#i CRIED when i held it in my hands for the first time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

444eggnog · 3 days ago

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Light-Up Shoes to Wedding Shoes

✍︎: i’ve always imagined Oscar as a very hands on girl dad, gentle, soft-spoken, the kind who tears up at school plays and keeps crayon drawings in his desk. and i’ve always wanted to write an AU using this song… what better way to capture its quiet beauty than through the story of Oscar and his daughter?

This one’s for the tender moments:

The wedding. The flashbacks. The tears he swears he’s not crying.

this will probably be my last AU for a while (okay, maybe just a few weeks lol) because uni is absolutely beating me up right now. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this one; it’s extra special to me. ♡

content: fluff, Oscar as a girl dad, wedding, flashbacks, soft crying, full heart

wc: 6,175 (I'm so sorry, I got carried away...)

The First Time I Held You…

Oscar held tightly onto his wife’s hand, whispering encouragements as she pushed through the pain of labor. It had been a difficult pregnancy, filled with worry, sleepless nights, and quiet fear he never let her see. He was terrified. But the moment their daughter’s first cries pierced the air, all that fear melted away.

Tears welled in his eyes as the doctor gently placed the baby on his wife’s chest. He couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. She was beautiful, soft features, a tiny button nose, a mix of them both. Somehow brand new, yet already the most important person in his life.

Later, in the quiet of their hospital room, Oscar hesitated when the nurse offered to let him hold her. She looked so small, too fragile, like the world might break her if he wasn’t careful. But his wife gave him an encouraging nod and smiled. You can hold her, Osc.

So he did.

He cradled his daughter with trembling arms, heart pounding in awe. A smile tugged at his lips as he leaned in and whispered the softest “Hi,” like she was a secret only he got to keep.

In that moment, something shifted inside him.

He’d thought he knew what love was. But now he understood something deeper. He would do anything to protect her. No one would ever hurt her, not if he had anything to say about it. He’d never let her cry, never let her feel alone.

And if someone did hurt her? Well, he wouldn’t end them, but he’d think about it.

The Very First Walk

It happened one lazy afternoon.

Oscar was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, toy blocks scattered around him, watching his daughter as she clung to the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her legs were still wobbly, soft knees locked with determination, curls bouncing every time she shifted her balance.

She’d been practicing for days. Holding onto furniture. Testing her limits, then sitting down with a soft thud like she needed a break from trying so hard.

But today felt different.

Oscar held out his hands, close but not quite touching.

“Alright, bub,” he murmured gently. “You ready?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, uncertain but curious. Then slowly, cautiously, she stepped away from the couch. Her little hand reached for his finger, gripping tight like she trusted it, like she always would.

One step.

Then another.

Oscar walked slowly, backward, matching her rhythm. Guiding. Not rushing. Just being there.

“Good job,” he whispered. “Look at you.”

Her grip loosened.

She kept going.

And Oscar, heart lodged somewhere between awe and ache, let her hand slip from his.

She kept walking.

Tiny steps. Wobbly legs. Arms out like wings.

He didn’t catch her this time. Didn’t rush forward or steady her.

He just stayed close, watching.

Letting go, but never far.

When she finally plopped onto the floor with a surprised laugh, he dropped beside her, scooping her up in a hug that felt too big for such a small moment, but it wasn’t. Not to him.

“You did it,” he whispered into her curls. “You walked.”

His wife peeked from the hallway. “Is she walking already?”

“Just now,” Oscar said, still grinning. “We walked together.”

His daughter giggled in his arms, cheeks flushed, tiny fists tugging at his hoodie string like it was her prize for getting across the room.

First Birthday

Oscar had no idea why she was so obsessed with Bluey.

Maybe it was the voices. Maybe it was the colors. Maybe it was the way she’d go perfectly still completely entranced whenever the opening theme played. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t even thought twice before choosing it as the theme for her first birthday.

He just wanted to make her happy.

Now, standing in the middle of a sea of blue streamers and balloon dogs, Oscar was panicking. His heart raced, his palms were sweaty, and he’d forgotten where the gift table was, again.

Why had he invited everyone?

Why did he think he could pull this off?

She didn’t even know what a birthday was. She didn’t care if the cake had fondant or if the streamers matched the cups. She just wanted Bluey. And maybe some mashed bananas.

So he found her, sitting in the middle of a blanket someone had laid out on the grass, hands sticky with frosting, curls a little wild from crawling around too much.

And just like always, the moment he saw her, everything slowed down.

She was clapping off-beat to the music from the speaker, squealing at the screen as Bluey danced with Bingo. Her laugh was loud and messy and perfect, cutting through all the noise in his head. Nothing else mattered.

He crouched beside her, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Happy birthday, bub,” he whispered.

She turned to him with cake smeared across her cheek and a proud little sound that sort of sounded like “dada...”

Oscar’s chest tightened.

She wouldn’t remember this day. Not the balloons, not the presents, not the chaos he’d wrapped himself in trying to make it perfect. But maybe, she’d remember how safe it felt to be in his arms. How he was always there. Always watching. Always loving her more than he ever thought was humanly possible.

He picked her up, ignoring the frosting on her fingers now clinging to his shirt. “I hope you stay weirdly obsessed with this dog show forever,” he said, kissing her cheek. “But even when you’re not, I’ll still be here.”

She giggled and reached for his nose like it was her favorite toy.

And in that moment, Oscar realized he didn’t need to throw the perfect party. He already had the perfect girl.

It's Just 90 Minutes

It was only ninety minutes.

One and a half hours. That’s all.

Oscar had repeated it to himself at least twelve times that morning, pacing the kitchen in mismatched socks while his daughter munched on a banana in her high chair, completely unbothered by the milestone looming over them.

Today was her first day at daycare. Just a trial. Ninety minutes.

Still, it felt like someone had yanked the ground out from under his feet.

She looked so small in her tiny sneakers and oversized backpack. The straps kept sliding off her shoulders, and her curls were tied up in a little puff that wobbled every time she walked. She was fine. Giggling. Pointing at the fish stickers on the daycare windows like it was the most exciting place in the world.

Oscar smiled and waved, crouched next to her as the teacher led her inside.

Then the door shut.

And so did something in his chest.

He made it back to the car. Barely. And sat there in silence, hands frozen on the steering wheel, heart thudding in the kind of rhythm that made his eyes sting.

His wife reached across the center console and gently touched his arm. “Oscar.”

He shook his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

But his voice cracked. And that was it.

His shoulders dropped as the tears spilled over, quiet and frustrated and way more emotional than he wanted to admit. “She’s just a baby,” he whispered. “She’s so little. I’m supposed to be with her, always.”

She squeezed his hand. “You are. She’s just in a different room.”

He gave a watery laugh, wiping at his face like it would erase the truth. “She didn’t even cry. Didn’t even look back.”

“That’s because she’s brave,” his wife said softly. “Like her dad.”

Oscar looked out the window, blinking hard. “It’s just an hour and a half.”

“Yep,” she nodded. “And then you’ll get to tell her how proud you are and give her the biggest cuddle in the world.”

He didn’t answer. Just rested his forehead against the steering wheel, cheeks damp, heart too full.

Because maybe it was just daycare. Maybe it was only ninety minutes. But it was also the first time he’d felt the space where she wasn’t.

And he didn’t like it.

Light-Up Shoes and Rainbow Wishes

By the third day of daycare, Oscar thought he’d gotten the hang of it.

He no longer cried in the car (small victories), and drop-off had gotten smoother, no clinging, no wobbly lip, just a cheerful wave and a distracted “Bye, Daddy” as she toddled inside.

But that afternoon, when he came to pick her up, something was off.

She wasn’t running to him like she usually did. She was sitting cross-legged on the mat, poking at the velcro on her shoes, quiet.

Oscar crouched in front of her, brushing her curls back gently. “Hey, bub. You okay?”

She looked up at him with eyes far too thoughtful for a toddler. “I want fluffy socks.”

His brows lifted. “Fluffy socks?”

“And shoes that light up when I walk.” Her voice got even softer. “And a water bottle bag. Pink. With rainbows. Gemma has one.”

Oscar’s heart cracked a little.

He didn’t care about the socks. Or the shoes. Or the price tag. What got him was that look, that tiny frown she didn’t quite know how to hide yet.

He bundled her into the car, promising they’d stop by the store “just for a look.” What followed was a two-hour quest through three different shops and one online order. He didn’t know where people even found pink water bottle bags with rainbows, but somehow he did.

That night, she tried on her new fluffy socks with pride, stomping around the house to test the lights on her shoes. Her laughter echoed down the hallway like it was made of gold.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her spin in circles. A soft chuckle slipped out.

“Thirteen bucks for sneakers and she’s acting like she won the lottery.”

He smiled to himself, a little dazed by how much joy something so small could bring.

But then again, so was he.

Almost There

Oscar was cleaning up in the kitchen, humming under his breath, when he heard a soft grunt from the hallway.

He peeked around the corner.

There she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tongue sticking out in pure concentration, tiny hands wrestling with her favorite pair of shoes.

The light-up ones.

The ones with the glittery pink straps and soles that blinked when she stomped. The ones she’d begged for after daycare because “everyone else had them,” and she wanted hers to be pink with rainbows “not just pink, Daddy, pink with lights.”

She was trying to put them on by herself.

Left foot first. A small pause. Then she adjusted it just so, like she was checking her own work. She beamed, proud.

Then the right foot. A little sideways at first. She frowned. Tried again. Wiggled her toes in.

The lights blinked once, soft, faint, a flicker of magic.

She didn’t know how to fasten the Velcro properly yet, not tightly, not evenly but that didn’t stop her. She mashed the straps down with all the strength in her tiny arms, completely convinced she’d done it perfectly.

Oscar didn’t say a word.

He just stood there, heart climbing up into his throat, watching her figure it out. His little girl. The same one who used to cry when her sock bunched up weird. Now sitting on the floor, shoes slightly off-center, still glowing with each proud little kick of her heels.

She looked up when she noticed him.

“I did it!” she grinned, cheeks pink with effort.

Oscar nodded slowly, voice soft. “Yeah, you did.”

She stood up, the lights in her shoes flashing unevenly, Velcro flapping a little with each step. She held out her hand toward him.

“Help me fix?”

He knelt beside her, fingers gently peeling the straps back, smoothing them down with a care that came straight from his chest. Slower than usual. Deliberate. Letting the moment stretch just a little longer.

“Almost there,” he murmured.

And maybe he meant the shoes.

Or maybe he was just trying to come to terms with the fact that she was growing right in front of him and faster than he was ever going to be ready for.

Her Favorite Superhero

Oscar had pulled up to the school gate like always, sunglasses on, window down, already scanning the sea of backpacks and untied sneakers for the one pair he cared about most.

Usually, she came out running, arms flailing, curls bouncing, talking a mile a minute about story time and snack swaps and who got a time-out today.

But not today.

Today, she walked out slowly. Shoulders low. Her hands were curled around something, crumpling it tighter with every step.

Oscar stepped out of the car the second he saw her face.

Her bottom lip was trembling, eyes pink and glassy like she was trying really hard not to let the tears fall. When she reached him, she didn’t say a word, just wrapped her arms around his legs and pressed her face into his hoodie.

“Hey, bub,” he said, kneeling down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. Then carefully, she uncurled her fingers and held out a wrinkled sheet of paper.

It was a drawing. Stick figures and squiggly stars. Her usual style, lopsided but full of love. He could tell instantly who it was meant to be: him, in his racing suit, a cape drawn behind him in bold, wobbly orange. In the corner, a tiny her, holding up a gold medal.

But all across the center, thick, angry black spots were scribbled over the drawing. Like someone had tried to cross it out.

Oscar’s stomach twisted.

“Who did that?” he asked, voice still soft but tighter around the edges.

“Riley,” she mumbled. “The teacher told us to draw our favorite superhero. I drew you.” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “But he said dads can’t be superheroes. And he ruined it.”

Oscar blinked. Hard.

He looked at the page again, imagining her sitting at one of those tiny tables, tongue between her teeth, coloring each little detail just right because she wanted it to be perfect for him.

He pulled her gently into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Hey. You listen to me, yeah?”

She nodded, sniffling.

“That’s the best superhero drawing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Even better than the rocket ship one. And I’m still putting it on my wall.”

“But it’s all messy now…”

He looked at it again, folding it carefully. “No. It’s not ruined. It’s got battle scars. Makes it cooler. Like the real superheroes.”

She gave a small, watery giggle and curled closer into his chest.

Later, when he buckled her into her seat, she reached between the chairs to hold his hand, her little fingers sticky with crayon smudges. He drove slow on the way home, like the whole world needed to take a breath.

That night, he taped the drawing up right above his desk, scribbles and all.

And underneath it, in her tiny handwriting with a backwards 'S', it said:

For Daddy! My Favorite Superhero!!!

And every time he looked up at it, he smiled. Because no one, not even some kid with a black crayon could take that away from him.

Who’s Got A Crush?

Their little café booth had become tradition. Same place, same order: pancakes with too much syrup for her, black coffee for him. A "father-daughter date," she'd called it once, and the name stuck. He blocked out time every month for it. No calls, no training, no team meetings. Just them.

She was older now, legs swinging off the bench seat, baby teeth gone, ponytail messy in that way that said she didn’t care about neat anymore.

Oscar was mid-sip of his coffee when she said it. Casual. Like it was nothing.

“I think I have a crush on someone.”

He choked. Audibly.

She blinked at him, confused. “Are you okay?”

He coughed into his sleeve, heart stuttering. “Yeah. Yep. Totally fine.”

Crush? She has a crush? On who? Why? Who gave her permission to grow up?

She took another bite of her pancake like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “He’s in my class. He has a dog. And his lunchbox is shaped like a dinosaur, which is really cool.”

Oscar stared at her like she’d announced she was moving out. “That’s... very specific.”

She nodded, matter-of-fact. “I think I’m gonna marry him. Or maybe be a vet. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar gave a weak laugh, setting down his coffee. “Right. Of course.”

She tilted her head. “Why do you look weird?”

“I don’t look weird,” he lied.

Because what was he supposed to say? That his heart just folded in on itself? That hearing those words “I have a crush” felt like someone had turned the page on a chapter he wasn’t ready to end?

He cleared his throat. “Well… whoever he is, he’s very lucky.”

She grinned. “I know.”

He smiled back, trying to hide the ache behind it. Then reached across the table, ruffling her hair the way he always did.

“Just remember,” he said lightly, “you can have crushes and dinosaur lunchboxes and all that. But you’ll always be my girl first.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened.

Later, when she ran ahead to look at the pastry shelf, Oscar sat back and watched her, laughing, confident, growing into herself.

And in that moment, he realized he didn’t need to stop time. He just needed to be there as it moved.

Medals, Caps, and Gowns

Oscar didn’t think he’d cry.

It was just primary school. A short ceremony, small chairs in a sunlit auditorium, kids in too-big uniforms fidgeting in their seats. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But then they called her name.

She walked up, chin up, ponytail bouncing, the sleeves of her button-down still a bit too long and Oscar felt his throat close.

First medal: Athletics. She’d broken the school’s sprint record. Still said it was “just for fun.” Second medal: Academic Excellence. Oscar’s heart nearly gave out.

Then the third one.

“Most Encouraging Teammate,” the principal announced with a smile. “For her kindness, her endless support, and for cheering louder than anyone else, no matter who was winning.”

Oscar laughed under his breath, wiping at his eyes as his wife handed him a tissue.

Of course.

She stood there, medals glinting, grinning like the stage was the best place on earth. When she caught Oscar’s eyes in the crowd, she gave a tiny wave, subtle, just for him and he swore his heart would never be the same.

After the ceremony, she ran straight into his arms, all laughter and tangled ribbons.

“Three medals,” she said proudly.

“I saw,” Oscar whispered, his voice thick. “You crushed it, bub.”

“I almost tripped on the steps,” she added with a giggle. “But I didn’t.”

He hugged her tighter.

He remembered the first day he dropped her off at daycare. The fluffy socks. The pink light-up shoes. How small she looked walking away.

Now she was tall enough to hang her own medals on the hook by the door.

Growing up, he thought, was just a series of letting go, one handshake, one applause, one medal at a time.But holding her now, still breathless and warm in his arms, he knew: He’d never stop being proud. And he’d never stop being hers.

18th Birthday and a New Face

Oscar stood when they asked him to say a few words.

He didn’t grab a mic. Didn’t tap his glass with a fork. Just stayed where he was, hands loosely tucked into his pockets, shoulders a little hunched, eyes steady on her.

The room quieted.

She was glowing in her dress, surrounded by friends and family and a cake that probably took four hours to decorate. But Oscar only saw her, his girl, the same one who once cried because her sock felt weird, now standing tall at eighteen.

He gave her a small smile. The soft kind. The only-for-her kind.

“Eighteen,” he said. “Feels fast.”

There was a short pause. The kind that always followed when Oscar searched for the words that lived somewhere in his chest but not always in his mouth.

“You’re smart. You’re kind. And you’ve always been... good. You’ve always had this way of making people feel seen. I don’t even think you realise it most of the time.”

Another pause. He shifted a little, the room silent, listening.

“You’ve got a strong head, a stubborn heart, and a laugh that’s way too loud. But it’s you. And I love it.”

He cleared his throat. Not because he was emotional, of course, just… clearing it.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Always have been. That’s all.”

Then he sat back down like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just quietly shattered the room.

And she was already blinking fast to hold back tears, smiling at him like he’d given the greatest speech in the world.

Because to her, he had.

A little later, after the candles were blown out and the room had settled back into music and chatter, she found him standing near the corner, sipping from a paper cup.

“Dad,” she said, tugging gently on his sleeve.

“Yeah?”

She glanced over her shoulder and then back at him. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lip. “You remember that guy I told you about at our cafe? With the Dino lunchbox?”

Oh. That guy.

Oscar blinked, holding her gaze.

She looked so hopeful. Nervous, too, but sure. And somehow still his little girl, even in heels and lip gloss.

He took a slow breath, then gave her a faint nod. “Alright. Go on, then.”

And she smiled, wide and excited and turned to wave someone over.

Oscar kept his expression neutral.

But inside? Inside, he was already silently evaluating every single thing about this Dino lunchbox boy.

Because even if she was grown now... He still remembered the baby in light-up shoes who once reached for his nose and giggled like it was magic.

And he wasn’t about to hand her heart over to just anyone.

The Drive

The car was quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet they usually shared on long drives. Not the sleepy hum of the engine with music low and snacks in the middle seat. This one felt heavy.

Oscar glanced sideways.

She was curled up against the window, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes fixed on the blur of the road. Her suitcase was in the back. Her university acceptance letter still folded neatly in the glove compartment. The city they'd be leaving in the rearview. And a name they hadn’t said since they left the house.

Dino Lunchbox Boy.

He hadn’t brought it up. Wasn’t sure he was supposed to. But it was all over her face, every sigh, every blink too long, every time she picked at the edge of her thumbnail like she used to when she was a kid trying not to cry.

“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes still on the road.

She was quiet for a second. Then gave a tiny nod.

He waited.

Then: “We broke up,” she whispered. “Before I started packing.”

Oscar nodded once, slow and steady. “Because of uni?”

“Yeah. His offer was overseas. Mine’s here.” She cleared her throat. “We tried to figure something out. But it just… didn’t make sense anymore.”

He could hear it in her voice, that quiet kind of heartbreak. The kind that doesn’t shatter, just bruises deep and slow.

She was always so careful with her heart. But she gave it anyway.

“He was a good kid,” Oscar said after a while.

She nodded, wiping the corner of her eye. “Yeah. He was.”

They pulled up to campus not long after, cars unloading, students hugging their parents, dragging duffels and dreams into dorm rooms. He parked in a quiet corner, far enough that it still felt like they had a moment left to themselves.

Oscar helped unload her things. Carried them up the stairs. Let her lead.

When it was all set, bed made, desk neatly stacked, a mug she didn’t really need sitting on the shelf, he paused at the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“You’ll be alright,” he said.

“I know.”

“And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

She looked at him then. Eyes red, lips trembling, not from Dino Lunchbox anymore, but from this. From goodbye.

Oscar stepped forward and wrapped her in the kind of hug he used to give when she was five and scraped her knee on the pavement. She was taller now. But somehow, she still fit.

“You still call me when you need help opening jars,” he muttered into her hair.

She laughed. “They’re really tight jars.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss the side of her head. “Call me if anything hurts. Doesn’t have to be a jar.”

She smiled. “You’ll come visit?”

“Course I will.”

“And text?”

He raised a brow. “You won’t answer, but yeah.”

She laughed. He memorized it.

Then he walked out of her room. And for the first time since she was born, he left without her.

The One

She graduated on a hot, cloudless day.

The kind of heat that clung to the back of your neck and made dress shoes feel like punishment. But Oscar didn’t care. He stood in the crowd, sunglasses on, camera in hand, smiling like he was watching the sunrise.

She wore her cap slightly crooked. Medas tucked into the collar of her gown. That same proud, unshakable grin she’d worn her whole life like she knew exactly who she was and wasn’t about to shrink for anyone.

He swore she looked taller up on that stage. Braver, too.

After the ceremony, she came bounding through the crowd, arms wide, tossing her cap somewhere behind her as she crashed into his chest.

Oscar caught her with a laugh and held on tight. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair.

“Even in this heat?” she teased, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Even if I melt into the pavement.”

Later that night, their house was filled, family packed into every corner, laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, cupcakes half-eaten and champagne corks missing. She looked radiant, floating between people like she belonged in every room.

Then she walked in with someone at her side.

He was tall. Pressed shirt. Neatly combed hair. Shoes that looked too clean for this house. He stood close, but not too close. Hands carefully folded in front of him, like he was afraid to touch anything without permission.

Oscar straightened instinctively.

“This is Jack,” she said, her voice light. Then, with a smirk, “I think he’s the one.”

Oscar blinked.

The one? She’d never said that before.

“I like the name,” she added, nudging Jack with her elbow.

Jack smiled nervously and offered his hand. “Sir. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Jack chuckled, glancing down. “Right. Sorry, Sir.”

He didn’t make eye contact for more than two seconds at a time. But he said thank you when offered a drink. Helped her mom without being asked. Laughed, albeit awkwardly, at her cousin’s awful puns. And when Oscar’s dad started talking about old cars, Jack listened like it was the most important history lesson he’d ever heard.

When she wasn’t looking, Oscar caught him gently tugging her chair in so she could sit. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

Just thoughtful.

Later, Oscar stepped outside to get some air. The backyard was quiet now, soft light spilling from the kitchen window, music playing low inside.

Jack found him there, shifting on his feet like he didn’t quite know if he should interrupt.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said “I just wanted to say thank you. For welcoming me. I know… meeting the family isn’t easy, especially on a day like this.”

Oscar studied him.

The stiff posture. The polished shoes, now dusty from the yard. The way he stood up straight but looked down when he spoke. Professional. Polite. Nervous. Trying.

“And I also wanted to clear my intentions,” Jack added, voice more certain now. “I care about her. A lot. And I’m not here to waste her time.”

There was a pause. Oscar looked at him, really looked. The shoes scuffed from the yard. The shirt a little wrinkled now. Still standing up straight, still choosing his words with care. Nervous, but honest.

He didn’t say anything.

Just looked through the window again, at his daughter, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard, joy tucked into every corner of her.

Then he nodded.

“Good,” Oscar said. “That’s all I need.”

Jack let out a breath, relieved and a little stunned. “Thank you, sir. I mean Mr. Piastri. Sorry.”

Oscar cracked the smallest smile. “You’ll figure it out.”

He watched as Jack headed back inside, slipping beside her naturally, their hands brushing, still not holding, but getting closer.

Oscar stayed out a minute longer, watching through the glass.

She looked happy. Safe. Like someone who’d finally found her way home.

Maybe she had.

The Blessing

It had been a few years since Jack first sat in this kitchen: sweaty palms, dress shirt too stiff, calling him sir like he couldn’t help it.

Not much had changed.

Jack was still Jack. Still a little too polite, still a little too nervous around Oscar. But he had settled into himself more now. His hair wasn’t gelled to perfection, and he didn’t panic when the dog jumped on him. He laughed easier. Fit into the family noise like he belonged there.

But today he was quiet again.

He sat at the table with both hands folded in front of him, back straight, eyes flicking between Oscar and his wife like he was preparing for a formal boardroom pitch. The air was soft, late afternoon light spilling through the windows, mugs half-full on the table. Their daughter was out.

Jack had asked to come by. Said he had something important to talk about.

Oscar had a feeling he knew what.

Jack cleared his throat. “Thank you for having me. I, uh…” He paused. “I just wanted to say thank you. For welcoming me into your home. For trusting me with her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. His wife smiled faintly.

“I care about her a lot. You know that.” Jack looked between them, more serious now. “And I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

Oscar waited.

“I’m here to ask for your blessing,” Jack said. “Before I propose.”

There was a silence, small, still, and full.

Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair. Studied him. “Big question.”

Jack nodded once, hands a little too tightly clasped now. “I know, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar glanced at his wife. She gave a tiny, knowing nod.

“She’s a lot like her mum,” Oscar said slowly. “Strong. Stubborn. Smarter than most people in the room.”

Jack smiled. “She is.”

“And she’s not someone you ever take lightly.”

Jack’s voice was quiet. “I don’t.”

Oscar watched him a moment longer, then finally gave the slightest nod.

“Alright, Jack,” he said. “You’ve got our blessing.”

Jack let out a breath, blinking a little like he hadn’t been sure he’d get that far. “Thank you, sir. I—I really appreciate it.”

Oscar’s wife reached across the table and gave Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re proud of her. And we’re glad she has someone who sees how special she is.”

Jack’s voice cracked just a little. “I do. I really do.”

As Jack stood to leave, jacket folded over one arm, Oscar walked him to the door.

“Jack,” he said quietly, just before the boy opened it.

Jack turned.

“You can drop the sir, you know.”

Jack gave a sheepish smile. “I’ll try, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar just shook his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Close enough.”

And with that, Jack left, heart thudding, a ring in his pocket, and a quiet kind of peace blooming in his chest.

Oscar stood at the door a moment longer, hand resting on the frame.

His little girl was really getting married.

And somehow, he was okay with it.

Wedding Shoes

Oscar’s phone buzzed once.

Then it rang, shrill and familiar.

He didn’t even look at the screen before answering. “Hey, bub.”

Her voice came through, a little breathless. “How do you feel about closed-toe heels?”

Oscar blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“For the wedding,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do I go with something classic? Or like, a block heel? Or maybe flats, since the ceremony’s outside…”

He leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the afternoon sun spilling through the kitchen window, one arm resting on the table.

It hit him quietly, without fanfare, without warning.

Once, when she was three, she cried because her light-up sneakers didn’t match the color of her hair clips. He’d spent forty-five minutes convincing her that Bluey would totally wear mismatched shoes.

Those sneakers had cost thirteen pounds and lit up every time she stomped on the ground like a dinosaur. He remembered the sound, the way her tiny feet would race across the floor, squeaky, chaotic, full of life.

And now she was asking him about wedding shoes.

There was a lump in his throat he didn’t quite expect.

“You there?” she asked, soft again.

He cleared his throat gently. “Yeah. Still here.”

“So? Closed-toe or open?”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Whichever one lets you dance properly. You’ve got terrible balance in heels, remember?”

She laughed. “Rude.”

“True.”

There was a pause. Then her voice softened. “Thanks, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For still picking up on the first ring.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was, he always would. No matter what. No matter how far, how grown, how busy life got. If she called, he’d answer.

Always on the first ring.

And she knew that. Somehow, she still knew that.

“You’ll look beautiful,” he said finally. “Doesn’t matter what’s on your feet.”

She smiled through the phone. He could hear it.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bub.”

The call ended, but Oscar didn’t move. Not right away.

He just sat there, thinking about sneakers and wedding shoes, mashed bananas and wedding cakes, night lights and aisle lights.

She wasn’t little anymore.

But she still needed him.

And somehow, that was enough.

The Most Important Walk

The music had started. Soft, distant, barely there beneath the rustle of satin and the flutter of nerves.

Oscar stood beside her, just out of sight from the waiting aisle. His hand rested gently on hers, not leading, not pulling, just there. Like it always had been.

She adjusted her bouquet, breath coming out in small, uneven huffs. She looked radiant, hair pinned just the way her mum used to do it, dress flowing like water, eyes wide and shining.

But beneath the shimmer of highlighter and lace, she was still his little girl.

Oscar leaned in slightly.

“You okay?”

She gave a shaky smile. “Nervous.”

He nodded, soft. “That’s alright.”

Then he waited a beat.

And in the quiet before the doors opened, he gently asked, “Is this what you want?”

She looked up at him. Like she had so many times before. Like when she scraped her knee and didn’t want anyone else to clean it. Like when she forgot her lines in the Year 6 play and scanned the crowd just to find him. Like when she called wedding shoes and asked if he thought she was doing the right thing.

And now, here.

She nodded. Steady, certain. “Yeah. It is.”

Oscar’s throat tightened. He offered his arm. “Then let’s go.”

The doors opened slowly, light spilling in like the world was holding its breath.

Everyone turned.

And she stepped forward, not alone. Never alone.

Oscar walked beside her, not just down the aisle, but through every memory stitched into her stride. He could still hear the echo of her tiny feet running through the house. Still see the frosting smudged across her cheek on her first birthday. Still feel her fingers tugging his sleeve that one morning when she cried because a classmate ruined her superhero drawing.

Now her steps were steady.

And he only let her hand slip from his when it was time.

He kissed her forehead, whispered something only she would hear, something like I love you, something like you’ve got this, something like I’ll still pick up on the first ring.

Then he stepped back, hands in his pockets, sunglasses hiding everything he couldn’t say.

She turned to face the rest of her life.

And Oscar… He smiled.

Because she was exactly where she was meant to be.

#oscar piastri #op81 #f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri blurb #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri au #op81 fic #op81 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #Spotify

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obx-may · 24 hours ago

Text

Together -Rafe Cameron

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, lots of fluff at the beginning, angst with a happy ending, self doubt (rafe), comfort, excessive alcohol consumption.

summary: after telling rafe he was going to be a father you were surprised with how well he took it, though when he felt the first kick everything got a little to real and he freaked out, leaving you crying in your shared apartment and hoping that he’d come back to you.

notes: this is an unofficial part two to this fic that i wrote a little while ago (which you don’t need to read to understand this). i’m stuck on ideas so i decided to just add to that original story! hope you enjoy angels🧸🤍🫶🏼 - this is a long one for me so strap in!

The first few weeks after telling Rafe were hard. You were so stressed about telling your family and everyone on the island possibly whispering about how stupid you could’ve been to get knocked up at such a young age. But Rafe was always there to reassure you.

He was surprisingly calm and collected. He was nervous, anyone would be in that situation but he kept himself together for you.

“It’s okay baby, let it all out.” He’d whisper as you battled morning sickness, one hand on your back rubbing soft circles as the other held the hair out of your face.

He held you when you cried and sobbed about how you were just so scared. He’d let you talk before reassuring you, “I’m here, we’re going to be okay. We can do this.”

When you eventually broke the news to your and his parents he held your hand and did as much of the talking as you wanted him too.

Ward was disappointed, Rose managed to crack a fake smile, you were so relieved when your mother pulled you into a hug and told you she’d be there for you, even though your father sat straight and glared at Rafe with rage in his eyes.

Eventually he calmed down and after around a week he became accustomed to the idea. You knew he was accepting when you were going to spend the night at Rafe’s house and before you left he said, “now you be carful driving on those roads, it’s been raining and you’ve got my grand baby in there.” He gestured to your stomach. You hugged him and he hugged you back, which is something the both of you didn’t know you needed.

After that Rafe proposed moving in together. He knew it was inevitable so he said he’d rather be settled at a place when the baby arrives than scrambling last minute.

Within a few weeks he - with the help of Ward - had found and bought an apartment, it was spacious yet cosy. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open plan kitchen and living room with a sweet little balcony overlooking the sea. It was perfect.

News spread fast once you went to your first appointment, told your friends and began to show - just slightly but it was there.

The stories were ridiculous. “She baby trapped him for the money.” “I heard it’s not even Rafes.” “She’s faking it for attention.”

You tried not to think about it too much and Rafe helped with that. Though sometimes he made the situation significantly worse by reacting to the stares when you were out. “What the fuck are you looking at punk? Huh? That’s what I thought.” His excuse always being that he was just protecting his girl, which you didn’t argue with.

Your old life was completely gone, being pregnant meant no drinking, partying or staying up late since you were always exhausted anyway.

Though Rafe on the other hand did continue his drinking and partying late, just now without you by his side.

You were pleased at first. You hadn’t wanted him to give up all the tings he did before since you thought he’d be much worse if he had to suddenly change his lifestyle.

Unfortunately, at some point - actually around the time you started to show and a small bump formed on your stomach - it got excessive.

You brushed it off at first, the coming home at two in the morning completely plastered, the increasing nights spent at the country club with Topper and Kelce, but you now realised he was beginning to slip away from you.

Arguments about his behaviour became a reoccurring thing. You cried all the time, though he was never there to hold you and tell you everything was going to be fine like he would’ve in the beginning.

Something had changed in him but you couldn’t understand why.

You felt so alone. Pregnancy is weird like that, even though you’re actually never alone because you constantly have a little human in your stomach it makes you feel like you are, even when there’s people around you who do care.

One night, you heard Rafe stumble through the door as usual. The door to your shared bedroom swinging open just moments later. “Hey baby,” he murmured drunkenly.

You sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with your knees to your chest, tear marks on your face.

His brows furrowed as he immediately sobered up a little, noticing your state.

He sat on the side of the bed. You flinched when he went to place his hand on your leg. “y/n-”

“I’m going to live with my parents for a while,” you blurted out, voice shaky.

“You’re- what?” He was surprised, caught off guard.

“We- no I need some space. In five months we’re going to have a baby Rafe and you’re off getting drunk twenty four seven. I’m tired and I don’t know what’s happened to my Rafe. The one who took care of me when I was sick, the one who reassured me when I was scared, the one who actually seemed like he loved me-” your sentence broke with a sob, “I don’t recognise you.”

He sat there, blindsided. “I… yeah, maybe you should go stay with your parents,” he replied.

You couldn’t believe it. He really wasn’t going to fight for you? Not even a little bit?

With one nod you got off the bed and started to pack. Was it two o’clock in the morning? Yes. Could you spend even one more second in his company? No, no you couldn’t.

So you packed, left without another word and drove to your parent’s house.

Rafe remained in the same position on the bed. He’d fucked it all up.

In the following few weeks there was little to no contact between you and Rafe. It actually did you good to focus on yourself for a little while though after two weeks you were really starting to miss him.

One night, you were sat on the floor of your childhood bedroom folding your laundry when your phone rang.

It was Rafe. You took a deep breath and answered the call, bringing it to your ear.

“y/n?” Was the first thing he said but he didn’t give you time to respond, “I’m so sorry, I freaked out okay? I love you so much and I know I want this with you. This life, this baby, I want it all and I fucked it up. I’ve stopped drinking, I promise I’ll do better. Can you forgive me?”

You slowly took in his words. You knew what you were signing up for when you got with Rafe and you’d been through worse. “Of course I’ll forgive you, I always will because I love you Rafe. But if this happens again-”

“I know.” He knew he only had a limited number of chances and that you might not forgive him so easily next time.

After that night everything slowly but surely got back to normal. You moved back in, he went to your appointment with you where you found out it was going to be a little girl and he spent every night with you in his arms.

A week later you were mostly back into your usual routine. You woke up, took a shower with Rafe, he left for work and you had recently started a job that you could do from home so that’s what you spent your day doing.

His parents were rich and so were yours - everyone knew that - but the both of you wanted to live your own lives, not relying on your parents for everything, so that’s why you started working and you were slowly building your savings that would mostly go to things for your baby girl.

Hours later Rafe finally arrived home. He greeted you with a gentle peck on the lips before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

He sat down next to you on the sofa and peered over at the website you were scrolling through on your laptop.

“Looking at cribs already?” He asked, before opening and then chugging some of his water.

“There’s a sale on - thirty percent off. I just thought I’d have a look,” you replied calmly.

“Get whichever one you want babe,” he mumbled before kissing your forehead and then standing up.

He got halfway to the bedroom to freshen up before you gasped.

He turned around quickly. “You alright?” He asked, slight panic in his voice.

“Come feel!”

He noticed as he moved towards you that you’d moved the laptop and now had your hand resting at the base of your stomach.

As soon as he was close enough you grabbed his hand and placed it where yours was.

“What- oh? Is that…?”

“She’s kicking! The doctor said it might take a while but she was starting to worry me, I’m so relieved,” you excitedly rambled.

He just stood there, slightly bend down, hand still on your stomach with an emotion you couldn’t quite read on his face.

“Rafe?” You questioned, brows furrowed, “are you okay-”

He pulled his hand away and stood up straight. “I just,” he cut you off, “I can’t- sorry.”

He glanced from your stomach up to your face without fully meeting your eyes then he turned and made b-line for the front door.

Leaving you, now stood in shock. What the hell just happened.

You tried to convince yourself that he’d just got a little overwhelmed and would come back in a minute.

A minute turned into thirty which turned into an hour and then two.

You were now a mess. Just when you thought you’d got him back he was slipping again.

You sat on your bed, head in your hands as you cried. The raging hormones causing through your body definitely weren’t helping the situation.

He’d left everything. His keys, his phone so you couldn’t even call him. You called Topper though, then Kelce, then Sarah, no one had seen or heard from him.

When the clock hit nine you were seriously worried. You decided you couldn’t just sit around any longer so you got up, slipped some shoes on, grabbed your keys and left the apartment.

Since he hadn’t gone to any of his friends or family you decided to go to his most frequented places.

First you went to the country club, he wasn’t there. Next you visited the beach by tanning hill, nope. Lastly you drove to the place you used to hang out at in your early teens, the place you shared your first kiss.

It was a long shot since it’d barely been mentioned since you left school but you were running out of options.

You parked at the bottom of the cliff edge and then walked the ten minutes up hill to get to the top.

By the time you reached it you were huffing and puffing. The baby now pushing down on your lungs meaning you were out of breath doing the simplest of tasks.

But it was all worth it because there he stood. Hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly as he stared out at the crashing waves below the cliff.

“Rafe?” You called from a few meters behind him.

He was quick to turn around, clearly not expecting you to have found him.

You approached him slowly, as if you were trying not to scare him off.

“What’re you doing up here? It’s almost dark,” he asked, his voice soft and quiet.

“I was looking for you dummy. You scared me,” you replied, now standing next to him with your hands crossed over your chest as the evening breeze passed over your skin.

He sighed, a deep, troubled sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. “Talk to me Rafe,” you whispered gently.

“I’m worried,” he began.

You placed your hand on his arm, insinuating that he should continue.

“I’m worried I’m going to turn out like my dad,” he finally admitted.

Your heart sank.

“Look at me.”

He did, finally meeting your eyes.

“You are nothing like him. I know you, I know you’re going to be the best father. You already care so much and the fact you’re worried means you do. Your childhood wasn’t easy, I know, but that’s not us.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for you to laugh or take all that you said back but those things didn’t happen, all he found in your eyes was genuineness.

Rafe never had a way with words so instead he just leaned down and pressed your forehead against his.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“I love you more,” he replied, his voice full of emotion before he closed the gap between the two of you.

The kiss that you shared was full of love and relief.

His hands moved to grasp your waist as yours intertwined with the hair on the back of his head.

Once you pulled away the both of you were smiling, because in that moment you knew everything was going to be okay.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe imagine #dad!rafe #pregnancy #angst #angst with a happy ending

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userluhna · 3 days ago

Note

Since reader would hang out a lot with Junho and saw Inho as her big brother, it made me think, would the reader be close with Junho’s mom? Would she be like the mother she never had? What do you think she would think of reader and Junho being together?

(I love your work diva, pls don’t explode 🫶)

first, thank you so much for this :( ily sorry i took soooo long.

and YES OH MY GOD YES

࿔⋆ MOM?

this is part of this series

hwangjunho x f!reader

words: 1.2k

warnings: hurt comfort. healing. mention of grief. found family

enjoy! :)

because when inho asked you, “would it be okay if you stay here? with mom—” you nodded. maybe because you didn’t really have a choice, or maybe because it just felt right. on that first night, you slept in inho’s old bedroom. she had already changed the sheets—soft, clean, your favorite color.

and even if you were already old enough to not cry over sheets, it made you cry. just a little. just when it was quiet and dark and your thoughts were too loud. and junho, if he heard your sniffles from the other side of the door, he’d knock, then come in and hold you. not saying “you’re okay” because you weren’t. he would just hold you. like that was enough. the next morning, you found a glass of water waiting for you on the kitchen counter. a small note tucked beside it—not in junho’s neat handwriting, but hers.

“stay hydrated. it’s good for headaches.” even before everything. before the accident. before you were left alone. she left you little notes. because she cared, quietly. “leftovers for you. warm them up when you get home.”

“had too much dessert. take some with you.”

she always cooked too much—for you. she packed you lunch even when you said you weren’t hungry. refilled your water bottle before you left for school. and god, how gentle she was. the kind of gentle you never knew how to hold.

that first week living with her, she found you crying in the kitchen, barefoot in the middle of the night. she didn’t ask questions. didn’t crowd you. just stepped closer, slow, soft. “can i hold you?” she asked. she always asked—never just reached—because she didn’t want you to flinch. you nodded. and your head found her shoulder. one hand behind your head, the other tracing soft, steady lines down your back. she never shushed you. never told you to stop. just held you, quiet and warm, until the crying passed. “i’ve got you, okay? i’ve got you, sweet girl.”

she rocked you like that. slow. so slow it almost hurt. and even before that—before you lived there—she would always smile when she saw you. never asked, “are you okay?” but made you warm soup. never told you to go home when you lingered after dinner. always offered you a ride. always waited until you were inside. inho would drive you home most times. but sometimes, you just stayed over. sometimes it was easier. she told junho to be good to you.

“be patient. be careful. be quiet when she needs quiet. be loud when someone else is loud to her. hold her. let her cry.” even though he already was. even though he already did.

inho would come by on weekends—even weekdays, more than before. you’d hang out at his place, always checking with his wife that you weren’t intruding. but you never were.

your blanket was always tucked on the couch. your favorite mug in their cabinet. sometimes a new toothbrush waiting in the bathroom. and when she found out you and junho were together, she didn’t seem surprised. because that night—the first time junho saw you again—he called her on the way home.

“yeah. she’s back. just saw her.” he didn’t need to say who she was. because junho only used that soft voice for one person. he never told anyone about the times he saw you from across the street, but didn’t walk in. he didn’t know how you’d feel. but maybe she knew.

because when you left for england, he cried. not in front of you. not on the drive back. but later, alone in his room. maybe she heard the sobs through the door. but she didn’t say “love hurts.” she didn’t say “she’ll come back.” she brought him water. kissed his forehead. “cry as long as you need to, okay? i’ve got you, my boy.” junho cried every night for two whole weeks. not loud. not messy. just slow, soft tears that didn’t stop.

and last week, when you visited again—she made your favorite meal. set the table. hugged you like she hadn’t in years. brushed a hair from your face. smiled so big it almost made you cry. when junho said,

“eomma, we’re together.” she hugged you again. because she knew. she’d known from the way junho looked at you when he was sixteen. from the time he said, “nah, she doesn’t like that color,” while picking out your sheets.

she knew from that call two months ago. “she’s just—” and how he never finished the sentence. how the words never came because nothing was big enough to hold what he felt.

and before you left that day—before junho drove you home, before you unlocked your apartment door—she looked at her son and said, “you better be good to her, huh? she’s had enough. now she needs quiet. the good kind.”

and junho just nodded, that small, quiet smile tugging at his lips. and that night, on your couch, junho’s head in your lap, your fingers brushing through his hair—he showed you a text. from his mom.

“tell her i’ve got some leftovers. she can come pick them up after work.”

and you just knew—she was what you never had. the warmth of a mother.

tag list: @namgyucat @namsgyu @threerxcha

requests are open!

#squid game #squid game headcanons #squid game x reader #hwang junho #hwang jun ho #hwang junho x reader #hwang jun ho x reader #squid game fanfic #hwang inho #hwang in ho

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sweatyracoon · 17 hours ago

Text

Poor Seungmin pt4

Synopsis: Before an important comeback tour, Seungmin falls into another rut, this time, with Lee Know

Warnings: Uses of Minho and Lee Know, pet names (puppy), smut, jerking off, public space, insecurity, dirty talk

Previous < > next

MINORS DNI 18+

It was the night of their next comeback tour, and there was two hours till they were called to stage.

They were all doing their own thing before the show since they all unwind differently.

Seungmin found himself with Lee Know in one of the staff rooms, Lee Know doing sit ups while Seungmin held his legs down with his own, watching YouTube shorts in a foldable chair.

Everything had seemed fine, and even though Seungmin found out about Han outing their intimate night through the group chat, he still felt comfortable around his members.

They seemed even closer after that, and occasionally Hyunjin and Changbin make jokes about wishing they had a chance to see him in his rut.

Lee Know however never participated in those conversations. Seungmin thought it was because it made him uncomfortable, but Chan always knew why he avoided those comments.

Ever since the beginning, Seungmin was the first one to welcome him to the company before their debut. He was the one that cried the hardest at his elimination. The one that always sided with him despite their differences.

Lee Know had a huge small crush on Seungmin. And hearing about his rut made Lee Know restless and needy.

It was that simple.

Today was supposed to be normal, especially since they had to go out on stage in an hour.

But when Seungmin looked down at Lee Know doing his sit ups, he felt the wave of tingling before the crash of the heat.

His eyes widened, and his feet lifted slightly off of Minhos, making the older slip up.

"You messed up my streak!" Lee Know rolled his head dramatically, opening his mouth in complaint, making his bunny teeth point out.

Seungmin gulped, staring at nothing as his breathing got heavier. He dropped his phone, making Lee knows eyes snap to him, a brow raised.

"You good?"

All Seungmin could do was shake his head as he gripped his thighs, and went to stand. He only walked two paces before falling, landing against the wall with a whimper.

"Seungmin?" Minho said worriedly, standing and rushing to his side, kneeling next to him.

"Tell me whats wrong!" Minho was now fully blown panicked.

Seungmin glanced at him, tears in his eyes. If he were a full hybrid, his ears would be flat against his cute head.

"Rut...hurts..." Was all he said before his whole body shuddered, curling in on itself.

Seungmin was always worried that Lee Know truly wasn't okay with what the rest were doing to help him, and the thought tore him inside, especially since Seungmin always had a thing for him. He had a thing for all of them, but it seemed stronger for Lee Know.

"Hold on," Lee Know licked his lips, pulling out his phone. It caused Seungmin to whimper. "Don't worry, puppy, I got you."

Lee Know shot a text in the group chat. A simple text.

>Rut.

After he sent it out, he tossed his phone to the side, not bothering to check if the others had read it.

He crawled closer, leaning against the wall, and pulling the younger between his legs, his chest flush against Seungmins back.

Seungmin whined, pushing closer, trying to smother himself in Lee Knows delicious scent.

"Please..." Seungmin groaned, his legs shaking.

"Shh...I know," Lee Know whispered, brushing his lips against his ear, bringing his hands to brush against his chest, slowly making their way down.

Seungmin moaned even at the slightest touch, his back arching into his hands.

Lee know pushed his chest so they were flush together once again, and moved his hand to Seungmins belt.

"I got you, pup," Lee Know grinned, secretly loving every second he heard Seungmin panting his name.

Even though he couldn't see his face, he knew he had a completely blissed out expression as he pulls out the youngers throbbing member, twisting his grip at the tip, making him yelp.

"Fuck! Lee Know..." Seungmin moaned, turning his head into his neck, panting heavily.

It made Minho groan, panting slightly himself. He stroked faster, collecting the precum and using it as lubricant.

Seungmins hips snapped up, his hybrid instincts chasing the high.

"More!" He begged, licking lee knows neck, causing the latter to growl, speeding up as he brought his other hand up past the hem of his shirt, his fingers finding his nipple.

Seungmin moaned against Minhos skin, and his hips started to roll, and let out a high pitched whine when he felt Lee Knows hardness behind him.

"Please! Let me-" Seungmin groaned, bringing his hand behind him to touch his buldge, making Minho's movements falter.

"Seung...Not today, puppy," He said through clenched teeth, slowing down slightly.

It made Seungmin cry out.

"Please! I want it," He sobbed, and Lee Know felt his cock twitching in his hand.

"Fuck! Not now, okay? Ask me after the show." Lee know growled, nipping at Seungmins neck gently, which earned him a compliant moan.

Lee Know sped up, and gripped harder, making Seungmin cry and writhe. He was getting closer.

"Min! Close-" He choked, grabbing his wrist with his hand, not to stop him, but to ground himself.

A few more pumps and Seungmin moaned louder than he ever had, and his load shot out his pretty pink tip, coating his clothes and Minho's hand.

It was the prettiest thing Lee Know had ever seen.

When Seungmin calmed down, Minho brought his hand to his lips, licking his release, and groaning at the taste.

"Feeling better, puppy?" Lee know asked with a smirk as Seungmin stood to refasten his belt.

"Not if you keep calling me that," Seungmin blushed with an embarrassed grin.

"I meant what I said," Minho smiled from where he sat, looking up at the tall boy before him.

Seungmin paused.

"What'd you say? Sorry I was kinda-" Seungmin paused. "You know,"

Lee Know nods.

"You said you wanted me. I told you to ask after the show," Lee Know said simply as he stood, watching Seungmin blush.

"Oh," was all he could say.

Lee know smirked.

"Oh, indeed."

Lee know patted his back before walking to leave, leaving a standing Seungmin to contemplate what could be in store for him after the concert.

Tag list: @xxeiraxx @rhonnie23 @skzlover24 @tenshimara

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sethmcc22 · 2 days ago

Text

Our Little Blessing In The End Of The War.

In this Tony and Nat doesn’t die in the end game. Just goes into a small week long coma. K/N means Kid Name.

You and Bucky been dating for a while, and you guys fell in love basically at first sight. You were already an Avenger member before, you tagged alone with Steve during the fight against Tony and others because of the Sovia Courts. You and Bucky fell in love instantly, since then you both been dating.

Current time, It was during the fight of Avengers Infinity War. You were beside Natasha helping her, as Bucky and Steve were near each other shooting guns. Suddenly things went quiet, some of the Avengers yelled for their friends. You and Nat looked at each other confused, you ran to go find Bucky. You ran seeing Steve, he was on one of his knees touching the ground.

“Steve?” Your voice shaking. “Where is- where is Bucky?”

Steve looked up, fear and sadness in his face. Then you realized, what he was touching is Bucky. You look around and see others fading away. Fear set in you now as well. You began to cry.

Weeks went by since that day, you felt depressed all the time, but unusually felt sick a lot especially in mornings. You googled your symptoms, realizing you might be pregnant. You quickly left heading to the store, coming home with a box of pregnancy tests. You took it, just waiting for the results. You felt afraid of what the test would say. After 3 minutes past, you looked a it seeing two pink lines. You took another one because you didn’t believe it, same results positive. You grabbed your phone, instantly calling Steve. Once he answered you asked him to come over it’s urgent. A knock comes at your door, you rush opening the door. You let him in, he left to go into the bathroom as he sat on your couch. You walked towards him with two pregnancy tests, you showed him them.

“Wait.. you’re.. pregnant?” Steve said, confusion in his voice,

You nod your head. “Yes.”

Your eyes glossed over as tears started to form. Steve stood up as he took the tests from your hand setting them down. Steve opened his arms giving you a hug. He rubbed your hand contorting you. You balled your eyes in his arms for almost an hour. Once you finally relaxed, Steve and you began to talk.

“It’s Bucky’s.” You said looking down at the tests. “The baby, it’s his.”

Steve already knew, it was obvious. “I know. I know it is.”

“Steve, what am I supposed to do but he is not here because of the blip I’m afraid.” You exclaimed.

Steve sighed. “Don’t be you know Nat and I will easily help you with this baby despite us not having kids we know a lot. I’ll gladly help you.”

You smiled out of relief. “I just feel-” Your words felt stuck in your throat. “Like I- I feel like I’m not gonna be a good mother.”

Steve rubbed your back. “No, No. I have faith in you. I know you’ll be a good mother.”

You smiled at Steve. “But another thing is, how am I supposed to literally tell my kid why their father isn’t here.”

“Time will tell I guess.” Steve responded.

Your first ultrasound came up, and you cried once you saw the baby for the first time. Nat went with you for this ultrasound because you felt awkward with Steve being there. You showed Steve the photos, he felt amazed when seeing them. You all joked around how the baby has Bucky’s forehead. As your pregnancy continued, you got more ultrasounds. You were about to pop almost. That’s what Nat described you, you laughed at it. It was a late night, your water broke. Lucky Nat was spending the night, she rushed you to the hospital. Steve eventually showing up after you gave birth. You were lying in the hospital bed, tears of joy as you held your baby. You had a baby girl, you smiled with joy. You let Nat and Steve hold her as well.

Eventually the time went by, the End Game came, they’ve been collecting stones for couples weeks. Eventually getting the stones all ready, you stayed with the baby at home. You just worried, Steve got your hopes on telling you they might be able to bring Bucky and everyone we all lost back. You hope so, your daughter is now 5 years old. She’s sitting playing with toys as you made dinner. You just couldn’t help to worry.

A knock at the door startled you.

“I’ll get it mommy!” Your daughter ran to the door. You followed behind her.

You both opened the door seeing Steve standing there. “Hi uncle Steve!”

“Hi K/N.” Steve replied.

You looked at him as he smiled brightly. Bucky walked up behind Steve. Steve went inside as well Bucky did. You hugged Bucky tightly. Crying in his arms. Eventually one time, Steve did tell your daughter where her daddy went, who he was. All he claimed was he was kidnapped that’s it. Bucky looked at K/N and smiled.

“Daddy?” She turned her head looking at Bucky.

“Yes- it’s me.” Bucky had tears already in his eyes but now even more from seeing his daughter.

She ran hugging Bucky as he hugged her back. From that day, Bucky always made sure he was there. It was a dream come true you thought, your boyfriend and your guys kid. You both got married shortly after, having your daughter as the flower girl because she begged to be a flower girl anyways. Nat was your brides maid, Steve was the groomsmen.

Thank you for reading. I know it’s not the best but I hope you enjoy!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader

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honestsunmoon · 3 days ago

Note

Can you write a Dark Choco cookie x fem reader, like when he left Dark Enchantress cookie he found them as they were being attacked by some snow monsters and he proposed to them after many years spending time with each other ?? PLEASE PLEASE !!

My second request! Of course I can write this for you!

'sword of shadows,heart of light '

Dark choco cookie x fem!reader

---

Snow fell in thick, silent sheets across the mountain pass.

Dark Choco Cookie’s armor was dulled by time and battle, streaked with faint cracks and frost. His cursed sword hung heavy on his back, as if weighed not just by magic, but by guilt and memory. He had finally turned his back on the Dark Enchantress, walking away from the path of ruin he'd blindly followed for so long. The air was colder now—freer, yes, but also lonelier.

That was when he heard it—shouts. Cries for help, just faint enough that most wouldn’t catch them under the wind’s howl.

He drew his sword without hesitation.

---

You stood alone in the snow, bloodied and cornered by monstrous beasts made of ice and fangs. Your breath came in ragged bursts, your magic barely holding out against the growing storm. A final lunge from one of the creatures knocked you to your knees. You braced for the blow that never came.

With a roar that split the wind, a dark figure burst through the haze. A single stroke of his sword shattered the monster into frozen dust. The rest backed away, hissing, before fleeing into the storm.

You blinked up at him, dazed. He was terrifying—tall, cloaked in darkness, his crimson eyes glowing beneath his helm. Yet the moment his gaze met yours, something in him softened.

"...Are you alright?" he asked, voice rough but not unkind.

You nodded slowly. “...Who are you?”

“Someone trying to be better,” he said.

---

Years passed after that day.

Dark Choco stayed.

He never said why—not at first—but he remained by your side. He helped rebuild your village. He taught you how to fight. He learned to plant things, to cook, to sit in silence without guilt pressing on his shoulders. Slowly, the cruel edges of his past dulled in your presence.

You never pushed him to speak of what he'd done. You just stayed.

And that meant more than anything.

---

One winter night, under a star-bright sky, you both returned to the mountain pass where you first met.

There was no more war. No more monsters. Only the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the glow of lantern light on his dark armor.

He turned to you suddenly, looking nervous—a rare and strange expression for him.

“I once believed I was unworthy of peace,” he said. “Unworthy of love. But you… you made me feel like I could be more than what I was forged to be.”

He knelt down in the snow and held out a ring carved from obsidian and moonstone—simple, but warm with power and care.

“Will you be the one to share the rest of my days? Even if I still carry shadows?”

You stared at him, heart full.

And you smiled. “I’ve loved you with your shadows, Dark Choco. I’ll love you through the light too.”

He stood and wrapped his arms around you, holding you as if you were the only real thing in a world of fading frost.

---

And so, the former warrior of darkness found his redemption not in battle, but in the warmth of your hand in his, walking together through the snow, hearts beating as one.

---

Let me know if you like it!

#cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #dark choco cookie #dark choco cookie x reader #x female reader

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buckysbunsofsteel · 3 days ago

Text

The Breaking Point - Part 5

Rebuilding on Burnt Ground

The next morning, the sun hit different.

Not through your office window. Not filtered through frosted glass conference rooms. No distant buzz of Tony barking commands. Just light — warm and golden and soft — spilling over Bucky’s bare shoulder as he lay on his stomach beside you, sound asleep.

You traced the curve of his spine with your fingers. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stir.

He was safe. Peaceful.

It felt like the first breath after being underwater too long.

You slid quietly out of bed, pulling on one of his shirts — this one grey and soft and smelling like his skin. You padded barefoot to the kitchenette. Coffee first. Then figuring out your next chapter.

You were halfway through making a pot when your phone buzzed.

Tony Stark.

You stared at the name. It stared back.

Bucky wandered out not long after — sleep-ruffled hair, flannel pants low on his hips, eyes still heavy. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.

He looked at your phone.

His mouth tightened.

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I think I want to.”

He nodded, slow. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

The call wasn’t long.

Tony didn’t yell. Didn’t posture. He just sounded… tired.

“You’re right,” he said, after a long silence. “I was an asshole. I’ve been an asshole.”

You said nothing.

“I didn’t see how bad it got. That’s on me.”

Still silent.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I’m glad you left. For your sake. And if you ever come back… the Tower will be different.”

“I’m not coming back,” you said quietly. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

He sighed. “Figured. Still — you deserved better.”

“I did.”

He was quiet again.

“Tell the tin can I said thank you for not decking me.”

You ended the call before you could change your mind.

You set the phone down and turned. Bucky leaned against the kitchen island, mug in hand, watching you with a soft, unreadable expression.

“Well?” he asked.

“He apologized.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I think he meant it. But I’m not going back.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Good.”

You walked over to him slowly, standing between his knees where he sat on the counter stool. He set his mug down and reached for you instinctively, hands sliding under the hem of your — his — shirt to rest on your hips.

“I keep waiting for the crash,” you murmured. “For everything to fall apart.”

“It won’t,” he said. “Not with me.”

You leaned into him, breathing him in. “That first night… you said if I stayed another night, you wouldn’t be able to keep it gentle.”

Bucky stilled.

His grip tightened just slightly.

“I remember.”

“I want that now,” you whispered. “All of it. All of you.”

His eyes darkened. His jaw clenched.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Take what you want. Just don’t let go.”

He stood in a single smooth motion, lifting you with ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his shoulders.

“I never planned to.”

He laid you down like he had the night before — but the softness ended there.

This time, his mouth was hungry. Claiming. Hands tugging your shirt off with a growl, teeth at your throat, tongue hot and demanding.

You arched into him, gasping as his hands found your thighs and spread them.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin. “Walking around that Tower, giving everything and getting shit in return. You held them all together and they never saw you.”

“I don’t care about them anymore,” you whispered.

“Good. Because you’re mine now.”

He pushed your underwear aside and sank two fingers into you, slow and deep. You cried out — more in surprise than pain — and he paused.

“You okay?”

“Yes—fuck, please.”

He grinned against your throat. “That’s my girl.”

He fucked you with his fingers until you were squirming, clutching his arm, breathless. Then he withdrew — and the absence made you whimper.

“You ready for me?”

“God, yes.”

He didn’t tease. He undressed just enough, pushed your knees up, and slid inside you in one smooth, powerful thrust.

You gasped — the stretch was intense, deeper than before — and he paused.

“Talk to me,” he said, voice rough. “Too much?”

You shook your head, jaw slack. “No — perfect.”

And then he moved.

It was nothing like the first time.

This was possession. Passion with an edge. His thrusts were deep and hard and unrelenting. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, thighs wrapped tight around his hips.

He didn’t speak — just growled your name into your ear, breathing ragged.

Every thrust made the headboard knock. Your moans grew louder, messy, broken — you didn’t care.

When you came this time, it hit like fire — full-body, gut-deep, shaking and sobbing into his shoulder.

He came moments later with a hoarse groan, hips stuttering, burying himself deep inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, panting.

But even then — he didn’t let go.

You lay like that for a long time.

He shifted eventually, slipping out, cleaning you both up with soft murmurs and reverent hands. Then he pulled you into his chest, your body cradled between his arms like something sacred.

“Still okay?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

His mouth brushed your temple. “We don’t have to figure it all out today. Just one day at a time.”

“What if I want to figure us out first?”

His smile was warm against your skin.

“Then I’m yours,” he said. “No Tower. No Avengers. No past.”

“Just us.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Just us.”

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #marvel #james buchanan barnes #tony stark #winter soldier

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velvetghoul · 14 hours ago

Text

Say My Name Louder

✦ mini-series

Reader x Choso Kamo | 18+ MDNI

cw: smut, dominant choso, oral sex, rough sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, emotional tension, sibling conflict, hurt/comfort, morning-after fluff, domestic intimacy, suggestive teasing, light angst, found family, blurred emotional lines. Reader is 21, Yuji is 20, Choso 25.

Part 2

⸻

Part 1

The next few days?

Yuji didn’t let up.

He didn’t push too far—but he never let you forget.

When Choso wasn’t around when you came over, he leaned in close while helping you cook. Showed off during his workouts, lifting with low grunts and his shirt hanging from his waistband. Threw soft comments that felt too warm to be innocent.

“You always smile like that when he texts you?”

“I forgot how cute you look when you’re annoyed.”

“Back then… I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how.”

Each time, he brushed past you too close.

Looked at you too long.

Laughed at things that weren’t even jokes.

And you started to feel it.

That awful, addictive pull.

You shouldn’t want this.

You’re Choso’s.

But Yuji knows that.

And he’s still tempting you like he dares you to crack.

It was late.

Choso had left to meet an old friend for a few hours. Said he wouldn’t be long. You stayed behind because its your paid time off and you don‘t have anything to do—lounging in his shirt, helping Yuji finish cleaning up dinner, pretending the air between you wasn’t suffocating.

Yuji was quiet. Barefoot, casual in those grey sweats that hung low on his hips. Hair messy from the towel he hadn’t really used. He didn’t flirt—not like before—but he watched you too closely. And you let him.

Too long.

Too close.

The tension broke in a breath.

It started with a look.

You and Yuji were standing too close again—something you’d both pretended not to notice all week. He passed you a towel. You handed him a plate. And then he turned toward you, slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing yours for no goddamn reason.

Your breath caught.

And he saw it.

That hesitation.

That spark. He moved first.

No words. No smirk this time. Just a hand—low on your waist—pulling you toward him in one sharp movement. His other hand slid to your lower back, warm and steady.

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hard.

Hot.

Hungry.

You gasped into it, hands gripping his biceps, chest pressed to his. He kissed you like he meant it—like he’d wanted to for longer than he ever admitted. His tongue slid across your lower lip, tasting, testing, as his hand tightened on your waist and pulled you even closer.

He groaned—soft and low—like he couldn’t help it.

For a second, you forgot everything.

Choso didn’t exist. The guilt didn’t exist.

Just the heat. The tension. The fucking way Yuji kissed like he meant to win something.

And then—

It hit you.

This isn’t him. This isn’t Choso.

These aren’t the hands that held you when you cried.

This isn’t the mouth that kissed your neck after breakfast.

This isn’t the voice that whispered, mine.

You jerked away with a strangled breath, hands flying up to your lips.

Yuji stared at you, breathing just as hard.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, heart racing, eyes wide.

Yuji’s voice was rough. Quiet. “You did.”

Your stomach twisted.

And before you could answer, you turned and walked out—leaving him standing in the kitchen, chest heaving, lips still wet from the kiss.

The moment Choso stepped into the apartment, the air shifted.

Not the usual shift—quiet, relaxed, like when he walks in and his eyes soften just from seeing you.

This time?

It felt like a storm brewing behind glass.

You were standing frozen in the hallway, halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom, hands clenched at your sides, stomach knotted. Your lips were still swollen. You had scrubbed your hands. Wiped your mouth. It didn’t matter.

You looked up—and Choso was already staring at you.

He knew. He hadn’t even said hello yet.

His keys were still in his hand. His chest rose once, slow. His eyes moved from your face… to the kitchen.

To Yuji, who was standing by the sink, still in his sweatpants and tank top, drinking water like nothing had happened. His eyes didn’t even flinch.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Your body acted before your voice could.

You turned, stumbling over your own feet, rushing into the bathroom like you were about to throw up.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Silence.

Then—footsteps.

Soft. Heavy. Deliberate.

Choso didn’t follow you. He walked into the kitchen.

Yuji didn’t turn around. He just sipped his water, leaned against the counter.

Choso stared at him. Cool. Still. Expression unreadable.

Yuji sighed. Then turned halfway and shrugged, completely unbothered.

“What?” he said.

Like this wasn’t war. Like he hadn’t just kissed his girl.

Choso didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

Just… stood there. And the silence spoke volumes.

Yuji looked back at the sink.

Choso finally dropped his keys on the counter.

“Not her first mistake.” His voice was soft. Icy.

“But you just made yours.”

Then he turned away—toward the hallway.

Not running. Not rushing.

Just walking with that same calm, slow, terrifying control.

The bathroom light felt too bright.

You leaned over the sink, hands shaking, your eyes wide and bloodshot in the mirror. Your heart wouldn’t slow down. Your chest wouldn’t open. The silence in the apartment felt like a scream being held back.

You kissed Yuji. You let him touch you.

You didn’t stop him until it was too late.

And then you looked into his eyes—

And all you saw was that it wasn’t Choso.

You didn’t even hear the front door shut. Didn’t have to.

Because you felt the change in the air the moment he walked in.

Like the oxygen had turned to glass.

You saw him in the hallway.

And he saw everything on your face.

You ran. He didn’t come after you.

You heard his footsteps drift away—to the kitchen.

The stillness that followed made it worse.

You slid down to the bathroom floor, covering your mouth with both hands, trying to breathe through the rising sob that felt like it might break your ribs.

You didn’t want to lose him just so fast.

Not like this. Not over that.

Not over one stupid, fucked-up kiss with the one person who never should’ve let it happen.

Yuji knew it the second he looked into Choso’s eyes.

This wasn’t going to blow over.

Not like one of their usual arguments. Not like the time he broke Choso’s speaker or nearly got them both suspended for using cursed energy in public.

This was different.

Choso didn’t yell.

Didn’t clench his fists.

Didn’t even raise his voice.

He just looked at him. Looked at him like he had become a stranger overnight.

And when he said:

“Not her first mistake. But you just made yours.”

Yuji’s stomach dropped.

He hadn’t even tried to deny it.

Because what was the point?

You kissed him. He kissed you back.

And for one second—it felt like he was winning.

But now?

Now he felt sick.

He stood in the kitchen, holding his glass tighter, listening to the faint creak of the floorboards as Choso walked back down the hall.

He was going to you. Yuji knew it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop.

“Fuck, What the hell did I do?“

Back in the bathroom…

You flinched at the sound of a knock.

Soft.Just once.

Then— “It’s me.” Choso’s voice.

Low. Even. Deceptively calm.

You scrambled to your knees, fingers trembling as you opened the door.

There he stood. Still in his jacket. Still composed.

But his eyes… were heartbreak. You couldn’t speak.

His gaze dropped to your hands—fidgeting, guilty, wrung raw.

Then he looked at your mouth. You stepped back, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry—Choso, I’m so fucking sorry—”

He stepped in. Not violently. Not cold.

Just… quiet.

His hand found your jaw, lifting your face gently.

And he asked—

“Did you think I wouldn’t feel it?”

The bathroom was small. Too small. Nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide the look on your face.

Choso didn’t move at first. He just looked at you.

Eyes dark. Not angry.

Just… sad.

You were already crying.

“Please,” you whispered, stepping forward, “just let me—just let me explain—”

He held up a hand. You froze.

His voice came out low. Steady. Controlled in that terrifying Choso way that meant everything underneath was cracking.

“You kissed him.”

It wasn’t a question. You couldn’t say anything.

“You kissed my brother.”

You sobbed softly, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean to—Choso, I swear—he just—he was close and it was fast and I—”

“You let him touch you?”

Your stomach dropped.

Your knees buckled. “Only my waist. It didn’t go anywhere. I stopped. I swear, I stopped—”

His jaw clenched for the first time.

“Why didn’t you stop sooner?”

Silence.

Because for a second, you wanted it.

And he knows it.

You looked at him, eyes red, breathing broken. “It didn’t mean anything. I didn’t feel anything—”

Choso stepped closer.

“Then why are you crying like you lost something?”

You choked.

“I didn’t lose you,” you whispered, desperate. “Did I? Choso, I didn’t mean to—”

He caught your wrist. Gently. Thumb brushing your pulse.

His hand came to your face. Cradling it. Eyes searching you like he wanted a different truth than the one you already gave.

“Did you kiss him like you kiss me?”

The question landed like a punch. It was so quiet.

So heavy. So specific. And when you couldn’t answer—when your silence stretched too long—his hand dropped.

His smile never came.

He just stepped back, barely breathing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Choso didn’t look at you when he spoke.

His voice was low, even. “I think you should go.”

You blinked, stunned. “Go…?”

He nodded, still not meeting your eyes. “Just for now.”

“Choso, I—I don’t want—”

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally looking up. “Neither do I. But we’re not gonna fix this in a bathroom while you’re crying and I’m trying not to break things.”

His restraint was terrifying.

Not cold.

But controlled in a way that told you how hard he was holding it in.

“I need space,” he added. “And you need to decide what the fuck you want.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He wasn’t wrong.

And that made it worse.

You left without saying goodbye to Yuji.

You couldn’t.

A little while later…

Yuji was on the balcony, arms resting on the railing, face blank. The breeze blew through his hair, and for once he didn’t look like the sunshine boy everyone expected.

He looked like a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Choso slid the door open.

Didn’t say anything for a full minute.

Just stood behind him. Letting it breathe.

Then, quiet:

“You’ve known her longer.”

Yuji turned his head slowly. “…Yeah.”

“You were in the same class.”

“Same year,” Yuji said. “We had History together.”

Choso nodded. “I remember. You used to walk her home after dark.”

Yuji said nothing.

Choso stepped forward, voice flat now.

“And you knew what she meant to me.”

Yuji’s mouth tightened.

“I didn’t think it would happen like that,” he said, barely above a whisper. “It was a moment. She was right there, and I—”

“You didn’t stop.”

Yuji looked at him. “You think I don’t feel like shit?”

Choso raised an eyebrow.

“You kissed her. You grabbed her. You didn’t even pretend to regret it.”

Silence.

Then Choso looked away.

“You had her longer. You just didn’t want her until I did.”

Yuji’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

Choso looked at him again—finally looked at him.

And what Yuji saw?

Wasn’t hate.

It was betrayal. Pure. Devastating. Quiet.

“Yeah, it is.”

He stepped back inside, sliding the door closed behind him.

And Yuji?

Didn’t move.

Because deep down, he knew.

He hadn’t stolen a girl.

He’d cracked the foundation of something he was always a part of.

And it wasn’t over.

Choso didn’t sleep.

Not really.

He laid there staring at the ceiling, eyes dry, heart pounding in that dull, slow way that wasn’t panic—it was something worse. Something slow and heavy, like sinking.

It didn’t make sense.

You weren’t even officially together.

No labels.No promises.

Just a few nights. A few mornings.

Your body in his shirts. Your laugh in his kitchen.

But it had meant something to him.

He hadn’t been halfway in. He wasn’t just fucking around.

He’d wanted to build something.

And you kissed his brother.

The knock came mid-morning.

He knew it was Yuji without checking.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just opened the door, stared.

Yuji looked rough—hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, dark circles under his eyes.

“I need to talk,” he said.

Choso stepped aside. “Then talk.”

Yuji came in, stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room like it was enemy territory now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice cracked a little. “I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“You didn’t just let it happen.”

Choso didn’t raise his voice.

Didn’t need to.

“You kissed her. You touched her. You’ve known her for years, and you did it anyway.”

Yuji flinched. “I know. I—she looked at me and I just—”

“I don’t care,” Choso cut in, stepping closer. “You think I’m mad you won something?”

Yuji blinked. “What?”

“You think I’m mad you got the kiss?” Choso asked, teeth clenched. “You think I’m jealous?”

Yuji didn’t answer.

Choso shook his head, dark hair falling into his eyes.

“I’m mad because you knew. You saw it starting. You knew what she was becoming to me. You watched me let my guard down for once—and you took it anyway.”

Silence.

Yuji stepped forward, guilt thick on his face.

“You weren’t even dating,” he said quietly. “She told me that. You weren’t official. You didn’t say anything.”

Choso let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, bitter and low.

“Is that all it takes to make it okay? That I didn’t say the right words fast enough?”

He looked at Yuji—truly looked.

Eyes dark. Voice wrecked.

“She wasn’t mine yet.

But she wasn’t yours either.”

Yuji dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Choso didn’t answer. He just walked to the door, opened it wide.

“I need space from you too, yuji.”

Yuji swallowed hard. Nodded once.

And left.

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

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koyagifs · 5 hours ago

Text

one day at a time

pairing:: yeosang x reader genre:: angst with comfort au:: 9th member | idol synopsis:: what should of been a normal comeback because your worst nightmare. word count:: 2.4k warning(s):: poly relationship! sensitive topics such as: unexpected pregnancy, miscarriage, medical emergency, emotional trauma/grief, mental health struggles.

lemon drop era

You had no idea you were pregnant.

The cheers from the crowd still echoed faintly in your ears as the adrenaline of your first live performance of Lemon Drop faded—but something was wrong. A sharp pain curled in your stomach, making your breath hitch. Panic bubbled in your chest as you staggered offstage, eyes searching until they landed on your stylist.

"Something’s wrong," you gasped, stumbling toward her. Your hands clutched your abdomen, your vision blurring with tears. Behind you, the boys’ voices called out in alarm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” your manager asked, her hand landing on your shoulder. Her voice was gentle, but laced with worry.

“My stomach—it hurts. So much,” you cried, your lip trembling.

She crouched slightly to meet your eyes. “Honey, have you gotten your period recently? You know stress can make it hit harder.”

You blinked, brain fogged. You hadn’t even thought about it. Everything had been so hectic with comeback preparations that your own body’s rhythms had fallen to the wayside.

You shook your head slowly, trying to remember. Then you felt it—warmth between your legs. You looked down.

Your clothes were stained.

A sob tore from your throat before you could stop it. Whatever strength you had left crumbled with it.

“Yn—hey, hey, it’s okay,” someone tried to say, but it barely registered. Everyone around you looked panicked, voices blending into static.

“I want Yeo,” you whispered, and then louder—pleading. “Please. I want Yeosang.”

He was there instantly, arms wrapping around you, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

“I-It hurts,” you whimpered, clutching his shirt.

“Okay. Breathe with me, yeah? Just follow my lead.” His lips were close to your ear, his breath steady. “In... and out.”

You nodded weakly, tears still falling, trying to match his pace. It helped. A little.

Through your blurred vision, you saw your manager gesturing for Hongjoong to follow her. Yeosang held onto you tightly as Hongjoong reappeared, his face carved with concern.

“We’re going to the hospital, okay? Just to make sure everything’s alright. Take my hand, baby.”

With trembling fingers, you reached for him. His hand was warm and steady as he guided you out.

—

“We’re so sorry to inform you... but it appears that you’ve had a miscarriage.”

The words didn’t register at first.

It felt like the room collapsed around you, a weight pressing on your chest so heavy you couldn’t breathe. The doctor kept speaking, but everything turned to static. You stared down at your belly, hands limp in your lap.

You had a child.

You were pregnant. And now...

Tears gathered again, spilling silently at first. Then the sobs came—gut-wrenching, uncontrollable.

“Yn…”

You looked up to find Yeosang and Wooyoung in the doorway, both pale, eyes filled with worry. You hadn’t even realized Hongjoong had stepped out.

When your expression crumpled, the boys visibly flinched.

“Hey… Yn,” Wooyoung said softly, his voice cracking.

“I was pregnant… and I didn’t even know?” you sobbed, voice shattering with disbelief.

Yeosang moved closer, reaching gently for your hand. “Baby… this isn’t your fault.”

“But I should’ve known,” you choked out. “My period was late. I thought it was the stress from the album—God, I was crying all the time, getting mad over nothing—how didn’t I see it?”

Before either boy could answer, Hongjoong rushed back into the room. His eyes locked on you, and he was at your side in seconds, gently brushing the hair from your face and cradling your cheeks with both hands.

“Hey. Baby. Yn—look at me.”

You looked up, eyes drowning in tears.

“We’re going to get through this. Together.”

You nodded, barely, a tremble running through your shoulders as another wave of tears escaped. You sniffled, trying to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The ache wasn’t just in your body anymore—it was everywhere. In your chest, your mind, your heart.

But you couldn’t stop crying.

“I didn’t even know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t get to feel anything. No kicks… no signs. Nothing.”

Hongjoong’s hands stayed on your cheeks, thumbs gently catching your tears. “I know, baby. I know.”

You let out a weak sob, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against his. His presence grounded you, but it still didn’t stop the ache. It just made it a little less lonely.

Yeosang and Wooyoung stood nearby, frozen in place like they were afraid moving too fast might shatter you more. But the moment your hand reached out blindly, Yeosang stepped forward and took it, folding your fingers into his without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, voice cracking. “To all of you.”

“Don’t,” Wooyoung said, finally moving in to sit at the edge of the bed. His eyes were red, but he tried to hold your gaze. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let the words settle into your heart. But the grief was still too new, too raw. And so you let yourself cry again—because for now, it was all you could do.

And none of them let you cry alone.

ATEEZ’s Maknae Yn to Go on Hiatus

Just hours ago, KQ Entertainment released an official statement confirming that ATEEZ’s beloved maknae, Yn, will be taking a hiatus from group activities until further notice.

While the agency has not disclosed specific details, fans have expressed concern following recent events and Yn’s recent hospital visit after the group’s Lemon Drop stage. As of now, it remains uncertain whether Yn will participate in the upcoming tour or promotional schedules.

💌 ATINYs around the world are sending their love and support, flooding social media with messages of comfort and encouragement.

We join them in wishing Yn a gentle, healing break and a speedy recovery. 💛

Stay strong, Yn. We’ll be here when you’re ready. 🌙✨ #WeLoveYouYn #GetWellSoonYn #ATEEZ

user1: “i bet she got pregnant and had an abortion.”

🔁 78 | 💬 932 ⚠️ Comment reported for speculation and harmful assumptions.

user2: "poor ynie! the stress must of really gotten to her :( i hope she’s surrounded by love rn.”

❤️ 12.7K | 🔁 4.3K

user3: "first yeosang getting barely any lines and now yn taking a sudden hiatus. kq do better and protect your artists.”

🔁 8.9K | 💬 1.2K

user4: "hongjoong must be so worried! the way he always looks out for her… this must be breaking him too 😭”

❤️ 15.3K | 🔁 6.1K

Yeosang stood outside your door, fingers curled into a hesitant fist, hovering just inches from the wood. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest, caught in the limbo between giving you space and needing—aching—to see you.

It had been days since you were discharged from the hospital.

Days since he’d heard your voice.

And every hour that passed without you felt heavier than the last.

He bit the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. The others had stopped by. Hongjoong had spent the night once. Wooyoung left you food every morning, lingering just in case you'd open the door. But Yeosang... he couldn’t bring himself to intrude. Not after how tightly you'd clung to him in that sterile hospital room, your cries echoing in his ears even now.

He finally exhaled, long and slow, and knocked—softly. Just once.

Silence.

He waited.

Another knock, a little firmer this time. "Yn?" he called gently. “It’s me.”

Still nothing.

His chest tightened. He pressed his forehead against the door, voice quieter now, like the weight of everything you’d both been through dulled his words. “I don’t want to force you. I just… I miss you.”

More silence.

He started to turn, thinking maybe he should come back later—but then he heard it.

The faint sound of movement from inside. Shuffling. A pause. And then the unmistakable click of the lock turning.

The door opened just a crack, revealing a sliver of your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks pale and bare, no trace of the light you usually carried.

Yeosang’s breath caught.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He gave you a small, broken smile. “Hi.”

You stared at each other for a long moment before your lips trembled, and without a word, you opened the door wider.

He didn’t ask if he could come in. He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you—slowly, carefully—like he was holding something fragile.

Because he was.

He led you gently to the bed, sitting down with you still clinging to him. As soon as you felt the mattress beneath you, you curled closer into his chest. And Yeosang held on.

His heart was pounding—partly from being near you again, but mostly from fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing. Of not being enough. Of watching you shatter all over again.

His arms wrapped tighter around you, fingers pressing into your back as if he could physically keep you grounded.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t speak, but your hand gripped the fabric of his shirt tighter, and that was enough.

You stayed exactly like that—curled into his chest, his arms wrapped around you like a shield—until your voice finally broke the silence.

“We would’ve had a child…” you whispered, your breath trembling against his shirt.

Yeosang looked down slowly, his chest tightening. “Yn…”

You kept going, voice quieter now. “What if it was a boy? Or a girl?”

Yeosang swallowed hard, blinking through the sudden sting in his eyes. He reached up and gently stroked your hair, his voice low and aching.

“Either way… they would’ve been loved more than anything,” he said. “They would’ve had the brightest smile. Just like you.”

You sniffled, eyes still closed as you pressed your face further into him. “I keep thinking about it. Who they might’ve looked like. If they would’ve had my eyes or… your calm.”

Yeosang let out a shaky breath. “They would’ve been perfect. Just like their mom.”

A soft sob escaped you before you could stop it, and he pulled you even closer, tucking your head under his chin as if to hide you from the rest of the world.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know… and now I feel like I lost something I didn’t get to protect.”

“You didn’t fail them,” Yeosang said gently. “And you didn’t fail us. Not once.”

You shifted, the warmth of his embrace slipping away as you sat upright. Your fingers began to fidget in your lap, twisting together anxiously, your gaze locked on them like they might distract you from your thoughts.

“What if it happens again?” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “What if… I’m alone next time? What if no one’s around because you guys leave soon for your milit—”

“Hey,” Yeosang said quickly, his voice suddenly firm but soft, like a lifeline thrown in the dark. “Look at me.”

You hesitated.

“Yn.” His hand came up, brushing against your jaw, thumb resting just beneath your chin. Gently, he tilted your head up until your eyes met his.

His gaze was unwavering, and there was something in it—something steady and full of promise.

“We’re not gone yet. And even when we are… we won’t really be gone. Not from you. Ever.” He paused, taking a breath. “You’re never going to be alone in this. I swear that to you.”

“But I’m scared,” you said again, your voice cracking. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

“You don’t have to do anything without us,” he whispered, his hand now holding yours tightly. “We’ll plan for everything. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Loved. Protected. Whether we’re right here or miles away.”

You blinked, tears slipping down your cheeks, but his words rooted something in you—a sense of being held, not just physically, but emotionally, completely.

Yeosang leaned forward, his forehead pressing lightly to yours.

“One day at a time, okay?” he murmured. “We’ll face every one of them together.”

Your lip quivered, forming a pout as the weight of his words hit you like a wave—gentle, but overwhelming. The truth in them, the unwavering care, the way he didn’t flinch from your fear… it broke something loose in your chest.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He didn’t hesitate. His arms came around you just as fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

You tried to keep the tears in, you really did.

But the sob caught in your throat, small and raw, and then it spilled out—quiet but heavy. Your body shook slightly as you clung to him, the weight of the past few days crashing down all over again.

Yeosang held you tightly, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles up and down your back.

“You know the others are worried about you too,” he said softly, his voice steady and gentle.

You nodded, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "I know. I noticed the things they usually leave for me."

He smiled softly, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “They’re trying, in their own way. Just like me.”

You leaned into him again, feeling the quiet strength of his presence. “I miss them,” you admitted.

Yeosang pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “They miss you too.”

“You think… they’ll come over now?” you asked softly, hope flickering in your voice.

Yeosang smiled, his eyes sparkling with love and reassurance. “I’m sure they will. They wouldn’t miss a chance to be with you.”

Yeosang stood and moved to the door, his hand already reaching for the handle. He glanced back at you with a small, encouraging smile.

“Stay right here. I’ll let them know you’re ready,” he said softly.

You watched as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Moments later, familiar voices drifted in—Yunho’s gentle chuckle, Seonghwa’s calm tone, Mingi’s quiet presence, San’s thoughtful murmurs, Jongho’s steady reassurance, and then two more: Hongjoong’s caring warmth and Wooyoung’s playful energy.

One by one, they entered the room, each carrying little reminders of comfort—soft blankets, warm drinks, and the kind of smiles that said, We’re here. We’ve got you.

Hongjoong immediately moved to sit by your side, gently brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Wooyoung plopped down nearby, offering a teasing grin but his eyes full of concern.

They didn’t say much at first. Instead, they settled around you and Yeosang, creating a circle of quiet support and love.

And in that moment, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time—a fragile but real sense of hope.

#yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader angst #yeosang angst #9th member ateez #9th member of ateez #ateez 9th member #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez poly #ateez oneshot

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youremineimyoursloveme · 3 days ago

Text

When the thunder finds you- I will too. -> Keigo Takami x Reader

The night had been easy.

Soft, sugar-sweet chaos — fleece blankets tangled across the living room floor, laughter rising in sudden waves, music low and forgettable in the background. It smelled like cheap nail polish and popcorn and the warm, ordinary kind of joy that only lives in girlhood.

And then the sky split open.

It wasn’t gentle. Not a warning.

Just a sound like the world being torn from the inside out — thunder cracking like a god had screamed through the clouds, and the room shook in its bones.

You laughed along with the others at first. Because that’s what you were supposed to do. Because fear, when it’s yours alone, becomes something embarrassing — small, inconvenient, invisible.

But your fingers were already cold.

The next roll came low and long — the kind that lives in your chest more than your ears — and something inside you folded. Panic, yes, but not sharp. It was deeper than that. Old. Like some old door inside your chest had swung open again and all the cold air came rushing in.

You stood. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t understand.

You walked to the bathroom, closed the door, and sat down hard on the edge of the tub like your knees weren’t yours anymore.

The tile was too cold. The light too yellow.

The thunder outside began again — a deep growl, followed by a jagged white crack so bright you could see it even behind closed eyes.

You flinched like you'd been struck.

And suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. Just… the air stopped cooperating. Your hands began to tremble. Your mouth tasted like static. Your body remembered something your mind wouldn’t name — a childhood night, maybe. A too-empty room. A door that didn’t open when you cried.

You pulled out your phone, barely seeing through the blur.

You didn’t have to think. Only typed:

you: keigo. it’s thunderstorming again i feel like im dying.

It wasn’t hyperbole. It never was.

The reply came fast. So fast, he must’ve already had the window open.

keigo: i know. im already on my way.

And something in your chest gave out. Not in panic — but in relief so sharp it hurt.

Because of course he was.

Because he always knew when the storm broke before you did.

Because he’d never once let you face the sky alone.

You stayed in that bathroom for twelve minutes and seventeen seconds, counting each flash of lightning like a wound. Then — a soft knock. Not at the door. At the window.

You opened it with shaking hands.

Keigo slid in with quiet grace, soaked through, hoodie clinging to his frame, golden hair damp and curling. There was no smile this time. No teasing. Just him. Just those eyes, steady and gentle and so painfully awake.

“Hey,” he said, soft.

You stared at him like he wasn’t real. Like the storm had finally cracked something open and let in a dream.

Then you stepped forward, and he caught you.

Arms around your waist. Face buried in your neck. His wings folding around the two of you like the world could wait. He didn’t say it’s okay. He didn’t need to. He was already here. That was enough.

You don’t remember walking to the cab. Only that his hand never left yours. Only that he didn’t fly. Not this time.

Because you’d once told him how the sky made you feel too close to death. How the air got thinner up there. How thunder was worse when you were above it.

And so he never asked again. He just held the umbrella over both of you and hailed a cab, soaked to the bone but still smiling like your hand was the only thing he needed to feel warm.

In the backseat, you leaned against his shoulder. The thunder still echoed, distant now, like it was pacing the clouds instead of tearing through them.

He pressed a kiss to your hair.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

The city slipped by in streaks of gold and water. You closed your eyes, not to sleep, but to stay inside this moment. Because here, in this ordinary space — no wings, no heroism — he was more than everything you’d ever been afraid of.

He was safety, personified.

Home didn’t start until his hand found your cheek.

When you reached his apartment, he handed you one of his old shirts — oversized and warm from the dryer. You changed, and he waited. Not hovering. Just present. A quiet sentinel.

Later, you lay curled into his side on the couch. His wings weren’t cloaked around you — just one draped lazily across your legs, as if even they were tired of pretending to be something more than soft.

Your fingers found his. Twined. Stayed.

“I hate the thunder,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But I’d rather be soaked in it than ever let you face it alone.”

You turned your head to look at him.

There was no trace of humor in his expression now. Just love — real love. The kind that doesn’t shout. The kind that just arrives.

He kissed you then, slow and tender. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was trying to soothe every part of you that still braced for thunder even when the sky was quiet.

You stayed like that long after the storm had passed.

And when sleep finally came, it did so softly — not because the night was silent.

But because for once, you were.

requests are open- i do any and all mha characters with every genre except smut.

-ria

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rhaenicette · 6 hours ago

Note

i love all of ur fics, coming from a black girl (haitian) myself it’s a bit hard to find black reader fics. so glad i found ur account i love ur work:))

could i possibly request gojo coming back from his mission n black reader wants to help him relieve stress

thick!black!reader helping gojo relieve some stress after his mission by some sloppy head. ><

gojo came home quiet this time.

not playful. not cocky.

just jaw clenched, body beat up, sweat clinging to his skin under his torn uniform. he left his shirt on the floor, blindfold hanging off his neck, and sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, breathing hard.

and you knew.

you knew when you saw him that he needed you.

“c’mere,” you whispered, stepping between his legs.

your fingers ran through his messy white hair, soft. slow. “let me take care of you, baby. please?”

he looked up—eyes bloodshot, lips parted. that pretty mouth had no words. just breath.

“…you gon’ be good t’me?” he asked, voice soft like a broken thing.

you nodded, already sinking to your knees. “always, ‘toru. jus’ sit back and let me do it, ‘kay?”

you pulled his pants down slow. it was almost antagonizing.

gojo’s big ‘n girthy dick flopped out like a threat. full. curved. already heavy in your palm before it was even fully hard.

you couldn’t bottom it out if you tried, and you had—multiple times. it always ended the same; almost choking, crying, creaming, and him damn near apologizing while he ruined you.

“fffuck, sooo big—” you murmured, stroking it gentle, drool already pooling in your mouth.

gojo twitched.

“yeaah?” he breathed. “too much for that pretty lil mouth, mama?”

you nodded, your sultry eyes on him while kissing the tip. “too much… but i want it. need it. been missin’ this dick.”

he whimpered at your low and seductive voice.

and when you finally took him in—just the tip—gojo cracked.

“mmh—shit,” he whined, thighs tensing. “b-baby—fffuck, you’re so—nghh, ma, you don’t know what that do t’me…”

“yes i do,” you whispered, pulling off with a wet pop.

“know exactly what you need. you needed me the second you stepped in that door.”

you spit on it. let your hand slide slick over that fat length while you suckled his reddening mushroom head, tongue swirling slow. then deepened.

and when he hit the back of your throat?

he moaned pathetically. loud. high. desperate.

you looked up and he was red in the face, head tilted back, hands in his hair like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“ma—mama you gon’ m-make me nut—f-fuck—already? already?—”

“shhh,” you mumbled around his dick, not even letting up. you stroked the rest of him fast while your throat worked the first half, gurgling, nose buried in the base of his shaft.

“d-don’t stop,” he begged. “please, baby. p-please don’t stop, i need this—hah!—need you…”

“i gotchu, ‘toru,” you said sweet. “let it out.”

that’s when he lost it.

gojo came hard, damn near sobbing, legs trembling while you swallowed it all. his brows were furrowed and his mouth agape. you rubbed his thigh while he cried your name, body locking up, his whole soul melting into the bed.

and he didn’t let you go.

even when you pulled off, he held your face to his trembling thigh.

“you always do me so right,” he mumbled, eyes wet. “fuck, ma—i love you.”

“love you too, ‘toru,” you said softly. kissed his thighs, his pelvis, his stomach. “y’need a bath?”

he nodded. “only if you come in with me.”

you giggled. “always.”

thank you sweets!! m’so glad u love my ficsssssssssss! don’t be afraid to request more mama i gotchu!

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faghubby · 1 day ago

Text

Watching and Waiting

"just watch, no touching" my girlfriend Mary told me. As I sat in her desk chair. She had just gotten out of the shower. She dropped her robe. I had seen peeks but never her naked before she laid on her bed and spread her legs. Her fingers parting her lips as she slowly fingered herself.

"You like what you see" she giggled I just nodded. I was rock hard in my jeans but she had told me she wasn't ready to see me. I just sat and watched as she played with herself. She reached under her pillow and produced a vibrator. I watched as it slid into her with ease. It wasn't lost on me that her toy was bigger then me either. I watched as she teased herself in between driving the full length of her toy inside her. She was close her breathing fast she pulled at her nipples. Then pulled the toy out of her and in one motion drove it deep into her ass. She cried out as her back arched. I had never seen a woman naked in real life never less orgasm. I just sat there staring. She sat up put her robe back on.

"Did you like that?" She asked running her hand over my thigh she stopped and smiled "oops I guess you did" I realized I had cum in my pants she had found a wet spot where I had soaked thru. Over the next few weeks she repeated this

"It's our way of making love until we are ready" she told me. The second week she got a new toy even larger. She still wouldn't even let me take off my shirt. And loved it when "we came together" when I made a mess in my pants. This went on for months.

One day we where out, just sitting on a bench along a walking trail.

"Do i smell?" She asked. I leaned in and caught a wiff of her deodorant she wore no perfume.

"No, you smell good" I smiled.

"Would you like to smell down there!?" She asked teasingly. She spread her legs. I leaned over.

"Can't smell it like that. Get down on your knees" she giggled I did looking around nervously. She lifted her skirt. I put my nose right against her white lace panties and breathed deep. She played with my hair gently holding me there making me breath her in. I got uo and sat back down when I heard someone coming. Her hand cupped my crotch I was rock hard. As she started to rub me thru my pants.

"You liked how I smelled, I want you to get back on your knees and play with yourself while you smell me" she told me. As soon as the couple passed I was back on my knees.

"Can I" I looked up at her "Take it out?" I asked she just smiled

I unzipped and reached into my pants. I was jerking off only needing three fingers as I buried my nose into her crotch. I came quickly but as I did I opened my mouth and clamped down not using teeth but kind of an odd open mouthed sucking on her underwear. More people where coming and I quickly stuffed my soft dick back in my pants. Mary made me use my water bottle to wash away my mess off the sidewalk.

"Mary, we been doing alot I just feel maybe we should take it to the next level" I suggested as we walked back to my car.

"I don't know if you really want that" Mary told me. "For months I been thinking you would just take me. Instead you seem to prefer to just sit and watch. Don't you think a real man would of just grabbed me and taken me that very first time you watched me masterbate? But you just watched time and time again" Mary told me all while holding my arm.

"I was giving you time, so when you where ready" I told her shocked by all this. I sat in the car staring out the window.

"Paulie, your serious" she said in total awe. "You wouldn't be my first obviously" she laughed

"What, I thought" I said looking at her.

"Wow, you actually thought" she now had a big grin with puppy dog eyes. "That's so sweet"

She grabbed her phone

"Take it out and jerk off again" she told me as she held her phone showing me a video of her sucking someone's cock. I pulled out my dick and stroked it slowly. She then played another video this one she was bent over at school prehaps a black guy was pounding her from behind. The last video was two guys coming on her chest. Mary reached over and ran her hand across my thigh. I lost it and shot my load all over the steering wheel. I opened my eyes there where people walking by no one had noticed but I quickly tucked my dick back in my pants. I quickly started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Paulie, don't be embarrassed. I just want you to think about remaining sexless" Mary said rubbing my arm as I drove.

"What?" I said as if she was crazy.

"I think you would thrive and enjoy remaining a virgin. Maybe not forever but" she rubbed my erection. "You are hard again already" she teased. I couldn't believe it, I should be pissed. I just found out my girlfriend the woman I loved was fucking at least two guys. She wanted me to stay a virgin. And i was excited by it all. Mary sat back in her seat.

"Drop me off at Barry's house" she told me. Barry! Barry was my best friend. Without a word I drove her to his house.

"You can wait for me if you like" Mary told me kissing me. She got out of the car and almost skipped up to Barry's door. I saw Barry open the door and she jumped into his arm. I just sat there. Was I actually going to wait. I just sat there in my car.

20 minutes later I got a pic of Mary naked cum on her stomach. A few minutes later Mary came out and ran to my car. The biggest smile on her face. She kissed me.

"I am so happy you waited" she told me. She was all touchy but only of my arm and neck as I drove her home.

"Do you want to come in" she asked me. I shook my head no. She kissed me anyway.

"I love you, Paulie" she told me cupping my face. She handed me her panties. As she got out of the car.

"So you remember my scent" she turned with a little wave as she went inside. I drove home I was still excited. But how could I? Mary was? These questions where flooding my brain but as soon as I got home I went into the bathroom and jerked off smelling her panties.

I took a shower and laid in my bed. And texted Mary.

P ;How many guys have you been with?;

M : 8: was her response. EIGHT I thought.

P : for how long?" We had been dating for 7 months.

M :eighth grade. Do you remember Ray he was a year ahead of us:

P : this whole time you told me you where a virgin :

M : I didn't want you to feel bad about being inexperienced :

M : I love you.: I waited then responded

P : I love you:

9am the next morning Mary slid into my bed waking me up. She just kissed me and cuddled. I figured it was my chance and slid my hands under her shirt.

"What are you doing" she asked.

"I thought" I started removing my hands. She sat up and removed her shirt .

"Go ahead" she told me as she just sat there I touched her breast thru her bra. Running my hands over the soft material. She reached behind and unhooked her bikini top allowing me to touch her bare breasts. She seemed disinterested in what I was doing.

"So was it everything you thought" she asked pushing me away and reattached her bikini to. I didn't know what to say. Had I done it wrong. But I was rock hard laying in bed in only my boxers.

"Take care of that, I want to go to the lake" she told me. I looked at her desperately.

"Alright" she sighed and reached under the blanket and stroked me. She had never touched my cock before only thru clothing. I came very very quickly not sure if she even stroked me ten times before I came all over myself. She wiped her hand on my blanket.

"You have any other questions for me?" Mary asked.

"Are we ever going to have sex?" I wimpered.

"I don't think you really want to have sex with me, but who knows maybe. I think you want me to be a slut. But your slut." She told me.

"Don't call yourself that" I said gently.

"I love how you see me" Mary smiled. "I am not going to stop fucking guys though" she said kissing me. But I am your girlfriend they are just dicks" she told me.

"Now let's go sleepyhead I want to go to the lake" she playfully hit me with a pillow. I jumped up headed to the shower.

We packed a lunch and headed to the lake. We had a great time playing in the water. Playing volleyball with some people. It was late afternoon when we got back home. We went to her house she dragged me into the shower with her.

"You can touch anywhere you like, but that means so can i" she told me. I didn't blink getting in with her. I ran my hands over her. She grabbed my ass. She teased me I tried to tease her. But I was the one wanting more. Mary had me stay in the shower as she turned the water cold. It had the effect she was looking for.

"I need you to tell me you are okay with us, just like this. Knowing I will continue to be with who I want" Mary asked.

"Yes, I love you and if this is the only way then yes" I told her.

Things continued as they had, I was allowed to touch her from time to time. Slowly she started to share her experiences telling me about the men she was seeing. One was older like 15 years older. Barry she told me he had a huge cock. I actually stoped hanging out with him.

And another guy I didn't knew a black guy. She told me he liked it rough, often ripping her clothes. I would get worried if she was out of touch long. But she started to give me details about what they did and how. Shoeing me videos even.

"I can't talk to anyone else about this, I am so lucky to have you" she told me.

One day she called in a panic, could I come get her right away. I dropped everything and rushed to the address she gave me. She met me at the end of the driveway. Half dressed it seemed. There was dried cum in her hair. She leaned over and kissed me.

"Thank you for picking me up" she told me. "His wife showed up, I snuck out the back door" she confessed. Then as if a light bulb went on.

"Pull over in here" she pointed to a little turn off" she reached over and unbuttoned my pants. She smiled and then lowered her head to my crotch.

"Ohhhhhhhh" I moaned as she swallowed me completely. I came hard and fast. Mary never unclasped her lips until I was finished. She kissed me her tounge covered in cum danced in my mouth. I didn't care I had just recieved my first blowjob. She broke the kiss and smiled as I pulled away not even putting my dick away.

Three years later I asked Mary to marry me.

"I would be honored for you to be my little virgin husband forever" she told me. We are expecting are third child in a few months. And I I still a virgin. Maybe one day.

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juliettejwnewinesa · 1 day ago

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Slightly aged up Kang Wooyoung with reader in her ovulation cycle? She's a little...crazy before the period hits.

🦁

Wildfire Before the Storm

wooyoung x yn

aged up

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The moment you stepped into Wooyoung’s apartment, your restless energy practically buzzed in the air. You barely had time to drop your bag before your fingers were already tugging at your shirt, your body craving contact you could barely put into words.

Wooyoung, lounging on the couch with a book, looked up, eyes narrowing playfully as he caught the way you moved—impatient, tense, as if you were holding back a storm inside you.

“You’re extra today,” he said, voice lazy but amused.

You gave a crooked smile, cheeks flushing. “Maybe a little. You know… ovulation. The fun part of my cycle.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “Yeah, that ‘fun’ part where you get all wild and insatiable?”

You nodded, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Exactly. I can’t help it. I just want you… so badly.”

His eyes darkened with desire as he put the book down, standing to close the distance between you. “Then let me help with that.”

Before you could say more, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your breath hitched at the contact—warmth radiating, the heat between you growing impossible to ignore.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, lips parting as you leaned in. The kiss was soft at first, testing, then deepened into something fierce and needy, like a wildfire igniting in both of you.

Wooyoung’s hands slid beneath your shirt, trailing hot fingertips over every inch of exposed skin. Your back arched involuntarily, body aching for more. He groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent shivers straight to your core.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your lips.

You swallowed hard, voice trembling with want. “I want you everywhere. Touch me. Kiss me. Make me yours.”

With a chuckle, Wooyoung lifted you easily, carrying you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing. You gasped as the cool air hit your heated skin, the contrast driving you wild.

He laid you down gently but with an urgency that matched your own desperation. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and nipping, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Your hands roamed his toned back, feeling the muscles tense and flex under your touch. You wanted to feel him closer—more real, more yours.

Wooyoung smiled against your skin. “You’re incredible. So alive.” His voice was rough with need.

Your breath hitched as his hands moved lower, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants. You gasped, arching into his touch, craving everything he was offering.

He paused just long enough to look into your eyes, searching, asking silently if this was okay. You nodded, breathless and needy, and his smile turned wicked.

The heat of him against you, the slick warmth growing between your legs—it was overwhelming. Every touch sent sparks shooting through your veins. You were a volcano about to erupt, and Wooyoung was the only one who could calm or ignite you further.

He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the moment before slowly, deliberately moving inside you.

The world narrowed to the feel of him, the rhythm you set together—fast, slow, urgent, tender. You cried out his name, voice breaking, body trembling as pleasure rolled over you in waves.

Wooyoung held you tight, murmuring words only you could hear—words that made you feel cherished, wild, and completely his.

When you finally collapsed into his arms, sweat-damp and breathless, you knew this wild fire inside you was only just beginning.

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mikkomeeches · 1 year ago

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my physical copies of Dirty Laundry came in!! i’m absolutely in love with it. def not 100% perfect, but i’m just so happy that i get to hold this story in my hands for the first time. (it’s hard cover with a jacket if anyone’s wondering :) )

(all credit goes to Gibslythe))

NOTE: i am NOT selling this!! feel free to ask on how to make you’re own fanfic, but please don’t ask to buy these copies lmao. this is only for personal use because the author does not want this story to be distributed. 100% going to respect that. (i have two bcus they’re for me n my friend)

( also had to include The Secret Life of Bees)) iykyk 🤧

thank you and goodnight. 🙇‍♀️

#lance mcclain #vld lance #vld keith #vld klance #vld #keith kogane #voltron #klance #dirty laundry #i CRIED when i held it in my hands for the first time #NOT MY STORY I AM TAKING NO CREDIT FOR THIS STORY #voltron legendary defender #stand by me #fanfic #SO DARLING DARLING STAAANDDD BY MEE OHHHHHH STAND BY ME #keith gyeong #lance sanchez #klance dirty laundry

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scarletmika · 1 month ago

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Destiny or Not : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Witch!Reader

Summary: As The Darkhold foretold Wanda Maximoff's destiny, The Book of Vishanti foretold your own. You just didn't know how much of that destiny was intertwined with Bob Reynolds, until the day you met him in the vault.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive but NOT explicit, soulmate-ish trope, TOTAL idiots in love, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, feminine description of reader, it's Bob (implied mental illness there)

Word Count: 3,015 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: A request involving a "soulmate" type connection that I can easily turn into a witch reader? I'm sold. Shout-out to my friend Junie for the extra revisions on this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

It had started randomly one night. Months after Tony Stark had sacrificed himself to save the world, after you and billions of others had been brought back from the blip. After your mentor had accidentally enslaved an entire town out of grief, after she’d let the power of the Darkhold consume her. When you looked Wanda Maximoff in the eyes as she held The Book of Vishanti in her hands and destroyed it. After you’d tried desperately to save her from herself that day on Mount Wundagore and failed.

Back in your apartment that night, you’d cried for the loss of your mentor, until there was a flicker of red magic across the room. Sat at your desk was The Book of Vishanti, lying there in tact, with a simple note scrawled in Wanda’s handwriting.

I’m sorry for everything. Your destiny lies here, but sometimes knowing is worse than not. It’s in your hands, now.

You’d elected to never look, to never see your destiny, but almost every night from the moment you touched that book on, you dreamed of him. The man with soft brown hair, blue eyes that seemed to peer into your soul, and powers unlike anything you’d ever seen.

The first night you’d awoken in your dream, you were lying in bed beside the man. He peered at you, reaching out with his hand hesitantly to cup your cheek, as if afraid that you would run away.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know?” you’d teased him, your grin only growing at the faint blush that quickly spread across his cheeks.

“You…you make me nervous,” he’d muttered back to you in embarrassment. Your hand had found its place resting against his bare chest, against the skin that you’d come to learn ran unusually hot, and you felt his heart rate quicken.

“Good, because you make me nervous too,”

You’d kissed in that dream, that dream that felt all too real at times. It felt like deja vu as you kissed the man before you, but it couldn’t be. You’d never met him before, and you’d certainly never been kissed before. Being thrust into work with the Avengers from a young age, being taken under the wing of a witch that barely understood what she was herself, it hadn’t lent itself to many romantic moments over time.

When the kiss had ended, your dream self had flipped over, the man’s unusually warm body pressing to your back as the pair of you drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms. But the sight before you, the room you could see, you knew it: it was the former Avengers tower in New York, you knew it for sure.

The dreams continued for almost two years. Sometimes you dreamed of him every night of the week, sometimes just once or twice, but no two dreams were ever the same.

Some of them were sweet, just like the first one. You were in the former Avengers tower, which you knew for certain. But there were always people around you, like Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' old best friend. Or a girl you’d only ever heard in stories, Yelena Belova, the younger sister of the Black Widow. There were movie nights shared between you all, there were private picnics on the terrace of the tower with just you and your mystery man with the shaggy brown hair, anything you could imagine.

Then, there were the ones ingrained in fighting. Battles waged, so many that you couldn’t keep track. In some, you didn’t seem to be any older than you currently were, while in others, you seemed to be much, much older than now. In every single one, you fought at the man’s side, the Witch and who they called the Sentry, an unstoppable duo that was feared and respected across the world and the galaxy.

The steamy ones were the ones that had you waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, desperate to take a cold shower and relieve yourself of the feelings you hadn’t ever felt before. There weren’t many of you and the man when you were young, but the times there were, it was like watching two inexperienced idiots fumble around the room together. He’d lifted you up onto the counter of the tower’s kitchen once, underestimating his strength and slamming your head off the cupboard behind you. You’d laughed it off as he apologized profusely, both of you flushing red as Bucky walked into the kitchen with a simple shake of his head. There was another one that stuck vividly in your mind as you’d randomly pulled him into your bedroom one day, trying so desperately to undress yourself that you’d managed to fall flat on your face on the floor.

The steamier dreams where you’re older…those were ones you tried not to think about. Those brought heat to your cheeks immediately.

The problem was, in all of these dreams, you’d never learned his name. It was like anytime someone tried to say his name, it ended up censored, so you would never know. You had nothing to go on to learn if this man was even real.

It wasn’t until, through contacts that you’d gained from your connection with the former Avengers team, that you’d gotten your lead. There were rumblings of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine working on her version of a serum that could create the ultimate superhero: The Sentry Project.

You knew you couldn’t be mistaken; that was him. The fluffy brown hair you’d spent your downtime playing with and running your fingers through, the arms you’d spent countless dreams entwined in, and those soft brown puppy-dog eyes you couldn’t forget. It was the man from your dreams.

Under the guise of “working for Valentina,” you’d been trying your hardest to find out more about the Sentry project, but it was a secret that Valentina kept closely under wraps. You’d never gotten the training from Wanda and the Avengers that you truly needed, though, and you wore your heart on your sleeve. It didn’t take long for Valentina to learn that you were trying to learn more about her secret project, which is why she knew she had to send you into the Vault that day.

There were three guns pointed at you, and then back at each other, before back at you. You’d settled for just your hands and your magic, forgoing any weapons, as wisps of magic danced around your fingers.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt any of you,” you’d nervously laughed, looking between the three in front of you. As your fighting ceased, it slowly dawned on you that standing before you was Yelena Belova, along with two people who had been in the background of so many of your dreams over the years. It was Yelena that cocked a gun in your direction.

“We’re all here to kill each other, so that doesn’t make much sense.”

“I-I don’t want to kill anyone!” you tried to reason with her, stuttering over your words for a moment as you waved your hands around, magic dancing through the air with them. “Look, it’s so complicated, but I don’t even want to be here! I-I just want to find out about Project Sentry-”

The man with the shield turned his gun on you next with a laugh.

“Project Sentry, huh? Sounds like some classified information someone would be sneaking in here to steal,”

You’d fumbled for a minute, unsure how to go forward now that there were multiple guns trained on you, and your magic flickered for a second as you faltered. You’d all spun on your heels toward the door, though, as the sound of another person coughing sounded across the room.

The man had barely crawled across the floor, hadn’t even looked up yet, but you could feel him. Like a tug on your soul, you could almost feel everything about him. And the second he looked up, his eyes locking with yours as his fidgeting with his clothing ceased, your breath caught in your throat.

“W-whoa…” he’d stuttered out, eyes wide as he pointed a finger in your direction, the other three mercenaries in the room simply watching in silence and confusion. “It’s…it’s you! From my dreams!”

Your hands dropped almost instantly as you let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Oh my god…you’re real,”

The name you’d wondered about for two years now was so simple, yet so him: Bob. You wished your first time meeting him had gone smoothly, that the next few days would have been simple, but they were anything but. There were moments scattered throughout that you’d dreamt of before, and he had too. When you’d protected him in the hallway trying to escape from the vault and Valentina’s team, when you’d refused to fight him at the top of the former Avengers Tower, or when you’d chased him through the Void, promising to be by his side and to help save him from himself.

Now, months had passed, and for the second time in your life, you were an Avenger again, but this time with a new team and no mentor to show you the ropes. Your new team, your friends, were sick and tired of you, though, because all you and Bob did was dance around one another.

You’d confided in Yelena and Bucky your dreams, the pull on your soul, and the connection you knew you had to Bob buried deep inside you, while Bob had confessed the same to John and Ava (though his confession was more coerced out of him than freely given). But for the most part, you danced around one another.

It was infuriating to see the way you and Bob were attached at the hip, but neither of you was able to admit anything to one another. Accidental hand brushes almost every day, matching blushing cheeks, and your inability to talk to one another without stumbling over your words. Alexei was groaning almost constantly, watching the pair of you dance around your feelings, feelings he claimed were “written in the stars.”

You and Bob had conversations here and there regarding dreams you’d shared, about how weird it was to experience them and know that they would potentially happen. But your conversations always skirted around the steamy dreams, the intimate ones, the ones that showed the connection you held that went far past platonic. But it was gnawing at both of you, the pull that you felt to one another every second of the day, that one day it finally came to a head.

“D-do you want to uh, to go up to the roof with me?”

You’d looked up from your place at the kitchen sink, arms deep within the suds as you scrubbed away at the dirty dishes left over from team dinner the night before. Warmth flooded your cheeks immediately as you looked at Bob, who wasn’t even looking at you but was fidgeting with the two sandwiches on the plate before him that he was making.

“O-oh, uh uh-yeah, sure. Any uh, any reason why?”

The flush that spread across his skin was evident from where you were, as she shrugged.

“Our friends, they’re uh…they’re loud sometimes. And you haven’t eaten yet, so uh, I made you a sandwich,”

You bit into your bottom lip, trying to calm the nerves dancing around the pit of your stomach and alleviate the tension that was pulling on the cord connecting the two of you.

“Yeah. Why don’t- why don’t you head up and I’ll meet you up there when I finish up the dishes,”

The dishes could’ve waited, but you needed the extra ten minutes it afforded you to calm down. There was some distant memory in your mind of that moment, a sense of deja vu flooding you as you felt like you’d dreamt of that exact conversation at one point in time. You did everything you could to put on a faint air of confidence to yourself as you joined Bob on the roof of the Watchtower.

The last time you’d been on this roof was to celebrate Alexei’s birthday a few months ago. He had desperately wanted to celebrate while looking over the skyline of “the greatest city in the world,” but the high winds that were experienced at that height on top of a skyscraper were…less than ideal. He’d enjoyed his birthday gift from you, which was an enchantment surrounding the rooftop garden of the building, blocking out the wind and allowing him to enjoy the party the rest of the team set up for him.

Bob was sitting cross-legged on one of the couches left behind on the rooftop from the party, hands wringing together in his lap as he looked up to see you walk out onto the patio area. He smiled, nervousness radiating off of him, as you took a seat beside him.

“I should come up here more often,” you softly told him, wringing your own hands together before busying yourself with grabbing the plate he’d left for you with your sandwich. “The sunset over the city…it’s beautiful.”

“I come up here sometimes to think,” Bob told you, taking a bite of his sandwich while glancing over at you. “I’m uh, not a fan of heights…but it’s still pretty.”

You’d both gone silent to eat your sandwiches, but you could feel the weight of the conversation hanging in the air, the one you knew would come someday. The tug in your heart every time you looked at him, the feeling in your soul that urged you to simply move closer to him, despite the elevated heart rate coursing through you.

“Bob-”

“Do you think about them?” his voice had cut you off, the words rushed out as he looked up at you, hugging his arms around his knees as his leg began to shake. “The…the dreams?”

“All the time,” you told him quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Since we met, though, we haven’t had any new ones.”

“What do you…think of them?”

“They’re…comforting,” was the word you settled on, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked away from Bob for a moment, admiring the colors of the sunset in the sky. “At first, they uh, they were weird. I’ve never really been with anyone…romantically, at least. So being myself in situations like that…they were weird. But you-you-you became this weird constant in my life. I enjoyed going to sleep, knowing that uh, that I’d see you in my dreams. That’s why I tried so hard to find you.”

There was quiet between you both for a moment as you came to terms with your own words, as you accepted the feeling that you were pretty sure was buried in your heart before you even knew about it: you loved him, you loved him before you even knew who he was. Truthfully, your love for him was probably woven into the seams of who you were and who you were going to be before you were even born. And somewhere, deep down in the connection tied between you both and laid out across the dreams you knew were more than just dreams, you knew he loved you, too.

Before you could voice any of this to Bob, he beat you to it.

“I like you!” the outburst interrupted the silence as you turned back to him, frozen in place as Bob stumbled through his words to find the right way to explain it all. “Well, uh, I think I…I think I love you, more so than like. And maybe- maybe I always have? It’s confusing. But since I met you, I…I always want to be around you and- and I can’t imagine ever being with anyone but you…”

Mustering even the smallest bit of confidence you could, you took Bob’s hand in your own, flashing him what you hoped was a comforting smile even as nerves flooded your system.

“After Wanda, my mentor, died on Mount Wundagore, she’d left me something: The Book of Vishanti,” you explained to him. “Wanda’s destiny was written out in The Darkhold, and she told me mine was written out in The Book of Vishanti. I decided never to look, that it was better never to know, and I’d let it play out instead. But I know if I did look…you’d be there. You’d be written across every inch of my destiny. And destiny or not…I-I think I’d fall in love with you all the same.”

It took a moment for the smile matching your own to cross his face, before his palm turned to face yours, your fingers intertwining with one another. You sat on that roof, smiling at one another like fools in love, before Bob let out a breathy laugh.

“How-how do we do…this?”

“Beats me, I’ve never gotten this far,” you’d laughed with him, shifting closer as the space between you both gradually shrank until it was nothing. “Our dream selves…they seem pretty adept at it, though.”

“Maybe it, uh…maybe it just takes practice?”

You both teetered on the edge for a moment before Bob made the first move, surging forward and pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. He’d pulled back sooner than you wanted him to, matching blushes coating your cheeks.

It was your turn, the ice already broken, as you surged toward him this time, pressing your lips back to his and refusing to pull away. That tug between you both seemed to lighten finally as

that wall was finally broken between the two of you, laughter flowing between you both as you pressed kiss after kiss to his lips. Now that you’d finally known the feeling of his lips on yours outside of your dreams, you never wanted it to end.

Locked in your world together, neither of you were privy to the knowledge that Alexei was currently bolting away from the rooftop door and down the stairs, yelling out for Yelena and the team that “his ship was finally sailing.”

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