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heartbreakgirl67 · 1 month ago

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I Wish I Knew. [B.B]

summary: you and Bucky, two people who never seemed to get along, are forced into a marriage. But he's starting to look a little different to you...

pairing: congress!Bucky x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

content: (slight) enemies to lovers, banter, marriage of convenience, fluff, angst, soft Bucky, jealousy, kissing, gets defensive of Bucky, drunk Bucky, pet names, yearning for each other but they would never admit it

a/n: first time writing a one shot, but congress Bucky has been running in my mind for weeks. hope you like it!!

5 weeks ago

“You cannot be serious.”

“You know what, for once you seem to be making sense. I agree, we can’t–”

“For once? I’m always making sense.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me laugh.”

“I have been told that I am hilarious.”

“By who? Your parents?”

“They’re dead.”

He paused. “My point still stands.”

“You little–”

“Enough!” Congressman Gary slammed the table, the loud thud echoing throughout the small office you were seated in. Both Bucky and you got the hint and immediately shut your mouths. He sighed, slowly sitting back down on the plush cushioned seat he had–a huge contrast from the hard, chipped wooden chairs you were both seated in.

Gary took off his glasses and started wiping it with a random cloth that was lying on the table. “You do realise this is our only chance right?” his eyes darted between the both of you. “Our only chance to get a good piece of Val. She’s planning something. Her records are squeaky clean and as time progresses, we’re losing the upper hand,” He places the glasses back on the bridge of his nose, giving each of you a look, “I know you both have some…issues with each other, but you’re pretty much all I have for this. So whatever it is, work it out, or at the very least, pretend like you like each other.”

The room went silent for a second, none of you really knowing what to say, before you spoke up. “But Mr. Gary, don’t you think getting married is a bit too, oh I don’t know, much?”

“It’s for his image,” Gary nodded towards Bucky, who sat there with that scowl that was always on his face and his arms crossed. Bucky opened his mouth to protest but Gary beat him to it. “People are concerned about an ex-assassin, brainwashed, might I add, in a congress. This way you can seem a little bit more family oriented and gain the trust of people. Especially since she’s well liked by the public.”

You smirked, turning to face Bucky, who in return, rolled his eyes at you.

“They voted for me,” Bucky mumbled under his breath.

“You sure you didn’t bribe anyone?” You snarked. Bucky glares at you, “ Of course I didn’t bribe anyone. I’m quite–I’m quite convincing,” He mutters, not seeming convinced by himself.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you snorted.

Gary knocks on the table twice to get your attention again. “So you’re in?”

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m in.” He turned to you expectantly.

Your eyes fell to your hands on your lap, your fingers pulling at the thin gold bracelet on your right wrist. Against your better judgement, you nodded, "I'm in."

Present day

You were quite literally losing your mind.

You couldn’t seem to find the gold band that always sat on your wrist–and you had to leave in five minutes.

“Y/N! What the fuck is taking you so long we have to leave…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he peeked into your room. Gary had the amazing idea of putting both of you in Bucky’s one bedroom apartment, instead of getting both of you a bigger place to live in. Luckily for you, Bucky preferred to sleep on a worn-out air mattress in the living room, so you got the queen-sized bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked slowly, confused at your frantic behaviour. You were trashing the room, throwing stuff all around, looking for the dainty band. “I can’t find it,” you breathed out in a panic, bending down to look under the bed.

You heard Bucky sigh heavily before he walked into the room towards you on the floor. “C’mon.” He grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you up.

“No, but–” you protested. “C’mon.” He repeated. He stood right in front of you, hands still on your shoulders as he looked down at your slightly messy state. You had your hair that was once tied up in a bun now strewn on your forehead. His eyes trailed down to your hands where you were pinching the skin of your right wrist. He looked back up to your wild eyes, a look of understanding painting his features. “You should have just told me,” he said as he reached into his black suit pants pocket and fished out the familiar bracelet.

You gasped, snatching it from his grip. “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking. I found it between the couch cushions just now. I was going to give it to you,” he paused, noticing that you were struggling with the clasp. He takes it out of your grasp gently before fixing it on for you, “I didn’t know it meant a lot to you. Someone special gave it to you?”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, quiet but sincere, before turning to face the mirror to fix up your look. Bucky nodded, seeming to get the hint that you didn’t want to talk about it. “I’ll be waiting at the door,” he said before leaving the room.

~~~

The marriage had put you in a weird spot in your relationship. On occasion, you used to be partnered up on missions together. Not once did you get along, despite always completing the task with success.

Now, after pretty much being together 24/7 for a little over a month, the dynamic you had changed without realising. You both didn’t banter as much as you did before, you could come to an agreement on certain things, you worked together better–both at home and at work, and you could be in each other’s presence without wanting to rip the other’s throat out. Well, most of the time.

The weirdest part to you was the intimacy. Not just the physical aspect–the one for the public–but the emotional part of it as well. It wasn’t like you have deep emotional chats on the daily, or at all, but you seemed to understand each other’s thoughts and actions better. Things he used to do and say didn’t affect you the way it did before because you understood which part of him it came from. You noticed that he started doing the same when it came to you.

“Congressman Barnes,” A slender man in a full black suit walks up to you with a big grin. Bucky’s hand instinctively placed itself on your lower back that was draped in a silver blue silk gown. He leans down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, “Gary’s friend. Also works for him.”

“Mr. Dean,” Bucky nodded in greeting. “How’ve you been?”

The man, Mr. Dean,’s eyes travelled from Bucky to you, a smirk pulling at his lips. His forest green eyes scanned you up and down before meeting your own. “And who must this lovely lady be?” You weren’t sure if you were just imagining it, but you felt Bucky’s hand press tighter against your back.

Your lips parted to answer but Bucky quickly interrupted you. “My wife, Y/N.” Mr. Dean hummed in acknowledgement, “Right. I did hear about you getting married,” he chuckled, his intense gaze still fixated on you, “How could I have forgotten?”

“Well, there are a lot of other women's names you need to remember, don’t you?” Bucky muttered. Mr. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean by that exactly, Sergeant Barnes?”

You laughed loudly, slapping Bucky’s chest, to which he winced slightly. “Oh Bucky, he isn’t really good with words. He hasn’t really adapted to our style of communication yet. He’s learning though, Aren't you, Buck?”

Bucky grumbled, glaring at the man in front of you. “Aren’t you, Buck?” You dug your nails into his chest and looked up at him with a smile.

“Mhm.”

“Well it was good meeting you Mr. Dean. We hope you have a good rest of your night,” you quickly added before turning you both around, towards the bar station. You sat Bucky down on the stool.

“Drink?” the bartender asked.

“A shot of vodka, please.” You turned to face Bucky, looking down at him. He had his hands rested on the counter as he looked down. “Look at me,” you ordered, to which he ignored. “Bucky.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You could see the glaring annoyance in his eyes. “What?”

“What the fuck was that?” you whisper-shouted.

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

You groaned, holding back the urge to tug at your hair, so naturally, your hand tugged the band on your wrist. “I’d be shocked if you even manage to serve a full term,” you groused.

You grabbed the shot glass and placed it in front of him. You knew about his struggle with getting drunk but you were hoping that it’ll help, at least a tiny bit.

Just as the glass touched his lips you heard your name being mentioned in a hushed conversation going on behind you. Bucky seemed to have heard it too as he stopped his movement, placing the glass back down.

“You reckon it’s an act?”

“Yeah man, can’t you tell? What woman in their right mind would want to be with that lunatic anyway?”

They burst out laughing. ‘You’re right. Does he even know how to smile? I bet they’ve never even slept together.”

“Oh for sure. She looks like she wants to escape from his clutches.”

“I had a chat with them just now. The way she looked at me, she definitely wanted to escape. I would have taken her if it weren’t for the killing machine beside her.”

Fuck no.

Your head snapped in their direction. You were about to give them a piece of your mind before you felt a hand grab your wrist. You looked over at him, his eyes not meeting yours. He slid his drink over to you.

In an attempt to control yourself from ripping them apart, limb by limb, you gulped down the shot.

The both of you continued to have small chats with people before retreating to a hidden corner of the hall. It was a shadowed end, both you and Bucky leaning on opposite walls.

“This fucking sucks,” you murmured. Your hair suddenly felt too tight, you could feel the makeup on your skin, and your legs were sore.

Bucky didn’t say anything, his eyes scanning around the room. So you continued, “but you know what sucks even more? The way those dickbags were talking about you. I just know their wives feel disappointed every time they hear the keys in the door,” you felt a wave of anger rush over you. You didn’t know if the alcohol had a part in this. “How fucking dare they? They’ve never lived half the life you did and they think they have the right to talk about you like that. I want to just cut up their tongue –”

You didn’t realise your hand clawing at your wrist until you felt the cool metal of Bucky’s hand lace his fingers into yours. He’s never done that. You looked up at him, your lips parted.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“You can’t just let them, Bucky–”

“Sweetheart, I said don’t.”

You closed your mouth, deciding to give him peace today. His eyes stopped scanning the room and landed on yours. You suddenly realised how close he was, acutely aware of the way his body was pressed against yours–the heat of his body being a major contrast to the cold tips of his fingers rubbing against the back of your hand.

His other hand reached up hesitantly to cup your face before softly placing it on your cheek. His touch was feather light, like he was afraid you were going to pull away at any second. You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

“Bucky, what are–what are you doing?” you whispered, your eyes darting between both of his beautiful blue ones.

You knew Bucky was an attractive man, who didn’t? But at that moment you realised just how gorgeous he really was. Seeing him up close like this had you noticing the small things that made him him.

“I wish I knew,” he answered breathily before smashing his lips against yours.

You went limp against his arms for a few seconds before reciprocating. Your lips moulded into each other as your hand reached up, tangling your fingers into his slicked back hair.

You felt like you were on fire. You’ve never been kissed like this before. Like you were the only thing that ever mattered to him. Like he needed to do this–like he needed you–like he needed oxygen.

You tugged on his hair a little, eliciting a groan from his lips against yours, the vibration making you feel feral. You felt his hands were roaming all around your body, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realise…”

You pulled away from each other, gasping and panting, as you turned to face the voice.

“It’s uh, it’s fine, Mr. Dean,” Bucky stammered, brushing his hair out of his face, looking at anywhere but you.

“And here I thought you wanted to talk to me. I guess I misread it,” he chuckled.

You turned to face Bucky, confused at what he was referring to. Bucky’s guilty eyes met yours and you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

“Well I should get going. Don’t let me interrupt what you had going on,” Dean teased. Bucky pulled his eyes away from your gaze, hurt seeping through your face. “It’s alright. You didn’t interrupt anything. I did want to talk to you about something,” Bucky said, walking away from you with that dick.

~~~

Somehow the night ended with you dragging a drunk Bucky back home. After he left you, you decided to drown your feelings by the bar. You knew you couldn’t be a mess and mess up Bucky’s reputation, so despite your need to forget that incident, you controlled yourself.

A couple missed calls and hours later, you started to get worried about Bucky. You searched up and down the hall, only to find him sitting on a curb outside at the back. He had his head in his hands–that were bloody and cut–and when you called out to him, you noticed his dilated pupils and sighed.

Now it was probably one in the morning, and you dropped yourself right beside Bucky on your bed. You had just cleaned his cuts and wiped his face with a cloth and warm water. You were so tired.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he said softly.

“Bucky–”

“No. No. You need to know this,” He slurred, turning to face you while lying down. He rested his cheek on the bend of his elbow. He looked so…innocent.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he repeated, “so bad. Oh god, so bad. But I did use you for my own benefit. It just was…that fucking dickhead, the way he was looking at you, I couldn’t–I couldn’t bear it. I needed him to know.”

“Needed him to know what?” you asked in a hushed tone, mentally and physically too tired to do anything.

“That I like you,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That you couldn’t possibly want him because I needed you to want me. And when I saw him across the room, and you were that close to me,” his eyes clamped shut, “I had to take my chance. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No. Don’t be sorry,” was all you said in a quiet voice. You didn’t really know what to reply to that. You wanted to say that you felt the same way and probably more. That you wanted him in ways you’ve never wanted anyone. But you couldn’t. Not when he probably didn’t even feel the way he said he did.

Also because he was already fast asleep.

#thunderbolts #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #thunderbolts fic #the new avengers #fanfic #bucky barnes x fem!reader #thunderbolts*#mcu fanfiction #mcu

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sunlight-shunlight · 26 days ago

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as always i was thinking about it (thedas art history) and

i think actually the whole chantry situation would be significantly influenced by the fact that they have control over all the tranquil? and the tranquil are... literate, unpaid, tireless, detail-oriented labourers, who will never get bored or cranky or want to quit. so they would actually be like the backbone of how southern thedas makes any kind of printed material, in scriptoriums attached to the circles or whatever?

which is also really convenient for the chantry. since then they have a chokehold on what gets disseminated. any independent groups that make manuscripts or print material would be less efficient, since by necessity, they would need to... pay their scribes and give them days off, and occasionally have them goof up a page and waste time.

and this raises really interesting questions about stuff like the book of shartan and the heretical chant verses being spread around - can people quietly bribe a chantry official to get them to assign a tranquil to copy it out under the table? is there part-time scribe work going on in alienages to keep these texts circulating? do mages (also literate and have access to materials) themselves manage to do this type of thing covertly, or do they have enough loyalty from the tranquil that the tranquil would be willing to lie about it and help them make some contraband?

anyway, THIS is how the popularity of varric's serialized novels, spurring the development of the printing press, and therefore more secular decentralized sources of media, could create a Chantry Reformation Chaos Era, when the chantry loses its grip on information and archives-

#txt #dragon age meta #varric tethras #my hot take is that the printing press kind of existed in thedas as an orzammar only invention/mild curiosity prior to the 5th blight #BUT... then the fereldan circle got severely destabilized and possibly annulled #with all the tranquil included #and the overall blight and shambles and refugee crisis in ferelden as well #created a backlog of manuscripts that was supposed to have been copied but were abruptly not #and if orzammar has bhelen he seems like the type of guy who would want to share the printing press #to print 24/7 propaganda about his regime as well to send to the surface as well hgjdghdj #and THIS is the climate where varric's pulp novels start getting so popular that more cities demand printing presses #bc they cannot survive without the latest updates of hard in hightown #anyway i don't know where i'm going with this ted talk but i think the chantry can have a schism. as a treat. bc of all this #THIS is how leliana's rose vision heretical stuff can still win-

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laswells-ashtray · 3 months ago

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141 + friends (+ enemies lmao) reactions to stepping on a pet?

John wants to kill himself. He steps on Peanut's little paw? Noose, it's the only option. But before he can do that, he's quick to find where she ran off to and lure her back out, holding her to his chest and offering her a soft scratch behind the ear. "I'm sorry, petal. I'm just a clumsy arse, aren't I?"

Ghost releases the loudest, most self-loathing Mancunian "FUCK." you've ever heard. He knows that it won't truly hurt the cat, he knows the little fucker will get over it and he's done a lot worse to actual people. But that stinky rat bastard is his stinky rat bastard who relies on him to survive, and that makes him feel bad. The cat is offered a lot of Dreamies as a forgiveness bribe.

Gaz immediately thinks, "this is it, I'm going to hell" because he just stepped on his mum's cat's paw and she insists that the cat is his sister, so he'll never hear the end of it if he doesn't apologise sufficiently to her. He does, his mother eventually concedes that the cat forgives him, and they move on, but he never quite gets over the fact that his siblings are as follows: an older sister, a younger brother and an eleven-year-old cat.

Soap spends ten minutes trying to lure his cat out from under a table because his boy is skittish and standing on the wee laddie doesnae fuckin help, does it? "C'mere son, a didnae mean it. Yer awright, ye kin be mad at me oot here just stop hidin." He spends the rest of the day cradling the cat like a toddler.

Nikolain would never step on Peanut's tail because he looks for her in literally every room of the flat when he enters it. That's his babygirl, his other babygirl stepped on Peanut's paw and now he's hiding the rope.

Laswell accidentally steps on Boris' paw, and he isn't happy. He hisses at her. "What did you expect? You will stand under my feet whenever you get the chance... Alright, fine. I'm sorry. don't get huffy with me, your mommy will never forgive me. Sarah's still holding the grudge from when I stepped on Dot's tail."

And because you said enemies, I shall include Makarov.

He steps on his cat's tail and regards it with a blank look when it mrrps at him sadly, only to murmur a quiet "Я извиняюсь." in the cat's direction.

Someone sees it and he plants a bullet between their eyes, as soon as he's far away enough that the noise won't hurt his cat's ears.

#captain john price #john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #kate laswell #vladimir makarov

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poutysprouty · 4 months ago

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Best Friend!Gojo

He inherited an empire built on power, wealth, and success, but you were always his crown—his greatest treasure. From the moment you became friends, he knew you were the only thing that made it all worth it. Nothing meant anything to him without you by his side. — In which reader has been Gojo's other half since high school.

warnings: Tooth rotting fluff. Gojo is now, and always has been, a menace.

a/n: Loosely inspired by all of the Nerdjo & College JJK AU's I've been seeing and consuming like they're the last food I'll ever eat in my life. I have ideas for some Sukuna ones next <3

Best Friend!Gojo who you’ve known since high school. Appropriately nicknamed “The Chaos Twins”, the two of you were always feeding off each other’s energy, causing trouble just because you could.

Best Friend!Gojo who was the de-facto ringleader of your little duo, but everyone knew that you were the true mastermind—and the only one who could knock him down a peg when needed. Much to Geto and Nanami’s eternal suffering.

Best Friend!Gojo who realized in Junior year that he had a little crush on you. Watching you giggle, eyes alight with mischief as he helped you set up a prank for Yaga, he suddenly saw you in a different light—beautiful, brilliant, and so effortlessly you. Perfect for him in every way.

Best Friend!Gojo who felt his heart drop out of his ass when, in Senior year, you listed the colleges you were applying to, not a single one matching the Ivy League he had already been accepted into. The same one his father and grandfather had attended, the one he had assumed you’d be right there with him at.

Best Friend!Gojo who quite literally dropped to his knees and hugged your legs, dramatically begging you to apply to his school, only for you to sigh and murmur, “I won’t get in even if I tried.” It was one of the few times he’d ever heard you sound defeated, your fingers brushing through his hair like you already knew the outcome.

Best Friend!Gojo who refused to accept that, who convinced you to apply anyway, helping you with the entire process, flashing that smug grin and saying, “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

Best Friend!Gojo who was the first person you told when the acceptance letter arrived, who pulled you into the tightest hug, grinning like a fool, promising to take you out to celebrate.

Best Friend!Gojo who had a stupid, lovedrunk smile on his face, watching you scarf down fries in the passenger seat of his expensive sports car in the parking lot of some random fast food place that you loved, utterly satisfied while half-listening to you ramble on and on about how excited you were, because he’d made sure to pull some strings to make sure you got in, no matter what. Your place was beside him, always.

Best Friend!Gojo who made it his mission to be in all your classes in college, flashing that smug grin as he slid into the seat next to you like it was his birthright. In his mind, it was.

Best Friend!Gojo who was in your dorm more often than he was in his own, to the point you suggested the two of you look into student housing off campus together once you were eligible.

Best Friend!Gojo who dragged you to every party, claiming it was networking while you side-eyed him over your drink.

Best Friend!Gojo who had plenty of girls fawning over him, ready to do whatever he asked, but he only had eyes for you. And any time the two of you separated and another guy came up to chat with you? He was always reappearing by your side, as if he could sense some terrible disturbance in the world, scaring the poor guy off with a steely glare you had never seen him use on anybody else.

Best Friend!Gojo who helped you cram for exams, bribing you with your favorite snacks, only to fall asleep on your notes while you actually studied.

Best Friend!Gojo who, one late night in your dorm, finally blurted out, “I like you. Like, like you.” His usual confidence wavered just slightly, eyes searching yours for any hint of rejection.

Best Friend!Gojo who barely had a second to process before you smacked his arm, exasperated. “It took you long enough!”

Best Friend!Gojo who blinked, then laughed, bright and unfiltered, pulling you in by the waist and kissing you like he should have years ago.

Best Friend!Gojo who spent the rest of college by your side, making sure everyone knew exactly who you belonged to.

Best Friend!Gojo who swore up and down that you had to graduate together, refusing to let you slack off or fall behind—not that you would have anyway. He made it his personal mission to match your efforts, pushing himself just as hard as he pushed you.

Best Friend!Gojo who grinned ear to ear when your names were called, the two of you standing at the very top of your class, like he always knew you would.

Best Friend!Gojo who, the moment he got his diploma, grabbed you right there on stage, dipping you dramatically before crashing his lips against yours in front of everyone. The crowd went wild. The professors sighed.

Best Friend!Gojo who only pulled away to smirk and say, “Had to make it official, sweets.” As if it weren't already official enough.

Best Friend!Gojo who, two years after college, dragged you on a spontaneous trip to Santorini, claiming he just needed a break from corporate nonsense; but you had a feeling something was up.

Best Friend!Gojo who, at sunset, stood with you on the beach overlooking the sea, fidgeting with something in his pocket, uncharacteristically quiet for once.

Best Friend!Gojo who suddenly dropped to one knee, pulling out a ring that sparkled almost as much as his eyes did when he looked at you.

Best Friend!Gojo who grinned up at you and said, “Took me long enough, huh?”

Best Friend!Gojo who barely got a chance to hear your answer before you tackled him into the sand, kissing him breathlessly, murmuring “About damn time.”

Best Friend!Gojo who planned the most extravagant wedding imaginable—but the only part that mattered to him was you, standing at the altar, saying yes.

Best Friend!Gojo who dipped you just like he did at graduation, kissing you like the world was watching.

Best Friend!Gojo who, years later, would still introduced you as “my wife” with the biggest, cockiest grin, like he had won the ultimate prize. And to him, he had.

Best Friend!Gojo who, only 3 years after he married you, sat at the head of his father’s company, grinning like he owned the world—because, well, he practically did.

Best Friend!Gojo who made damn sure you were right there with him, offering you a top position without hesitation. None of it mattered to him without you.

Best Friend!Gojo who strolled into your office, hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he smirked. “Told you we’d rule the world together.”

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helslastangel · 8 months ago

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I'm back bxtches

Random Observations #9

Y'all still need the disclaimer or will reason prevail?

🦂 Scorpio Mars are POWERHOUSES in my not-so-humble opinion. If you are prone to procrastination, especially in your career or as an entrepreneur, Aries Mars might hype you up but a Scorpio Mars (esp in 10H) is gonna make damn sure you finish your to-do list.

I had a friend with this placement and she literally bribed me with weed to come to her house, then she took my phone and house keys and made me sit and finish designing my business cards and send them to Vistaprint before she'd give my damn keys back. Made over $5K USD from my next few clients though so I wasn't even mad about it lol

🦀 I don't care what the astrology girls like to say - my observations of Cancer moons is that they are FORGIVING AF. Like it takes a lot for a Cancer moon to be really done with you and chances are you're more wrong than they are.

Cancer moons come off as manipulative to a lot of people. But when you actually dig below the surface, you'll notice this common thread where people who aren't good at seeing other people's points of view unless they need something immediately project that attitude onto people who genuinely give a shit.

Obviously there are evil Cancer moons and they're extra terrifying for the above reason, but they're the minority and the slander is unnecessary imo. The people who have literally put up with my WORST behavior the longest and genuinely dropped it after a good open conversation were all Cancer moons.

👬 Which leads me to another interesting astro trope I'd like to kick over right about now. Gemini moons. Love them but in my experience they are usually what people think Cancer moons are. Gemini moons, from my observation, don't soak up as much, if any, of other peoples' energies. They're gonna keep it moving emotionally regardless of how you wanna be in the moment. That means they can easily smile with you for years if that's the path of least resistance, but that does NOT mean they particularly like, care about or think highly of you at all. They MIGHT, but you will NOT know unless they want you to know or you somehow trigger them enough to rip the black tape off the redacted parts of their mental file on you.

If you're someone who is used to everything being totally transparent and straightforward, you're in for a wild ride with a Gemini moon in your life. I've had quite a few as friends or coworkers, etc., and I promise without fail there always came the day where I ended up wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, feet up on my desk, twiddling my thumbs listening to the 11-minute voice note from the latest Gemini moon in my life. Pretty much telling me in no uncertain terms exactly what they thought of me, where I should go, why, and how happy they would be to direct me there personally.

As a Capricorn moon, I never have the kind of reaction they'd like to this but it's always interesting to see the abrupt change as they can literally seem perfectly cool 3 minutes before the other twin takes over. I don't even think it's a good or bad thing, just how it goes.

Cancer moons seem this way but chances are you chose to ignore the VERY OBVIOUS SIGNS THAT SOMETHING (probably everything) was wrong, lol. Cancer moons can't hide their feelings for shit (reason #101 why I love them; it's easier for me to fix a problem if i can quickly see there is one 😂).

🦁 Let's change tracks and talk about Leo mercuries for a minute. Y'all get your inside and outside voices mixed up a LOT, lol. Every Leo mercury I know had trouble speaking quietly in quiet-appropriate situations but then catch them outside trying to get their friends attention at the other side of the street and suddenly it's like Tom got their tongue and tossed it to Jerry. Can barely get a sound out. Why is that? I know it wouldn't be all Leo mercuries but for those who experience this, please tell me what it is, I'm genuinely curious lol. As a Libra mercury I kinda have a similar problem. On another note, I've noticed that Leo mercuries can be highly persuasive people even if solely because of the amount of power and confidence they put behind the things they say.

My ex-husband has Leo Mercury at 24° (Pisces degree) and I promise you that man could make you believe anything against your will 😂 One time he was trying to get out of having to go to a friend's event and rather than just decline like a normal person, he crafted this masterpiece of an excuse that somehow involved me needing his attention (I had been on the couch under his arm half the day so no lol) but the way he spoke on the phone?

I swear to God even I caught myself nodding along all like "yeah, yes I did feel a bit neglected today and wanted more time with babe"... 😂😂😂 like NO TF I DID NOT FEEL NEGLECTED AT ALL but I got second-hand convinced lol. And yes he was loud when I or his friends were 12 inches away but couldn't raise his voice for shit to order through the drive-thru at McDonald's lol it was cute, though, I'd do the yelling into the intercom thing 😂

🐟 Lemme say this about Pisces suns - you are very underrated, from my observations. I've noticed Pisces suns in particular struggle with one of two major issues when it comes to others' perceptions of them - either people seem compelled to minimize/infantilize their contributions and achievements, or people fail to notice they exist altogether (or forget about them easily). I've always held my Pisces sun friends close for as long as I could and hyped them up because nearly every Pisces sun I've met has been incredibly talented and usually creative in some way. I'm talking genius levels of ability in some area that goes completely overlooked or undervalued by the majority of people in their circles.

These are the people who you vaguely notice as the cool server, hot bartender, friendly delivery guy, helpful sales associate, only for you to run into them somewhere else and you find out they run a whole personal training business or play 6 instruments perfectly and give lessons to kids, or taught themselves professional photography and have a camera in their bedroom worth more than your savings account. I've met so many Pisces suns who seemed to be one way and then there were so many layers to them that it was like reading an interactive novel.

That's what was on my mind for now, drop your favorite placement from your own chart in the comments, I'll compile them for random observations #10 😘

#astrology observations #astrology #astro notes #astrology signs #astrology blog #astro posts #astro observations #astrology tumblr #astrology notes

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earlysunshines · 8 months ago

Text

fright night

kim minji x fem!reader

synopsis: in which your university’s halloween festival leads to you and minji beating around the bush — finally.

warnings: making out. like the best makeout scene i've written in a bit i think. ohmygdoajsdf ; minji is a loooooser but we all know this ; pining ; dumb gay women ; FLIRTING. they want each other SO BAD i was giggling writing this im ngl ; SO cute i loved writing this ohmygod ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: lately i’ve been going insane bc of minji like she’s just so gf… so… she’s so… i need her

kim minji is an idiot, she’s literally the dumbest person you know.

well, academically she’s actually a genius, but she’s clumsy and clueless nine times out of ten. unfortunately yet fortunately(?) for her, this is only more of the reason for you to be completely in love with her.

which is why your roommate is dealing with another one of your little attempts to deny your feelings again.

“i think i should just die.” you groan into yunjin’s bed. she watches you, your body lifeless after you roll over to face the ceiling. “everything was just normal.”

“‘just’ as in… a month ago…?” your roommate snickers, folding a t-shirt and placing it next to your torso. “i think you’re the only person i know who doesn’t enjoy being in love.”

yes: you’re in love with kim minji.

no: you do not enjoy being in love with her at all.

it’s not that she’s an asshole, it’s just the fact that everyone is also in love with her. she quite literally has a line of girls (and men, but none of them stand a chance) waiting for her. she’s kim minji, one of your mutual friends who happens to be the captain of the university’s soccer team—which is why the clumsy aspect of her is often overlooked. so to most, she’s just hot, but she’s more to you, much more.

and you? you’re just trying to get by. you’re not in the spotlight, you haven’t gotten hit on in months — you and minji are two worlds apart.

“this is a waste of time. she only sees me as a friend, she’s cute and athletic. compared to her the most astonishing thing i can do is make a t-shirt and wide-legged jeans to sell on depop.”

“you should make a t-shirt that says ‘kim minji i want you so bad please marry me—“

yunjin is cut off when her just-folded shirt is thrown right at her face. she groans and throws it right back at you.

“i hope you get the same fate as a side character in a horror film.” you groan, sitting up and glaring at her.

“aw, thanks.” she says dryly, rolling her eyes. “hey, speaking of horror… the halloween festival is soon. are you going?”

“i fear.” you sigh, shoulders sinking a bit.

your partner in crime outside of your dorm, danielle, had convinced you with a look filled with sparkly eyes and a sweet smile to help out with face painting. there would be a variety of people passing by and you were notoriously known for being able to draw really well despite being a fashion major. “art is art,” danielle had shrugged, and so she bribed you with some coffee to really commit to it.

“danielle got me to do the face painting stall.”

yunjin’s eyes widen as she sets down a sweater. “did she?”

“yeah. i’m the only one within the circle – other than hanni – who can draw more than a stick figure.”

“you’ve got that right.” yunjin snickers. “you think your wife will be there?”

“minji?” you tilt your head, to which yunjin responds with a raised brow. she got you there. “oh, um. maybe? why?”

“don’t act all unbothered now.” your roommate scoots you over so she can pick up a pile and stack them somewhere else. “if she’s also doing something for the event, i see it as an opportunity.”

“why would i willingly do that to myself? im going to look desperate.”

“minji is an idiot, we both know that. why would it matter? i think she’d be flattered to have you there. hasn’t she literally taken you home like… three times? girl, stop overthinking.” yunjin scoffs. “plus, you never look desperate. you’re a little too good at acting like you don’t care. don’t you think you’re driving her away? it’s like, you’re so normal and even distant in real life, i don’t want to say nonchalant because it’ll boost your ego, but unfortunately, that’s what you are.”

“you—“ yunjin raises both brows as you start to speak.

“she probably wants you too. i’ve noticed you guys talking more — don’t think i don’t notice you guys next to each other in between classes, even if it’s with your circle. kazuha asked if you were dating actually.”

“really?”

yunjin giggles, turning away from her closer and back at you. she stands right in front of you, towering over and looking into your eyes scarily.

“you want that girl so bad.”

“i can’t.”

“no, no. listen to me, you’re going to take this halloween thing as an advantage to make a move and also look hot. i don’t know how many more complaints about you being a bomosexual i can take.”

“i hate you.”

“okay then pay full rent.”

“i love you?”

yunjin laughs, picking up another pile of clothes and putting it away.

—

hanni is the one to text you out of nowhere the day after, something about “minji wanted you to eat with us, but heeseung is at the cafe.”

you squint at the message. you had just reached your class, and now you’re being invited over to grab a bite with the girl you want so bad while the guy who wants you so bad is in the same area. there is no way you should be saying yes, you can’t. one: you need to get over minji. she’s out of reach, a mere dream. two: heeseung will be checking you out the whole time and might throw in a compliment or two.

“i’ll be there in five.” you respond, sighing and pinching the bridge of your nose.

…

the café seems a little busy, but that’s not surprising considering it’s around lunchtime and the cafe is not too far from the university. the second you step in, your eyes find minji across the room. she’s mid-laugh with hanni, but the moment she spots you, her smile stretches wider, something bright and giddy in her gaze. it’s that soft, familiar look she gets sometimes—too open, too much—but you’re just as bad, trying not to look like you’re seconds away from smiling like an idiot as you walk up.

“hey, you,” she greets, her voice warm as she sidles closer, her shoulder bumping yours as you both look over the menu.

“hey loser,” you reply, nudging her back a little harder, a playful rhythm forming between you. she pushes back with a smile, and you retaliate, each shove barely more than an excuse to keep lingering in that small space between you two. she laughs, cheeks a little flushed, and you can’t help but feel like coming over was the better decision.

you order first, dismissing minji’s offer to pay for your lunch. she frowns but nonetheless lets you order first. you order a sundried tomato and mozzarella panini, stepping to the side after and glancing at minji, who’s still staring at the menu.

hanni and danielle have already ordered, so you wait near the counter for minji so the two of you can meet up with the rest together.

much to your dismay, heeseung’s voice breaks through your little bubble. he steps closer, leaning against the counter a little too casually. “so, do you always come here, or did you just need an excuse?” his smile is easy, maybe a little too practiced, and his gaze lingers as he looks you up and down, more intense than friendly.

you try not to visibly cringe, offering him a polite smile. “not really—just here with friends today,” you say, keeping your tone light but cool. but he doesn’t quite take the hint, his eyes not quite leaving yours. he definitely thinks there’s something in the air, something other than his cologne that is way too strong for your liking.

“you look cute.”

“oh um, thanks?” you purse you lips into a forced smile, watching him smirk confidently.

“what are your plans after this? got class?”

before you can think of another way to steer the conversation away, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you close, and you look over to find minji at your side. her smile is wide and a little mischievous, and there’s a hint of something defiant in her gaze as she looks right past heeseung, keeping her hand snug on your hip.

“oh, y/n!” she says brightly, voice layered with just enough enthusiasm to sound like a joke but there’s an edge that makes it feel like more. “i remembered something so funny, it’s about yunjin. you know, during practice she got hit in the head.”

she doesn’t even look at heeseung as she tugs you back toward your group, keeping her arm around you a beat longer than necessary. heeseung’s face twists slightly, frustration crossing his features, but minji doesn’t give him a second glance. she launches into a conversation about her classes, her hand slipping away from your waist as she nudges you with her shoulder once more, an unmistakable grin still tugging at her lips.

you two get the chance to converse with danielle and hanni, who are more than happy to have you there. you can feel heeseung and his group eyeing you from a mile away, but that doesn’t matter because minji is in front of you and keeping eye contact the whole time you complain about him.

both your order and minji’s are called out at the same time and for a second, it’s just the two of you again as you both walk up to the counter. her voice and her closeness are enough to erase the last few awkward moments.

“you looked like you were having fun back there,” she murmurs, half-laughing, and you can tell by the gleam in her eyes that she noticed everything.

you laugh, trying to shrug it off. “couldn’t have done it without you,” you say, brushing her shoulder with yours. she looks down, almost bashfully, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks as she smiles—a smile that lingers long after heeseung fades into the background once again and you two rejoin the others.

…

before you make an excuse to leave, although it’s not really an excuse more than a complaint about your professor assigning a grueling reading, you hug everyone. when it’s you and minji, you two hold onto each other for a split second longer than social norms until she pulls away. minji smells like flowers and vanilla – you could drown in her scent.

“are you going to the halloween festival this weekend?”

“oh, yeah. danielle is forcing me to volunteer.”

“that’s funny,” minji chuckles, “because hanni is forcing me too.”

“is that so?”

“uh huh, pumpkin carving moderator or something.” she says, biting the inside of your lip. “we should um, do you wanna walk around after? maybe drop your shift early and i’ll do the same.”

you grin, pushing minji’s shoulder with two fingers playfully.

“couldn’t find any other girl lined up for you to hangout with?”

“what other girls?” minji asks, genuinely confused.

you’re being an idiot. yunjin would so punch you in the face right now, so you come to your senses.

“i– nevermind. i’ll see you around.”

minji waves. “bye.”

…

after you leave, minji settles into her seat beside hanni and danielle, trying to keep her expression neutral. she fails, the smile on her face noticeably smaller and her eyes a little more dim. her friends have known her too long; hanni catches on first, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

“you look like a disappointed puppy,” hanni says, nudging minji with a grin.

“what? no,” minji replies, clearly flustered. “what are you saying bro.”

“you were practically glowing when y/n walked in,” hanni teases, leaning in. “and then suddenly turned into a sad little puddle when she left. you want her soooo bad.”

minji’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, and she tries to laugh it off, glancing at danielle as if for backup. but danielle’s watching her too, a gentle, encouraging look on her face.

“it’s okay, minji,” danielle says softly. “it’s… pretty obvious, you know? you like y/n a lot.”

minji rolls her eyes, looking away. “maybe i do. but it doesn’t matter. y/n’s just… she’s too… normal, you know? she’s always so unbothered, so unfazed by anything. she probably doesn’t even want me. i’m always chasing her.”

danielle shakes her head, a knowing smile touching her lips. “i wouldn’t be so sure, minji. just because y/n’s good at hiding her feelings doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them.” she places a reassuring hand on minji’s arm. “trust me, i think there’s more there than you realize.”

minji lets out a small sigh, her gaze dropping to her hands. “it’s just… sometimes it feels like i’m the only one who’s feeling this way, you know? like i’m the only one getting flustered or waiting for her to look at me like… like i don’t know, she see’s me as a good friend.”

hanni wraps an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. “please. y/n’s about as subtle as you when you’re around. i don’t know how you don’t see it.”

danielle laughs softly, nodding. “give it time, minji. y/n might just need a little nudge, and besides…” she pauses, glancing around conspiratorially before leaning in. “if y/n didn’t feel something, you wouldn’t have caught her staring at you like that when she thought no one was watching. plus, the whole nudging your shoulders the whole time. you two are like fucking thirteen year olds in love, it’s kind of gross.”

minji looks up, hope flickering in her eyes as a faint, shy smile tugs at her lips. maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t imagining it.

—

“im literally going to kill myself.” is the first thing yunjin hears when you get home, followed by you dropping your bag and crashing against her on your couch.

“girl what happened?”

“kim fucking minji. she’s insane, she wants me to die, i can’t do this, i resign from being a lesbian can i please resign.”

“well!” yunjin laughs, pulling you in. you lean on her shoulder and cover your face with your hands. “do you want to tell me what happened?”

through your hands, your voice is muffled as you explain, “basically hanni invited me to grab lunch with her and dani and minji. she looked so cute and like, we kept bumping shoulders and she kept smiling when she did it and then i ordered and—”

“you’re rambling–”

“and then i waited for my order while she ordered and heeseung started flirting with me,”

“ew, heeseung?”

“the bane of my existence— yes. i told him i was a lesbian at least three times! oh my god, anyway that doesn’t even matter, i don’t even care because—yunjin. huh yunjin.”

yunjin blinks at you as you stand up, pacing back and forth on the carpet now. she can’t help but laugh at you when you stop in front of her and groan, “jennifer huh.”

“wow, this must be serious.”

“minji fucking grabbed me by the waist like some wattpad story and then kinda shooed heeseung away and yunjin her hands are so nice and they were on my waist and i want her so bad. yeah. i’m gonna just die.”

yunjin pulls you by the wrist so you’re back next to her. she looks at you with a raised brow, waiting for you to recover from your high (if that counts as a high, but maybe you’re just insane).

“she wants you.”

“she’s playing with me.”

“you’re insane. you know hanni asked if me if you like minji earlier, right? talking about how minji looked so devastated after you left.”

“what?”

“oh my god. you know what, i’m done with you. you’re such an idiot that it’s pissing me off.”

you whine, pulling yunjin by her forearm and pulling her back, which earns a scoff. yunjin looks at your little pout and puppy eyes, but doesn’t give in. instead, she pushes you off, leaving you to deal with the events of the day on your own.

before she disappears into her room, she sighs, “you’re gay and useless.”

you sink into the couch a little more. “thanks.”

—

the weekend comes by all too fast. even with your time consuming assignments, it feels like you’ve blinked and now you have to deal with the whole festival.

you’re in a snug white cropped baby tee that shows a decent amount of your abdomen, your hair is styled just a bit, and the makeup on your face is a little more glittery and highlighted than usual. on your back there’s angel wings that complete the look.

(“she’s going to want you so bad, trust me.” yunjin assures as she does your eye makeup.

it’s nothing much, just some darker warm tones with a faint hint of purple and highlighter to make you really look like an angel.

“and…” yunjin adds a bit of highlighter to your cheekbones. she pulls away and gazes at her work, bringing her pointer to her lips and biting on it jokingly. “heyyy gorgeous.”

“shut up.”

“minji’s going to want you so bad.”

“shut. up.”)

yunjin drives the two of you to the festival, she also looks really good. while you’re an angel, she’s a devil, showing off her toned body from soccer so she can pick up some girls that night.

(“you’re such a hoe.” you groan, doing her makeup to make her eyes smoky and lips plump.

she rolls her eyes while putting on her little horns in her hair, checking herself out in the mirror.

“how do i look?”

“like a hoe.” you assure firmly, earning a shove. then, you slide a finger down her collarbone teasingly, winking at her. “a really hot one.”

your roommate chuckles. “save that for minji, y/n.”

“i hate you.”)

the halloween festival is lively, lights flickering under dark skies, and you slip through the crowd in your angel costume with yunjin. you’re not even sure if anyone’s noticed your costume details, but the reactions make it clear you look… well, good. or maybe that’s just yunjin who’s doing the attracting, but a man winks directly at you and you have to force back a look of disgust.

as you make your way to the face-painting stall, you catch sight of minji leaning against a booth, dressed as patrick bateman. she’s really hot, that’s for sure, and it’s nothing new. the loose, slightly unbuttoned dress shirt shows her collarbone, and you can’t help but think about how your lips would feel on them. the loosened tie around her neck makes her look really good; you feel like she’s pulling you in without trying. despite the purposeful tousled look, she looks effortlessly put-together, but the smudge of fake blood on her cheek adds a wild edge (and makes her look even hotter).

her eyes land on you, and her expression shifts just slightly before she pushes off the booth, walking over with a slight smirk.

“wow,” she says, looking you up and down in a way that feels way too intense. “you’re really… pulling off that angel look. you look really good, y/n.”

you giggle, trying to play it cool. “you look pretty good yourself,” you reply, letting your gaze drift over her from the blood on her cheek to the undone buttons of her shirt. “i didn’t know patrick bateman could look this… hot.”

a faint flush creeps onto her cheeks, and she lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “yeah, well, didn’t know ‘angelic’ could look so irresistible,” she teases, but her voice softens as her eyes linger on you.

for a beat, the two of you just stand there, the energy between you charged. you’re painfully aware of the way she’s looking at you—like she’s holding back from saying or doing something, thouh—and you can’t stop yourself from mirroring that, a hint of want in your gaze. she clears her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“well, i better get to moderating— i don’t want people accidentally slicing themselves instead of a pumpkin.” she murmurs, finally breaking eye contact but not before giving you one last once-over, her eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. she brings her hand to your hair, using a finger to push away some of the strands framing your face. you gulp a bit, then again after she brushes her knuckles against your cheek. “i like this. the makeup.”

i like you. you fight back the confession.

“thanks.” you swallow, nodding. “well, i should,” you start, playing with her tie out of a burst of confidence. you tug on it just a little, catching her by surprise. her breath hitches just barely. “--get going. i’ll see you.” you say, dropping the piece of fabric in your hand.

as you head toward your booth, the thrill from your brief encounter with minji lingers, leaving you more than a little distracted and hoping she feels it too.

…

you’ve painted more faces than you can count on one hand in only an hour, much to your surprise. if you were to do this full time you’d for sure develop arthritis the second week on the job.

after your tenth person — some kid who just wanted two flowers on her cheeks — danielle taps your shoulder. you turn around, humming in response.

“you look beat,” she says.

your shoulders are drooping, your posture is much worse than when you started, and you’re moving your wrist in a every angle to stretch it out and relieve the soreness.

“you think?”

“hanni says she’ll be over in a bit.” danielle assures, patting you on the back and massaging your back lightly. “the stall will close soon so we can all hangout after.”

“thank god. are the other activities closed?”

“not until before midnight – i think.” you sigh in relief, but danielle adds, “could you grab some stuff from the supply closet though? maybe some more white, blue, and red paint? maybe grab yellow and green too.”

she gives you those eyes again, earning a chuckle. “yeah, yeah. okay.”

“great! just go down and turn right, there’s a brown shed — it’s not creepy, i swear. it’s kind of modern actually.”

“something tells me you’re lying.”

“me? lying?”

you roll your eyes and stand up, then you trudge on over down the gravel. you roll your shoulders back and massage your neck a bit, then fix your costume a bit. it’s funny; you’re at a whole festival and this is the only time you’re exposed to the groups of people, bright lights, and excitement all around — at least for longer than a minute.

turning the corner you reach a shed, one that matches danielle’s description.

danielle isn’t a liar, she never lies — well, she never lies about anything serious. it’s quite modern inside, seemingly new due to the fresh paint smell. it’s lined with wooden shelves, each holding different items. the corners are filled with various decorations, ranging from not only halloween decor but also christmas and even valentines day themed trinkets. you laugh at the little cupid poster in the back, but recollect yourself and focus on the “task” at hand.

you have to rummage through the costumes in the corner to find a small box with face paint in it. the light in the shed isn’t on (there isn’t a switch, only some rustic-type light hanging from above in the middle of the building), so you use your flashlight to help you see clearer.

it takes a bit more time to find the yellow bottle of paint, which is in your hand until you drop it from the sound of the door opening so suddenly.

you jump, gasping ever so lightly before turning around to see a very striking patrick bateman.

minji stands in the doorway, still looking as good as before, looking at you with a perplexed expression.

“what are you doing here?” she asks, looking around the area.

“minji,” you close your eyes, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“i’m sorry…” she says, jutting out her bottom lip and suddenly every ounce of fear is drained from your body. “i didn’t know you were in here.”

“danielle sent me to get more paint.”

“that's funny,” minji steps towards you, looking at the two paint bottles on the floor. “hanni sent me to grab trash bags.”

you don’t respond for a second because minji steps under the antique light above her. it illuminates her face in the best way possible, highlighting the smeared on fake blood and her features. you feel your throat tightening as you stare.

minji’s gaze softens, she steps closer.

“do you know where i could find trash—”

“yes, um, yeah, probably in the corner.” you choke out.

she chuckles, you swallow lightly.

you take the stretch of silence to pick up the two bottles that had dropped out your hand and turn the flash on your phone off. you fix your tank top because minji is still within radius, but she’s busy looking for the trash bags, still.

“i’ll see you later?” you say softly. minji’s head whips around, and there’s a slight frown on her face. before she can respond, you hear a click coming from the door, then stare at the handle with furrowed brows. you reach over to twist the knob, but it barely budges. “what the hell?”

“what?”

“i think it’s locked. did you lock it?”

she shakes her head, her brow furrowing as she steps over, nudging you aside to try the handle herself. she pulls, twisting the knob a little harder than you did, but the door still doesn’t move an inch.

“it’s locked.” she mutters, glancing at you with a hint of worry. “i think we’re stuck.”

you both stare at each other for a beat, the realization sinking in, and suddenly the small shed feels much smaller. you look away first, sighing before turning on your phone.

“i’ll call danielle.” you say, voice steady, though there’s a slight tremor as you dial.

“i’ll try hanni.”

you both dial. danielle doesn’t answer and you huff. you wait for minji, her phone against her ear, and the defeated groan is enough to tell you whether hanni answered or not.

“i guess they’re busy.” minji says, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

for a moment, silence stretches between you both again, an awkward tension settling in. minji shifts, making a weird noise as she brushes dust off her shirt. you can’t help but find it cute. then she adjusts her loose collar, making you clear your throat and glancing around for any other possible way out; there’s none.

the only thing you catch is a window, a window that’s far too small and high for anything to happen.

“we’re stuck.” you mutter, looking back at minji.

“do you think dani and hanni will realize we’re missing?”

“they might be busy…” you pinch the bridge of your nose, resting your head against the door. “i have no idea how we’ll get out.”

you’re stuck with minji. kim minji. the hottest and cutest girl you’ve ever laid eyes on. the girl you think of way too much for it to be platonic. the girl who’s in a costume that genuinely has you considering ruining a friendship. the girl who’s leaning back against the shelf behind her right now, crossing her arms, and who’s eyes are flickering over you as she smiles.

“your costume is really something.” her voice is casual, like you’re not stuck in a shed. there’s also a warmth in her tone that isn’t hidden in the slightest. “i like it a lot. you look heavenly.”

if minji’s trying to ease the tension, she’s doing it very well. her stupid dad joke earns a laugh from you, and now you’re leaning against the door with one side of your body as you keep eye contact.

“thank you minji, your looks could really kill.”

she laughs, gums showing and eyes crinkling. you want her so bad.

“that one was worse than mine.”

“no it wasn’t!”

she rolls her eyes. “it was.” she steps closer leaning her head against the same door and staring hard at every single feature of your face. she glances at your lips briefly, then back up. “bet you’ve turned more than a few heads tonight.”

“maybe,” you feel your voice growing quieter. “but i was stuck at the booth.”

“if i were at the booth i think i’d purposely stay just to see you. you look really pretty tonight y/n, i mean it.”

you blush. “maybe.” there’s a grin that you can’t keep off your face. “i’d say the same for you.”

she chuckles again, looking down at her slightly blood-stained dress shirt. “yeah, i think i took the pumpkin carving part a bit too seriously. got more guts on me than on the pumpkins.” she holds up her hands, still faintly stained with an orange hue, and shakes her head. “i’ll probably smell like pumpkins for a week.”

minji watches you turn to the side, covering your mouth to stifle a giggle.

turning back, you’re mid-laugh when your eyes catch on a smudge of blood across minji’s cheek, just barely out of place. your hand moves without thinking, reaching up to brush it away with your thumb. the laughter fades, the shed shrinking around you, and everything slows, the only movement her skin warming under your touch.

minji’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and unblinking, and there’s something behind it that makes your heart skip. her eyes are barely liddied now, she swallows, biting down on the inside of her lip, before a slow, uncertain smile begins to take over her face.

“you look so good right now,” she murmurs, her voice low, almost rough. her hand reaches up, covering yours, holding it there against her cheek, like she’s trying to commit the moment to memory, almost like it’ll end anytime – soon, or now.

you’re close enough to feel her breath, the slight catch in it. “good enough for you?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips, your words teasing, but your heart racing.

she chuckles, but it’s quiet, and her gaze doesn’t waver. “better than good,” she whispers, her hand falling from yours, trailing down to your waist, her fingers grazing the bare skin there, gentle, hesitant, like she’s testing the feel of you, seeing if you’ll pull away, but you don’t. minji smirks. “are you… seeing anyone?”

the question hangs between you, heavy and thrilling. you shake your head, your pulse pounding beneath her touch. “no one at all.”

she exhales, her voice barely above a whisper. “good.” her fingers press into your waist just a little more, her gaze flickering down to your lips, and you watch, almost dizzy, as she wets her own, her tongue darting out, just barely, the movement so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t so close.

your hand moves from her cheek, trailing slowly down to the open collar of her shirt, brushing along her collarbone. her breath hitches, and her head tilts slightly, just enough for your fingers to press against her skin, her eyes closing for the briefest moment before she meets your gaze again. you don’t realize how close you’ve drawn until you feel her breath warm against your lips.

she glances at your lips for what seems the tenth time. you two are clearly vibrating on the same wave length, it’s evident.

then, with the faintest, almost imperceptible smile, minji closes the space between you, her mouth soft, warm, pressing into yours, a little unsure, like she’s savoring every second of it. her hand at your waist tightens, pulling you closer, her fingertips grazing the curve of your hip as she leans in, her other hand moving to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek. the world around you slips away, and all that’s left is her—the warmth of her lips, the feeling of her touch, and the overwhelming sense that every daydream you had is getting outdone by this moment. this real moment.

it’s so real when she pulls away with rosy cheeks. she looks at you nervously, as if she didn’t just take the oxygen from your lungs.

“was that alright?” she asks, sounding unsure. it’s cute, she’s cute, god she’s so cute.

“perfect.” you mumble.

your hand moves to where her tie is, it’s loose around her collar, making it easier for you to tug her right back into you. she gasps from surprise and groans into your lips, kissing you hard.

her fingers press into your skin and you shiver, parting your lips ever so slightly to sigh softly. minji smirks against your skin, trailing to your jawline with light pecks as you release your grip on her tie and snake your hand around her neck.

“i’ve–” a kiss to the side of your throat, “wanted to—” a kiss lower, “do this for—” and a soft kiss to the base of your neck, “so long.”

your breath shakes after she finishes the sentence, she kisses your neck once more.

minji parts, moving you over so you’re is against some random, heavy box on the side of the shed and now both arms are around your neck. you’re a few more kisses in, mixed with content sighs and groans and handfuls of hair before you two almost bite each other’s lips off from the sound of the door opening.

you barely have time to pull away, minji’s lips are still a breath from yours, her hand lingering at your waist. you both turn to see danielle, hanni, and yunjin standing in the doorway, eyes wide. you and minji spring apart, the movement so fast that it would be funny if you were witnessing the situation.

danielle’s shock morphs into a grin as she exchanges a look with hanni, and yunjin just has a hand over her mouth.

hanni’s mouth drops open before breaking into a smirk, her eyes flickering with pure satisfaction.

“oh my god.” hanni breathes, relief in her voice. “it actually worked.”

before you or minji can respond, utterly confused considering they all look relieved rather than disgusted, yunjin takes one look at you and minji and bursts out laughing,

“i knew it! i knew you two would finally do something if we left you alone long enough.”

minji blinks, looking as if she’s still processing. you glance between them, your cheeks warm. “what?” you say exasperatedly, “what do you mean ‘finally’? what— what is all this?”

The three of them exchange looks before danielle nudges yunjin forward, her grin growing. “so uh, we might’ve had a little something to do with the door locking. maybe on purpose. maybe. perchance.”

“definitely on purpose.” hanni adds, crossing her arms. “we were all tired of watching you guys dance around your feelings. you two needed a push.”

minji stares at them with a mix of embarrassment and dawning realizaiton. then she glances at you, her face flushing before turning back to the trio.

“you all planned this?”

hanni nods, looking like she’s enjoying this way too much. “you guys are hopeless. you know? everyone could see that you two wanted each other except you two. who the hell nudges their friends like that? you both are like middle schoolers with their first crush.”

you exchange yet another glance with minji, who’s biting her lip. there’s a surprise mirroring on her face, and honestly it’s really cute. adorably cute.

despite all the embarrassment, you can’t help but laugh, a little breathless.

“so… this was all a setup?” minji says, looking at them with a half-laugh, half-disbelieving shake of her head.

danielle shrugs, stepping aside to give you both room to leave the shed. “well, it worked, didn’t it?”

yunjin’s grin is teasing as she waves you both out, her eyes bright with excitement. “yeah, finally,” she echoes, a satisfied smirk on her face. you glance at minji, who’s still looking at you, and a shy, almost playful smile tugs at her lips.

and as you both step out of the shed, shoulder to shoulder, the knowing smiles of your friends after they glance behind, there’s a giddiness accompanying the space between you and minji.

they all explain something about your booths being over because you two were too busy making out — you barely listen — and minji nudges your shoulder again when they’re far enough to not hear her.

you turn, tilting your head a bit before she leans down a bit to mumble, “you know, i heard that if you don’t kiss me again, for at least an hour, bloody mary might show up in your room tonight.”

a laugh escapes your lips and you push minji, who’s grinning at you like an idiot. you roll your eyes and reach out to hold her hand, she squeezes yours excitedly.

“that’s a new one. are you sure it’s true?”

minji quickly cups your cheek and steals a kiss, parting away to make sure your friends don’t turn around and tease you two relentlessly.

“that one just got rid of all the bad energy from before.”

“what bad energy?”

“the one that’s building up every second you don’t kiss me. it also builds up if you don’t go out with me for lunch tomorrow. or ever.”

you roll your eyes once more, then glance at your friends before kissing minji’s cheek.

“i can’t risk any of that, can i?”

#kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans fluff #newjeans minji #kim minji #minji #minji x reader #kim minji x reader

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mapis-putellas · 10 months ago

Text

My clingy girl

Pairing: Leah Williamson x reader

Words: 1392

Warnings: swearing

Summary: Leah is sick, and as a result, very clingy. You do what you can to make her feel better.

Notes: Thank you to the sweet anon who requested this <3 [Request a prompt here]

"Baby!"

You exhale deeply through your nose as you discard the clothes you were in midst of putting into the washing machine before making your way through to the living room where Leah was currently taking up residence on the couch. The blonde was sick. Or well, you assumed she was anyway, but her stubborn ass was refusing to even admit she was the slightest bit unwell. She was sprawled out beneath a pile of blankets, clad in just your hoodie and some underwear as she stares absently at the tv.

"What is it, lee?" You smile, crouching down next to her and tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand rises to grasp your own, and you give the appendage a soft squeeze as you place a kiss to her too warm forehead. You watch the way her eyes flicker shut in content.

"Cuddle me." She all but demands, and you shake your head playfully as you trail the pad of your thumb over the back of her hand.

"I'm doing laundry, baby. I'll come cuddle you when I'm done, okay?"

"No!" She whines, and you laugh softly as you attempt to rise to your feet anyway. "What are you doing?" She futilely tries to tug you back. "Come back here you cruel woman."

You huff out a laugh as you give into her wants and crouch back down in front of her, "Lee, baby, I will literally be ten minutes, max. If I don't do the laundry now, you won't have any clean kits for training, and then you'll nag me about it for at least the next week."

"No I won't," she grumbles, and you stare pointedly down at her. "I won't! Stop looking at me like that." She whines.

Your hand slips beneath the material of her hoodie and begins tracing gentle circles across the warm skin of her back. She shudders at the feeling, tired eyes threatening to close at the sensation of your skin against her own. "I love you, darling, but we both know that's not the truth. The longer you keep me here, the longer you're gonna have to wait for a cuddle."

"But..."

"But nothing. Ten minutes, okay?"

Leah grumbles something undecipherable underneath her breath before huffing quietly with a short nod, and you smile softly as you once again kiss her forehead. It was warmer then it had been earlier, and you make a note to bribe her into taking some medicine as you rise to your feet with the intention of finishing the laundry before she inevitably called for you again.

In fact, it never quite managed to get to that, because no more than three minutes later, you feel a familiar pair of arms settle tightly around your waist. You sigh, but can't help the smile that appears on your lips.

"Lee..."

"I know," she whines quietly. "But I want cuddles. Please."

Knowing she hardly ever allows herself to become this vulnerable with you; despite the fact you had encouraged her to do so several times, you bend down slightly and reach back to pat her thigh. She gets the hint and jumps up onto your back, allowing you to bounce her up slightly so she was able to wrap her legs properly around your waist to keep herself supported.

"Better?" You squeeze the thigh pressed against your hip a few times, feeling the way Leah nods her head against your shoulder. "Five minutes darling, and then I'm all yours." You assure, and you hear her hum in acknowledgment as she watches you continue with the laundry.

It takes a little longer than she likes, but soon enough, you were settled on the couch with her sprawled on top of you. Her bare thigh was pressed against your hip as she tucks her face into your neck, hands up your shirt and resting on the bare skin of your side. And you hold her just as close, breathing in her soothing scent as you lazily trail your fingers over the small of her back.

"You're warm." You murmur, lips pressed against her forehead, and Leah does no more than hum. She knew you were right. You knew she knew you were right, but stating that out loud wouldn't do either of you any good.

So with a sigh, you decide it would be best to change the subject. "What do you want for dinner?" You slide your hand further up her hoodie to trace over her shoulder blades.

Leah nuzzles the tip of her nose against your throat as she takes a deep breath. "Smiley's please." She murmurs, and you grin knowingly as you nod your head.

"Sure darling. Chicken nuggets too?"

"Mhhh. Please baby."

"Okay," you muse, pressing your lips against her warm forehead in a tender kiss. "You know you're going to have to let me go when I get round to cooking them, right?"

"No." She mumbles, her hand suddenly gripping tightly to the sports bra beneath your shirt.

"No?" You raise an eyebrow playfully, and she simply grunts in response as she clambers further on top of you on a futile effort to stop you from moving.

You can't help but laugh softly as you wrap your arms around her waist, nose buried into the crook of her neck. Gentle hands graze up and down her bare sides, and you smile at the pleasant shudder you receive in response.

"Your smileys won't be able to cook themselves, Lee."

"They will." She grumbles, her voice muffled against your neck.

You shake your head in mind disbelief. "Yeah? You got some magic smileys or some shit?" You can't help but laugh softly as you manage to sit up beneath her. Leah whines again as she was forced upright, legs straddling your hips as her arms loop around your neck.

With a gentle squeeze to her waist, you reach up and cup her face in hopes to gently coax it away from your neck. She fights you for only a second before giving in, and you all but melt at the pout on her lips before reaching up to gently kiss it away. She exhales softly, eyes fluttering closed in content at the feeling of your lips against her own.

"My clingy girl," you murmur as you pull away, trailing the pads of your thumbs against her lightly flushed cheeks. "So adorable."

Leah frowns, gently taking your hands and pulling them a way from her face. You don't let that deter you and instead place them on each of her thighs, giving the flesh a soft squeeze. "No, I'm not."

You raise an eyebrow, "You're not? I'd beg to differ."

"Babe, stop." She whines as she falls forward and buries her face into your neck, and you knew then that she must be a lot sicker than she was letting on.

Any other day, Leah would argue with you until you gave in and agreed she was right, so for her to give up before really getting started, it just confirmed your earlier suspicions.

Deciding that you would forgo getting up for a little while, you lay back down pulling the blonde with you. She sighs heavily as she settles back against your chest, hand rising to cling to the material of your shirt. Your own sneaks back beneath her hoodie, resting against still warm skin.

You don't suggest taking a nap knowing she'd only fight you on the subject, instead settling on humming softly under your breath as you begin tangling your fingers through her hair. You set a gentle rhythm, twisting a thin strand around your pointer finger before gently pulling away and allowing it to slip through your fingers. Fingertips graze against her scalp each time, and you feel the way she grows increasingly limp against you as the careful ministrations continues.

When you're sure she's asleep; her breathing soft and steady and the hand once clutching your shirt now limp, you crane your head forward and press a lingering kiss to her warm forehead. She stirs a little as you pull away, and you gently cup the back of her head trailing the pad of tout thumb over the shell of her ear.

The white noise it creates instantly soothes her, and it was only seconds before she stills against you once again.

"My sweet girl."

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111

#leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #soft leah willimason #leah williamson imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community #woso #@lots of pockets > @mapis putellas

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papayainsectorone · 1 month ago

Text

teach me about feelings

════════════════════════

summary: Unresolved feelings, a rain-soaked night and an unspoken longing lead you and Oscar to finally choose closeness over fear.

content: angst, fluff, second-chance tension, mutual pining, unresolved feelings, physical closeness, gentle longing, rekindled connection, emotional honesty, bittersweet hope

word count: 3 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: i appreciate you all so much — we just hit 500 followers (!!) and there’s even a post with over 1000 mentions and i’m honestly over the moon.

this series came (is still coming) so easily and i’m genuinely so glad i decided to start posting again after (not an exaggeration) literally ten years of not writing or sharing anything.

coming back to this space felt scary at first, but you’ve made it feel exciting and safe like something i actually missed without knowing it. (how fanfiction-y of me lol)

thank you again. truly. and since i’ve got a little stockpile of prewritten chaos, it looks like i can keep the updates coming pretty smoothly

also sorry in advance, i do not take responsibility for any feelings haha

teach me series

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You didn’t even want to come.

The group chat had been relentless all morning — heart emojis, guilt trips, caffeine bribes. You resisted until the guilt won.

Now you sit on a chipped metal chair outside a street cafe, letting the sunlight warm your hands, trying to pretend the ache in your chest is just leftover sleep. The coffee is decent. The company is easy. You almost forget you’re trying to forget.

After a part of the group had already left, you stayed behind talking and enjoying the last rays of sun, with clouds already nearing on the horizon.

But then your friend freezes mid-sip. “Oh my god. Is that—”

You follow her gaze and everything inside you stops.

Oscar.

Hood up, shoulders hunched, head down like he’s just walking, not expecting anything.

Your friend calls out before you can stop her. And suddenly, he’s crossing the street, like something inevitable.

He reaches your table. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. His eyes barely skim yours.

Your friend beams. “Oscar! Sit with us.”

He hesitates. Looks at you.

You don’t say yes. But you don’t say no.

He sits.

The conversation drifts, polite and surface-level. You stay mostly quiet, your fingers tight around the cup in your hands.

Then your friend checks her phone and stands with a flurry of apologies about trains and schedules. Just like that, she’s gone.

You and Oscar are alone.

He shifts, his thumb tapping against his knee. “You look…” he starts, then trails off.

You raise an eyebrow.

His mouth twitches. “Like you’ve been laughing.”

You glance down. “You look like you haven’t.”

He huffs softly. “Fair.”

The quiet that follows isn’t awkward. Just heavy. Familiar.

“I’ve been trying not to text you,” he says eventually.

“Have you?”

“Every night.”

You say nothing. But your heart thuds like it remembers exactly how that used to feel.

“I figured,” he adds, “if you wanted to talk, you’d have answered.”

“I wanted to.” You finally meet his eyes. “I just didn’t know if I’d be able to stop once I started.”

His breath catches.

“Do you want to start now?” he asks.

You swallow. “I don’t know what I’d say.”

He leans in just a little. “Then let’s walk.”

You fall into step beside him, but not quite in sync. His hands are in his pockets. Yours fidget with the edge of your shirt, like the fabric might anchor you.

The street is quiet — golden with late sun, washed in a kind of hazy stillness that feels like the world is holding its breath. You can hear the scrape of your shoes against the sidewalk. The whisper of wind tugging through your clothes. The soft, unspoken weight of everything neither of you has said.

You glance sideways at him, barely.

He’s not looking at you. But you can feel him.

His shoulder brushes yours once, then again — not enough to be intentional, but enough to make your chest tighten. Every brush feels like a question he’s too scared to ask.

You want to say something. Anything. But the words curl on your tongue, sharp and uncertain. So you just walk.

You turn a corner. Then another.

Still no talking.

His hands itch to reach for yours, but his heart is louder. What if you pull away?

He slows near a small shop window. You pause too. Not to look. Just to breathe.

He exhales next to you. The sound is low, like it costs him something.

And suddenly, you know. He’s thinking the same thing you are — if he speaks first, it might break. If you speak first, it might be too much.

So you both stay silent.

But his shoulder stays close.

So close.

A breeze cuts through the space between buildings. Not sharp, but sudden and it slips under your clothes. You shiver without meaning to.

He notices.

Doesn’t say anything. Just stops, shrugs off his hoodie, and holds it out to you.

You hesitate for half a second — not because you don’t want it, but because accepting it feels like something bigger. Like saying yes to something you're not ready to name.

But your fingers close around it anyway.

You pull it on. It’s warm from his body, sleeves too long, the collar faintly smelling like him, like soap and skin and the faded ghost of the cologne you liked too much.

He looks at you.

Only for a second.

Then walks again.

You follow.

Your steps are slower now. Not dragging — just measured. Like you’re both waiting for the other to speak first, and neither of you will. There’s tension in it. Not anger. Just... care. Held tightly. Unspoken.

Another gust of wind and you curl your arms into the sleeves, burrowing deeper into the hoodie. You shiver again, smaller this time, but not unnoticed.

Then, the sky shifts.

A sudden scatter of cold raindrops. One, then three, then a soft, steady patter that darkens the concrete at your feet. The storm didn’t wait.

You look up.

So does he.

There’s no question in his voice when he turns toward you — just a quiet offering. A way out. A way in.

“My place is just up the block,” he says. “If you want.”

You nod before you even think.

His apartment is dim when you step in, the kind of quiet that feels intentional. Like he left it this way in case something like this ever happened.

You toe off your shoes by the door, water still dotting your shoulders. The hoodie clings slightly — it’s damp now — but you keep it on. It feels safer than anything else.

He disappears for a moment, comes back with a towel and wordlessly hands it to you. His fingers brush yours.

Neither of you speaks.

You dry your face and let the silence settle again. Not awkward. Not cold. Just full — thick with things that want to be said and haven’t been yet.

He gestures to the couch. You sit. Your knees nearly touch.

Rain taps at the windows, soft and rhythmic. Streetlights glow faintly outside, golden through the glass.

He disappears again, returns with two mugs and passes one to you. Your fingers brush again. You don’t pull away this time.

The cup is warm in your hands.

Still, you don’t speak.

He sits beside you, but not too close. Like he’s giving you the space to decide what this will be. What you want this to be.

You watch the steam rise from your mug. Let your eyes flicker to him and then away again.

He’s doing the same.

Breathing carefully. Shoulders tight. Like he’s afraid if he moves too much, it’ll scare you off. Like he’s still holding that version of you from months ago — the one who left before anything real could happen.

And maybe you’re still holding that version of him too — the one who was always a little too open, too ready to fall, too easy to want.

Your knees brush again. Neither of you moves.

He looks over at you, finally. Just looks. And this time, you don’t look away.

Still no words.

The question burns in your throat before it ever touches air. It’s the only thing you can think to ask. The one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

But then it slips out.

“How was she?”

It lands harder than you expected. He doesn’t move at first—just stares. Like the words didn’t register.

You don’t look at him. Just tighten your grip around the warm ceramic in your hands. You add, voice low, bitter:

“The girl. In the picture I sent. Was she good? Did you like her?”

His body stiffens. You watch the flush crawl up his neck.

“Oh… uh…”

He hesitates, like he’s sifting through every possible version of the truth. Then his mouth twitches downward, jaw clenching.

“It was…” He shifts. “I couldn’t even—”

A sigh rips out of him. Frustrated. Honest.

You glance sideways. “Couldn’t what?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

You set your cup down slowly.

“Tell me.”

His throat works before his voice finds shape.

“I couldn’t even come. Not until I imagined it was you.”

Silence follows. Heavy and close. The air crackles.

You don’t flinch. Just breathe in.

And in that breath, something inside you shakes loose — a piece of pride, maybe, or guilt, or longing. Maybe all three.

He leans back suddenly, dragging both hands through his hair. The sleeves of his hoodie fall back, exposing his forearms.

“I remember everything,” he says, eyes flicking toward you. “Your lips. The way you kissed me. How your fingers curled into my shirt. The sound you made when I—”

He stops. A soft, broken noise escapes his chest.

“I still hear it. I still feel it.”

The silence that follows feels like a heartbeat.

Then, quieter:

“The smell of your skin,” he says. “Your voice. Your mouth on my—”

He stops again, pressing his lips together, trying not to say too much.

But it’s already too much.

And still not enough.

He leans forward again, elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together slowly. You can see how tightly he’s wound. How hard he’s trying to hold himself back.

Your breath is shallow. You sit still, but inside, everything shifts. The weight of his confession presses against the hollow ache that’s lived in your chest for weeks.

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“No one was like you.”

His head lifts, eyes locking with yours instantly.

“I tried to forget,” he says, words trembling with truth. “I really did. I think they liked it. I know they did. But it never felt the same. Not like… with you.”

He doesn’t move—but his body leans in, almost unconsciously. Pulled by the gravity of your words. Of you.

Nearly whispering you say “I missed the way you looked at me. Like I was worth seeing.”

You’re not sure which of you reaches out first, but your hands find each other in the middle. Quietly. Like a promise too scared to say itself out loud.

His thumb brushes your knuckles.

“You were the only one who ever really listened,” you murmur. “Even when I didn’t say anything.”

His brows twitch—almost a wince.

“I tried to forget, ” he says. “I kept trying to… replace you. Make it easier. But it just made it worse.”

Silence settles between you again, but softer now. Shared.

There’s something new in the air. Not the storm, not the memory—just this moment.

And then, thunder rolls in the distance.

You both flinch at the same time.

You glance at the window. The rain now heavier. Fast. Cold.

“I should probably go,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

He looks up quickly. “No. I mean—just wait until it passes. It’s not safe like this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

But he’s already standing.

“You can take my bed,” he says. “I’ll sleep out here. I swear.”

You glance up, startled by the way he’s already fussing—pulling pillows, finding a blanket.

And then his voice softens, breaking through the hum of rain:

“It’s not about the bed.”

You look at him.

He’s standing there, eyes shining with something you recognize and fear all at once.

“It’s not just the physical stuff,” he adds. “It’s you. Your laugh. Your silence. The way you knew when I was falling apart. You taught me how to be seen. That’s what I really miss.”

You feel that pull again. The warmth that isn’t memory.

“I’d give anything to feel that again,” he says. “Not just your body. You.”

You want to argue. But you can’t.

Because the storm has settled in.

And so have you.

You nod, quiet.

“I know it’s not like that for you,” he says. His voice is soft, almost too careful. “I know you don’t feel the same. And I’ve made peace with that.”

You flinch, barely—but he sees it.

“I just…” he runs a hand over his mouth, exhales. “If this is only physical for you, that’s okay. I’ll take it. Whatever you’re willing to give.”

Your fingers tighten around the hem of the hoodie. You can't look at him.

He hesitates. Then you ask, gentler, “Is that why you think I stopped?”

You finally meet his eyes. Something in your chest lurches, sharp and scared.

You open your mouth again. But nothing comes out.

He nods like that’s the answer.

The silence thickens. Fragile. Breakable.

Then he shifts, clearing his throat.

“I’ll get the bed ready for you.”

Later, you lie in his bed, changed into his clothes. His hoodie hangs off your shoulders like memory. Water waits on the nightstand beside a carefully folded blanket—his, not yours.

You hear faint movement from the couch. The door is cracked open, maybe on purpose.

His scent is in the sheets. Your thoughts won’t stop.

You lie still, curled into the silence.

From the other side of the wall, you can almost hear him breathe.

You turn onto your side, staring at the open door.

“Osc?”

A pause. Then, from the other side of the wall, his voice:

“Yeah?”

“Are you still awake?”

Another pause. Softer this time. “Yes.”

You wait, letting the quiet settle again. The storm has dulled into a steady hum, like the world is holding its breath with you.

You sit up a little. “That night... in the club. It was a mess.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. You can tell he’s sitting up too.

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the breath he takes. “Did I—did I cross a line?” he mumbles.

“I don’t know. I think we both did. Or maybe we didn’t.”

He nods, even if you can’t see it. “It felt like everything and nothing all at once.”

There’s a small sound from the other room. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sigh.

“It wasn’t just the alcohol,” you say.

“No,” he whispers. “It wasn’t.”

More silence. Not cold, but weighty.

“I left because it felt too close,” you murmur. “Like if I stayed, I’d never leave again.”

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you hear footsteps. Soft.

He pushes the door open and leans against the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair is mussed. His expression unreadable.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, but there’s no sharpness in it. Just quiet confusion.

You sit up fully, blanket sliding down your arms. Your heart is beating way too fast.

“Oscar.” His name cracks as it leaves you. “I didn’t want it to be serious because I didn’t want to need you.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches.

“I thought I could walk away before it got too hard,” you whisper. “But I couldn’t. Not really.”

He takes one slow step into the room. Then another.

“I couldn’t make myself stay,” you say, “because I’d have to admit...”

His breath catches.

“Admit what?”

“Admit how I felt about you.”

For a second, he just stands there.

Then: “What are you saying?”

You finally look at him.

And everything in you aches.

He crosses the room like he’s afraid to scare you off. Careful steps. Bare feet on wooden floor. Like if he moves too fast, this will vanish.

He stops at the edge of the bed, searching your face. “Can I sit?”

You nod.

He lowers himself onto the mattress, close enough to touch but still giving you space. The air between you hums with everything unspoken.

For a long moment, neither of you says a word.

Then, softly: “You didn’t answer me before.”

You glance at him. “About what?”

He holds your gaze, changing the question “What if you stayed now?”

His voice is so tentative it sounds like a bruise. He blinks down at his hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on the blanket.

You swallow. “Do you want me to?”

His laugh is almost silent. “More than anything.”

You shift, inching just a little closer. His breath hitches.

“Would you still want me to” you ask.

He lifts his head, eyes wide. “It was never just physical. Not for me. So yes”

You hold that for a beat, your breath trembling.

Then, gently, your fingers graze his.

And he takes them.

His hand wraps around yours like it’s instinct. Like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

“I-I think.... I love you,” he says. Not a confession. A truth. Simple. Solid.

You stare at him. Everything inside you is soft and full and terrified.

But when you speak, it’s steady.

“I love you too.”

A pause. A quiet, shattered breath.

And then you lean in.

The kiss is slow—reverent. It tastes like memory, like longing, like home.

He moves closer, lips warm, hands framing your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It isn’t desperate. It’s sacred.

Like he’s kissing you back together.

It doesn’t rush.

Your mouths stay close, breaths mingling in the hush. His fingers brush along your cheek, then trail behind your ear, slow and careful like he’s learning the shape of you all over again.

You shift, just enough for your thighs to touch. He draws in a breath, low and shaky.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of his hoodie—not out of hunger, but familiarity. Comfort. And when your fingertips find his skin, warm and tense beneath them, his eyes flutter closed.

Still no words. Just feeling.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Still not fast, not demanding. Just more. His tongue slides gently over yours, like he’s asking permission for something he already has.

You nod into it—subtle, instinctive.

He moves, easing you back against the pillows, his body following yours. The weight of him settles over you like warmth, like gravity.

Your fingers curl in his shirt. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, your throat. The path is slow, reverent. Like each inch of your skin means something.

He whispers your name once, like he’s anchoring himself.

Then he stills.

A breath. A muttered, “Fuck.”

You blink up at him. His eyes are closed, forehead resting gently against yours. Like it hurts to stop. But hurts more not to.

“I don’t want to just have sex again,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Your heart kicks. Not from surprise but recognition.

You lift your hand, fingers brushing his jaw.

He looks down at you, like there’s too much in his chest to hold.

“I—I really want this to work,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I need it to.”

You nod. Slow. Honest. “Me too.”

Something releases in him at that. His body softens, not in disappointment, but relief.

So you just lay there, skin to skin, his head slipping down to rest half on your chest. His arm drapes over your waist, possessive but gentle, like muscle memory.

You feel the weight of him, steady and warm, blanketing you.

The storm still hums outside, but in here, it's quiet.

Safe.

You breathe together in sync. One beat. One rhythm.

And somewhere in the dark, between heartbeats and everything that was said, you both finally fall asleep.

PREVIOUS PART - NEXT PART

v smol taglist

@sealife-for-life @notgirlsummerr @koalalafications @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wadupppp @elle-28 @saudianna @18lovers @kaworusgf @random-movie @lilasthoughtss @maiyaholics @theskinofakillerbella

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri #op81 #𓊆papayainone𓊇

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urgardenandmine · 25 days ago

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good little boy ❆ [the finale] - s. park

summary: sunghoon and you get acquainted in the bedroom ⚠️‼️WARNING: you and sunghoon be making a baby⚠️‼️ genre: SMUT (rushed because i am tired but yes!)/literally porn with like SO much plot pairing: m!reader x park sunghoon word count: 3.6K part one/two here!

seeing him gaze at you from the end of his table, your eyes could sense a sliver of…deviousness radiating from his smile. you had heard the many tales of the sunghoon park, the man who was a legacy in this college and had a reputation for being quite the ladies man. as well as that, he had some high and mighty sense of self, being almost adored by all (or whoever his parents could bribe and whichever girl he could make squirt). looking up from your packet, you scoffed to yourself as you moved your eyes back to the words on the pages, having more interest in the idea of how moby dick was a “fascist” book rather than the idea of some fuckboy looking at you.

scooting himself from the oak table, sunghoon had gotten up slyly and made his way towards you. his walk was one of such grace and elegance, yet it had such a heavy energy to it. as the college golden boy soon reached your table, his slender fingers had graced their presence along the other oak table, his fingertips reaching first to steady himself as he loomed over you. seeing the man in front of you, your eyes had gazed up to see him eyeing you. there it was. that devious smile that made your stomach churn. you weren’t sure if it was out of annoyance, whether it was good or bad but it was something…

your hand had reached your earbud, tilting your head to the side as it gently plopped out. clearing your throat, your eyes then traveled back to your packet as you had spoken in a hushed manner.

“what.” you stated bluntly, not having any time for pleasantries as you continued to read the silly textbook. did anyone really have any beef on a book about a whale?

sunghoon licked his lips, soon leaning forward to you as he brought one hand and lowered the thick packet in your hand as he smirked at you, his eyes never leaving your [e/c] one. it was an odd sensation, having him look at you so intently. you could feel yourself be pulled in yet you couldn’t give in. i mean, all he is is just a pretty boy, right?

sunghoon chuckled, the sound of the man’s small laugh having an undertone of one of some mastermind planned he concocted, obviously seeping through. soon slinking over to the chair beside you, he had pulled it out as he hopped in the seat, his mind racing at the idea of playing with you polluting his thoughts. looking at you, he could feel his heart almost race as he felt hotter, his body reacting with reaching his prey and fulfilling his desires. leaning close to your ear, sunghoon’s hot breath had caused you to tense up, feeling a shiver crawl it’s way up your spine.

“i saw that little video about you, [yn].” sunghoon teased, his hand running up to ruffle his fluffy black hair. hearing the words leave his mouth, you tensed up further. if he hadn’t known any better, you had become a statue right here in this musty library. as your eyes scanned his face, evident of panic, sunghoon smiled a crooked smile, leaning close as he grabbed your chin, pulling you out of your panicked thinking.

“relax, darling. i don’t care for faggotry shit, i mean we all need to cum once in a while.” sunghoon growled softly, his grip on your chin tightening as he pulled you closer to his face. your lips were almost an inch away, making his heart race as he could feel your breath on his soft, pink lips. he had to stop himself right then and there from unzipping and undoing his slacks, wanting to shove your pretty mouth on his growing hard on.

regaining his composure, sunghoon had gently “threw you back,” his hand shoving at you to now create the distance as from before. dusting off his hands as he leaned back in the rickety wooden chair, the taller man crossing his arms as he examined your face. losing your panicked expression, he had noticed the small anger you were beginning to feel as he saw your eyebrows furrow.

“god, i wanna fuck him so hard.” the man thought, biting on his lower lip as his eyes scanned you, as if he had a metal detector in his hand and he was trying to find any contraband. the way he was looking at you, he was practically lasering off the buttons on your pants and unzipping them. it was as if he was starving and he had been released in an all-you-can-eat buffet. rolling your eyes, you began to pack up your things. i mean, was he just here to tease you? and you didn’t have to take this. people had already spread rumors of you being sexually active which didn’t matter much. as sunghoon said, every needed to let go in a while. only issue you had was that people had seen the video of you.

as your hand reached for your pikachu pencil pouch, a hand was soon placed on your back and ran down to your waist, causing you to whip your head to the one who was touching you. with your head turned, you were now watching a very, very hungry sunghoon. his brown eyes were all over you. the way his eyes made their way down from your lips down to your soft and round ass. you could hear the blood rush to his dick, almost shooting up like a rocket. squinting your eyes, feeling somewhat annoyed, you jerked away, glaring a hole into his head. “what do you want?” you pushed, lips pursing in a thin line as he lifted his hand off you, raising them in a feigned “surrender” pose. he licked his lips, resting his elbow on the table as he leaned his head on his hand. taking a deep breath, sunghoon then leaned forward and looked at you, his eyes scanning down to your hands. he saw they were clenched, as if you were ready to fight him. placing his free hand on yours, he released a seductive and deep growl in the back of his throat. “what i want…is to fuck that sweet little hole of yours. and you know if i don’t get my way, i can be very…persistent.” he breathed harshly, his words meeting your lips as he then retracted slowly. sitting up, he smirked at you as he then got up. looking down at your shocked face, sunghoon cupped your cheek as he then rubbed your cheek with his calloused thumb.

“follow me to the dorms near the art department, room A203. just like…don’t follow me too closely.”

“...since when did you have a dorm here?”

“is that…even necessary?” he asked, his confusion plastered on his face. thinking for a moment, you blushed as you let your inquisitive self slip out, to which earned him a soft smile. sighing, sunghoon then walked off. opening your mouth to speak, you realized you would have to shout a bit for your words to reach his ear and remembering you were in a library, that was just ill-mannered. shoving all your books and whatever scattered pencils and pens were skewed on the wooden desk.

rushing out, you soon had made your way out of the dusty library, you could see the figure of the sunghoon park just make his way down the walkway. he was dressed in his usual rich boy clothes of a pastel yellow cashmere sweater with grey baggy wide slacks. the pants had held snugly onto his waist, which made you drool a bit. though, snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you held tightly onto your backpack straps. feeling the nylon straps pull you back to earth, you followed the man who had a hidden agenda.

after what felt to be an hour walk (realistically like thirty minutes), you had made it to the dorms and soon stepped into the hallway of the second floor. seeing sunghoon lean against the door, he licked his lips as he saw you trudge to the door, clutching your backpack with your head and eyes glued onto him. he smiled an animalistic smile, almost as if he was ready to pounce then and there. as your sneakered feet made their way to the tan door, you had heard sunghoon humming a song to himself. listening, the tune was the song you had been listening to on repeat for a week from the favorite band you listened to. shooting him a quick glance, you were surprised he had known of such a small band.

opening the door with keys he had fished from his pocket, he then pushed the door open slowly to reveal a very sadly under-decorated dorm. it was as if the people had just moved in. stepping into it, you looked back at him as he closed the door gently behind him. he leaned against the door, his back pressed against the cold wooden door. crossing his arms over his chest, sunghoon took in the sight of you. it was as if you were a lost lamb. the way your head kept turning to take in every inch of the dorm, the way your hands held tightly onto your backpack and the way your shoes shuffled around. the way you had slipped off your sneakers and tucked them into the corner of a desk that seemed fairly unused. he felt a sense of…warmth wash through. he could feel his heart clench and open again, almost as if someone had placed a hug onto it and released it to breathe in the sight of someone cute and…

cute? did sunghoon think you were cute? he wasn’t gay whatsoever. the idea of him dating a man was just obscene, yet the idea of plowing into a man (you) was different. as he watched you immerse yourself into the room, sunghoon tossed the keys onto the desk and soon made his way towards you. slinking his arms around your waist, sunghoon began to nibble gently on your neck. flustered, you pulled away and slinked out of his grasp, slipping your backpack off and using it as a shield between you and the man who used your neck as a small piece if you were chewing gum.

looking at the man with eyes on full alert, you could feel your cheeks and ears burning red as you set the backpack down onto the carpeted floor. it was the usual carpet pattern, the simple wheat color and soft fuzzy carpet. the kind where you could feel the small nubs of soft material hug your feet as you walked through it. seeing your guard up, sunghoon eyed you calculatingly, seeing how you’d react next. as you froze in your spot, sunghoon snickered as he sat down on the bed. the springs creaked gently as he leaned back, his arms placed behind him to prop him up.

“what are you? a virgin?” he asked teasingly, knowing the answer was well the opposite. hearing the remark made the wheels in your head turn. along with that, something else in you was turning. the sense of mockery in his voice had made you react in a way you didn’t think you would. realistically, university was big enough and people never really knew one another. the fact you knew of sunghoon had just been a small thing. now, you were in a random dorm with him and he had known of your sex tape, things seemed more…personal. this side of him felt like the usual cocky fuck buddy situation, yet it didn’t. sunghoon could’ve been honest with his intentions from the get-go and had done you in the bathroom. though, you were now in an empty dorm room (which was still confusing) and sunghoon hadn’t immediately told you to strip. granted, he did randomly kiss you which was shocking but it felt soft and tender, not sloppy and rushed.

“no. i just- i never thought you’d be into a guy.” you remarked, scratching the back of your neck as you shuffled your feet. sunghoon froze, not wanting to hear him being into a guy yet…he was. he was technically into you and he wanted to kiss every inch of you. thinking quickly on his feet, sunghoon sat up straight as he looked at you, awkwardly standing near the window. “well, i wanted to try a new flavor to taste and who to taste than the one who’s been sampled before.” sunghoon teased back. hearing that made you blush, yet it made your heart skip a bit. you had rarely met a man who kept you on your toes and never met one who had such confidence radiating off of him. looking at him, you tiptoed closer to him as he scanned you. sitting up and placing his elbows on his knees, sunghoon watched as you sat beside him. not wanting to wait anymore, you turned to him and looked at the man who had been eyeing you for almost the whole day.

“so…what are you waiting for?” you hushed at him, not trying to smile as you couldn’t have the precious golden boy figure out you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

hearing the words leave your lips, sunghoon reached up and cupped your cheek. he didn’t know why but something about you made him want to take his time. he wanted to be gentle and make sure you were comfy. hell, he was a dick but he didn’t want to just shove it in. leaning in, sunghoon had placed a gentle kiss onto your lips, while his thumb caressed your cheek. you could feel the contrast between his roughly textured thumb. the way his hands were rough yet his lips were soft like two cotton pillows.

as he deepened the kiss, sunghoon slowly guided you to lay on your back, making his way in-between your legs. using his waist to open your legs a bit, he had found himself snuggly in-between you. his hands soon reached behind your back and cupped your ass, squeezing tightly as he moved his way to your neck. peppering kisses, you let out soft moans as you found your hands tangled into his hair. growling softly, sunghoon then found one hand pressed between your bodies as he found his way to your zipper. tugging it down messily, he could feel his fingers cramp as he then unzipped it in one swift motion. he then unbuttoned your pants, breaking your kiss to yank them down to your ankles.

as he slid down your body, he peppered small kisses on your stomach, then your thighs, where he buried his head in between them. his eyes looking up at you with want, the sight before him had made his heart race. the way you were quivering and the way you were gripping the bare mattress. the idea you were already such a mewling mess from just his touch alone had made him feel…predatory.

as he reached the gold mine, his tongue began to explore how your body tasted. it was sweet and salty. weirdly, he could taste the body soap you had been using, which was an apple and melon. he smirked at the flavoring of you, how you tasted so sweet yet your potty mouth was just a speaker for a song of explicit words. slurping in between your legs, you could feel how his tongue was flicking that sensitive tip, that part that was just making you shiver even more. growling, sunghoon nibbled on your thigh gently and smiled as he elicited a small yip from you. the sounds you were making, they were delicious.

sucking on his finger, sunghoon then rubbed your entrance as he looked up at you. licking his lips, he could barely contain himself as he felt his drool just drip onto your thigh as he rested his head on you. his ear pressed into your thigh and his drool dribbling down your thigh as he began to finger you ever so gently. he was a dick but he wasn’t gonna just shove it in. no, no, no sweetie. sunghoon was going to make you crumble in his hands like you were a sand castle and he was an incoming wave.

as his finger broke passed the finger ring of your hole, sunghoon watched as you made a face of sharp pain. trying to console you and want you to relax, he kissed your thigh gently and sucked on your sensitive areas while he dribbled down some spit on his finger on it’s way out. soon, seeing you loosen slowly and open up more to him, sunghoon began to finger you a bit more faster. his rhythm had hit the exact spot, making you cover your mouth with one hand as your other hand moved to sunghoon’s head, gripping his hair. chuckling, sunghoon took that as a sign to speed up. now, he was stabbing that sweet spot that made you drip like crazy.

seeing you come undone ever so slowly, sunghoon removed his finger and soon propped himself up on his knees. unzipping his pants, revealing his heavy dick. your eyes gravitated towards the sinking part of the bed, seeing sunghoon stroke himself as he looked down at you. blushing, you then found yourself slipping off your pants from your ankles and now, face to his leaky tip. as you breathed near it, sunghoon’s breath hitched as he reached down to your hair and scratched your head gently. looking up at him, you gulped and soon found yourself tasting him softly. he gripped your hair gently as he could feel your tongue swipe his tip gently. he smiled as you saw you close your eyes, now diving deep into the taste of him. he ran a hand through his hair, seeing how you practically latched onto him as your tongue soon reached his base, making you gag and tears appear in your eyes. being a lil’ shithead, he rocked his hips forward and he smiled at the sound of you gagging. taking this as a moment to be a small prankster, you felt his hands on the back of your neck as he cupped them and soon began to fuck your face ever so slowly. he already saw you struggling, so he didn’t want to make it any harder on you by making both of your holes sore.

as he fucked your face gently for two minutes, sunghoon removed himself from your mouth with a small pop, as he heard you gasp for air. snickering, sunghoon leaned down and flipped you onto your back. stepping off the bed and shaking off his pants, he then walked over to now where your legs were where your head was before. crawling into the bed, he then placed himself in between your legs, lifting them to place them on his shoulders. leaning closely, sunghoon captured your lips with his own, moaning softly as he stroked himself gently and fingering you. as you felt his finger inserted into you, sunghoon relished in the feeling of how your hole twitched around his finger. he also loved the feeling of how you kept moaning into his mouth.

taking this opportunity to finally do what he wanted and what he knew you needed, sunghoon placed his tip near your hole as he soon slipped it in slowly. feeling you tighten at the sudden change in size from finger to his fat cock, sunghoon placed your legs around his waist, giving you something to squeeze as you took your time to adjust to his size. cupping your cheek, sunghoon kissed your forehead as he gazed upon your face. finding himself half-way in, he rocked his hips gently as he listened to your soft moans.

“there we go, baby~. good job, taking half of me already. such a good little fucktoy.” he whispered, feeling your legs wrap around him tighter. chuckling, sunghoon then slowly pushed the rest of him, causing you to gasp as you arched your back. gulping, you looked up at the man who was wearing a big grin on his perfect face. blushing a cherry red, you leaned up and kissed him, making him blush as well. leaning into the kiss, sunghoon slipped his tongue into your mouth as he began to pick up his thrusts. hearing you grunt and moan, sunghoon placed his hands on your waist as he held onto you tightly.

finding his pace, sunghoon began to plow into you, ignoring how you were practically singing at the top of your lungs. you covered your mouth, not wanting to be too obnoxiously loud yet he had yanked your hand away, kissing your neck and making you feel practically like you were on cloud nine. grunting, sunghoon left a hickey on your neck as he smiled. “don’t hide those sounds from me, fucking slut. tell me you want it.” “i-i want, ngh~, it!” you spat out, causing sunghoon to chuckle annoyingly as he then grabbed your wrists and placed your arms above your head. feeling smug, sunghoon’s tip began to hit your g-spot relentlessly. grunting, you began to pant as sunghoon snarled as he fucked into you like a beast. feeling it coming, you began to whine and beg as you looked up at the man.

“f-fuck! wait! oh, god, i’m g-gonna- oh, fuck~!”

as you exclaimed, sunghoon looked down to see your chest covered in your climax. smiling, sunghoon leaned down and kissed you harshly, soon following suit as he poured his own load into you. gasping, you tightened around him as he grunted and shoved himself deeper into you. panting, sunghoon kissed you softly before pulling away as he licked your lips. looking into his eyes, you chuckled.

“didn’t know you were a one pump chump.” you taunted, causing sunghoon to chuckle as he then leaned close to your lips.

“that was just round one, fucker. buckle up.”

safe to say, you missed your study session with friends…

⋆｡°✩

i am SOOOOO SOOOOOOOO SOOOOORRRRYYYYYYYY this took so long 😭😭😭 been so busy because yo bitch is now unemployed and FINALLY done with finals!!!!

it's a bit rushed because it is 4AM here and i wanted to finish this because it's been so fucking long

this is like just porn with plot

sunghoon series is over~! lemme know who else y'all want!

#male reader #x male reader #kpop male reader #enhypen smut #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x male reader #park sunghoon smut #kpop x male reader #enhypen x male reader #park sunghoon x m!reader #kpop smut #m!reader

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mandalhoerian · 2 months ago

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the shape of grief.

as far as rafayel is concerned, pygmalion's is a horror story, not a myth. guy decides all women are beneath him, quite literally designs and builds one for himself, and somehow his narcissistic prayers for her to live are granted. what humans define as love and the stories they tell about it are always so revealing of their selfish nature. he only ever gets the appeal of it when he looks at his faceless galatea unable to take shape in his clay-sodden hands, and thinks, what wouldn't i give for you to open your eyes so that i could remember their exact color.

♯ ⸻ pure angst, sfw, 3.7k, read on ao3

note: directly inspired by this post about rafayel trying to sculpt mc/reader but not remembering her face. a bit late to this but i was hit with the procrastination fairies LMAO . i wrote this in a feverish delirium without caring for any canon at all, i apologize if rafayel is ooc !! this work assumes he has his memories of his life as the god of tides, you can think it as an AU if you believe he has no memories of it in the main timeline (yet.) This also takes place before the Addictive Pain anectode (if you like nitpicking and think why he doesn't have a photo of her and that this could have been avoided HAHA)

but without further ado, i hope you enjoy, please let me know what you thought!

The gallery Thomas had to basically bribe him to attend was cold with intention. Whitewashed walls were almost blinding beneath the overhead lights, each fixture angled to make the sculptures glow faintly at the edges like relics, a violin track playing at a volume calibrated for reverent hush with the crowd adjusting its voice accordingly. Somehow, the worst of it was that they'd scented the room with something floral and expensive, and it was clinging so offensively to the back of Rafayel’s throat and wouldn't go away no matter how much he swallowed or sipped on the drink glued to his hand.

The exhibit was titled Breathed to Life: The Divine Muse in Modern Form. He’d read the placard twice, though once would’ve been enough. Wherever he looked, Rafayel couldn't escape from the oozed hauteur for the attempts at capturing a miracle, sculptures of taxidermied epiphanies resting under glass that was tempered with more care in Rafayel's opinion, preserved with just enough light to make the delusion shine. Words like transcendence, revelation, and worship had been worked into the catalog copy, and even the bubbles of champagne he was swirling in the flute glass was more interesting as he idly moved through the space.

He passed a piece labeled Galatea No. IV — a full-bodied woman in bronze, lips parted in awakening, arms half-lifted as if to greet the man who had imagined her, the texture of her skin smoothed to impossible precision, idealized down to the the pores with not a single wrinkle or mole.

One of the critics standing nearby called it sublime. Another said, "She looks so real I almost expect her to blink."

Rafayel said nothing. He kept walking.

A curator caught him between rooms. She was in something backless, dark green, dripping with confidence. “You must feel at home here,” she said, beaming. “Mr. Rafayel, you're the Pygmalion of our time."

He looked past her to one of his own works, mounted near the final archway. A man slouched on a low stone, arms folded, spine curved with a kind of refusal, turned away from something but looking up at it at the same time in criticism, his face gaunt with a pinch of displeasure, half-shielded by a fall of hair. No awe or supplication.

His was the only Pygmalion in the entire exhibit, and no one seemed to realize it. Rafayel had heard some talk about how progressive it was to genderbend Galatea for gay representation, or that this could be the moment Galatea came to life and rejected her maker in a plot twist.

Rafayel had left it up to interpretation if his Pygmalion was looking at Galatea at all. He was staring past her — past all of them, really. Every woman he ever imagined beneath him, too dull or too much or too sharp to matter. A man convinced that the thing he made was a compromise, that he’d been forced to shape it because nothing real had measured up. Neither a lover, nor a muse. A reflection bent to fit him. And maybe resenting how much of himself had ended up in the marble anyway. Nothing of the yearning saint the myth preferred.

The gallery had tried to soften this image of human ugliness within the divine benevolence of Galateas all around, projecting wind through bare branches beside the figure, trying to frame the posture as meditative. They titled the piece Invocation. Rafayel wasn't even asked before they changed the name and he was definitely having a talk about it with Thomas after.

He offered the curator a a dismissive hand. “A flattering comparison. Though I hear his success rate depended entirely on divine intervention.”

She laughed, unsure whether it was flirtation or rebuke. “Still, what an honor. So many of us see ourselves in the myth, don’t we? The ones who love so deeply we bring our muses to life.”

He excused himself with a nod that meant nothing. Her perfume followed him down the corridor.

The flowing hallway was a blur of marble, alabaster, glass, bronze, the women luminous and soft, the men always absent — except in the titles. The Sculptor’s Prayer. In the Hands of the Maker. Love Before Breath. One artist had suspended a torso in resin, veins threaded with copper, the heart cavity open and waiting with the accompanying quote that read: “She lives because I saw her clearly enough.”

Rafayel stopped in front of it. The figure inside was beautiful and fragile, designed to be admired.

He traced the edge of the plinth with one fingertip and thought: She lives because you needed her to. Not because she wanted to.

He left the gallery floor and stepped into the auxiliary corridor lined with donor plaques and black-and-white photographs. One showed a young couple posed beside a sculpture mid-process. The woman’s face was amicable, and the man looked directly into the camera, his hand on the small of her back. The caption read: The original Galatea — forever immortalized by love.

He looked at it until the focus dissolved, and the polished surface of the frame stopped reflecting anything but his own cold expression.

Pygmalion was granted his wish. That alone was enough to make Rafayel despise him.

A man shapes greed with his hands, pulls at the skirts of heavens like a petulant child, and the gods — watching from a distance they rarely breach — clap their hands in glee and say yes.

The myth pretended that mercy could be earned by longing, that a body sculpted by a beholder who sees himself so above others is owed because he called it love. There was no weight in that kind of miracle, only cruelty dressed as grace, a prayer granted just to mock the millions that weren't.

Pygmalion was the epitome of human selfishness, the final limit where want transformed into greed for more than the world could grant. Only his statue, made by his own greedy hands and given life through someone else's breath, was beautiful, because only she embodied perfection to him, not because she was worth desiring but because he desired her. Pygmalion's love didn't reach past his self, it served only to feed himself and satiate him with the sight of his narcissism, like any other creation brought to life by humans for their own benefit; machines built to kill, guns painted gold so they look like art when killing — all just tools made to feed men's hunger for more.

But he would have never cared about Pygmalion if it wasn't for the gods.

Because Rafayel envied those gods, all too human in their vanity, for the power and might they wielded to give so easily like that. Their ability to move mountains without ever being touched by grief, to pull strings that bind worlds without fearing losing something of theirs; it was unfathomable to someone so bound in mortal tethers such as he.

It must feel so freeing, living like that, he thought. Must feel so good, pulling at other lives like they are your playthings. So easy to get lost in those dreams.

The same way he did back then.

The disdain covering Rafayel in a second skin as if he was an oil-soaked seagull was fuel enough to get back to work after that travesty of a gallery.

He’d been developing a concept for a painting — a large-scale composition of a coral-devoured, bleeding cathedral submerged in the sea, its steeples fractured and stretching toward the surface in a gesture that evoked both surrender and yearning, an image meant to convey the contradictions of loss and reverence, a symbolic convergence of decay and devotion. At least that’s what the so-called critics were about to yammer on about. It in fact was the fate of a certain buyer Rafayel was targeting, and the message was meant for his people and his people only.

The draft lived on the sketchbook propped against his raised knees, his legs crossed on the high stool, charcoal gripped tightly in one hand and smudging downwards the length of a pillar as he added textures and shadows to create depth. It was a hasty thing, but effective at illustrating what he envisioned, complete with notes scribbled around the edges, jotted reminders for little details here and there he needed to add to truly flesh out the piece later on. Rafayel was so distracted by a couple more things to add to the sketch that the canvas already prepared beneath the dome skylight felt neglected despite the brushes sitting ready and dipped in paint atop a palette of bruised violet scraped from stormclouds, diluted ultramarine, blue fog, a soft grime green of oxidized copper, rotten ivory, a sliver of warm rust, a cold pink scraped from the underbelly of spent roses, and more.

And yet, when he finally got up to start for good, his gaze drifted elsewhere.

Toward the bust armature.

Rafayel stood beside it, hands in the pockets of his black suit pants, head tilted sideways with one hand playing with it in thought. He loosened the buttons of the white dress shirt he wore after flinging off that horrid tie, sleeves pushed to mid forearms as he dragged a stool and took a seat before the armature, right elbow propped atop the round table to the side holding supplies, chin resting on knuckles, now gazing up at the base of the clay cast while chewing the inside of his cheek.

He had always told himself he would return to it when he was ready, when time had softened the raw, exposed nerve endings of loss, when he could render your likeness with a steady hand instead of a shaking one.

But then months stretched into a year, days faded into seasons which blended together into a period of numbness broken occasionally by an intrusive thought here and there while he focused on Lemuria and Lemuria only, and then — nothing. Until it was easier not to think about it at all. He became absorbed in his mission, dedicated to getting revenge, and avoided thoughts of you, for all intents and purposes, until moments like these where he simply sat in silence looking up at a form without feature to remind him why exactly he did what he did.

Galatea, huh?

He crossed the room with the same distracted focus he used to summon bruyous, hands rummaging through the storage shelves until he found the sealed bag of clay, not expecting it to be heavier than he remembered, dense with neglect. Dumping it unceremoniously beside the armature, he sliced it open, letting the block fall onto the slab table with a dull, resistant thud, finding it cold to the touch, too stiff to yield immediately, so he pressed it between his palms, wetting them, working the material slowly until the top layer lost its brittleness.

He didn't sit right away, hovering over the lump with furrowed brows, kneading it down into something usable, folding in water from the bowl on the side, rotating it as he moved, pushing and turning until the tension bled out. Once softened, he dunked the mass onto the metal plate mounted over the dented and sluggish, old man of a banding wheel. Only then did he sit, lowering himself onto a battered wooden stool, one bare foot braced against the leg of the wheel’s base while the other nudged gently to angle it.

All done. He reached for the wire loop tool without thinking or looking over, fingers already coated in the dull slip of moisture and clay.

The first lines came quick and confident. Indents for the eyes. The line of a nose. Just scaffolding, clearing a space where you might return to him, the only sound in the room the soft grind of his tools and his breathing.

He narrowed the chin, adjusted the brow. Then sat back, frowning.

Too young. This was closer to the child at the beach who had hooked pinkies with him.

He scraped the forehead flat again, thumb dragging clay down like peeling skin. The smoothed face stared up at him in blank reprieve, a temporary erasure before he tried again, less baby fat on the cheeks, sharper cheekbones this time, a more adult curve to the jaw, something more defined around the eyes, though he wasn’t sure what. A firmer mouth, perhaps. A stronger line. He reworked the nose — it ended up being too straight the first time and he chided himself for the mistake, then he decided it was too narrow, crooked it just slightly at the bridge, something he'd sworn felt right.

It wasn't long before the moment slipped from his fingers, and all the revisions felt more like mistakes than anything, tilting the whole balance of the face into something uncanny. He could pretend it was nearly familiar, but only in the way dreams pretended to be memory.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, Rafayel tilted the wheel. Leaning in with an emotion-tense strain in his spine, he angled the bust toward the overhead light until the shadows shifted and spilled away from the features he’d laid out like a confession.

He stood up for a burning stretch to contemplate, stepped back, squinted with his head tilted, and stepped forward again.

Was it just him? The angle? The lighting? The fatigue of the gallery distorting everything?

After he sat back down with more determination to get over whatever this slump was that made him get you wrong over and over again, one adjustment in the temple led to a collapse in the jawline, and the later correction to the mouth made the chin too long.

The realization that the eyes looked distant now and he couldn’t tell if it was him failing the depth or the absence of something deeper was particularly worrying. Rafayel had always trusted the process, but this didn’t feel like a detour into arriving at the same destination, the clay was actually resisting him in a non-art block way and it was starting to actually bother him.

He scraped again, set the brow differently, ignoring the thing niggling at him at the back of his head and brushing against some the internal nerve. Was it ever really that shape? Or had he once wanted it to be, and kept telling you about how doing your brows that way would compliment your features better when Algie had sat you down before the vanity in your room to try out some dresses for the ceremony and work on make-up to go along with each one of them?

The clay warped gently beneath his fingers as he tried to trust the sensation, but every stroke seemed to subtract rather than add. The frustration Rafayel hadn't sensed had made its way into his hands like fire following the path of a wick, making the cheekbone dip under the tool, and he had to sit back straighter with a huff from his nose.

His eyes flew all over the features of the bust, the whole incomplete face. Rafayel couldn't even call it yours. One mistake or two could be expected, even pictures could be unflattering. But it was worse than that — he couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong. The structure was exactly the same, proportions were what he remembered. The surface was close to reality enough to breathe, but the person who would come to life if they did wasn’t you, and he didn't know where he had gone wrong.

Rafayel stared longer. A pressure grew behind his ribs, and it was beginning to feel like trying to hum a melody he hadn’t heard in years. The more he reached for it, the more the silence beneath it yawned open.

He reached up and pressed his palm against the clay, not to shape, just to feel if it might suddenly remember for him.

It didn’t.

This was someone else. Too much of him.

He looked down at his hands, coated in slip and streaked with fine dust, and flexed the fingers slowly as though wondering how long they’d been disobeying him.

He pressed the backs of the base knuckles of his thumbs into the inner corners of his eyes. Into the tear ducts.

Where was the scar you used to trace absently while thinking? He tried to recall the way your mouth moved when you were amused but trying not to smile. Was it one side that curled first? Or both? He had drawn it once, years ago, sketched it from memory with absolute certainty. But when he reached for it now, he found only doubt.

The chair scraped backwards and nearly toppled as he sprang to his feet, crossing to the small cabinet beside the canvas where he kept what little he dared to revisit. He almost flung the drawer halfway through the room when he yanked it open, pulled the first sketchpad he could reach, pages flipping too and frenzied to register until he paused and kept going through them slower to make sense of it.

Eyes, alone. Dozens of them. Glancing sideways, gazing directly, lowered in thought, every single one of them slightly different in expression, none of them quite right. A nose rendered in three-quarter view with a soft crease that might have been tension. The arch of a brow, mid-expression — concern, maybe? Hair texture studies in every style you wore it that he remembers. A mouth caught in a smile with no cause. Hands more frequently than anything else — folded gently, held in motion, reaching out. The gesture of a wrist mid-turn, the curve of a knuckle mid-thought. A sketch of a nape that vanished into the shadows of the page’s lower edge.

None of them carried your name. But they were you. Bits of you. Shards. And every one of them had been committed to the page when he hadn’t even meant to — absentminded, between tasks, in the margins of other projects. A fragmented archive of heartbreak he’d been too cowardly to complete. As if assembling you would demand an answer to where you had gone, as if seeing it finished would require confronting what it meant for him to have stayed, inviting something too vast and unhealed to fit back inside him without breaking something else a lie in full.

Rafayel had underestimated the sheer amount of notebooks he'd gone through for years now, like paper towels one would wipe away their tears with. The grudges he'd immortalized left to collect dust and avoided religiously.

He could only look through a draft of your eyes and hold on to the sketchbook for dear life when his vision blurred and something trickled down his cheek. One by one, the tears solidified into pearls, striking the floor and rolling away into obscurity among the chaos of his studio.

Dropped right into the throes of a realization far bigger than he could accept.

Like a dream that slipped away upon waking, your face had receded to the place where Lemuria had sunk — unable to be grasped fully or played back clearly unless he called them forth, the rest reduced to snippets and gestures instead, images that flickered through his mind like slides projected on a screen, ephemeral and fading faster the harder he fought to keep hold of them. What remained was abstraction — softness that used to be hair, the dimple of an incisor tooth, a tilt of the mouth that belonged to laughter. Those fragments still possessed color. What they lacked were definitions that would allow him to shape the clay in your image.

He went through more sketchbooks until the last of it joined the pile around him and he was left standing motionless in the wreckage of graphite and paper spilling open across the floor like overturned reliquaries, pages fluttering mockingly gentle under the breeze nudging through the half-cracked windows, reflecting back a half-you, or an almost-you. He stared at them for a long time without moving, eyes dragging from shape to shape, as if willing one to speak with your voice.

What answered was a notification pinging in his pocket, a sound so mundane amid the shambles of his misery. He pulled his phone out in a detached daze, swiping at it with no thought.

Thomas: Pygmalion and Galatea gallery photos are up on their page! Your attendance was well publicized and people are talking about your piece, so I expect requests for interviews soon. Just letting you know 😃

His knees gave out before the grief did, he caught the armrest at the very last possible second, and slid down the length of the sofa's side.

She lives because I saw her clearly enough. Those words barricaded his mind like blood rushing to fill a bruise.

Rafayel was a creature built from ripples, shaped by a lineage of memory so ancient it existed without written record, a primordial awareness of past pains and future sufferings alike, generations upon generations worth of invisible scar tissues patching him up like a rag doll. Cities had fallen and crumbled behind him, yet he could name their street corners and the songs sung during their funerals.

So why — how — had you slipped from him this way?

The thought unspooled inside him slowly, a wet thread tugged from a wound so raw that Rafayel didn’t dare touch it. He had thought, in some arrogant, buried part of him, that if he ever tried, truly allowed himself to miss you more than he mourned his people, and stopped tormenting himself by creating puzzle pieces of you out of scraps in his refusal to obtain a photo of you living your new life, he would be able to rebuild you perfectly. Even the gods who breathed life into Galatea would turn green with envy.

His gaze crawled back to the Frankenstein's monster of a bust, all unrelated bits and pieces that had looked like you when isolated but made no sense when he put them together, taking the shape of grief itself.

She lives because I saw her clearly enough.

He tossed the phone aside without giving Thomas an answer, threw his head back to lean on the lip of the couch, and covered his face with a forearm.

And at last, bitterly, he realized he was no different than Pygmalion: longing for the memory of a woman to etch itself into life.

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