but it’s still fun to watch. I like their conversation too.

Honourable mention to a more recent and smaller one but the drivers parade from the China gp, particularly the moment when Charles and Lando are both walking towards Carlos and then each separately get their own personalised Carlos Tactile Greeting which they both visibly enjoy. And then they each settle in to look only at him and talk directly To him and NOT as a trio. And then Charles spends the rest of the parade forming part of Carlos’s harem. I love the little charlando moment so much. Carlos’s two most notable ex-teammate relationships making a beeline for him without showing really any interest in each other. They said Hello Carlos we have gravitated towards you like little moths to a lamp.

In conclusion: there are one million moments of them that make me crazy. Watching them interact is like being at the zoo for hot rich men

[soldiergf]

dads best friend! soldier boy headcanons

dads best friend! soldier boy who first really notices you after you come back from college after not seeing for four years….and damn, do you look hot, all grown up and matured

dads best friend! soldier boy who slowly tests the waters by making little teasing comments about how you’re “too pretty for all that tedious college work” and could “probably be a model if you wanted” which never fails to make you awkwardly blush and stammer (he finds it adorable).

dads best friend! soldier boy who’s constantly asking you about your love life, always wondering if you got a boyfriend or if you’re talking to anyone he should be knowing about. while he claims he’s simply looking out, hes really just making sure there’s no competition. ain’t nobody boutta take his pretty baby girl away from him.

dads best friend! soldier boy who fucking loves it when you wear those skimpy little clothes of yours. you’re always decked out in your pretty crop tops and short shorts, and god does he feel like a pervert for staring at you so damn shamelessly but it’s not his fault you’re so goddamn irresistible. 

dads best friend! soldier boy who feels bad for lusting after his own best friend’s daughter, he really does, but you’re just too damn hot for your (and his) own good.

dads best friend! soldier boy who kisses you soft and slow,, testing the boundaries at first, murmuring into your mouth, saying how bad he wants you, how bad he fucking needs you, and once he knows you need him too, he speeds up, using all teeth and tongue, crushing his mouth into yours, all hot and passionate and full of pent-up desire.

dads best friend! soldier boy who loves calling you pet names. princess, sweetheart, little girl, baby, babygirl, the list goes on and on. when it's the two of you alone, he wouldn't be caught dead using your first name - unless your being a bad girl, that is.

dads best friend! soldier boy who could spend all day eating you out. that sweet little pussy of yours, it drives him fucking crazy. the way you taste, the way you smell, those cute little sounds you make when he’s tearing you apart and lapping at your juices like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted (which you are).

dads best friend! soldier boy who refuses to wear a condom. why would he want to use that shitty plastic thing to keep distance between you two when all he wants is to feel your pretty pussy clenching around his fat dick. and don’t you dare ask to pull out. not only will he come inside of you, but he’ll just casually leave himself buried inside of you even after the fact.

dads best friend! soldier boy who usually isn’t a big fan of aftercare, but can’t resist when you curl into his chest and burying ur face in his neck. he pulls you close, holding his pretty girl in his arms, his larger body wrapping around your smaller one. good night princess, he whispers to you, as you doze off with ben holding you tight.

[fordiaz]

I Love You, I’m Sorry (Eddie Diaz) 𓍯 ִ⋆.˚ 💋ྀིྀི ⋆

“Eddie, loving someone doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you. You’ve lived like the next loss is always around the corner, but she wasn’t trying to go anywhere. You pushed her out.” . ݁₊ 🩸⊹ . ݁💉˖ . ݁

Synopsis: You and Eddie have always shared something deeper than friendship — an unspoken connection that lingers in every glance, every laugh, every brush of a hand. But when Eddie realizes just how much power you hold over his heart, fear sets in. He pulls away, leaving you confused and heartbroken. When you confront him, he denies everything, leaving you shattered. As time passes, it becomes clear to everyone around you that you’re both falling apart without each other. Eventually, it takes a push — maybe from Buck — for Eddie to finally confront the truth he’s been running from: he’s always loved you, and he may have already lost his chance.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Slowburn, Mutual Pining, Fluff

AU: None

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Eddie’s an asshole but he didn’t mean to bc he runs away from his problems (😭)

Note: This was a request from my inbox (in my ask box tag) and I thought the plot was super interesting since it falls right into the genre of fics that I produce. Thank you to the anon who gave me a whole run down on the story! Happy reading and as always, every like + reblog and comment is highly appreciated.

There’s always been something quietly comfortable about being around Eddie.

You’re not sure when it started — the ease, the intimacy, the way your lives naturally bled into each other — but at some point, it became second nature.

His house was your second home. Christopher knew your coffee order and your favorite snacks. You knew which cabinet Eddie kept his aspirin in and which way the bathroom door creaked if you didn’t close it properly.

He never had to ask you to stay longer when you were over; your presence was a given.

You brought takeout on your nights off and folded his laundry when he forgot it in the dryer. He poured you a glass of wine after long shifts and let you steal his hoodie when it was late and you didn’t feel like going home.

There were no declarations. No spoken rules. Just the quiet way he always looked for you in a room, how he made sure to pour your coffee just the way you liked it — two sugars, no cream — or how his shoulder would graze yours when you walked side by side, like it couldn’t help but lean in your direction.

It wasn’t romantic. Not officially.

But God, if it didn’t feel like the most real thing in your life.

Sometimes he’d sit beside you on the couch, a little too close, and your thighs would touch for minutes on end. Neither of you moved.

You’d both pretend not to notice, but the air between you shifted. Grew warm. Familiar. Intimate. He’d chuckle at something on TV, and you’d smile because his laughter was your favorite kind of peace.

And the glances… those glances stayed too long to be casual. Like when you’d say something in passing and he’d stare at you as if he was memorizing your words — as if they mattered more than you knew.

His gaze would dip to your lips sometimes when you weren’t speaking, and you tried to tell yourself you imagined it, but deep down, you knew better.

Everyone else saw it too.

“Okay, seriously,” Buck said one night after a shift, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Are you two ever going to admit you’re in love or are we all just going to die waiting?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed it off. So did Eddie.

“We’re just friends,” you both said in near-perfect unison, which only made Hen groan.

“Uh-huh. Friends,” Chimney muttered, sipping his coffee like he was watching a slow-burn rom-com unfold in real time.

“Friends who look at each other like they’re planning to die in each other’s arms.”

It was embarrassing — the way the team teased — but it was also validating in a weird, terrifying kind of way. Because you’d started to feel it too.

The shift.

The tiny changes.

It happened quietly. The way he started opening up more. How his voice softened when he talked to you, how his eyes searched yours when he wasn’t sure of himself.

The way you reached for him automatically during calls, always scanning the wreckage for each other before anything else. And maybe the moment that hit you hardest: when you caught yourself thinking about him as home. Not just his house or his presence, but Eddie.

He was home.

And that terrified you.

Because if it was real — if this thing between you was more than friendship — it meant you had everything to lose.

Still, the idea nestled in your chest and refused to leave. You thought about what it would feel like to kiss him. To wake up in his arms. To be loved by him fully and openly.

You thought about Christopher, about Sunday mornings and slow coffee and a life that maybe, just maybe, could be yours too.

But nothing was ever said.

Not out loud.

Because maybe he didn’t feel the same. Or maybe he did, and was just too afraid to say it. Either way, you weren’t sure who’d be brave enough to say it first.

But something was building between you.

You could feel it every time he looked at you like you were the center of his universe. Like he was one breath away from telling you everything.

And honestly? You were starting to wish he would.

It starts small.

A missed call here. A shorter reply there.

You don’t think anything of it at first. People get busy. Shifts get hectic. Life happens. You give him grace — because that’s what you do for people you love.

But then it starts to happen more.

He stops texting back as quickly. Your usual post-shift dinners turn into silence. The calls you used to get at 11PM — just to hear your voice before bed — go unanswered. He still smiles when he sees you at the station, still asks if you’re okay after a tough call, but it’s like he’s flicking a switch now.

Friendly. Polite. Detached.

And it hurts. It hurts like hell.

You try not to show it. You tell yourself maybe he’s going through something, that he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. Because this is Eddie — he doesn’t always know how to open the door when he’s hurting.

You’ve seen him do this before with others. But never with you.

Not like this.

One night, you knock on his door with your usual coffee order, the kind gesture that used to earn you a soft smile and a “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

This time, when he opens the door, he looks surprised. Like he wasn’t expecting you. Like he doesn’t know how to be around you anymore.

“Oh,” he says, eyes darting behind him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, holding out the drink like some kind of peace offering. “Thought you could use this.”

He hesitates, then takes it from you. “Thanks.”

You stand there for a moment. Waiting. Hoping he’ll invite you in like always. But he doesn’t move.

“Is everything okay?” you ask softly. “You’ve been… different.”

“I’ve just been tired,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“A lot on my mind.”

You nod slowly, trying not to let the sting show. “Okay. Well… I’m here if you want to talk.”

He nods once, almost absently. “I know.”

But he doesn’t invite you in.

And that night, for the first time in months, you don’t fall asleep knowing how his day went. You don’t feel like his person anymore.

At the station, it becomes harder to ignore.

He avoids lingering too long. Doesn’t sit beside you at the kitchen table anymore. Talks to Buck and Chimney and Hen like nothing’s wrong — and maybe to them, there isn’t — but you feel the distance like a cold draft under the door.

It becomes unbearable.

And one day, when you catch him alone in the locker room, you finally say what’s been aching in your chest.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

Eddie freezes, halfway into zipping up his jacket. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your voice cracks. “You don’t answer my calls, you barely look at me when I talk to you, and I feel like I lost my best friend without even knowing what I did wrong.”

He swallows hard. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what is it?” you demand. “Did I cross a line? Did I make you uncomfortable? Because I swear, if it’s something I said or did, I’ll—”

“It’s not you,” he interrupts, voice low, eyes finally meeting yours. “It’s me.”

You let out a shaky breath, because how cliché. “That’s not an answer, Eddie.”

He hesitates. Looks down at the floor like it might help him find the words.

“I care about you too much,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stutters. “And that’s… a bad thing?”

“It is when I don’t know what to do with it.” His eyes flash with something unspoken — pain, maybe, or guilt.

“You don’t understand what it’s like. To have someone mean so much, to love someone so much, that you start to lose your grip on everything else. That terrifies me.”

Your breath catches.

“Eddie…”

“I’ve already lost too much,” he says. “Shannon. The idea of loving someone again—loving you—and losing it? I don’t know if I could survive that.”

You step closer, heart hammering in your chest.

“You don’t have to be afraid of your feelings. I feel it too. We’re not just friends and you know it.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s all in your head.”

The words hit like a slap. You actually flinch.

“No,” you whisper, eyes burning. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend it wasn’t real.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m telling you the truth.”

You stare at him for a long moment, waiting for him to break. To take it back. To tell you he’s lying.

But he doesn’t.

So you nod, jaw trembling, and back away.

“Okay,” you say softly. “If that’s how you really feel.”

And you walk out of the room, out of the station, out of whatever almost was between you — your heart shattering silently inside your chest.

He doesn’t follow you.

Yet, a part of him wants to.

You don’t slam the door. You don’t raise your voice. You just leave.

Quietly. With the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t need sound to be loud.

And Eddie stands there in the locker room, frozen in the hollow silence you leave behind.

Fuck, he wants to go after you. Every part of him screams to. His legs twitch like they might move on their own. His chest is tight with everything he didn’t say.

But he doesn’t.

Because if he does, he won’t be able to lie anymore.

And the truth?

The truth is you mean too much.

You got under his skin in ways no one else ever has. Not Shannon. Not Ana. Not Marisol. Not anyone.

You’re woven into the little things:

How his day feels lighter when you smile at him across the firehouse kitchen. How he sleeps better after hearing your voice. How he’s memorized the way you take your coffee, and how his hands gravitate toward you even when he’s not thinking.

How you looked at him like he was safe.

And now? Now it’s too much.

Because the last time he let someone that far in, he lost her. And the fallout nearly destroyed him — nearly destroyed Christopher.

He can’t afford that again. Not for himself. Not for his son.

Not even for you.

But God, he wants to.

He wants to tell you that he lied. That it’s not all in your head. That every night he spent distancing himself from you, he stared at his ceiling wishing he had the courage to love you out loud. That he hears your laugh when you’re not even in the room. That it’s you. It’s always been you.

But the fear is louder.

The fear says: What if it all falls apart?

What if you get tired of him? What if he’s not enough?

What if Christopher gets attached and you walk away too?

Eddie Diaz has survived fire, gunfire, and grief.

But loving you — losing you — that’s a battle he doesn’t think he’d survive.

So he lets you go.

At least for now.

At least until the ache of not having you outweighs the terror of loving you.

And as he finally slumps down on the bench, head in his hands, Eddie whispers to himself the truth he couldn’t say to your face:

“I love you.”

You’re still there.

You show up to shifts. You answer your calls. You laugh at Chim’s dumb jokes, take your turn cooking in the firehouse kitchen, and go on like nothing’s shattered.

But it has shattered.

And everyone can feel it.

Especially him.

Eddie doesn’t sit next to you anymore. Not unless the lineup forces it. And when he does, he doesn’t speak much — like your presence stings, like proximity might burn him alive.

Which is ironic, because you’re the one feeling scorched.

There’s a hole in your chest where he used to be. The silence between you is louder than the sirens that wail from the truck. It fills the kitchen, the locker room, the back of the rig, the pause before you slide into your bunk at the end of the night.

He tore the thread between you with trembling hands and didn’t have the courage to stitch it back.

And you’re left holding it, frayed and useless, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to stop loving someone who never really gave you a chance to.

Buck is the first one who notices the real damage.

He knocks on your door a week after the blowout. Shows up with Chinese takeout and a bottle of wine that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to expense, but “Chim won’t know if we drink it fast.”

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t need to.

“You can talk,” he says softly, passing you a spring roll. “Or you can just sit here and hate-watch rom-coms with me.”

You try. You really do. You sit beside him with your knees tucked to your chest, and you try to laugh at whatever stupid movie’s playing — but it cracks something open instead.

“I don’t get it,” you say, eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. “He was right there, Buck. We were right there.”

Buck doesn’t tell you it’s okay. He doesn’t say Eddie didn’t mean it. He just nods and says, “Yeah. I know.”

Because he does know. He’s been in that liminal space between almost and never. He’s lived with a heart that wanted too much.

So he lets you cry. He sits there while your voice breaks and your mascara runs, and you tell him how much it hurts to love someone who’s too afraid to love you back.

At the station, things feel colder.

Hen pulls you into more calls than usual, always with a hand on your shoulder or a glance like, I’m here.

Chim tries to make you laugh too hard, and you let him — for their sake. Not yours. Even Bobby gives you a longer look during lineups, like he’s making sure you’re still steady on your feet.

But Eddie? Eddie’s unraveling.

He’s sharper with his words. Slower to smile. Quicker to volunteer for high-risk entries — the kind that make Buck flinch.

And Buck’s watching him, arms crossed, jaw tight, because he’s done waiting for Eddie to fix this.

“You’re miserable,” Buck snaps one night in the locker room, voice low and cutting. Eddie looks up from where he’s lacing his boots, surprised.

“What?”

“She’s miserable. You’re miserable. And for what? Because you’re scared? Because it’s easier to push her away than admit you love her?”

Eddie says nothing. Just clenches his jaw, like the truth might slip out if he lets his lips part for too long.

“You’re not protecting her,” Buck says. “You’re punishing her for making you feel something real. And you’re punishing yourself too.”

Eddie stands, tense. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple,” Buck says, stepping closer.

“You’re not a scared kid anymore. You’re a man. You’re a father. You know what love looks like. You had it in front of you and you shoved it away.”

Eddie looks away. His shoulders sag. His voice is quieter now.

“I didn’t want to break her heart.”

Buck scoffs. “Well, too late. But you can still fix it. Unless you wait too long and someone else does.”

The words land like a gut punch. Someone else.

That thought had been haunting Eddie for weeks — the way Buck looked at you now with that softness, that fierce protectiveness.

He sees how you smile at Buck even through your heartbreak. And he knows — he knows — that if he doesn’t move soon, he’ll lose you for good.

Eddie doesn’t know when the house stopped feeling like home.

Maybe it was the way the sunlight pours in on Saturday mornings and doesn’t land where you used to sit on his couch, coffee in hand, laughter soft as wind.

Maybe it’s the quiet—too quiet—like something’s been vacuum-sealed from his life, and no matter how loud the world gets around him, he can’t unhear the absence of you.

Chris asked about you the other night.

“Why doesn’t she come around anymore?”

And Eddie, sitting on the edge of his son’s bed, couldn’t find a real answer. He lied, gently, the way people do when they’re trying not to bleed on the people they love.

“She’s been busy, bud. Just life stuff.”

But Chris is too smart for that. He didn’t press—he just nodded and turned to face the wall.

That silence haunted Eddie more than anything.

He finds himself at Hen and Karen’s, one of the few people who’s always seen through his best performances. He tells them he needed someone to talk to. Karen hands him tea before he even asks.

“So.” Karen folds her arms. “How long are you going to pretend you didn’t break your own heart?”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“To everyone but you, apparently.”

He sinks into the couch. “I just… I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did,” Hen says. “And you’re hurting, too. It’s written all over you.”

“I thought if I kept some distance, it’d make it easier. Like… if I never said anything, she could walk away if she wanted. And I wouldn’t have to fall apart when she did.”

Karen’s expression softens.

“Eddie, loving someone doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you. You’ve lived like the next loss is always around the corner, but she wasn’t trying to go anywhere. You pushed her out.”

“I know,” he admits, voice raw.

“I was terrified. Of how much I loved her. Of how easy it was. And how… permanent it felt. Like once I let it in, I’d never come back from it.”

“And now?” Hen asks.

He doesn’t speak right away. He just stares at the tea cup in his hands like it holds all the answers he’s too afraid to say aloud. But eventually, the truth peels itself out of him.

“I love her,” he breathes. “God, I’m in love with her.”

Later, he’s on a late shift with Bobby, just the two of them by the rig. Bobby doesn’t pry—not at first—but he looks up after a long stretch of silence and simply says:

“You ready to stop punishing yourself?”

Eddie laughs, low and tired. “I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do,” Bobby replies. “You just have to stop running. You’ve been in survival mode for so long, you forgot what it’s like to choose joy.”

Eddie leans against the counter, voice barely audible.

“I think she was my joy.”

Bobby nods. “Then go get her back. You still have time.”

That night, Eddie lies in bed staring at the ceiling, and for once, he doesn’t picture all the ways he could lose you. He pictures what it would feel like to hold your hand again. To tell you the truth.

To stop being afraid of a heart that beats a little louder when you’re near.

And he decides—finally—that it’s time.

He’s done running.

It’s raining when he knocks.

Not the kind of gentle drizzle that clings to windows like a whisper, but a downpour—relentless, cold, unforgiving.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Eddie in anything more than passing glances at the firehouse, and longer still since you heard his voice say your name without flinching.

You almost don’t open the door.

But when you check the peephole, and you see him standing there—soaked to the bone, eyes like bruises, shoulders sagging—you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

You crack the door open just enough to lean against it. You don’t invite him in.

“Really?” you say quietly. “Now you show up?”

Eddie’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak right away. You almost think he won’t.

“I know I have no right to be here,” he finally says, voice gravel-thick and wet with regret. “But I couldn’t— I couldn’t keep doing this. Not after everything.”

You cross your arms, biting back the ache in your throat.

“Everything like what, Eddie? Like telling me it was all in my head? Like pretending none of it meant anything?”

He flinches.

“I was trying to protect something,” he says. “I just didn’t realize I was destroying it at the same time.”

You open the door a little wider, just enough for him to see the anger that still flickers in your chest—anger born from heartbreak, not hate.

“Protect what exactly? Yourself? Because I sure as hell wasn’t protected when you said all those things. You made me feel insane for loving you.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he says instantly, stepping forward but stopping himself short.

“I thought if I kept you at arm’s length, maybe I wouldn’t lose you completely. I’ve lost people before—people I loved. And you—”

He swallows thickly, shaking his head.

“You scared me more than anyone ever has.”

That stings.

You let it.

“That’s not an excuse,” you say, voice firm even as your hands start to tremble.

“You don’t get to burn down what we had just because it scared you. You don’t get to come back when I’ve barely figured out how to function without you.”

“I know,” he says, and he means it. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his shoulders curl inward like he’s folding under the weight of it all.

“I lied,” he says softly. “That night. When I said I didn’t love you.”

You glance away, jaw clenched.

“I was scared. I still am. But the truth is… I’m more scared of never getting to tell you how much I do love you.”

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, and for a moment, all you can hear is the rain pounding against the pavement and the thunder rolling overhead.

“Eddie,” you say quietly. “You broke my heart.”

“I know,” he breathes, voice wrecked.

“And I’ll spend as long as it takes trying to make up for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I needed you to know that I see it now. I see you. I love you. And I never stopped.”

You stare at him for a long time, and he doesn’t fill the silence with more words. He just stands there, letting it rain, letting it hurt.

Eventually, you step aside.

“Come inside before you catch a cold.”

He does. Carefully. As though you might change your mind at any second.

He peels off his soaked jacket and stands awkwardly in your living room, dripping water onto the rug he once helped you pick out on a lazy Sunday afternoon—back when things were still unspoken but full of promise.

“You still love me?” he asks, quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you walk toward him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his chest.

Your fingers brush over his shirt, soaked and clinging, and you look up at him through lashes heavy with everything you’ve carried.

“Of course I do,” you whisper. “That’s why it hurt so much.”

He exhales shakily, and for the first time in weeks, you see the man you knew—the one who carried your heart like something fragile and precious, even when he didn’t have the words for it.

“I’m still angry,” you warn.

“You have every right to be.”

“I’m not just going to forget it all overnight.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You stare at each other, storm still howling outside, hearts both threadbare and somehow still beating in tandem.

And when you kiss—finally—it isn’t perfect.

It’s desperate. It’s trembling. It’s soaked in tears and rain and months of unspoken longing.

But it’s real.

And when he presses his forehead to yours, holding you like the world might split open, you realize that maybe love was never supposed to be fearless.

It was just supposed to be brave.

Falling asleep next to Eddie Diaz becomes a ritual you never thought you’d have the right to experience.

Not after the heartbreak, the months of silence, the tear-stained pillowcases, and the long nights spent wondering if you’d imagined it all.

Not after the ache of watching him walk away from something he felt as deeply as you did. But now, with his arm looped around your waist and his breath slow and even against the back of your neck, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Like it was always supposed to be this way.

Your mornings are slow now ever since you started sleeping at the Diaz household.

The world still spins fast around you—calls come in, emergencies rise like tides, and grief still knocks on your door sometimes. But in the stillness of sunrise, before the rest of the world wakes up, you and Eddie find time to just be.

You’ve gotten into the habit of making coffee while still wearing his hoodie, sleeves falling past your fingertips, the scent of him wrapped around you like armor.

He pretends not to notice, but there’s always a soft little smile tugging at his mouth when he sees you in it.

“You know, you do own clothes your size,” he says one morning, voice still rough from sleep.

You shrug. “But yours are warmer.”

He pulls you into his chest with a soft grunt and presses a kiss to your temple. “Can’t argue with that.”

After rough shifts, you hold his hand on the ride back to the firehouse.

Sometimes, you don’t even realize you’ve reached for it until you feel his thumb rub slow circles into your knuckles.

It’s never for show. It’s never performative. It’s just… comfort. Constant. Quiet. Sure.

You don’t need words to know what he’s thinking when he squeezes your hand just a little tighter after a difficult call. You just lean your head onto his shoulder and let him breathe.

On another note, Christopher loves having you around again.

Not in the polite, oh-she’s-nice way—but in the real, deep-bonded way that tells you you’ve become something sacred in his world.

After school pickups are his favorite, and even when it’s supposed to be Eddie’s turn, he asks if you can come too.

“Dad says you’re better at choosing snacks,” he tells you with a grin, swinging his backpack onto your back like it’s already your job.

You catch Eddie giving you a soft look through the window of the car. One that says, This. This is it. This is everything I almost threw away.

Sometimes, Chris falls asleep on your shoulder on the ride home when you’re sitting at the back. And sometimes, Eddie takes a picture of it on his phone, storing it somewhere private. Safe.

The teasing from the team is merciless—but warm.

Hen grins at you during lunch and nudges your foot under the table.

“You know, we had a pool going on. I won thirty bucks.”

Chimney raises a brow. “You all owe me. I called it two years ago.”

You shoot Eddie a look, but he’s barely pretending to be bashful.

“It wasn’t exactly subtle,” Buck adds, leaning back in his chair. “The way you two looked at each other? Come on.”

“I don’t remember you saying anything that night I told her I didn’t love her,” Eddie says dryly, smirking.

Buck raises his hands. “I was giving you time to figure out you’re a dumbass. Took longer than expected.”

There’s laughter. Real, full-bellied laughter. The kind that makes your ribs hurt in the best way.

But what gets you most is this: Eddie laughs too.

Like a man no longer holding his breath.

At night, you lie curled up in bed with him, the lamp casting soft light across his face. He’s reading something quietly, one hand draped over your hip, thumb tracing idle patterns into your skin like a habit he doesn’t want to break.

You study him sometimes. The way he softens now. How his smiles last longer. How his laughter comes easier. How he kisses you with both urgency and reverence, like he’s still making up for lost time.

“I think I stopped breathing for a while,” he murmurs one night. “When we weren’t… us.”

You look up at him. “Me too.”

He touches your cheek. “You bring me back to myself. Every time.”

You lean into him, heart swelling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and you breathe together in the dark, the quiet warmth of the home you’ve built finally wrapping around you both.

Eddie Diaz once believed love was something you had to guard yourself against. That loving too much meant losing too hard. But now, with your head on his chest and your voice whispering sleepy dreams against his skin, he knows better.

Loving you didn’t ruin him.

It saved him.

And this—this gentle, messy, beautiful life—is everything he almost gave up.

But not anymore.

Now, he holds it all in his arms and doesn’t let go. Not ever again.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[pasiione]

Take All theTime You Need (18+)

Summary:

Bucky Barnes isn’t the easiest man to get close to. Gruff, guarded, and haunted by a past that keeps most people at arm’s length. But with you, he’s different. Softer. Safer. What started as a quiet friendship—late-night movie marathons, easy banter, and lingering touches neither of you ever talked about, slowly became something more complicated. Something heavier.

You’ve always wanted him. Not just the former soldier with the haunted eyes, but the man underneath. The one who listens, who remembers the small things, who lets down his walls when he’s with you. But wanting him and admitting it are two very different things.

One movie night changes everything. When a scene on screen stirs up feelings Bucky hasn't let himself feel in years, he confesses more than you expected: his fear, his inexperience, and the aching truth that he doesn’t remember what it feels like to be wanted. To be touched. To be loved.

So you offer to show him.

He’s forgotten what it means to be touched like he matters. You’re ready to remind him.

And suddenly, the line between friendship and something deeper isn’t blurry—it’s gone.

[End of Summary]

You’d always liked him, long before tonight, long before he started looking at you like maybe you were the only safe place left in the world. It crept up slowly, the way most real things do. Not because he flirted or made himself easy to fall for—he didn’t. Bucky was guarded, gruff, always keeping people at arm’s length like it was the only way to survive. With most, that wall never came down. But with you... it was different. He didn’t become someone else around you, he just let more of himself show.

The version of Bucky that only you saw was quieter, warmer, unexpectedly funny in that dry, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way. He let you see the small things, like how he always made sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk, or how he’d remember your coffee order even when you forgot it yourself. You noticed every time. And somewhere along the way, those details stopped being background noise. You started looking forward to them. Craving them. Craving him. Not the version everyone else saw: the soldier, the asset, the ghost of a man trying to piece himself back together—but this version. The one who let his shoulders drop when he was with you. The one who made you feel like maybe you were the only person he trusted not to run.

There were so many moments when you almost told him—times when the words hovered at the back of your throat, aching to be spoken. But you always pulled back. Because as much as you wanted more, you couldn’t risk breaking what you already had. If he didn’t feel the same… you weren’t sure you could stand to lose the closeness, the quiet comfort of just being with him. So you held it in, tucking your feelings somewhere deep, convincing yourself that alone friendship was enough.

Even when it never really was.

-

You both decide on a casual movie night in the Avengers tower’s private theater. The movie had been fun at first—easy, mindless banter between characters, a few good laughs, the kind of thing you both needed after a long week. You and Bucky were curled up in the back row of the tower’s private theater, a shared blanket draped across your legs, a bowl of popcorn half-finished between you. Just friends. As always.

It was safe to say you hadn’t really been watching the movie—not when you were too busy sneaking glances at Bucky’s face, every sharp angle and soft flicker of expression etched into your mind like a favorite photograph. You’d nearly gotten caught staring once, his eyes flicking toward you just as you looked away a second too late. After that, you forced yourself to focus, pretending the movie actually held your attention. You’d both picked something light, a romantic film neither of you had seen, easy and harmless on the surface. But then that scene came on. Slow, steamy, drawn out—the kind where the tension bleeds off the screen, where the characters can’t keep their hands off each other. It lingered too long, just enough to make the room feel smaller. Warmer. You didn’t dare look at Bucky now. The air between you had shifted, and you could feel it, thick with everything unspoken. You tried to ignore the feeling.

But then the whole tone of the environment shifted.

Soft lighting. Heavy breathing. A slow, sensual build that had nothing to do with plot and everything to do with tension. You barely registered the actors anymore—your focus was entirely on the man beside you, and the way he suddenly stopped moving.

Bucky shifted in his seat. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Cleared his throat like he could cough away the tension building in the air. His gaze was locked firmly on the floor.

You smirked, nudging his shoulder. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen people make out before.”

His mouth twitched. “Not in surround sound.”

You laughed, but his discomfort didn’t fade. He was fidgeting now—picking at the seam of the blanket, jaw clenched, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to go.

So you teased, lightly:

“C’mon, what, you don't watch this kind of stuff in your free time?”

That was meant to break the ice. Instead, Bucky went still.

He blinked. Swallowed. Then shook his head, once, barely. “I don’t,” he said, voice low. “I haven’t... I don’t really do that. Any of it.”

You turned toward him, more serious now. “What do you mean?”

A long pause. He looked at you, then away again. “I haven’t been with anyone. Not in years. A long time." He laughed, bitter and soft. “I think I forgot how to want something like that. Or maybe I just convinced myself I'm not allowed to.”

That landed in your chest like a punch. The man who had saved lives, carried more weight than anyone ever should, sat there next to you—vulnerable, exposed, scared.

“Bucky…” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I just don’t want to mess it up,” he added quickly, eyes searching your face. “I don’t want to get it wrong. Especially if it’s with someone who... who matters.”

You were quiet for a moment. And then, gently, you reached over and took his hand.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re not messing anything up.”

His eyes flicked to yours. Still cautious. Still waiting for the ground to fall out from under him.

You let your thumb brush against the back of his hand. “If you wanted to... I could help. No pressure. Just... let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like. No pretending.”

Bucky froze. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come.

So you leaned in, slow, close enough that your breath ghosted across his cheek.

“Only if you want me too.”

A beat passed. Then another.

And then—he nodded.

-

Your fingers stayed laced with his as you led him gently toward the sofa in your room, each step slow, deliberate. When you reached it, you gave him a soft, guiding push. He sank down without resistance, settling awkwardly into the cushions, eyes lifting to meet yours—wide, unsure.

“What now?” he asked, voice so innocently and earnest that it made your chest ache.

There was something comforting about the way he looked at you—like he genuinely didn’t know what came next, like he was handing you control of his body and trusting you not to break him. You felt your heartbeat stutter, not only just from desire or lust, but also from the tenderness of it all. He had no idea what you were thinking—what you wanted to do to him. If he did, you weren’t sure he’d be able to keep looking at you with that kind of wide-eyed wonder.

Your gaze dropped to his lips for half a second too long.

The urge to kiss him, to taste him, to pour every aching thought into the press of your mouth against his—it hit hard. You could already imagine the way he’d feel, the sound he might make, the way his hands might tighten if you just leaned in and gave in to what you both wanted.

But you pulled yourself back, barely, grounding yourself in the present—because Bucky wasn’t a fantasy. He was real, and he was right here, looking at you like you were something precious. And you didn’t want to rush that.

“Now…” you murmur as you slowly move to straddle his lap, your voice soft, teasing, edged with something warmer. You drag your tongue across your bottom lip without thinking, eyes locked on his. “...we can do whatever you want to.”

And then you pause.

You settle there, your knees bracketing his thighs, the space between your bodies charged and crackling—but you don’t move. Not yet. You wait. Watching him. Giving him the chance to lead, to decide. Because even though your body is already aching for him—desperate, and you know it—you want this to be his choice. His pace.

Bucky’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch you. The air feels thick with tension, thick with everything you’re both trying not to say. You miss the way his hand felt wrapped around yours earlier—solid, grounding, warm—and now all you want is more. More of him. However he’ll give it.

Desperate, desperate girl, you think, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. But you don’t move. Not yet. You just wait—for him.

Bucky’s hands twitch at his sides before he finally lifts them, slow and uncertain. You can feel how hesitant he is—not because he doesn’t want you, but because he’s not sure he can want like this again. Not the way you deserve. His fingers brush against your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll flinch, like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You watch his eyes flicker down, then back up, and he swallows hard. There’s a crack in his voice when he speaks.

“Is this... okay?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again, even though you’re already in his lap, already pressing so close he can feel your heart beating through your skin.

You lean in, slow, letting your forehead touch his. “Yeah,” you whisper, softer now. “More than okay.”

Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His hands steady on your hips, but they’re still cautious, like he’s worried he’ll push too hard, go too fast. You can feel the restraint in him—not out of control, but out of practice. The desire is there, raw and rising, but tangled up with nerves he can’t hide.

You shift just slightly against him, and his breath catches. He doesn’t move, doesn’t press into it. He just looks at you, eyes wide, like he’s still not sure if he’s dreaming.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you murmur, brushing your lips near his cheek, “just... be here with me. Take all the time you need.”

He nods, a little too fast, like he’s grateful for the patience. Like he needed you to say it out loud.

“I’m here,” he says. His voice is quiet, rough around the edges. “I just… I haven’t done this in a while. Not like this.”

“I know,” you say, one hand coming up to tangle gently in his hair. “That’s why I want you.”

Something in him shifts—small, but real. He lets himself breathe. Bucky’s hands still linger at your waist, heavy with hesitation. You can feel how tightly he’s holding back—like he’s afraid of overstepping, of moving too fast and scaring you off. Or worse, messing it up. You cover one of his hands with yours again, grounding him.

You lean in slowly, giving him time to stop you, but he doesn’t. When your lips finally touch his, it’s the softest brush—barely there. He exhales shakily against your mouth, but doesn’t pull away. You kiss him again, deeper this time, and his fingers twitch against your sides. You feel the way his body tenses under you, like he’s caught between instinct and restraint.

“You’re allowed to touch me,” you murmur between kisses, your forehead still resting against his. “Whatever feels right.”

Something in that permission seems to unlock him. His hands lift, slow but more confident now, sliding over your hips, the curve of your back. The contact makes you shiver, but it’s his expression that undoes you. Eyes open, watching your face like he’s afraid to miss a single reaction. You press closer, tilting his chin up gently, and kiss him again.

And this time—he kisses you back.

Not perfectly. Not polished. But with more certainty. His mouth moves against yours with a slow, almost reverent pace, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips, the way your breath catches when he tilts his head just right. Your fingers curl in his hair as you sigh into him, and that sound seems to do something to him. Like a switch flips. Suddenly, his hands tighten, still careful, but no longer unsure. He pulls you closer, until there’s barely space left between you. The heat of him seeps into your skin, grounding and overwhelming all at once. One of his hands slips under your shirt, just resting there, warm and steady on the bare skin of your back.

It’s like his body remembers what his mind forgot.

Your pulse kicks up as he deepens the kiss on his own this time, lips parting with yours just enough to taste you. You gasp softly, and he pulls back for half a second—checking, always checking—but you don’t give him the chance to spiral. You chase his mouth, dragging your nails gently along his nape, and he groans against your lips. It’s the first sound he’s made that isn’t restrained—and it causes the heat between your legs to grow.

“See?” you whisper, breathless now. “You didn’t forget.”

He laughs, low and disbelieving, mouth brushing your cheek. “It’s… coming back to me.”

You smile, dipping your head to kiss along his jaw, down the column of his throat. He shivers under you, the sound he makes completely unguarded.

“That won’t be the only thing coming,” you murmur—then instantly cringe, the words hanging awkwardly in the air. Gosh, why did you say that? But before you can backpedal, Bucky actually laughs, a real one. It was low, warm, and genuine. It rumbles through his chest, and just like that, your embarrassment melts into nothingness. You’d tell a thousand awful jokes if it meant hearing that beautiful sound again.

“I’ll remind you,” you say after a beat, voice softer now, threaded with something deeper. “As many times as it takes.” And the truth is that you really did. You wanted to pamper him and make him feel as good as humanly possible. You did appreciate the fact that he was trying, you wanted to show him just how good you can make him feel.

You start to slowly remove yourself of his lap, not breaking eye contact. He looked at you with confusion. You reassure him that he did nothing wrong, and to trust what you are doing. You start to slowly kneel down in front of him, putting both your hands at the top of his upper thigh, slowly making your towards his knees where you can make a space between his legs for you to fit in between.

Bucky's breath hitches the moment you settle between his legs. His hands grip the edge of the couch like he needs something to hold onto. But he doesn’t pull away. He just watches you—wide-eyed, lips parted, as if unsure whether to speak or stay silent.

You let your hands glide up his thighs again, slower this time, more deliberate. “You’re doing good,” you murmur, voice low and steady. “Just breathe. Let yourself feel it.”

His jaw clenches for a moment, but not out of resistance. You can see it in the way he’s holding himself back, like he’s afraid one wrong move might ruin this thing between you. But your touch is gentle, patient. You want him to know he’s safe here, with you.

“I’m not… I don’t want to disappoint you,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper. It’s raw aching with vulnerability.

Your hands pause at his hips, thumbs brushing soft circles. “You won’t. You couldn’t.”

He doesn’t answer with words. He just nods, once, fully trusting you. And when you lean forward to kiss just above the waistband of his pants, you feel the way his whole body reacts—tense at first, then slowly relaxing into your touch. You trail your lips gently along his skin, your hands never leaving his thighs. You're not rushing. You’re reminding.

His hand finds your shoulder—hesitantly, barely there, like he's still asking permission even now.

You look up at him from where you kneel, your voice warm and sure. “It’s okay, Bucky. You don’t have to hold back.”

He swallows hard. The muscle in his throat bobs, and you see the way his eyes darken, the way his body is starting to move not with hesitation—but memory. His hand tightens slightly, and this time, when your mouth finds him again—lower, slower—his breath stutters out of him.

You can feel it happening.

Not just arousal—but awakening. His body remembering what it’s like to be touched without fear, to be wanted without expectation. Every reaction you draw from him is a reclamation, a spark reigniting deep within him.

You keep going, not to tease, not to overwhelm—but to give. All of him, every tense and tender inch, deserves to be reminded that he’s still capable of this. Of pleasure. Of softness. Of being loved.

And as your hands rise again, grounding him while your lips worship the parts of him time had buried, Bucky finally exhales—long and deep.

His hand on your shoulder steadies, fingers curling with more certainty. His hips shift, just slightly, in answer to your mouth—his body moving without conscious thought now, guided by something older, something deeper. Not bravado. Not performance. Memory. Muscle memory, buried beneath layers of silence and fear, finally breaking through.

You don’t rush him. You keep your touch slow, your movements purposeful, as you give him the kind of attention that demands nothing in return. You want him to feel it—not just the pleasure, but the care.

Above you, Bucky lets out a sound—half gasp, half groan—his voice rough and surprised like it startled him on its way out.

“God,” he breathes, head falling back against the cushions. “I forgot... I forgot what this feels like.”

You smile against his skin, hands still steady on his thighs. “Glad I could remind you.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You lift your head just enough to look up at him, your mouth swollen, breath warm, your voice barely above a whisper. “That's the goal.” You say with a wink. You assumed he liked what you said because  he leans forward and pulls you up, arms around you, mouth finding yours.

The kiss is messy, urgent, full of years of want and aching restraint finally snapping loose. His hands bury in your hair, like he needs to hold you close just to believe this is real.

You straddle him again, your knees on either side of his hips, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands roam your back, your sides, not aimless but reverent—like he’s learning you with touch alone.

But then something in his expression shifts. A hesitation. You feel it in the way his grip falters, his breath hitches. He looks up at you, brow slightly furrowed, like he’s wrestling with something.

“What is it?” you whisper, your fingers brushing gently through his hair.

“I just…” He shakes his head, eyes flicking away for a beat before locking back onto yours. “I can’t keep pretending.”

Your heart thuds. “Pretending what?”

“That...” he says quietly. “...that I haven’t wanted you like this for a long time.”

You blink, stunned. “Wait… what?”

Bucky lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “I thought I was hiding it. God, I thought I was doing such a good job. But I’ve been crushing on you for a while. Watching you. Wanting you. Trying to convince myself that being near you was enough—even if I never said a word.”

You stare at him, all the breath in your chest gone. “Bucky…”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I told you and you didn’t feel the same, it’d break what we had. And that scared me more than anything.”

You exhale, a disbelieving laugh slipping from your lips. “You have no idea how many times I almost said something. But I didn’t because… I thought it’d mess everything up. I thought I’d lose you.”

“You really didn’t know?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with wonder.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I just… I noticed the little things. And they made me fall harder every time. But I thought they were just part of who you were. Kind. Loyal. Protective. I didn’t think they meant something.”

“They did,” he says simply. “They all did.”

You feel your eyes sting, emotions swelling too big for your chest.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’ve been trying not to, but I do.”

He breathes out like he’s finally exhaled after holding it in for years. And then his hands are cupping your face, pulling you into another kiss—slow this time, deep and aching and full of everything you’ve both kept buried.

When you break apart, your foreheads still touching, you whisper, “Say it again.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “I love you.”

And you kiss him like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

His hands are still careful, but no longer afraid—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like anything less would undo him.

You can feel the way his body responds to yours now. Needy. And it stirs something deep inside you, a matching hunger that has nothing to do with conquest and everything to do with connection. You roll your hips, just a little, just enough—and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening.

“Tell me what you need,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Anything. I’ll give it to you.”

He breathes out your name like a prayer, eyes fluttering shut. “You. I just… I need you. All of you.”

And you smile, your heart aching in the best way, because that’s all you’ve ever wanted to give.

“All right,” you say, kissing his jaw, then lower. “Then take me, Bucky. I’m yours.”

And this time, you don’t lead. You follow.

His grip on your hips shifts, no longer tentative. He holds you like he means it, like he’s claiming not just your body, but the truth of what you’ve given him.

“I’ve got you,” he says—no question, no doubt. Just fact.

You nod, heart thundering. “Yeah. You do.”

And he does.

His gaze drags down your face, to your lips, your neck, your chest—and when he meets your eyes again, there’s nothing hesitant left. Just heat. Hunger. The kind that’s been buried so long it comes back sharper, deeper. He cups your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and then leans in slowly, like he wants to savor the anticipation. Like he wants you to feel how much he wants this.

Wants you.

He kisses you again—deep, controlled, possessive—and it sends a shiver down your spine. His tongue strokes yours with intention, not rushing, not chasing. Just taking his time. Like now that he finally has you, he’s going to enjoy every second of it.

“Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the command softened by the warmth in his eyes.

You do, sinking into the cushions, your chest rising and falling fast, anticipation buzzing under your skin. He shifts above you, knees settling between yours, palms braced beside your head as he hovers—watches you. His gaze pins you in place more than his hands ever could.

“Look at you,” he says, a faint shake of his head like he can’t believe this is real. “You’re so damn beautiful. And you’re mine.”

You reach for him, but he catches your wrists, gently, bringing them above your head and holding them there with one hand. The move is effortless. Confident. You gasp a little—not in fear, but in surprise. In surrender. Because he’s not asking now. He’s showing.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, kissing just beneath your ear. “Let me show you what you do to me.”

Your body arches beneath him as he trails kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your skin. He’s deliberate now, working his way down with a focus that borders on reverent. He takes his time undressing you, not all at once, but piece by piece, like each layer is a gift he’s been waiting to unwrap.

Every brush of his fingers over bare skin feels like a promise.

He watches your reactions, drinking them in. The way your breath stutters when his mouth finds your collarbone. The little gasp when his hands cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over already-sensitive skin. The way your thighs shift, restless, trying to close, then open again—wanting more.

“You’re already shaking for me,” he murmurs, lips curving into a smug smile against your skin. “God, I’ve dreamed of this. Of you. Like this.”

His metal hand is cool as it slides up your thigh, a perfect contrast to the heat of his mouth still working lower, lips brushing down your stomach, your hip, your inner thigh. When he finally gets between your legs, he pauses—looks at you.

“I need to taste you,” he says, voice ragged. “Been thinking about it for so damn long.”

And then he does.

And it’s not rushed. It’s not a tease. It’s devotion.

He worships you with his mouth like he’s starving for it, like this is how he says I love you when words aren't enough. You cry out, hips bucking, but he’s unmovable—strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you here with him.

Every flick of his tongue, every moan that vibrates against you, drives you closer. You don’t even realize you’re begging until you hear yourself say his name—over and over, a plea.

You moan his name, arching into him, and he grins against your skin. Grins.

“Yeah,” he growls, his voice full of that dangerous, perfect confidence. “Say it again.”

“Bucky—”

“That’s right.” He kisses down your stomach, lips teasing, fingers gripping your thighs. “You’re gonna say my name a lot tonight.”

He doesn't stop until you're coming apart for him, trembling, voice breaking, fingers tangled in his hair. Even then, he doesn't let up. He draws it out, lets you ride the edge until you're wrung out and breathless beneath him.

And only then does he rise, kissing his way back up your body, slow and thorough, letting you feel the weight of him again—solid and warm and yours.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, voice rough with want.

You nod, dizzy and dazed, pulling him down for a kiss. “Yes. God, yes.”

And when he finally pushes into you—slow, thick, deep—you both gasp. His forehead drops to yours, breath ragged.

“This,” he growls against your lips, “this is what I’ve been needing. Not just the touch. You. All of you.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, anchoring him to you, grounding the moment. And he moves—deep, steady strokes that make your breath catch, your body tighten around him. There’s no urgency now. Just intensity. He makes love to you like it’s his mission, like every thrust is another way to tell you how much he feels.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, hand slipping between your bodies, finding that perfect spot. “So perfect. You were made for me.”

You’re already close again, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how connected, how seen. He brings you there—keeps you there—until you’re falling again, clinging to him like he’s the only real thing left.

And when he follows, it’s with a raw sound, your name on his lips, his body shuddering above yours as he spills into you, every muscle tense, then softening all at once.

You lie tangled together, flushed and breathless, chests rising and falling in sync.

He strokes your hair, presses a kiss to your temple, and whispers, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you.”

You smile against his skin. “I think I do now.”

And when he pulls back to look at you, that cocky little smirk tugs at his mouth again.

“That thing you said earlier?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “About ruining you?”

He leans in, brushing his lips over yours, voice low and satisfied.

“Too late, sweetheart. You already did.”

And you know, in every beat of your body still echoing with his, that he means it.

[bonbonrobespierre]

[ Augustin freezes. Again. This time, not because he’s panicking—but because Napoleone’s mouth has brushed against his again, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if the younger Robespierre hadn’t been on the verge of melting into the ground in a puddle of nerves and delight. Napoleone kisses him again, and suddenly his brain forgets how to run. He blinks. Red. He’s so red. His hands go halfheartedly to his cheeks, only to realize there's no hiding the heat now. His fingers tremble at his jaw like he’s trying to hold his face on. He opens his mouth to say something clever, something smug, something anything, but all that escapes is a stammered, high-pitched sound resembling “Huh—!” ] [ And then— “Stop smiling like a fool.” That does not help. ] [ Napoleone is already slipping away, brushing past him with a whisper at his ear that nearly sends Augustin to his mother. He watches him—utterly stricken—as the smaller man picks up his hat and coat and marches outside like nothing happened. Bonbon simply stands there, wobbling. It takes him a full ten seconds to realize his mouth is still hanging open and his knees feel like overcooked asparagus. Pull yourself together, he thinks, trying to slam his hands against his cheeks in a desperate attempt to cool down—but all it does is make the flush spread wider. ] [ He’s grinning. Like a fool. Like Napoleone said. It’s stupid. But he can’t not smile. He kissed me again. Augustin counts to thirty. Exactly thirty. He even mouths the numbers as he counts. One, two, three… ] [ At twenty-nine, he takes a breath. At thirty, he very carefully lifts the tent flap and peeks out like a mouse peering from its burrow. His wide eyes dart to the brothers ahead of him—Napoleone, stalked by Joseph, who is already fussing like a cackling hen—and Augustin slips out behind them as quietly as he can, still dazed. He barely registers the loud, pointed Corsican muttering. Something about Robespierre. Something about gunpowder. ] [ He’s too busy staring at Napoleone’s back, trailing after them like a stray dog. Augustin catches up slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but unable to resist letting his gaze linger for too long. Napoleone looks tense, as always. There’s something noble in the line of his shoulders, the stubborn tilt of his chin, that makes Augustin's heart ache with a sweetness he doesn't have words for. There’s a whole world held tight beneath that coat, beneath that scowl. A world of fury and scorn, of hunger and hopes that bite like frost. He walks like the earth owes him something. Like he’s already planning to take it. And yet—Augustin had felt it. The warmth. The softness, if only for a breath. How can one man hold lightning in his spine and still taste like sun-warmed honey? That mans ambition could carve a country in half. What madness it is to want someone who burns, Augustin thinks, if he’s the fire, then let me be the thing that feeds it. ] [ Bonbon realizes has been trailing just behind, walking quietly, and pretending—very poorly—that he isn’t smiling so wide it’s starting to hurt his cheeks. Then he clears his throat. ]

Ahem.

[ He sidles up just close enough to be heard, still trailing a step behind the brothers, ]

Right, gunpowder, yea? I’m sure we’ve got plenty of those. Sure do love the.. stuff. Crates and crates, probably. All lined up in a row…

[ he says, casually—so casually. He lets the thought trail off for a beat, then glances sideways at Joseph, expression bright and open in that friendly sort of way that tends to make people either like him or want to throw something at him. ]

With all this boom to go around we can push this offensive to an end in no time! I mean, you can smell it in the air—unless that’s just the mood.

[ He gives a half-snorted laugh at his own joke, as if he can’t quite believe he said it out loud. ]

Never too early for a little collaboration, huh? Talk about a Guilloteam.. No, no, that’s definitely too much... Just a little accord du peuple between us? That one is just bad.. Just putting the 'arm' in 'armée du peuple.'? Or! Or—! We’re virtue-ally connected..! Call it a—uh—Robes-pairing?

[ He rocks back on his heels a little as they walk, hands clasping behind his back. He makes a low hum of interest, eyes flicking around the camp, then back to Joseph with something more curious ]

Anyways, You’re the eldest, right? Buonaparte the elder. You always this worried about him, or is that a recent development?

[ He flashes a crooked little grin, giving Napoleone a little nudge with his shoulder. ]

And here I thought I was the difficult younger brother!

↳ @ange-noir-de-corse

[ Hyères is hot in that slow, aching way coastal towns get when the wind won’t stir and the stones remember the sun. Bonbon arrives on foot, his coat wrinkled and hanging askew, his boots stained with dust. He looks like he hasn’t slept—not properly—since the letter arrived. Which is to say: not at all. He finds the encampment without asking. He knows where Napoleone will be before he sees him. ] [ He walks like someone pulled forward by pure will—his pride, his fury, and the raw, bruising ache that settled in his chest the moment he read that letter. The words etched themselves into him like glass beneath skin. He’s been carrying them all the way here. ] [ He spots him ahead—and for a second Bonbon nearly falters. But then the memory of the letter flashes again behind his eyes like flint to tinder, and he pushes forward. ]

Who gave you the right to throw me aside like that?

[ His voice cuts across the camp from afar and his boots grind against the gravel as he closes the distance. ]

You think you can just—write a few sentences—and that’s the end of it? No discussion. No explanation. Just—dismissed?

[ He stops in front of him now, breathless and trembling, like some creature pulled from a wreckage. ]

Like I’m nothing? Like you can just decide that?

[ His eyes scan Napoleone’s face like he’s searching for something human beneath the general’s composure. ]

You don’t get to act like I’m some embarrassment to be scrubbed off and forgotten. You don’t get to pretend you don’t know me. Is that really all I was to you? Just some—reckless fool to be discarded the moment he embarrasses you?—You think one letter makes you justified in cutting me loose like a broken bayonet?

[ Bonbon instinctively reaches out, clasping Napoleone’s hands in his own, fingers digging in—not gently. ]

I didn’t do this for pleasure. I didn’t do any of this for pleasure; and even if I had, even if I—God forbid—acted on some small thing for myself for once, why does that make me disposable?

If I’ve embarrassed you, fine. Say it. But don’t pretend this is just about virtue. Don’t you dare pretend you’re above this. I worked myself to the bone to be worthy of that name—of your respect! Do you even know me if you accuse me of not caring for you? Every time you were in reach, I followed—and now you act as if none of it mattered?

[aenslem]

STARGATE UNIVERSE (2009–2011) ⤷ Seizure

[araneitela]

WHICH SYMBOLIC FRUIT ARE YOU?

Cherry. (Man, this is going to need some tag rambling; because while it's what I suspected and it's very fitting in many ways, I need to address one element).

In popular culture, cherries have come to represent sensuality, sex, and seduction. In the cult classic, Twin Peaks, Audrey Horne expresses her sexual expertise by tying a cherry stem with her tongue. "Cherry" is also used to refer to the concept of virginity: why? I don't know to be honest, but here we are. Much like the cherry, you're a sensual person who enjoys all the creature comforts the world offers. You enjoy delicious food, dynamic relationships, passionate lovemaking and stimulating conversation; however, you may also come across a touch vapid or shallow, due to your quickly fading attention when something has served its usefulness to you. To quote some man on tinder: "you're here for a good time, not a long time". You can come across, at times, slightly tart, carrying a bit of a bite to you that not everyone can handle. That’s okay: you’re an acquired taste!

Tagged: @basbousah (Thank you 🩷) Tagging: I don't tend to tag for quizzes easily but this one was actually fun, so let's harass. @immobiliter (how about Furina?) @kushtibokt @genus83 @genius81 @spiderwarden @delusionaid (Wriothesley, or Zhongli— porque no los dos? 🤭) @apocryphis (Topaz) @aventvrina @resolutepath (Elio) @daybreakrising (Blade) @astrxlfinale @kahakera @cygnor @chasersglow @scrtilegii (Jing Yuan)... and anyone else who'd like to do it, say I tagged you because I'd love to see the results!

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)

[rumisgf]

❝ THINGS THEY DO THAT GIVE YOU BUTTERFLIES ! ❞ ╰┈➤ MHA EDITION (PART 2!)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n: y’all wanted a part two i shall give a part two

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ includes: katsuki bakugou, hitoshi shinsou, shoto todoroki, denki kaminari, iida tenya, kirishima eijirou

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: black!reader obv, cursing, mentions of drug usage/marijuana, suggestive if u squint, fem reader implied, mentioning of babies/children

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

✮ wipes your tears sort of aggressively but only because he’s so urgent to comfort you and take care of you

✮ always hugs you by your lower waist

✮ when you go to the gym together, he’s the type to always say “c’mon, you can do one more.” or “do three more”

✮ ruffles your hair/flicks your forehead in a teasing way

✮ “act right.”/“watch out.”

✮ doesn’t remind you to drink water— he simply justs brings water bottles up to your mouth and tells you to “open up”

✮ if you have any, he cares for your pets like they’re his own

✮ just something about the sight of him holding a baby

✮ bites you just because he can

✮ pulls you into his lap whenever he’s tired of your attitude

✮ gets super close to your face like he’s gonna kiss you but pulls away just to mess with you

✮ “that’s my girl” in the most proud voice ever every single time

TODOROKI SHOTO

✮ any time he does get high he’s all over you and staring at you with half lidded eyes

✮ it’s just something about the way he curses man.

✮ loves falling asleep on the phone with you and takes facetime photos of you sleeping because he thinks you look like an angel

✮ runs his thumb over your hand whenever you hold hands

✮ loves giving earlobe kisses

✮ will casually be like “when we have kids,”

✮ sends voice memos ranging from something funny that happened in class to how much he misses you and needs to see you

✮ kisses your lip gloss off every chance he gets right after complimenting how nice your lip combo looks

✮ sends you pictures of yourself and says “you look so pretty in this”

✮ him whispering in your ear.

✮ has your contact as the only one pinned in his messages

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

✮ pats away your tears with his finger instead of wiping them (those who watch love island usa and are kordell + serena fans know what i’m talking about)

✮ places his hand on the small of your waist to guide your somewhere or move you out the way

✮ constant forehead kisses

✮ lifts you up and spins you around when he’s excited to hug you

✮ guides you into the right form when you workout together

✮ runs his hands down your waist and hips when he’s checking you out while you’re right in front of him

✮ him around kids. that’s all.

✮ gives you flowers pretty much every week— and one time he gave you a money bouquet for your birthday

✮ flexes for you when he feels you staring at him and pretends he’s not doing it on purpose

✮ throws his arm around you and presses you flush against his chest when you go to sit on the couch next to him

✮ refers to you as his “wife” to his friends

KAMINARI DENKI

✮ you could have been rotting in bed all day and when he facetimes you he always greets you with something along the lines of “hello my beautiful princess” with a lovesick tone of voice

✮ calls you “mama” and “ma”

✮ obsessed with skinship because he aches to be able to “crawl inside your skin” and just needs to be close to you

✮ blows kisses at you from across the room

✮ for comfort, he runs his fingers through your hair and rocks you back and forth while hugging you

✮ his morning voice :)))

✮ lets you bite him and encourages it

✮ gets very touchy when you’re on his lap

✮ the king of “i know you’re probably asleep, but” texts

✮ goes on rants about how gentle and how well he would care for you when you’re one day pregnant with his children

✮ always calling you his “pretty baby”/“pretty girl”

✮ always posts pretty candid pictures of you and makes heartfelt story posts for every birthday, anniversary, and valentine’s day

HITOSHI SHINSOU

✮ has read for you + sung you to sleep on multiple occasions

✮ grabs you by your chin to force eye contact

✮ “say please”

✮ checks you every time you have an attitude with a smirk on his face

✮ has a habit of biting his lip

✮ says “there you go, babe” way too much.

✮ glares at anyone who flirts with you while tightly wrapping an arm around your waist

✮ has made multiple shared playlists for the both of you

✮ says he’s “gatekeeping” you because you’re just too pretty and he has to keep you to himself

✮ plays with your fingers when he’s bored or nervous

✮ buries his face into your neck to bask in your scent when he hugs you

✮ randomly stares at your for a full five minutes when you’re talking, barely listening to a word you’re saying, then lovingly sighs “i love you so much…”

IIDA TENYA

✮ always opens every door for you

✮ holds your hands while walking across the street or through the hallways

✮ very protective over you and will respectfully cuss anybody out who disrespects you

✮ pretty much has replaced your name is his vocabulary with “honey” and “sweetheart”

✮ never calls you hot— he always calls you beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, or stunning

✮ grabs you by your sleeve or your belt loop to take you somewhere if you don’t hear him call your name the third time

✮ the thought of ever calling you his “bitch” disgusts him, he calls you his lady or his love instead

✮ will immediately grab the nearest box of tissues to wipe your tears or your nose whenever you’re crying

✮ kisses your cheek to greet you and say goodbye

✮ has deep conversations about your future together when you get to that point in the relationship, and is open about how much his heart swells at imagining you as a mother

✮ kisses your forehead when he notices you asleep on his chest

© rumisgf

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ million dollar man ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x girlfriend!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place in an alternate ending for squid game where sang-woo wins instead of gi-hun! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ it had been over two weeks since you last heard from cho sang-woo. no calls, no texts, not even the smallest acknowledgment of your existence. the silence weighed on you, growing heavier with every passing day. sang-woo, your long-term boyfriend, the man you had imagined spending the rest of your life with, had seemingly vanished without explanation.

˚ ༘♡ he was everything you had dreamed of, handsome, intelligent, educated. in your eyes, he was near perfect. you had moved to south korea a year and a half ago. the two of you met only a month after your arrival in seoul. you were standing at a convenience store counter, struggling to buy an iced coffee before work. the cashier’s words blurred into a language barrier you couldn’t break through, leaving you flustered and embarrassed.

˚ ༘♡ then there he was. cho sang-woo, with his neatly pressed suit and square-rimmed glasses, stepping in to translate with a calm assurance that immediately put you at ease. he went further and insisted on paying for your coffee, brushing off your protests with a polite smile. “you can pay me back with your number,” he had said, his tone light but his warm gaze unwavering. you gave it to him without hesitation, your heart racing as he walked away with a casual, confident stride that lingered in your mind for days.

˚ ༘♡ what followed was akin to a fantasy. your first few dates were sweet and unassuming, dinners at cozy restaurants, walks through bustling markets, late-night phone calls that stretched into the early hours of the morning. before long, it became more than casual. he wasn’t simply a charming man in a suit, he was someone you trusted, someone you leaned on. yet, as your relationship deepened, so did the flaws.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo treated you well in many ways. he insisted on paying for meals, even when you protested. he offered to help with rent when he noticed you were stressed about expenses. his job at joy investments afforded him a lifestyle of financial stability, one that he willingly extended to you. however, beneath his polished exterior, there was an undeniable distance.

˚ ༘♡ it started small, little things that nagged at you but seemed too insignificant to bring up. his phone was always locked, the screen flashing dark whenever you glanced at it. he would leave suddenly, without warning, offering only vague explanations that never quite satisfied your curiosity. “work,” he would say, brushing off your questions as though they were irrelevant. and no matter how many times you pressed him for the truth, he never admitted anything.

˚ ༘♡ those moments of secrecy chipped away at your trust, leaving an uneasy ache in your chest. you told yourself it was nothing, that you were overthinking. but the fights that erupted when you brought it up told a different story. his calm facade would crack, and he would grow defensive, his words sharp and cutting. “don’t you trust me?” he had asked more than once, the accusation in his tone a slap in the face.

˚ ༘♡ despite the arguments, despite the unanswered questions, you loved him. you loved the way he smoothed a hand down your back when you were upset, the way his voice softened when he called you by name. you loved the rare instances of vulnerability he let slip, the heartfelt glimpses of the man beneath the polished exterior. you loved him enough to forgive, enough to overlook the secrets that cast shadows over your relationship.

˚ ༘♡ as you sat alone in your apartment, staring at your phone with an empty inbox mocking your worry. two weeks of silence was unbearable. the man you loved, the one who had promised to protect you, had left you with nothing but questions and a ache where his presence used to be.

˚ ༘♡ the doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your apartment as though it were a sharp blade. it wasn’t merely unusual, it was unsettling. who would come at this hour? you glanced at the clock on the wall, its glowing numbers reminding you that it was well past midnight. your stomach churned uneasily as you stood up, your fatigue from a long shift at the café clinging to you.

˚ ༘♡ working from sunrise to sunset every day had worn you thin, but you had refused sang-woo’s offers to help you financially. he had already done so much, given so generously, and the thought of taking more was crossing a line you couldn’t bring yourself to breach. it would be an abuse of his kindness.

˚ ༘♡ the hallway was dark as you approached the door, your bare feet silent on the cool floor. you hesitated before unlocking it, your hand hovering over the latch. “hello?” you called out cautiously as you cracked it open, peering into the dimly lit corridor.

˚ ༘♡ before you could register what was happening, a hard shove sent the door crashing into you, knocking you backward. you stumbled, barely managing to catch yourself against the wall. your heart leapt into your throat as the figure who had forced their way inside quickly shut the door behind them.

˚ ༘♡ your confusion turned to disbelief as the light from your apartment fell on their face. it was sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ his chest heaved with each labored breath, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar, his dress pants scuffed and slightly torn. his glasses, the ones you always teased him about for making him look too serious, were nowhere to be seen. instead, his face bore the evidence of recent hardships, bruises, faint scars, and scabbed-over cuts that marred his formerly pristine appearance. even his hands, the ones you’d grown so used to seeing holding a pen or a glass of wine, were scratched and battered.

˚ ༘♡ he looked like he had aged years in the short time he had been gone.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you stammered, your voice unsteady with equal parts confusion and fear, “what the hell are you doing? it’s the middle of the night, and… why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

˚ ༘♡ he opened his mouth as if to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately. instead, he leaned against the door, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “i…” he started, his voice hoarse and raw, but he seemed unable to finish.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, he crossed the room in a single stride and pulled you into a tight embrace. his arms wrapped around you with a desperation that felt almost suffocating, his head burying into the crook of your neck as he clung to you.

˚ ༘♡ you stood unmoving, the shock of his sudden appearance warring with the affection of his touch. part of you was relieved beyond words to have him back, while another part was angry. angry at his disappearance, at the unanswered calls and texts, at the fear and doubt he had left you to wrestle with.

˚ ༘♡ “i missed you,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

˚ ༘♡ his words tugged at your heart, but they weren’t enough to quell the storm of questions brewing inside you. “sang-woo,” you said, your voice softer now but still laced with frustration, “what’s going on? where have you been? what happened to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer right away, his grip tightening, as though the very act of holding onto you could keep him grounded. his breath was unstable, his chest rising and falling against yours in a way that betrayed the turmoil beneath his silence. the room felt oppressively quiet.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp, desperate for clarity. the sound seemed to jolt him, his body stiffening before he reluctantly pulled back.

˚ ༘♡ his hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket, the movement clumsy and hurried. when he withdrew, he thrust a thick stack of cash into your arms, one hundred million won, neatly bound and unnervingly out of place in your modest apartment. the weight of the money startled you, as you stared at the crisp bills in disbelief.

˚ ༘♡ “listen to me,” he said, his voice shaking but steadfast. “after this, after i take care of everything, i’ll buy us a beautiful home. somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. hold onto this for now.”

˚ ༘♡ you blinked at him, your mind struggling to process the sudden shift, the money heavy in your grasp. “sang-woo,” you said, your tone rising with vexation and confusion, “where did you get this money?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, his eyes avoiding yours, and that only fueled your frustration. “tell me!” you demanded. “where have you been? do you have any idea what I’ve been through? i thought you left me for another woman or fled the country!”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched, his expression fading as guilt flashed across his face, but he said nothing.

˚ ༘♡ you pressed further, your voice strained with a mix of hurt and fury. “i talked to your mother. she said you haven’t called her in ages! i went to your work. they haven’t seen you in weeks! your friends? same thing. no one knows where you’ve been!” your hands tightened around the cash, your knuckles white as your chest heaved with the distress of your tone. “how could you do this to me? how could you leave without a word, without an explanation?”

˚ ༘♡ his silence hurt more than any words could have. he looked at you, his expression a painful mix of regret and something darker, something you couldn’t place. his lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to sting your eyes. “please. i need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll tell you everything soon, i promise, sweetheart,” sang-woo murmured, his voice unsteady, as if it pained him to speak. his hand, calloused and trembling, reached out to rest gently on your cheek, his touch delicate. your heart ached as you met his gaze, those dark, exhausted eyes glistening with unshed tears. it was a look so raw, so unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ “you have to trust me,” he said, his tone soft but pleading. “you have to listen to me. i’ve already given you what you need to cover your expenses.” his hand lingered against your cheek for a monthly moment before falling away, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. “i have urgent legal and business matters to deal with, but once they’re resolved… we’ll have the life we’ve dreamed of. everything we’ve talked about.”

˚ ༘♡ his lips brushed against your forehead, the kiss light but filled with a quiet desperation that made your chest tighten. “nothing could ever keep me from you,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “promise me you’ll do as i ask.”

˚ ༘♡ everything about this felt wrong, the way he avoided your questions, the haunting exhaustion in his voice, the bruises that lined his hands and face. you wanted answers. you wanted to demand he tell you everything right then and there, but the way he looked at you, so broken, so unlike the composed sang-woo you knew, kept you from saying anymore.

˚ ༘♡ uncertainty clouded your mind, nonetheless you nodded, your voice hardly above a whisper. “i promise.”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders sagged slightly at your answer, the tension in his body loosening, though not entirely disappearing. “good,” he said softly, almost to himself. he was still nervous, his eyes darting toward the door as though expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

˚ ༘♡ “i have to go,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. “but i’ll come back. i swear, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ “okay,” you replied, unsure but unwilling to push him further.

˚ ༘♡ he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, tender kiss that left you yearning for answers. then, without another word, he turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, the silence of his absence pressing down on you, dread engulfed your thoughts. your mind churned with questions, with doubts, but one thing was certain, you were relieved, no matter how strange the circumstances of his return, to have seen sang-woo again. the agonizing ache in your chest told you that his departure had left you with far more questions than answers.

a/n: my first sang-woo fanfiction!! is it controversial for me to say i love his character and he’s my favorite one in squid game? please let me know if you have any requests! 🤍

[itendtothinkalot]

how to not fall in love

summary: you’ve been in love with heeseung for as long as you can remember, but to him, you’ve always just been the best friend—reliable, familiar, safe. so when you hear him say he doesn’t see you that way, you decide it’s time to stop. stop caring, stop hoping. but ignoring someone you’ve loved for years is harder than it sounds… especially when he starts acting like he doesn’t want you to stop.

genre: fluff | best friends to lovers

characters: best friend!heeseungx f!reader

words: 7.6k

warnings: none i think!

a/n: and here is my first enha fic!!!! <3<3 and yes heeseung is my bias

You don’t even remember when it started.

Maybe it was the first time Heeseung flashed you that ridiculously charming smile on your very first day of kindergarten—doe eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a shy little wave like he was offering you his entire heart with just a look.

Or maybe it was that time in middle school when he forgot there was a major history exam and you stayed up until 2 a.m. making color-coded flashcards for him, highlighters smudged on your fingers and worry tugging at your chest. He showed up the next morning at your door, hair a mess, holding a bag of greasy Chinese takeout and two cans of your favorite peach soda.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he said, in that effortless, playful way of his, ruffling your hair like you were some helpful little puppy.

You laughed, but your heart did a triple somersault.

Love. He said it like it was casual.

Not knowing it felt like a confession to you.

Truth is, it only got worse from there.

Your unrequited love? It grew legs and started running wild.

You became that friend. The one in the front row of every basketball game, waving a glittery sign that said "LEE HEESEUNG" like your life depended on it. The one who always brought him coffee after his late-night study sessions, who memorized the snacks he liked at the convenience store, who texted him good luck before every presentation even though he always forgot yours.

And Heeseung would flash that same boyish grin—the one that made your knees a little weak—and casually sling an arm around your shoulders.

“Man, I don’t know who I am without you,” he’d say, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And you? You’d fall just a little harder.

Just a little. But it added up.

You didn’t mean for it to. You tried to keep your heart in check. But all those little things—the inside jokes, the shoulder bumps in the hallway, the way he said your name—slowly stitched themselves into something deeper. Something messier. Something real.

Heeseung never treated you like you were just anyone. That was the cruel part.

Like that time you got lost at one of his away games. You’d shown up early, too excited, only to realize you had no idea where to go. The school was huge, the gym impossible to find, and every hallway looked the same.

And then—there he was.

Heeseung, panting, scanning the sea of people until his eyes landed on you.

“There you are,” he breathed out, like he hadn’t just run halfway across campus. His brows furrowed like he was worried, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist.

“C’mon,” he murmured, pulling you through the crowd like you were something precious he needed to protect. He didn’t let go—not even when the noise got louder or people jostled you. Somewhere along the way, he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it himself.

He only let go once you were seated, right in the front row.

“There,” he said, still a little breathless. “Gotcha here safe and sound.”

Then he jogged off, leaving your heart pounding, your bag heavy in your lap, and a quiet kind of warmth blooming in your chest.

You found out later that he’d skipped the team’s pre-game drills just to look for you. As team captain, he was supposed to be rallying the others—but instead, he was making sure you weren’t lost.

Coach made him run three extra laps.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, guilt curling in your stomach.

Heeseung just laughed, brushing his damp hair back and flashing you that familiar grin. “It’s okay. I kinda liked looking for you.”

Moments like that—where he made you feel like the center of the universe—those were the hardest.

Because deep down, you always knew he didn’t see you the way you saw him.

The final straw came a few weeks later.

You’d been waiting by the bleachers again, holding his jacket like you always did, when you overheard Jake teasing him.

“She’s here again. You two are practically glued together. You sure you’re not… boinking?”

Heeseung laughed. “Boinking?”

Your heart fluttered. Just a little.

Then he said it. With zero hesitation.

“She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.”

Friend.

The word echoed in your head like a slap.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

The next morning, you opened your journal, flipped to a blank page, and wrote in bold, all-caps letters:

HOW TO NOT FALL IN LOVE (feat. Lee Heeseung)

Goal: Stop giving a damn about Lee Heeseung. Duration: One month.

And for the first time in forever, you meant it.

Really, really meant it.

—

The next day at school, you walked through the gates with an air of fake confidence and a heart wrapped in duct tape. This was it. Day one. 

No more overshooting your texts to Heeseung. No more waiting by the court with his water bottle. No more volunteering to help him with homework he didn’t even remember to start. He was perfectly capable of surviving without you.

Probably.

But the moment you saw him in the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, your heart betrayed you.

Your hand lifted in an automatic wave before you even realized what you were doing. And—ugh—was that a smile forming?

You gasped like you'd caught yourself mid-crime and yanked your hand back down with enough force to nearly dislocate your shoulder. You spun around so fast your bag almost knocked over a freshman. You tried to act cool, casually pretending the ground was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen.

Behind you, Heeseung paused, confused. He blinked. Tilted his head. Squinted at your retreating back like he was trying to solve a very strange math equation.

But then he shrugged it off. Probably nothing.

Probably.

Too bad he didn’t know this was just the beginning of the end.

—-

“This little tough girl act,” Sunghoon said with a smirk, reaching into your popcorn bucket like he had every right. “How long do you think it’s going to last?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pulling the bucket closer. “Keep your hands out of my popcorn, you menace.”

Out on the court, Heeseung was practicing, all focused determination and smooth movements. You were trying—not entirely successfully—not to watch him. You’d even worn sunglasses. Indoors. As if they could protect your heart.

“Come on,” Sunghoon drawled. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see you freeze up this morning when he smiled at you like a puppy with a college degree.”

You exhaled sharply. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Right. And I’m the Prime Minister of Canada.”

With a dramatic sigh, you leaned back against the bleachers. “I’m serious this time. One month. No more hopeless pining. No more letting him carry my bag like we’re a couple. No more doodling ‘Mr. and Mrs. Heeseung’ in the margins of my notebooks.”

“You still do that?”

“I–No.”

Sunghoon laughed under his breath.

You risked a glance at the court.

Mistake.

Heeseung dribbled the ball between his legs and sank a perfect shot, his lips tugging into that maddeningly confident smile, turning to you..

And, shamefully, you made a noise. A small, undignified sound that gave you away entirely.

Sunghoon gave you a long, knowing look. “You’re doomed.”

“I am not doomed,” you said, clutching your popcorn like a shield. “I’m just... recalibrating. This is emotional detox.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re detoxing the way someone digs a chocolate wrapper out of the trash.”

You groaned. “Why are you even here?”

“Free snacks. And the immense satisfaction of watching you pretend you’ve moved on.”

You stuffed a handful of popcorn in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. Because, regrettably, he wasn’t wrong.

And worse? You missed Heeseung. More than you cared to admit. Everything reminded you of him. A bouncing basketball. A laugh down the hallway. A lamppost that was, in your defense, approximately his height and general vibe.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

—

Heeseung was starting to notice.

At first, it was little things. You stopped walking with him after class. You sat further away during lunch. You didn’t show up at practice with your usual energy, pretending to be absorbed in something else when he looked your way. It was subtle but to him, it felt like someone had lowered the volume on his favorite song.

He found himself scanning the bleachers more than usual, eyes flicking toward the spots where you usually sat, only to find them empty or occupied by someone else. You were still around, just... not with him.

Jake noticed first.

“You good?” he asked during water break, glancing at Heeseung who was frowning at his phone.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, not looking up. “I just... I don’t know. Have you talked to her lately?”

Jake raised a brow. “She was literally just at lunch.”

“She barely said a word to me.”

Jake took a long sip from his bottle. “Maybe she’s busy.”

Heeseung nodded, but it didn’t feel like busy. It felt like... distant. Like you were pulling away, and he didn’t know why.

He scrolled back through your messages. There weren’t any unread ones. Just a few recent texts from him that you’d responded to with short answers. No smiley faces. No exclamation marks. Just plain, flat replies.

And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He was used to your messages being filled with too many emojis, random inside jokes, and links to memes you knew he’d find stupid but would laugh at anyway. You hadn’t even sent him your usual “good luck” before the last game.

Heeseung didn’t say anything out loud, but he could feel it—a little ache forming. Like something was shifting. Like something he’d taken for granted was slipping away.

And he didn’t know how to ask you why.

—

You were power-walking down the hallway like a woman on a mission—head high, steps brisk, thoughts screaming something along the lines of Do not look back. Do not turn around. You are ice. You are steel. You are—

“Hey!”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

Heeseung.

You turned around slowly—casually, you hoped—and gave him what you prayed was a totally normal smile. Not awkward. Not panicked. Not like your internal monologue was screaming.

“Oh! Hi,” you said, like your voice hadn’t just jumped an octave.

He jogged the last few steps to reach you, a little out of breath, but still managing that soft, easy smile of his. “Didn’t see you after practice this week.”

“Oh,” you said quickly. “Yeah, I’ve just been… around. Super busy.”

“Busy?” he echoed, tilting his head slightly. “With?”

You blinked. “Uh, Yearbook Committee.”

His brows knit together. “I didn’t know you were in the Yearbook Committee.”

“I’m… new,” you added, voice trailing off as your brain gave up on its own excuse.

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t push. Just nodded slowly, like he was trying to make sense of it all.

Then he smiled again—gentle, like always. “Well, I was just wondering if you were free to—”

“Oh no, sorry!” you cut in, way too fast. “I have to go walk Sunghoon.”

He blinked. “Walk... Sunghoon? The third year student from Algebra?”

“Yes,” you said, forcing a bright smile. “He’s full of energy. If I don’t walk him, he gets cranky. Like a puppy.”

He stared at you, clearly confused. His lips parted like he wanted to ask another question, but instead, he just... laughed. Not a mocking laugh—more like he didn’t quite know what else to do with this absurd turn of conversation.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll see you later then?”

“Yup! Later!” you squeaked, turning around so fast you nearly dropped your bag.

You could feel his gaze on you as you walked away—light, warm, lingering. Like he was trying to figure you out.

And you? You were trying not to look back. Trying not to feel how much you missed being around him. How much you wanted to stay.

Because the truth was: you missed him. You missed you with him.

But you’d started something. And for now, you had to stick to it.

Even if it sucked.

—

Heeseung swore something was off.

You weren’t gone, exactly. You still passed him in the hallways. Still laughed a little too loudly with Sunghoon and Jay at lunch. Still wore that bright-colored scarf he once said made you look like a strawberry popsicle.

But you weren’t with him.

Not the way you used to be.

He sat on the edge of the court after practice, towel around his neck, eyes scanning the bleachers again. He hated how natural the motion had become. How instinctive it was to search for you—even when he knew you wouldn’t be there.

Jake flopped down beside him, cracking open a sports drink. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered.

“You don’t sound like it.”

Heeseung shrugged, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Have you noticed... she’s been different?”

Jake raised a brow. “You mean how she’s not orbiting you like a lovesick planet anymore?”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jake took a slow sip of his drink. “Isn’t it?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

Because maybe it was what he meant.

Maybe he had gotten used to you being everywhere. At his games. At his side. Texting him about nothing and everything. Laughing at his dumb jokes. Holding out his bag like it belonged more to you than to him.

And now? Now the silence felt sharp. Uncomfortable.

He scrolled through his messages again. No new ones from you. The last conversation ended with your half-hearted “haha yeah” two days ago.

You didn’t even send him a good luck text before his test today. You always sent him one. Usually something stupid like “Don’t choke! But if you do, make it dramatic so you can retake it with pity points.” It used to make him laugh. It used to calm him down.

Today, he hadn’t laughed before the test.

And he hadn’t done all that well, either.

He sighed, tipping his head back against the wall of the gym.

He didn’t know what had changed. But something had.

And he was starting to think he really didn’t like it.

—

Heeseung wasn’t looking for you.

He absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent was not looking for you.

He just happened to glance over at the courtyard. That’s all.

And okay, maybe his eyes landed on you instantly—like a magnet snapping into place. You were standing with Sunghoon and Jay, your laugh bright and easy, head tipped back like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

And then Sunghoon did it.

He leaned in and ruffled your hair.

Casual. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t understand it at first. Not really. He just kept staring, a weird sort of tightness building in his chest, like something was pressing down on him. And then—just to make it worse—Sunghoon said something that made you laugh again. You reached out and lightly shoved his shoulder, still smiling, completely unaware of the storm brewing across the courtyard.

Jake noticed immediately.

“You’re staring again,” he said, biting into an apple with all the serenity of someone enjoying the drama but pretending not to.

“I’m not,” Heeseung muttered.

“Your eyes haven’t left her for five minutes.”

“I’m just… wondering what they’re talking about.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You mean, what she and Sunghoon are talking about?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Jake smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re just planning their wedding. Probably picking out the cake flavor right now.”

“Shut up.”

Jake laughed. “So this is jealousy, huh?”

“It’s not jealousy.”

“Oh yeah, no, of course not. You're just glaring at Sunghoon like you’re mentally photoshopping him out of existence for completely unrelated reasons.”

Heeseung turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

It wasn’t like he had a claim on you. You could hang out with whoever you wanted. Laugh at anyone’s jokes. Let anyone ruffle your hair.

So why did it feel like something in him was unraveling?

—

Heeseung wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but he knew something felt... off.

You were still around—at lunch, in the halls, in some of your shared classes—but somehow, you were always just out of reach. If he turned one way, you turned the other. If he called your name, someone else answered for you. It was subtle. Strategic.

And frustrating.

Now, walking alone down the hallway, books tucked under one arm, the other gripping his backpack strap, he found his thoughts drifting back to you. Again.

Jake wasn’t there to tease him for it today, off doing who-knows-what, so for once it was just Heeseung and the quiet, creeping ache of your absence.

And then he saw you.

You were halfway down the corridor, walking like you had somewhere to be, light on your feet as always. Maybe it was the way you moved like you had a secret no one else knew or maybe it was just that he hadn’t really seen you in days. Not properly. Not up close.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, catching you gently by the wrist.

“Hey,” he said, smiling before he realized it.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Huh?”

“It’s been a while since I walked you home,” Heeseung said, tilting his head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Want to go together?”

You froze. Your mind scrambled for an excuse—any excuse.

But he was already one step ahead of you.

“You don’t have Debate. Or Yearbook Committee,” he added knowingly. “And I don’t have practice today.”

You exhaled sharply. Damn him for remembering your fake clubs.

“…Sure,” you murmured, defeated.

He smiled again and reached for your backpack, tugging the straps gently off your shoulders so he could carry it for you—like he always did. Like nothing had changed.

The two of you fell into step, walking side by side. Your arms brushed once. Then again. Each time, a jolt of electricity shot up your spine.

“So,” he said after a pause, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “did you get an A?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The math test,” he clarified. “You were stressing about it for, like, a week. Mr. Kim probably handed it back by now. I’m assuming my smart girl did well?”

Your lips parted slightly.

He remembered?

A slow smile tugged at your lips. “First in class,” you announced proudly. “Take that, Jake Sim.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Good. Someone’s got to put him in his place.”

Then, without warning, he reached over and ruffled your hair. “Proud of you.”

Your heart launched itself into your throat.

His fingers lingered a moment too long, just enough to make you dizzy before pulling away like nothing had happened. Like your world hadn’t just turned upside down.

Typical Heeseung.

You were just trying not to propose.

At the crosswalk, as the light turned red, he reached out again—this time gently guiding you by the elbow, pulling you closer to him.

“There was a bike coming,” he said, eyes on the road ahead.

You squinted. The bike was a speck in the distance. Miles away.

But his hand stayed there.

Just resting.

Light. Thoughtless. Careful.

You swallowed hard.

If he was going to keep doing things like this, you needed revenge. You needed balance. You needed him to second-guess everything the way you did.

So you stopped walking and tugged his arm slightly.

Heeseung turned, confused. “What’s wr—”

And then you stepped in.

Too close.

Your fingers reached up, brushing against the base of his neck as you adjusted the collar of his uniform. It was crooked—only slightly—but you took your time, smoothing the fabric with slow, deliberate movements.

Your knuckles grazed his skin.

He inhaled sharply.

His shoulders stiffened.

And suddenly, the effortlessly charming Lee Heeseung looked completely out of his depth. Like you were the one throwing him off balance now.

His gaze dropped—eyes flicking from your face, to your lips, then quickly back up again.

Heeseung swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

You finished adjusting his collar and smiled up at him—soft, proud, just a little smug.

“There,” you murmured, patting it into place. “All fixed.”

He blinked.

Swallowed.

“…Thanks,” he managed, voice lower than usual, a little hoarse.

And then because apparently his brain had melted, he turned on his heel and walked ahead a little too quickly.

“Slow down!” you called after him with a grin. “Not all of us have basketball player legs, you know.”

He didn’t answer, but you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

—

The walk home with Heeseung did something to you.

Something bad.

You missed him more than you thought you would. Not in a soft, quiet way—but in a way that gnawed at your chest like a small, aggressive squirrel.

Everything reminded you of him. A fork. A book you’d never read. Even Jay’s left toe (don’t ask, you didn’t know why either). You couldn’t stop thinking about him—his laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he was excited, the little way he tilted his head when he was listening.

You were, quite frankly, losing it.

Your Lee Heeseung withdrawals were at an all-time high.

Every time you saw him across the room or heard someone say his name, your heart did a thing and your brain spiraled like a bad romcom montage. You were whiny. Pathetically so.

Jay, ever the long-suffering saint, was reaching his limit.

You clung to his jacket sleeve dramatically, voice pitched high with despair. “I can’t do this, Jay. I miss him so much. Why is this so hard?”

Jay gave you a deadpan look that could only be described as emotionally done. With a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he turned and made a beeline toward the shop’s earplug section.

“If you don’t just tell him how you feel,” he muttered, “I’m going to lose my entire mind.”

You chased after him, still attached to his sleeve like a ghost with commitment issues. “But I can’t! He doesn’t even like me like that!”

Jay stopped in front of the shelf, scanning the rows of earplugs like he was shopping for peace. “What if he does, huh?” he shot back, a little too fast. “This whole walk home story you just told me—it doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You froze. The words you’d overheard days ago came rushing back: She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.

The echo of it still stung.

You let go of Jay’s sleeve and crossed your arms, suddenly quiet. “I heard him, Jay,” you said softly. “He told Jake I was just a friend.”

Jay looked at you. Really looked at you.

And then he grinned.

“Are you laughing at me right now?” You smacked his arm, thoroughly offended.

“It’s just—” he choked back a laugh. “I could’ve sworn that guy was practically drooling over you.”

You scowled. “Well, clearly you’re wrong.”

Jay shook his head, dramatically dropping a pair of foam earplugs into the basket. “Okay, look. So what if he said that? Guys say dumb things all the time. Heeseung’s probably still catching up to his own feelings.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Come on. You’re not the type to wait around forever. If you like him, say something. Stop pretending you don’t care.”

You groaned. “Fine, fine! I’ll think about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for three years,” Jay replied, clearly unimpressed.

You crossed your arms and pouted. “You don’t get a say.”

“Oh, but I do.” He popped the earplugs into his ears with a triumphant smirk.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered.

Jay tilted his head dramatically. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you over the peace I bought for $2.99.”

—

That night, Heeseung lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all of life’s biggest questions.

Unfortunately, it did not.

He shifted. Then again. Then once more for dramatic effect. The blanket felt too warm. The pillow was suddenly too flat. Everything was wrong.

But mostly? It was the thoughts. You.

The walk home played on a loop in his mind, like a scene from a movie he couldn’t turn off. He could still feel how close you’d stood to him, the way your arm brushed his, how your fingers had grazed his neck when you fixed his collar. The soft sound of your laughter still echoed in his ears. It was... cute.

Too cute.

Heeseung sighed and rolled onto his side, shoving his face into the pillow.

You had always been his best friend. His safe person. You were fun and loud and comfortably chaotic. You made everything feel easy. But lately, being around you hadn’t felt easy—it felt... intense. 

And ever since Jake had made that dumb “are you dating” comment, the idea had rooted itself in his brain like a stubborn weed. He tried to shake it, but it kept growing. Fast.

He used to think about you in a simple way—someone he could count on. Someone who’d be there with snacks and jokes and glittery signs with his name. But now?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny flecks of color in your eyes. Or how your laugh made his chest feel tight. Or how you’d smiled up at him after fixing his collar like you had no idea he was short-circuiting.

He groaned again and rolled onto his stomach.

This was bad. He was in trouble.

—-

Across town, in a room filled with fluffy pillows and heartbreak, you were also wide awake.

Staring at the ceiling. Then the wall. Then your blanket. Then the ceiling again.

You sighed and ran your fingers over the threads of your comforter like they held answers the universe refused to give.

Everything reminded you of Heeseung. Your school notes. Your chipped nail polish. The way your lamp was slightly tilted—he was the one who’d knocked it over during your last movie night.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Was this what pining felt like? Not just the longing or the ache—but the sheer, annoying presence of him in everything? Your brain had become a highlight reel of his smiles, his voice, his laugh. It was embarrassing.

Still… there was a part of you that wondered.

Maybe he felt it too.

You weren’t imagining it, right? The way he looked at you lately—like he was really seeing you. The way his fingers had lingered on your arm a little longer than necessary. The way he had remembered your test, remembered your nerves, and had been genuinely proud of you.

Your heart did a stupid, hopeful little flutter.

But the thought of confessing? Saying it out loud?

You rolled onto your side and buried your face in a pillow.

What if it changed everything? What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he looked at you like you were ridiculous—or worse, like you were just some girl with a dumb, one-sided crush?

Still.

What if he did feel something?

You both lay in your beds that night, across the city, wrapped in your own blankets and your own thoughts—completely unaware that the other was doing the exact same thing.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about him.

—

“Hey, look who it is!” Jake nudged Heeseung with his elbow, already grinning like a devil who’d spotted drama on the horizon.

You looked up, eyes widening as you spotted the two of them heading toward you. There was no time to escape. No possible exits. Just Heeseung, Jake, and a hallway suddenly way too small.

You and Heeseung locked eyes.

And just like that, the walk home replayed itself in your head. The brush of his hand against yours. The weight of your bag over his shoulder. The way he’d looked at you when you smiled at him. You swallowed.

“Uh… hey,” you said, lifting a small, awkward wave. Your voice came out two pitches too high, like someone had sat on the remote.

“Hey,” Heeseung replied, mirroring your stiffness with a half-hearted wave of his own. He was smiling, kind of, but it was tight—uncertain. His heart was pounding. His brain? Completely blank.

Jake, of course, was having the time of his life. “Wow,” he said cheerfully. “This is fun.”

“I—I have to go to the restroom!” you blurted, pointing wildly in the wrong direction before fleeing like a sitcom character mid-episode.

Heeseung stood there, watching you disappear around the corner, every nerve in his body buzzing. His legs felt like jelly. His chest? Tense. His thoughts? Loud.

By the time he stumbled into the locker room, he collapsed dramatically onto the floor like a man defeated.

“I think…” he muttered into the floor, “I might have feelings for her.”

Jake, already sprawled on the coach’s beanbag, didn’t even flinch. He was too busy chewing on a piece of licorice to care.

“Oh, welcome to the club,” he said, voice muffled. “I’ve been a member since the year you told her she looked pretty in green face paint during our third-grade Wicked play.”

Heeseung didn’t react. He just stood up and started pacing—back and forth, back and forth—like his thoughts might rearrange themselves if he walked hard enough.

“I—no, I really like her, Jake.”

Jake raised a hand lazily, like a talk show host mid-monologue. “Please. Continue. This is riveting.”

“I just... I don’t get it. I didn’t realize it before, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about her. Everything reminds me of her. Like, she fixed my collar yesterday and I think I blacked out for a second.”

Jake popped another licorice into his mouth. “Gross. Cute. But gross.”

“I feel like,” Heeseung continued, running a hand through his hair, “when she’s around, everything just makes sense. And when she’s not? It’s like something’s missing. It’s stupid.”

“Cringe,” Jake said dramatically, slumping deeper into the beanbag. “Do all crushes feel this emotionally inconvenient? If so, I want out.”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “Are you ever helpful?”

“Emotionally? No,” Jake said with a straight face. “But I do hand out brutal honesty like candy.”

Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bench next to him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I tell her and she— I don’t know—ghosts me?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ve been losing your mind for days because she didn’t bring you water after practice. You have hands. Hydrate yourself.”

Heeseung let out a pained noise and buried his face in his hands.

“Just tell her,” Jake said with a shrug. “Worst case, she doesn’t feel the same. But I’m 99.7% sure she does.”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung muttered into his palms. “And what if I look like an idiot?”

Jake leaned back, tossed a licorice stick in the air, and caught it with practiced ease. “Buddy, you already look like an idiot. Might as well make it romantic.”

Heeseung lifted his head just enough to glare at him.

Jake grinned. “Start simple. Tell her she’s cute. That’s it. It works. Trust me.”

Heeseung blinked. “That’s it? Just ‘you’re cute’?”

Jake nodded. “You’d be shocked how well that lands when you mean it.”

Heeseung stared at him, unconvinced. “You’ve said that to how many people?”

Jake smirked. “Doesn’t matter. It’s worked every time. I am very charming.”

Heeseung groaned again. “I’m not you, Jake.”

Jake sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I know. Which is why this is a 50-50 shot for you. But hey—if you don’t end up with her, can I ask her out?”

Heeseung shot him a death glare.

“Just kidding,” Jake said quickly. Then he paused. “Mostly.”

—-

It all started during lunch.

Jake leaned across the table, eyes gleaming with evil genius energy. “Operation ‘Make Them Walk Home Together So They Finally Kiss or at Least Make Prolonged Eye Contact Without Panic’ is officially in motion.”

Jay blinked. “That's… a terrible name.”

Sunghoon took a bite of his sandwich. “I kinda love it.”

Jake waved a hand. “Name pending. Point is—we trap them. She thinks she’s walking with you two. He thinks he’s walking with me. And then? We disappear. Vanish. Leave them alone. Together. With no backup.”

Jay tilted his head. “And what? Hope the romantic tension forces a confession?”

Jake smirked. “Exactly.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “This feels like emotional entrapment.”

“It is. And it’s working,” Jake said proudly. “Heeseung’s got it so bad he thought she had a thing for you.”

Sunghoon choked. “Me?”

Jay snorted into his drink. “You do ruffle her hair a lot.”

“Because she’s cute! Like a little puppy!” Sunghoon exclaimed, scandalized.

Jake shrugged. “Well, he’s spiraling. Yesterday he saw you hand her a pen and he went silent for ten whole seconds.”

Sunghoon blinked. “That’s... tragic.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, visibly entertained. “I’m in. For the record, not because I care, but her whining is starting to affect my appetite.”

“Same,” said Sunghoon. “We were on FaceTime for 2 hours and most of it was about Heeseung. I fell asleep after 10 minutes.”

Jake clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Gentlemen, you know your roles. Subtle distraction, coordinated exit, zero guilt.”

Jay raised a brow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’ve earned it,” Jake said, already standing. “He stole my last banana milk. This is revenge and service to the nation.”

—-

“Crap,” he muttered. “I forgot my earbuds in the music room.”

Jay snapped his fingers. “Oh shoot. Me too. I left my jacket in the library.”

You raised a brow. “You two always forget things at the same time.”

They both grinned. Suspiciously.

“It’s twin telepathy,” Jay said, winking.

“You’re not twins,” you deadpanned.

“We are in spirit,” Sunghoon added, already stepping backward toward the school building.

Before you could protest, they were both jogging away, waving casually.

“We’ll catch up!” Jay called over his shoulder.

“We swear!” Sunghoon added.

You stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. “...Okay?”

Then you turned around.

And there he was.

Heeseung.

Standing a few feet away, also holding his bag, looking around like he had just been ditched by someone.

Your eyes met.

Both of you froze.

Heeseung blinked. “Wait… where’s Jake?”

“I... thought he was with you?”

He furrowed his brows. “He texted me like five minutes ago saying we’d walk home together.”

You glanced down at your phone, where a suspiciously vague message from Sunghoon read: “Don’t wait for us. You got this.”

Your stomach dropped.

You looked back up at Heeseung. His phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked at you with slowly widening eyes.

Jake’s message: “Have fun ;)”

There was a beat of silence.

You both stood there.

Just you.

And Heeseung.

And an entire empty sidewalk.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Heeseung scratched the back of his neck. “So... I guess we’re walking together.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Guess we are.”

Silence.

Then, at the exact same time:

“You don’t have to if—” “We can walk separately if—”

You both stopped.

Then laughed.

And for a moment, just a moment, the awkwardness melted. Heeseung smiled—not his usual big grin, but something softer. Warmer. Like he wasn’t so mad about being ditched.

“Let’s just walk,” he said. “Might as well.”

And even though your heart was pounding and you were still very much aware that your so-called friends had just shoved you into a live wire of unresolved tension...

You nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

So you walked.

Side by side.

You weren’t sure how Jay and Sunghoon managed to get you walking next to Heeseung but you were sure it had something to do with Heeseung’s ratty friend Jake.

Heeseung shuffled beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to ignore the weird tension in the air. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came out. It was funny how just a few days ago, this silence would’ve been comfortable—soft, even. But now it felt a little too loud. A little too full.

Suddenly, Heeseung’s foot caught on a small rock, and before he could stop it, he stumbled forward, arms flailing like one of those inflatable tube men outside a car dealership.

“Hee!” you yelped, half-laughing, half-panicked.

Heeseung straightened up, cheeks flushed, but laughing anyway. “Oh, so now you’re laughing at my near-death experience?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—are you okay?” you teased, though you made no effort to hide your giggles.

“Yeah,” he nodded, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Just bruised my pride, that’s all. I think the rock has a vendetta.”

The laughter between you settled, but the tension lingered like steam on a bathroom mirror. You shifted on your feet, exhaling softly. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird. I’ve just been… going through some stuff.”

Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What kind of stuff?”

You shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” he nudged your shoulder gently. “You used to tell me everything. Even the time you cried because your goldfish ignored you for two days.”

“Nugget was emotionally manipulative,” you mumbled.

Heeseung grinned. “Still, I miss that. Not Nugget—just... when you talked to me.”

Your cheeks burned. You ducked your head. “It’s just... a little personal.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes playfully. “Like, family personal? Friends personal? Or…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to drop a bombshell. “Boy problems?”

You cleared your throat, refusing to meet his eyes. “I guess… the last one?”

He went still beside you.

“Oh…” he said, and his voice had that very specific tone guys get when they’re trying to sound neutral but are actually spiraling.

“So you’re going out with someone?”

“What?! No!” You waved your hands frantically. “I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” he stopped in his tracks, grabbing both your hands in his and squeezing them dramatically. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know. Think of my well-being.”

You sighed, glancing away. “Fine. It’s just… I think I like someone, and I’m not sure how to tell him.”

Heeseung swore he felt his soul leave his body. You liked someone? Was it… Was it that no-good, pretty-boy Park Sunghoon? Heeseung should’ve stuck with ballet when he was five. Or maybe joined drama. Something, anything, to compete.

“Is it Sunghoon?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You blinked at him, then let out a laugh that was way too loud for the empty sidewalk. “Ew?! No!”

He looked utterly baffled. “What? You’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately, and he’s always ruffling your hair and whatever.”

“He’s just a friend, Hee,” you said gently. But when your eyes dropped to the pavement, something about it made his stomach twist.

A silence settled between you before Heeseung cleared his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Well… you should just tell him.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, should I?”

He nodded, trying to keep his tone even. “Yeah. You’re... pretty. Funny. Smart. If he doesn’t like you back, then he’s probably an idiot. Or stupid. Or a fool.” He paused. “Or all three. Simultaneously.”

You snorted. “Funny you’d say that.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” You waved it off. “What about you? What would you do if you liked someone?”

Heeseung hummed, pretending to think. “I’d probably always wanna hang out with them. Walk them home.”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“Have them at all my basketball games. Cheering me on.”

“Right, you wouldn’t want your girlfriend missing those,” you mused.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And it’d totally suck if she stopped showing up to practice too. Especially when the whole team’s used to seeing her in the bleachers... eating snacks loudly.”

“I see how that would suck,” you said, biting your lip to hide a grin.

“I’d also wanna protect her. From oncoming bikes. Sudden rainstorms. Teachers who give pop quizzes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Protect her from quizzes? What is this, magical girlfriend armor?”

Heeseung smirked. “Exactly. I’d be her human shield.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was thudding in your chest.

“And in case she’s, I don’t know... absolute trash at directions?” he continued. “I’d wait for her. Walk her home. Walk her wherever she wanted to go. Be her personal GPS. And not even charge her.”

You muttered, “Wow. What a bargain.”

“I’d also probably carry her bag,” he added, like it was a casual afterthought—as if he wasn’t literally carrying yours right now.

You puffed your cheeks, trying to play it cool. “Okay, let’s move on to the next topic.”

“I kinda like this topic, though.”

“We get it. You’ll treat her like a princess,” you mumbled.

Heeseung laughed. “How are you not getting it?”

“Getting what?”

“Alright, fine. Let’s make it easier.” He took a deep breath and started counting on his fingers. “Who has never missed a single one of my basketball games?”

You squinted. “Uh... Jake?”

He facepalmed. “Someone not on the team.”

“Me?” you blinked. “I don’t under—”

“Who has no sense of direction?”

“Me?”

“And who always helps that person find their way?”

“You?”

He gave you a flat look. “So... do you catch my drift?”

You stared at him blankly. “No?”

He groaned. “Okay. Last question. Whose bag am I carrying right now?”

“…Mine?”

He smiled at you, exasperated and fond. “Exactly.”

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to make a dramatic exit.

So, hesitantly, you whispered, “What are you saying?”

Heeseung let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, like it physically hurt him to keep it in a second longer, he blurted, “For god’s sake, I’m telling you I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

“I. Love. You,” he repeated, staring at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

Heeseung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh? That’s it? After all that?!”

“I—I mean—” You sputtered, brain rebooting. “I didn’t think—”

“God, you’re so dense,” he muttered, but the way he said it was so soft it made your knees weak.

You swallowed. “Say it again.”

He paused, then leaned in slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.”

You grinned, cheeks on fire. “Good. Because the guy I like is you.”

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

Your jaw dropped. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, but I kinda figured when you started scowling after the third time I described how I’d treat my ‘potential girlfriend.’”

You let out a groan, covering your face. “Ugh.”

He laughed, slinging an arm over your shoulders like he’d been waiting years to do that. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

“You can’t blame me for overthinking when you—YOU!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You told Jake I was just a friend!”

Heeseung froze, eyes wide. “You heard that?!”

You nodded—hard. “Word for word. ‘She’s cute, a great friend, but I don’t see her that way.’ Ring any bells?”

He winced like he’d just been personally attacked by a ghost of his own idiocy. “Okay, wow. That sounded so much worse than I meant—”

“You think?” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly. “Do you know what it’s like to hear the person you’ve liked for years say something like that? To be standing there, holding your dumb varsity jacket like some lovesick intern, while you laugh at the idea of liking me?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“You don’t get to say you love me now and expect it to just erase that.”

His face dropped. For a moment, he looked completely lost for words—completely unlike the smug, charming boy who used to ruffle your hair and make your heart do gymnastics.

“I know,” he said finally, voice soft. “I know I messed that up. I thought... if I said it out loud, it’d make it less real. That if I kept calling you my best friend, I wouldn’t have to deal with how badly I wanted more.”

You blinked, arms slowly falling to your sides.

“I didn’t get it until you weren’t there,” he continued, gaze fixed on yours. “Until I looked for you everywhere and hated that you weren’t looking for me back. That you weren’t smiling at me like you used to. That you started smiling at Sunghoon instead—who, by the way, I totally thought you had a crush on, which sent me into a minor emotional spiral.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “You spiral?”

“I laid on the locker room floor for twenty-five minutes while Jake threw licorice at my face.”

That image alone almost broke your resolve.

Almost.

“I need you to know,” Heeseung said, his voice gentler now, “I was scared. But that doesn’t make it fair to you. And I don’t expect you to forget it overnight. But I meant what I said. I love you. Stupidly. Probably too much. And I’ll wait for you to believe that.”

You stared at him. And he stared back—like he didn’t mind if you took a second or an hour or a whole year to respond. As long as you were looking at him again.

Your heart beat so loud, you were almost sure he could hear it.

You swallowed. “Dropping the L-word before our first date is kinda crazy.”

Heeseung gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry. I should’ve started with ‘like.’”

You looked down at the ground, then back up at him.

And smiled—softly, finally. “No. I like crazy.”

[aquarius-johnny]

Baby Fever .ᐟ | Jeong Jaehyun

genre: smut | wc: 5.1k | deadly sins series | m.list navi pairing: husband! jaehyun x afab! reader warnings: breeding kink; pillow princess! reader; jaehyun is hœrny, needy, a soft dom; reader mentions that he's big; lots of praising; talking through it; oral (f receiving); spanking, fingering (if you squint); multiple orgasms; unprotected sex; creampie; a little bit of overstimulation (m receiving) summary: you’re jaehyun’s pillow princess and he loves to please you, but this time with a twist — the goal to put a baby in you! | deadly sin: sloth a/n: it’s not a deadly sins series without falling into the temptation of writing a breeding fic; also i like to say it’s canon that the reader and jaehyun go for multiple rounds ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this is for those who thrive on praise.

⌞ pinterest board ⌝ ≫ concept photos

Mindlessly running your fingers through your husband’s hair, he lays between your thighs with his head resting on your stomach. You both set your gaze on the tv screen that’s playing your current favorite show while you're both in bed on this Saturday morning. 

“Baby?” Jaehyun softly lets out, his finger tracing loose circles against your bare thigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You lay your hand lazily on the crook of his neck, gently swiping your thumb against his cheek. “What’s on your mind?” Your eyes fall on the subtle movements Jaehyun makes as he shifts his body onto his side – his arm snaking under your thigh and pulling your entire leg against his body.

“Have you ever thought of having a baby with me?” He innocently looks up at you with big brown eyes awaiting your response.

You give him a soft giggle. “Of course I have, who else would I have a baby with if not my husband?” Pushing his hair back, he smiles shyly, realizing how silly he worded his question. 

“No, I mean,” he laughs, positioning himself next to you, legs stretched over yours as he shifts his weight into the palm of his hands, casually leaning backwards. “Have you thought about having kids, now that we’re married.”

You smile, your mind shuffling through the memories of when you came close to risking it all and letting Jaehyun shoot his load into you before he pulled out, like he always did, bringing you back to reality.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” you nod. “Have you?”

“All the time,” he shyly replies as if it was such a sinful thought to want to have a child with your wife; although, he’s probably more embarrassed at the amount of times he thought about the many positions he would want to have you in when he releases into you. 

“Why the sudden interest in this now?” 

Jaehyun falls quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “You know how much I’ve always wanted to be a dad and,” he pauses, lowering his voice timidly. “I was curious to know how it feels to come inside of you.” 

You and Jaehyun are both very responsible with your sex life, even after getting married. When you two first got together, he was adamant about having condoms on him just in case something happened between the two of you, which it did and it happened a lot. With your very active, healthy, and regular sex life, condoms soon became a nuisance to replace when they would quickly run out. Eventually, you opted to go on birth control. Even with this decision, you both knew better to have him release inside of you until you both were ready to face the reality of what would happen if he did.

“Is this your not so subtle way of asking if we can try for kids, Jaehyun?” You arch a brow, watching your husband’s ears tint a bright red and the tip of his tongue poke the inside of his cheek as he coyly looks down.

“Is that a bad thing?” He questions, slowly looking up at you, wide eyed. His hand inches closer to your hand before his pinky slowly hooks onto yours, something he often does when his nerves begin to rear its head. 

You cup his cheek, tenderly stroking his soft skin with your thumb to comfort him. “Not at all,” you smile. “Do you want to try it now?” 

Jaehyun’s eyes widen in excitement before disappointment washes over him. “We have errands to run.” He sighs, listing off the things you both had planned today with a dramatic pout.

“Can we do it quickly?”

“While I would never turn down a quickie with the love of my life,” he pauses with a toothy grin stretched across his face. “I want us to take our time.” 

You give him an understanding nod, knowing how important this is to him. “Let’s do it tonight,” you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Maybe before we get home, you can help me pick out a new lingerie set we can use.” 

“I’d love that.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth. “But…” he trails off before throwing his head back and letting out an exaggerated groan.

“What is it now?” You playfully roll your eyes while you shake your head at his antics.

“How am I going to survive being out with you knowing we’re probably going to have the most amazing sex tonight?” He chuckles at his words, baffled at the idea of needing to keep it in his pants when he’s just so, so excited to start a new chapter in life with you. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to survive for a couple of hours, you big baby. Now come on,” you quickly check the time on your phone. “We need to get ready. The earlier we leave, the earlier we can get home.”

You take a mental note of how to get your husband to show you more affection in public: agree to let him impregnate you. 

Normally, Jaehyun wasn’t big on loud public displays of affection. He would hold your hand or place a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you. He’d occasionally place a subtle kiss on your knuckles to keep his displays of affection to a minimum while still showing you he loves you and loves being around you. The most he’d do is kiss your temple when he notices another man’s stare linger a little too long for his liking. While he wasn’t the biggest fan of pda, you didn’t mind at all because you knew that he isn’t able to keep his hands off you at home, but today was different.

He could not, for the life of him, keep his hands off you as you both went about your errands. During lunch with his parents, his hands were planted on your waist as he stood behind you, pulling you into him as close as he could, while the four of you waited to be seated. When you’re seated, his warm palm rubs against your thigh, parking itself there the whole time — occasionally squeezing and pushing under the hem of your sundress ever so slightly. When his parents disappeared into the restroom after lunch, Jaehyun took this opportunity to place kisses on the crook of your neck while you both waited for the check. When it comes, you fully expected your husband to ease off of you – to your surprise, he didn’t.

“What has gotten into you?” You half-heartedly scold with a tiny giggle, pressing your hand against his chest to keep him at a distance.

“Can’t a husband be affectionate towards his wife?” His words are disingenuous as a wicked grin is plastered across his face. 

“Behave,” you warn, handing the check to him. 

Taking the check between his fingers, he gives you an impressed grin. “I see you’re already practicing your mom voice, huh?”

“Ha ha,” you sarcastically reply, although the smile on your face tells your husband you enjoy the comment as much as he did.

When you stop by your favorite lingerie store, your husband makes you browse a different part of the store while he chooses a new set for you. When he returns, he slings an arm over your shoulders with the shopping bag in the other. A smug look is painted on his face as you both walk out of the store. 

“Picked anything good?” You ask, eyeing the bag he’s holding. 

“Definitely,” he sucks air between his teeth, a toothy smile dancing on his lips as he pulls you closer to his side. “I think you’re going to like it.”

“Mm. I trust you.” 

He stops in his tracks in the middle of the semi-crowded mall. He gently lifts your chin with his index finger and gives you a deep kiss, nearly taking your breath away. “You’re gonna look so hot in it,” he winks.

During your final stop to the grocery store, you sense your husband’s patience dwindle as you walk up and down the aisles, slowly checking off the list on your phone. 

His arms wrap around your waist as you stand there to check for the correct brands to put in your shopping cart. Jaehyun rests his chin on your shoulder, watching in agony as you put the item back to pick up another. You feel his restlessness, desperate to finally get you home. 

“Are you okay, honey?” You question, eyes fixated on the label of the item you’re holding before you carefully place it in the shopping cart.

“It’s taking everything in me to not fuck you right here,” he whispers in your ear — voice low and gravelly. 

You halt your movements, surprised and slightly aroused at his lewd confession.

“Send me the list,” he clears his throat as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

You do as he asks and he quickly scans the list on his phone. 

“I’ll take the bottom half of the list, you take the top. We’ll meet in the frozen food aisle.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling up at him. “I love when you take control like this,” you gush, pushing his cheeks together with the palms of your hands before placing a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Be quick,” he softly commands, his slender fingers cupping the side of neck before his thumb gently rubs the column of your throat. “Can you do that?”

Your knees grow weak at his words and you simply nod your head.

“Mm,” he smirks. “Good girl.”

On your way home, your husband’s hand lays on your thigh, his thumb circling your skin. A knot in your stomach tightens, slightly nervous under his touch yet you’re also yearning for this next step as much as your husband is. He pulls into the driveway and you begin unbuckling your seat belt. 

Grabbing the shopping bag with your lingerie set, Jaehyun hands it to you — the bag hanging off his index and middle finger. 

You carefully grab the bag, an excited smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll worry about putting the groceries away,” he lets out, giving you a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “You can check out what I bought for you.”

You excitedly nod your head. “Thank you, baby.”

Jaehyun must’ve set a world record with how fast he put away the groceries as you tried on what your husband kindly got for you — but there’s nothing that gets your husband going more than knowing he’s about to finally have you in the way he so desperately wanted to the entire day. 

You call out his name eagerly as he swiftly puts away the remaining items left on the counter.

His attention turns in your direction as you emerge from the hallway in nothing but the skimpy set he got you. He freezes upon seeing you, blood quickly rushing to his cock, hardening it within seconds. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, giving him a quick twirl. “It’s really pretty!” 

Your husband’s eyes scan your body up and down as he carelessly stuffs the item he’s holding into the cupboard — his gaze never leaving you. 

“Fuuuck,” he drawls desperately, making his way to you. He sighs in satisfaction as his large hands pull you into his body. “Thank god we’re trying for a baby tonight, I don’t think I could pull out if we weren’t.” 

You giggle at his reaction, slinging your arms around his shoulders. “You’re right, I do look hot in this, huh?” You lick your lips, cocking your head to the side as your brows curve in innocence. 

Jaehyun’s pupils quickly dilate as he looks at you — the way the fabric clings onto your body perfectly renders him speechless. “So hot,” he manages to let out. His mind was already dizzy, completely enamored by his beautiful wife. 

Pulling him to your lips, you move them slowly — Jaehyun following your pace. He moves you backwards, trapping you between his body and the wall behind you. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” He questions between kisses. “I can pull out or I can try, at least,” he chuckles. 

“I want to,” you reassure, lifting his shirt over his head and allowing the fabric to fall onto the floor. “I want to have your baby.” 

Jaehyun deepens his kiss and a guttural groan parts his lips, his fingers frantically removing his belt and undoing his pants. The fabric bunches around his ankles before he kicks them to the side. “I’m gonna take care of you, tonight,” he reassures and you hum against his lips in agreement.

You know him well enough to understand that he’s going to do all of the work tonight, allowing you to enjoy every second of it without having to worry about going above and beyond to make him feel good.

He’s breathless as he pulls away from you. Taking your hand, he leads you to the bedroom.

Jaehyun lays you on your back. The pads of his fingers glide against your exposed abdomen, sending chills through your body.

“So beautiful,” Jaehyun purrs as he looks at you, his eyes scanning the pretty lingerie set. He places a loving kiss against your lips before deepening it, causing you to sling your arms over his shoulders to pull him in closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair causing him to smile against you. He slightly parts his lips, giving you an opportunity to slide your tongue over his, you take it and do exactly what he wants you to do — earning a tiny groan from your husband. 

He trails kisses against your cheek, then against your jaw, before settling on a tender spot on your neck. Rolling his tongue over your skin, you let out a tiny giggle, his breath tickling you. 

Jaehyun’s finger hooks into your bra strap, gently pulling it down your arms, allowing your breast to spill out. His large hands scoop them together, letting out a satisfied sigh before his tongue rolls over your skin and takes your nipple into his mouth. He flicks the tip of his tongue against your erect bud before gently pulling it between his teeth. 

“You’re literally perfect,” he praises. “I’m so lucky.” 

Flattening his tongue against your nipple, he rolls over it before giving it a nice suck, leaving it with a pop before doing the same on the other side.

His hands glide down your waist and his lips follow, pecking kisses against your stomach. You feel his long fingers glide against your clothed heat, wetness pooling against your cute underwear. Jaehyun places a gentle kiss on your core and proceeds to lick a strip against the fabric. 

You bite on your bottom lip, propping yourself up with your elbows to get a better look at Jaehyun teasing you. 

“Please,” you whine. “I need you.”

He smiles, dimples making an appearance as he places both of your legs over his broad shoulders. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” He flattens his tongue against your heat and begins sucking on your covered clit — a new and foreign experience despite the years you two have been together. 

Your underwear is soaked with your arousal and Jaehyun’s warm saliva, having the wet fabric outline your pretty folds. You push Jaehyun’s hair back, an endearing expression you often do to let him know he’s doing a good job.

Jaehyun pushes your underwear to the side; sighing in admiration at the sight of your pretty pussy. He quickly licks up your wetness before he slowly flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit over and over again. His movements are sensual and calculated — his eyes flutter open to look up at you between your thighs. A satisfied moan leaves your lips. Your hands opting to massage your breasts while your toes curl from the pleasure. The room fills with the sounds of his tongue slicking up and down your folds. 

Jaehyun picks up his pace, causing your walls to pulse in excitement, desperately wanting to feel him inside of you. His fingers grip onto your thighs, holding them apart as he continues to focus the tip of his tongue on your bundle of nerves between your folds. You hear him hum against your soaking heat, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

“It feels so good,” you praise softly, pushing his hair back to get a better look at your husband enjoying the taste of you. “Fuck,” You whimper, throwing your head back in pleasure. “ I love you so much.”

Jaehyun lifts his head and smiles, pausing his movements. “I love you too.” His hand pulls you to his lips, rolling his tongue over yours — allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before returning to your nub, continuing his sensual movements. 

Jaehyun’s hands push against your thighs, opening your legs wider for him. You hear a slap against your skin, causing you to flinch in response before you let out a small giggle. Jaehyun soothes the spot with his hand and places quick, tender kisses before returning to your sensitive nub.

“Again,” you beg, biting down on your bottom lip. “Slap me again, please.”

He follows through with a smirk dancing against his lips, giving you another spank to the thigh causing you to moan at the sting before soothing it again. 

“I-I’m so close,” you desperately let out, feeling the coil in you tighten. 

Jaehyun closes his eyes, hyper focused on your clit and his only goal right now is to make you feel good. He begins to suck on your bud, holding onto your thighs as it quivers. 

You’re a whimpering mess. You bite down on your bottom lip as you feel a shock of electricity run through your legs and up your thighs. Heat spreads under your skin, your heart races, and you feel your orgasm slowly creeping up. The tension in your stomach suddenly snaps and an overwhelming sense of pleasure hits you — causing you to cry out your husband’s name as white creamy substance slowly leaks out of your pretty cunt. 

You push Jaehyun’s head away from your heat, bringing your knees together as a blissed out look paints your face. 

Jaehyun’s pink, plumped lips peck your knees before he slowly spreads your legs open again. He places kisses against your inner thighs before his fingers gently rub against your sensitive slit. 

The movement causes you to shudder, your nipples hardening at the tingles that’s sent through your body.

Pushing your underwear to the side again, he carefully dips his middle finger into your entrance and pumps his long finger into you before sliding in his index finger with ease. 

You hold onto your thighs, keeping them apart for Jaehyun. He pumps and twists his fingers into you, creamy white rings forming against his knuckles. Slowly lifting your hips to grind against his fingers, he pushes his fingers deeper into you, curving them and feeling his digits move against the sensitive spot inside of you causing your legs to lightly quiver. 

“Such a good girl, but you’re already shaking,” he teases — his voice hinting fake concern with a sly grin dancing in his lips. “Will you be able to take my cock?”

You stumble on your words, giving him a pathetic whimper with a rapid nod. “I want you inside of me,” you plead. “Please.” 

Your husband melts at your words. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and helps you rid yourself of the lingerie that’s already served its purpose. Jaehyun softly orders you to get into one of his favorite positions. 

Laying on your stomach, you prop your upper body with your elbows and watch your husband’s movements in the full length mirror in front of your shared bed. 

Jaehyun helps slide a pillow under your pelvis, slightly lifting your bottom half for easier access. Your legs in between his knees, pressed together ever so slightly.  His hands squeeze your ass cheeks, allowing your supple skin to pillow his fingers before dragging his nails against your backside, earning a giggle from you. 

His leaky tip moves against your folds before settling on the fats of your ass. Gripping his heavy length, he slaps his erection against your skin — smiling from ear to ear at the sight of one of his favorite parts of your body. Jaehyun aligns his erection with your entrance before slowly pushing his tip into you. Your body inches forward as he sinks into you, Jaehyun’s hands clench onto your waist to keep you in place. 

You both moan at the delicious stretch — your tight entrance adjusting to his lengthy size. He watches your reflection — biting down on your bottom lip before your jaw falls open and feeling your warm, velvety walls wrap around his hard length. 

“So fucking big,” you whisper under your breath, brows furrowing together at the pleasure.

Your husband leans forward, his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder before lifting your chin and turning your head to kiss him. His movements cause him to bottom out inside of you — balls against your slit while you feel his tip kiss your sweet spot inside of you. The feeling is so exquisite it forces you to gasp into Jaehyun’s mouth. 

“That’s it baby,” Jaehyun coos into your ear. “You’re taking me so well.” His free hand tightly grips your waist. “You know, I’m yours, right?” A deep, low groan leaves his lips when he feels your walls pulse around his bare cock. 

You nod your head, dazed by the feeling of Jaehyun filling you up so perfectly and so well — a feeling that always amazes you despite your years together. 

Your pretty lips press against his before he deepens it, parting his to have you perfectly place his bottom lip between yours. You hum at the sweet taste of strawberries that lingered on his lips, enjoying the feeling of every crevice of his member as he warms himself in your walls.  

Without warning, Jaehyun harshly snaps his hips into you, causing you to loudly gasp in surprise. A devilish grin tugs the corners of his lips, relishing in your reaction. 

His cock pumps into you relentlessly, jerking your body forward with every thrust. He holds himself up with his arms, eyes locked onto the mirror in front of him. His gaze falls on your hands, desperately clawing at the beige cotton sheets under you. 

“D-don’t stop,” you repeat over and over again, your words beginning to slowly slur together as your mind goes fuzzy — your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your jaw slacking open, crying out in pleasure. 

He chuckles at your clouded state, seeing how cockdrunk you are because of him. His attempt to kiss you fails as your mouth falls open every time Jaehyun’s cock jabs that sweet spot inside of you.

The sound of skin slapping against each other mixed with your whimpers, moans, and incoherent mumbles bounce off the walls of your bedroom. 

“You’re so pretty,” Jaehyun whispers in your ear, holding your chin and forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. 

There’s a glaze look in your eyes and you feel your cheeks burn as you see yourself completely fucked out, jerking forward with every sharp buck of his hips — mouth agape and nearly drooling from ecstasy.

“Say it.” Jaehyun smirks, placing soft kisses against your cheek while sliding his thumb into your mouth and against your tongue. “Tell me you’re pretty, baby.” 

“I-I’m pretty,” you whimper, words distorted.

His hand moves from your mouth and slivers down to your neck, giving the sides of your neck a squeeze. “Again,” he orders, voice low and gravelly. 

“I’m pretty,” you repeat, grinning at your strained words parting your lips. 

“So fucking pretty, right?”

You nod, repeating his statement. You grip onto Jaehyun’s wrist as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, your orgasm rapidly inching closer with every single one of your husband’s thrust. 

“That’s my girl.” He praises, peppering kisses against your temple.

“Baby, I’m about to c-come.” You warn, nearly sobbing as Jaehyun’s hands press down on the arch of your back helping his cock hit your g-spot over and over again. “Right there, don’t stop, please.” You mewl, your nails scratching the wrinkled sheets underneath you before your breath hitches and you begin to see stars in your line of vision.

He mercilessly pounds into you, gripping tightly onto your waist. “That’s it baby, come all over my cock. You deserve it.”

His words of encouragement sends you over the edge, your body writhes under his as he fucks you through your orgasm, helping you chase your high. You’re gasping for air and you bury your face into the pillow nearest you, muffling the tiny whimpers and sobs you’re letting out. 

You take a moment to recollect yourself as Jaehyun slows his movements before stroking your hair and trailing kisses up your spine to your shoulders. You weakly lift your head and he places a tender kiss against your soft lips — taking it slow as your body recovers from your intense release.

“Think you can hold on a bit longer?” Jaehyun asks, the palm of his hands roaming up and down your hips, further soothing your body. 

“Mm,” you lazily smile, nodding your head.

Jaehyun slowly pulls himself out of you and gives you space to move around to reposition yourself, pumping his length as he watches you.

You slowly push yourself up and adjust your position to lay on your back. Your legs spread open for Jaehyun as your fingers slowly rub circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves ensuring you’re still soaking wet for your husband.

He realigns himself with your pulsing cunt, lifting your hips for access. You give him a squeal followed by a giggle as he roughly pushes up and into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly and he smiles at the sound that leaves your lips. It encourages him to rock his hips back and forth, crudely. Your hands press against his toned abs in a failed attempt to slow him down. 

A low groan escapes him followed by a shaky breath, feeling you clenching around his long shaft as if your warm, slippery walls are molding to the shape of him. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Jaehyun groans, pushing his hips further into you, attempting to dive deeper into your soaking cunt.

“Can’t wait for you to come inside me,” you weakly grin, your nails raking over his abs. “Fill me up please, I want your baby.” 

Your begs cause Jaehyun to go feral. He opens your legs wider, hooking his arms behind your knees and pinning your wrists down to your sides. His hips frantically slam into you, bottoming out with every single brutal thrust into you.

“Say it again,” he growls, eyes darkening at the sight of you. 

“I want your baby,” you pant. “I want to make you a daddy.” Your cries fill the room. Your back arches and your skin prickles from pleasure. You mindlessly repeat your words over and over again, Jaehyun clearly getting off on the idea of getting you pregnant. 

His fingers digs into your hips, tilting your pelvis up and hungrily hammers his cock into you. 

A choked out sob leaves your lips from pleasure and bliss, clawing into Jaehyun’s wrists before your eyes loll back, your back arches, and your mouth falls open from satisfaction. Your face grows hot and your thighs begin to shake seconds before you become undone, nearly screaming out in euphoria — your climax washing over you like a tsunami. 

You’re a whimpering mess from sensitivity between your legs. Jaehyun slows down and places open mouth kisses against your chest as his hands rub against your skin — soothing your trembling body. 

“Good job, baby.” Jaehyun kisses, trailing his lips up towards your neck. “I’m proud of you.” 

You simply hum in response. Your body goes limp and you’re panting, heart nearly ready to jump out of your chest. Your eyes shut and your mind blurs. You clutch onto Jaehyun’s arm, trying to keep yourself grounded in reality. 

His hips slowly begin to move again, kissing your cheek to keep your mind on him.

“What’s my name, baby?” Jaehyun whispers into your ear, something he always asks to keep you focused when you mind is clouded and hazy. 

“Jaehyun,” you weakly reply, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“There you go,” he coos as he continues to plunge into you, slowly and harshly. “I love how my name sounds when you say it. Keep talking, baby, I’m almost there.”

You do as he says, repeating his name after every brutal thrust, causing you to jerk up and down. 

Jaehyun’s hips stutter as he feels your walls flutter around his cock. “I’m gonna come.” His voice hitches. “Tell me where you want it.” He begs, wanting to hear you say it one more time.

“Inside me, please. I need it. I need to have your baby,” you whine, pulling him closer to your chest. You cross your legs against his back.

After a powerful thrust, Jaehyun freezes — pads of his fingers pressing hard into your skin and he spills his seed into you, flooding your walls with his creamy ropes. Pressing your heels against his lower back, you muster the energy to keep him in place as you roll your hips — milking him of every drop of his come. 

“F-fuck!” He hisses, pushing your waist into the mattress. His cock twitches inside of you and he lets out a shattered breath. “Too m-much,” he softly whimpers, begging you to stop moving your hips. 

“But I need every drop,” you pout, causing him to let out a tiny chuckle before you let your legs drop onto the mattress under you.

He pulls out of you — his thighs shaking from his intense release. 

Looking down, he sees the trail of his essence oozing out of your pretty cunt and sighs happily. His fingers gently push his creamy ropes deeper into you before he brings his digits to your lips, gladly taking his long, slender fingers into your mouth and sucking his fingers clean. 

“How’d it feel?” You question, propping yourself with your elbows. 

Your husband chuckles, bringing his hand to your cheek before stroking your heated skin with his thumb. “Fucking amazing,” he happily sighs. 

You giggle at his reaction, falling back into your mattress. There’s a dip before seeing your husband laying next to you. 

You turn to face Jaehyun who does the same. He rolls to his side and slings his arm over your waist, easily pulling your body closer into him. 

“I think you’re going to be a great dad.” You gently push his hair back, earning you a shy smile. 

“I know you’re going to be a great mom,” he smiles against your forehead followed by a tender kiss against your skin. 

“Do you think it’ll be enough to get pregnant?” You ask, feeling the thick liquid slowly dripping out of you.

Your husband pauses for a moment before a cheeky grin appears. “We should do it again,” he smiles. “You know, just in case.”

[daxisyzz]

Just for you

Pairings: avenger!bucky barnes × avenger!reader

Summary: Bucky always catches you looking at him after you say something funny—because you love seeing him smile. But when a late-night conversation turns into something more, you realize he’s been looking at you for the same reason all along.

Based on this prompt I found on Pinterest :

Word count: 1.2k+

Tags: flooofy fluff, cute shenanigans, confessions, kisses.

Requests are open!!! Feel free to send them in

Bucky Barnes was a hard nut to crack. That was the general consensus among the Avengers. He was quiet, brooding, and had a knack for disappearing whenever things got too lively.

But you? You had somehow carved a space in his life, whether he’d meant to let you in or not.It started with small things—offering him a cup of coffee before he asked, handing him a protein bar during training, bumping his shoulder after a mission and saying, “Good job, Buckaroo.”

The first time you called him that, his face had twisted into a look of pure betrayal. Sam had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch.But you kept at it. Not pushing, just… being there. And somehow, Bucky started looking for you when you weren’t around.

Tonight, the team was gathered in the common room, decompressing after a long day. A terrible action movie played on the screen, and you were curled up in the corner of the couch, throwing out sarcastic commentary like it was your job.

“Oh, sure, let’s just casually outrun an explosion in six-inch heels,” you quipped, waving a hand at the screen.Steve shook his head with a smile, but it was Bucky you looked at. Always Bucky.

He was across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. At first glance, he looked like he wasn’t paying attention. But you knew better. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes met yours, filled with something warm, something just for you.

Encouraged, you kept going. “Right, because bullets totally run out only when it’s dramatically convenient.”

This time, Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, and—God, it was ridiculous how much it made your chest ache. You loved making him laugh. It was like finding a hidden treasure, a secret meant only for those who paid close enough attention.

A moment later, Sam tossed a handful of popcorn at Bucky. “See, man? This is why she’s fun and you’re just there.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but his gaze flickered to you again, like he was checking to see if you’d caught that. You had. And you grinned at him, knowing—just knowing—that he’d never admit it, but he liked your stupid jokes.Maybe even you.And if he kept looking at you like that? Yeah, you’d keep making them, just for him.

The weeks passed, and the game continued—your jokes, Bucky’s almost-smiles, the way you always looked at him after saying something funny, just to see if you’d won him over. And more often than not, you had.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.It wasn’t just about making him laugh anymore. It was about how he always found the seat next to yours during movie nights. How he remembered exactly how you liked your coffee. How his fingers would brush yours when he handed you something, lingering just a little too long.

And you? You started memorizing the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, how his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. You started feeling it—him—in your bones.

It hit you one evening, when the two of you were alone in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Bucky had wandered in while you were making tea, his hair still damp from a shower, sweatpants hanging low on his hips.You didn’t know what made you say it—maybe the quiet, maybe the warmth of the tea in your hands—but you looked at him and blurted out, “I like it when you laugh.”

Bucky, who had been reaching for a glass, froze. His shoulders tensed for just a second before he turned to face you. “Yeah?”You nodded, gripping your mug a little tighter.

“It feels… rare. Special.” You exhaled a quiet laugh, suddenly nervous.

“Makes me feel like I won something.”

Something passed over his expression—something deep, something heavy. Then, slowly, he took a step closer.

“You don’t have to win,” he murmured.Your breath caught.

He was close now, close enough that you could see the little flecks of blue in his eyes, the way his lips parted just slightly, like he was weighing his next words carefully.

“I laugh because of you,” he admitted, voice low. “I look at you because… hell, I don’t even know how not to.”

The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he reached out, fingertips ghosting over your hand where it rested on the counter.

And just like that, you knew. This wasn’t just teasing anymore. It wasn’t just banter or stolen glances across the room. It was him. It was you.

Bucky’s fingertips barely brushed yours, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.You swallowed, heart hammering. “Bucky…”His name came out softer than you intended, like a confession. His lips twitched, just the tiniest bit, but his eyes—God, his eyes were so intense, like he was memorizing every inch of you.Then, so quietly you barely heard it, he murmured,

“Say something funny.”You blinked.

“What?”Bucky huffed a breath, his gaze flickering to your lips.

“You always look at me after you say something funny. I like it.”Your stomach flipped.

He was so unfair. Here you were, on the verge of spontaneous combustion, and he was just standing there, waiting—wanting.

You took a breath, trying to focus.“Okay. How about… yesterday?”

Bucky raised a brow. “Yesterday?”

You nodded, biting back a grin. “When Sam tried to show off during training and did that stupid flip, but his foot caught on Steve’s shield?”Bucky exhaled a short laugh, lips twitching.

“And then,” you continued, eyes dancing with amusement, “he went down like a sack of potatoes and just laid there for a full minute, groaning dramatically.”

That did it. A deep, quiet chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And just like always, you looked at him, waiting to catch it, to feel it—But this time, Bucky didn’t let you get away with just that.Before you could blink, his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up, and then—warm, soft, Bucky—his lips met yours.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. His fingers curled against your jaw, his other hand resting against the counter, caging you in but never making you feel trapped. Just held.

You melted into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his sweatshirt as his lips moved against yours, unhurried and unbearably sweet. And when he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, there was that look again—like you were something precious.

“You always look at me after you say something funny,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Thought I should give you something to look forward to.”You huffed a breathless laugh, still dazed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Bucky smirked, leaning in again, his nose brushing yours. “Yeah? Tell me another.”

You did. And this time, when you looked at him, he kissed you all over again.