#and I'm about to make it everyone's problem

[lilaira]

I'm done being like this, I am at my breaking point, I WILL talk about my OC and make it EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM. You can ignore me, you can block me, but my demons shant silence me NO MORE!

me: i wanna talk about my ocs

someone: ok tell me about your ocs

me, suddenly convinced that every single thing about my ocs is stupid and cringy and probably offensive: i. have them

[plutoslastwords]

Hi can you do dad lando to a toddler where they are on a boat spending time with family and lando teaches her how to swim thanks

splash!

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: this years summer break is a boat trip across the mediterranean. the only problem? you can't (and won't) swim.

w/c: 1.4k

warnings: none!

a/n: IM BACKKKKKKKKK also i have the worst writer's block so i'm sorry that this is awful

~~~

Summer break of the F1 season was one of the few times where drivers were really able to relax - no responsibilities, no press conferences, no training sessions, pure bliss if you asked Lando. 

For many, bringing a 3 year old on a lads trip on your only break of the year sounds like pure agony, but Lando couldn’t be happier. Finally, some quality time with his little girl, without the stress of commitments and world championship battles. 

The plan was to rent out a small boat for a week, sailing around islands in the Mediterranean, pure bliss. You were beyond excited to go on holiday with your daddy and all of his friends, everyone and their mother’s were telling you how exciting it was going to be. 

You had spent the last few weeks meticulously picking out the outfits that you wanted to take on the boat with you, a white dress (the pink one is ugly), blue skirt (but not the one with the polka dots) and yellow sunglasses to name a few, for a three year old you were very picky about what you wore. 

One aspect that seemed to have slipped Lando’s mind was the fact that you were about to spend a week on a boat, in the middle of the sea, and you had no clue how to swim. Naturally, that was going to pose a bit of an issue, he had no idea how you were going to react to the notion of swimming, and he didn’t want you staying on the boat all week in a sulk.

Slightly panicking about the sudden revelation that he had had, t-minus 3 days before you were set to leave, he took you to the local pool. 

“You wanna go swimming baby?”

You just scowl at him from the backseat. You didn’t, in fact, want to go swimming. You wanted to go to your ballet class that he was making you miss for this swimming session.

Due to your burning anger at him, you refused to cooperate in the pool. Everytime he let you go to paddle by yourself, you stayed dead still, causing him to have to scoop you back into his arms, sighing.

“Baby, could you please try for Daddy, you’re not gonna be able to swim when we go on the boat if you don’t swim now…” He tried to plead with you, but it was hard to snap you out of a stubborn mood once you decide that you’re angry. 

“You hold me.”

“No, my darling… I can’t hold you for the entire week.. Don’t you wanna be able to go swimming by yourself?”

“You hold me.”

The pool trip was short lived. 

Lando’s next few days were spent stressing about how this trip was going to go. How could he be so stupid??! Arranging a boat trip and completely disregarding the fact that his 3 year old could not (and clearly would not) swim. Multiple times he tried to subtly get you back to the public pool, but whenever you caught a whiff of having to go back into the water you immediately shut it down.

By the time the day came that you were going to leave, Lando felt helpless. He’d packed armbands and any other floatation devices he could find, but he knew that he can’t rely on them, you - and him - were going to have to face the music one way or another. But, he wanted to enjoy himself for as long as possible, it was his holiday too after all, and put his worries to the back of his mind.

It was no surprise that the Mediterranean was beautiful. The boat turned out to be extremely luxurious, plenty of room for all of the guests, equipped with a kitchen and living area. You were completely beside yourself with joy, running around the boat non-stop and babbling at anyone who would listen about how excited you were, showing them all of your teddies that had made the trip to the Mediterranean. 

The first night was the definition of a guys vacation (plus a three year old). Everyone was sharing drinks and some meat dishes, chatting and laughing loudly, completely in their element. 

You - as always - were running around wreaking a reign of havoc and terror on anyone who crossed your path.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” You squealed, tugging on Lando’s shirt as you had decided he wasn’t paying enough attention to you as you would’ve liked. 

“What’s up, darling?” He replies, picking you up to sit on his lap as he was chatting with a friend.

Not happy with being picked up, you quickly wriggled out of his hold, “Look Daddy! Look, look what I found!”

Before he could react you had already scampered off, running towards the bow of the ship, where the supposed exciting thing was.

“Sorry mate, won’t be a sec…” Lando mumbled to his friend, following after you in some haste. 

When he found you you were half overboard, your upper body dangling off the front of the yacht whilst you pointed at some fish that you could see down below. Lando could have sworn that his heart quadrupled in speed.

“Oh my god! Angel!” before you had the chance to show him your find, he had taken you into his arms, walking far away from the edge, “You could’ve fallen!! You can’t lean over the edge like that, it's dangerous! What if you fell in?!”

“But there were fishies Daddy…” you mumble, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes.

“Baby… I don’t care if there were fishies, we don’t lean over the ship, okay? Promise me angel…”

“I promise…” you mumble, slightly guilty, resting your head on his shoulder.

“We gotta teach you how to swim..” he mutters, more to himself than anything, after that scare he wants to be sure that you can hold your own in the water.

The next day is the group’s first full day out on the water, it doesn’t take long after breakfast for people to start flocking into the water, enjoying the nice temperatures of the Mediterranean in the summer.

Dressed in your little swimsuit, you sit on the steps on the boat, your legs dangling off with your feet slightly brisking the water.

“You wanna come in and swim, baby?” Lando asks, keeping a close eye on you, especially after last night.

You shake your head, “I no wanna swim..”

He sighs, but relents, “You don’t have to swim, angel, I can hold you..”

To that, you finally smile at the thought of being in the water, nodding your head eagerly, and outstretching your arms for him to pull you in.

He carefully pulls you into the water with him holding you close as he slowly swims slightly further out. 

“You sure you’re not gonna try to swim for me, angel?” he asks softly.

You shake your head, burying your little face into the crook of his neck, “No wanna…”

“There are some fishies over there, you wanna try swim to the fishies…? Daddy will be right here..” The fish seemed to be the reason you were fine with risking your life last night, so he thought it might prompt you into swimming. He was right, he knows you too well to be wrong. 

Your head perks up at the mention of fishes. “How far…?”

A breath that Lando didn’t know he had been holding in for a while is finally released, “Just over there, you see them, pretty right?” He points to a little school of fish a few metres away, “You gonna swim to them, baby? Use your arms and kick, okay? ‘M right here…”

He gently lets go of you, keeping his arms right there just in case. Ever the smart child, you seemed to get the hang of it pretty quickly, kicking your legs and flailing your arms in an attempt to get close to the fishes.

“That’s it baby… doing so good!”

Your hair follows behind you in the water as you manage to get over to where the fish are. Lando immediately takes you back into his arms, placing kisses on your forehead.

“See, angel, swimming isn’t that bad, huh? You’re so good at it!” He coos.

You just giggle, wrapping your little arms around his neck, “You hold me…” you mumble sleepily, the events of last night and your little swimming adventure having taken it out of you.

“Okay, my love, I’ll hold you…”

~~~

a/n: tysm for reading!!! requests are always open x

[chillinwithbyler]

Something that I truly believe the GA just won't understand is how much Stranger Things can actually teach you.

Like, we have a plethora of diverse characters and no two people are the same.

Will is a sensitive person, more so than ANY other character in the show. He cries, he likes to paint, and he loves EVERYONE even when they've hurt him. He's one of the characters who bears a lot of trauma, but he doesn't let it shape who he is. Will is DIAGNOSED with PTSD. God forbid he lets himself cry. He never gets angry at people because of what happened to him, and he always dismisses it if he's going through something. And his biggest problem is Mike 'We're friends. We're friends!' Wheeler.

Joyce is a baddie. She doesn't need no man on her shoulder to be a good mother. When Will went missing, she fought tooth and nail to bring him home even when EVERYONE, even her eldest son, was calling her crazy. She's a leader and she's a character who has so much willpower and doesn't let anything stand in her way.

At first glance, Jim is a fucking asshole. I didn't like him when the series was just starting out. But that's what makes it so good, because he wasn't an asshole for no reason. He lost his KID. And he was given a second chance with El. He can do it better this time and he's going to be there for her as long as he can help it. In season five, I'll expect them to be a separate team from the others. Which is what she deserves. She doesn't need to be with Mike to be an amazing character.

Nancy, Joyce, Robin, and Max are all GREAT examples of women who can lead without some MAN telling them what to do. El can be the same. What she needs is the chance to be independent and learn about herself. Mike can't give her that. She needs to figure that out for herself.

Billy was an asshole. Through and through. There was no excuse for him to be racist towards Lucas, even if he had a bad childhood. Just look at what Will went through, and he's still a fucking angel, so Billy literally has no excuse.

The amount of feminism that Nancy projects is INSANE. She doesn't listen to anybody and when she has an idea she GOES FOR IT. When something bad happens? SHE GRABS A GUN. When someone says she should do something this specific way, it's BULLSHIT and she does it her own way. When the kids are in danger, she puts herself directly in the path of danger.

Mike is one of the most complex characters in the show. He's a natural born leader and goes out of his way to save people. When he first met El, he didn't save her out of LOVE. He did it because he's a protector. Originally, he was going to send her back to the asylum and only let her stick around because she knew where WILL was. And that's what was important. Will. He was hellbent on finding him. In season five, I can GUARANTEE he won't be leaving Will's side. And the only time they'll be separated will probably be because Will is off his rocker this season and too busy fighting internal demons and disappearing all the time.

Because he's been reminded of what's important. And it's not El. She can protect herself. But we know Will can be vulnerable. He doesn't believe he's loved, and that's a good opportunity for Vecna to go after him. Only when he truly starts believing that he is loved will he find the courage to come into his own.

We have so many characters all with different backgrounds. We have mental health, domestic abuse, sexual assault, eating disorders, bullying, homophobia, anger issues, neglect, internalized homophobia, racism, and literal DEMONS FROM HELL.

But you're telling me the GA can't grasp something as simple as two boys falling in love? How emotionally dense do you have to be to be so ignorant?

If you're going to DNF the show just because of Byler, then I'm sorry but you smell like hotdog water and you've missed the entire point of the show. This is about not fitting in. Instead of the protagonists being some..chiseled jocks who are heroric and attractive, we instead have four weirdo nerds obsessed with a game. Four people who are smart as fuck and have been cast out from society and bullied for being different. Especially Will.

And the whole show centers around him. BECAUSE he's different. Growing up and feeling like you don't belong is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to go through. And as a fan of the show since the EARLY days of season one, I can't even begin to describe the happiness I feel when I see Will Byers.

He was not made for you. Will Byers belongs to the people who grew up as a misfit. He belongs to us who feel like mistakes in our own bodies and struggle keeping up with social norms.

Will Byers belongs to US. Not you.

If you have a problem with him because of Noah then I assume you're either a 12 year old who has spent too much time on a screen and not enough time touching grass or you're a 47 year old bald man who doesn't know what common courtesy is.

If you hate on Will just because he's gay then I'm sorry but Stranger Things is not the show for you. Try Riverdale instead. We do not want you here.

Stranger Things is not afraid to put homophobes and racists in their place. Troy pissed himself and suffered a broken arm. Steve got his face ruined and got a redemption arc. Billy literally fucking died. And they aren't afraid to put queers on a pedestal either. To make THEM the important characters. Instead of being sidelined, it's often the queers and the nerds and the people who don't fit in who are given the important roles.

And that's what Stranger Things is all about.

Like it or not, Will is an important character. He deserves this time in the spotlight. When Byler is canon in season five, don't say we didn't warn you. We've been trying to open your eyes since season two.

Byler is the perfect representation of what a HEALTHY and ROMANTIC relationship looks like. Two people are so alike and are quite literally color coded through the whole series and are just so painfully gay for each other it HURTS.

Mil*ven is the perfect representation of what an UNHEALTHY and TOXIC relationship looks like. It's full of arguments, no heart to hearts, NO mutual respect, gaslighting, lying, and literally just zero chemistry.

Over and out.

[doubleoquigleys]

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ !

[murfpersonalblog]

I think the danger with videos like Nara Smith's is when you have very impressionable viewers who think women like her are aspirational, and that this is what ALL women should be doing & living like & acting like. That's where this guy's analysis on gendered socio-economics are spot on. (ironic AF that it's a white man telling the Black/mixed tradwife with a white husband that she's a domestic slave! 🤣)

My BFF showed me Nara's videos a year or two ago, so we could learn how to make our own bubble gum from scratch--NOT so we could fantasize about becoming slaves to some rich white man who kept us barefoot & pregnant in the kitchen. I don't mind Nara's vids as relaxing DIY tutorials for making junk food--(NEVER trust cooking vids with a skinny cook/chef/etc; it means they don't eat what they cook!) Her aesthetic is a performance (art). There's never any mess in her videos, she stays so clean & doesn't break a sweat and her sleeves never get caught or stained and she cooks soooo frikkin slowly and never makes any mistakes--like, you can tell Nara's vids are edited AF. Nara got cooking down to an ART form that IMITATES domestic life, but doesn't reflect anyone's actual lived experiences, not even her own, LBR. (AND she's a Black Mormon too, lord have mercy, so take Nara's vids with a grain of salt, no pun intended. 🤦)

I'm not saying that this guy's critiques are invalid and it's not that deep~! or anything stupid like that (cooking blogs are harmless art/educational/recreational vids; they're vapid silliness only desperate girls who wanna get married to Prince Charming watch; etc). Cuz he's RIGHT about all the issues with channels like Nara's. It is VERY deep, but people act like it's not deep at all, and that's the problem!

Folks assume/expect what they see online people do in front of a camera to legit reflect real/regular IRL. But it's ALL fake. EVERYONE online is signalling/projecting/selling a specifically curated persona/lifestyle/mindest/aesthetic: from tradwives to gamers to pop culture pundits & podcasters. They're/we're ALL tryna influence the way audiences think & behave & view/understand the world and one's place in it; whether it's revolutionizing/conforming to certain beauty standards; or defying/shilling politico-capitalist marketplaces; or analyzing/consuming media loaded with subliminal messages & social commentary. The DANGER is confusing online with real life; putting misguided social value on internet influencers as THE exemplary aspiration to compare your IRL with, when influencers are just as fictional as characters in a movie--or worse: a COMMERCIAL. And what Nara is selling is far more than just harmless cooking tips, amen absolutely! 💯😔

It's concerning to see so many people in the comments attacking this guy's analysis for all the wrong reasons, completely missing the underlying point of what he's talking about: the socio-economic facade/farce/fantasy/nightmare-fuel that online influencers sell to audiences in totally different tax brackets, who are (sub)consciously comparing and contrasting their IRL to the influencers', and hating themselves for coming up wanting; bending over backwards to reach unrealistically lofty goals of indulgent luxury & frivolous time-wasting; and failing to recognize what's on their screens for what is is: the performance/parody of what the elite think regular/poor people live like, with a bougie veneer on top.

[marvelouslymarly]

So I saw something that said you’re taking requests? If that is true, can I request a Bob Reynolds x reader where reader is perpetually cold and uses Bob as a heater?

Warmth [Bob Reynolds x female!reader]

“Hold me in this wild, wild world - ‘cause in your warmth I forgot how cold it can be”

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x fem thunderbolts!reader

Requested: Yes✨️ (requests are open!!)

CW: none, it's just fluff!! (well, maybe some awkward!Bob but idk if that needs a warning)

Masterlist

Word count: ~5k

[A/N: [y/nn] = your nickname]

[A/N #2: I'm sorry it took me so long to write this one! Uni's been quite stressful lately, and apparently, it's much harder for me to write when it's for someone else🥲 but I loved the challenge, so I'm looking forward to getting more requests!!! Hope you enjoy😊]

This is not beta-read oopsieee

Ever since you moved into the Watchtower, you’d been freezing perpetually. This wasn’t something that was new to you. Not entirely. The heating at your old place had always been set to a cosy 71°F because, even in a thick hoodie and fuzzy socks, you were used to constantly having cold hands and feet. In school, people used to make fun of you for wearing sweatshirts well into June when most of them had long put away their long-sleeved clothes. Now, in the Watchtower, you were lucky if someone turned the thermostat up to 65°F. John and Bucky - but especially John - would go on about how they couldn’t handle it if the apartment got too warm, arguing that they tend to run hot because of the serum. But Bob and Alexei never seemed to be too opposed to leaving the thermostat set to a temperature that didn’t have the rest of you feeling like you were living in a cold store.

“Why can’t you girls just put on a hoodie if you’re cold?”John moaned and turned on the AC before sitting down in his usual armchair, sweat stains on his shirt from his morning jog.

“Because having the AC on full blast is bad for the environment. Just get over yourself,” Ava tried to reason, getting up from the couch and turning down the AC again.

“It’s four supersoldiers living here. And three women. That’s clearly a majority. If you’re cold, you should put on some warmer clothes,” John retorted, joining Ava at the thermostat once more.

“John, you cannot play the ‘I am a supersoldier’ card every time you’re losing an argument,” Yelena rebutted, her Eastern European accent thick, and rolled her eyes. “Bob and Alexei don’t seem to have a problem with setting the AC to a temperature everyone feels comfortable with.”

“Alexei basically loves to sit around in his robe and tighty whities and Bob’s probably just too much of a wuss to say anything,” John snapped and looked at Bob who had been really quiet this whole conversation. Hearing his name caught Bob’s attention, having him look around the room, trying to figure out what he’d done.

“Hey, there’s no need to get personal, Walker,” you interfered, looking up from your book. You met Bob’s eyes and sent him a soft smile. He relaxed a little, his shoulders dropping back to their usual level. You stretched out your leg and poked his side with your foot, getting a small smile from him in return.

“I’m not the one who’s making this personal, Yel-"

Walker quickly shut up when he heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway and turned to see Bucky walk into the living room, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Okay, what’s going on here, and who started it?”

“Walker!” The four of you said in unison, and Bucky sighed loudly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his right hand.

Walker looked around the room, an exasperated look on his face, and his finger pointed at his own chest.

“How is this my fault? Besides, Bob, are you fucking kidding me? You can’t speak up for yourself but then you’re ready to throw me under the bus the second you get a chance?” There was an angry sneer on John’s face and when your gaze fell on Bob once more, you realised that he’d shrunken into the couch cushions, seeming considerably tinier than he actually was.

“Sorry, Walker, but I’m on the girls’ side on this one.”

“Of course you are,” John muttered, rolling his eyes again and turning to walk to his room, when Bucky’s arm landed across his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky asked, his voice filled with frustration.

After the discussion that ensued, you’d all agreed to keep the temperature of the common rooms to a more agreeable 69°F, still very much to John’s displeasure. Eventually, everyone seemed to get used to the temperature in the shared living spaces. Well, that was everyone but you. You blamed it on bad circulation and an iron deficiency that you couldn’t quite seem to shake completely. So, you put on a sweater and some fluffy socks most times you left your bedroom and tried to tell you that it was ok - that, maybe, you just took longer to get used to the temperature shift between your bedroom and the living room or kitchen.

But then there was that one day where the AC malfunctioned, and none of you could figure out a way to shut it off. God, that was probably John’s favourite day of the year because he finally got what he wanted all this time. After desperately trying to stay warm in your room, you gave up and figured that maybe you’d be warmer in the living room with the afternoon sun streaming in. Yelena and Ava were sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, trying to warm themselves in the sun, quietly bickering about John who was lounging on the couch, wearing a tank top and shorts, his bare feet on the coffee table. He had a smug smile on his lips when he saw you come into the living room, wearing a thick cardigan over your oversized hoodie and sweat pants. You’d shoved your feet into the warmest pair of slippers that still fit over the thickest socks you had, but yet, you still felt cold.

“Where are you going? The Arctic?" John laughed, sitting up straighter to get a better look at your outfit while you walked around the back of the couch, looking for a cosy spot to read. You didn’t reply, just sent him an annoyed glare and then pulled your cardigan tighter around your frame.

“Guess it’s not just the temperature that’s freezing in here,” he muttered under his breath and slumped back down in his seat.

“You know, you can just shut up. You get that, right?” Ava countered and closed her eyes against the sun, leaning back onto her elbows.

"What did I say now?” His arms were stretched over his head, completely oblivious that his joke from before wasn’t funny at all.

“John Walker, if a woman tells you to be quiet, you should really be quiet,” Alexei told him, shaking a raised index finger into John’s direction and looking at John over the edge of his newspaper, his head cocked forward.

John didn’t say much after that anymore, just mumbled a few words into his beard. It got quiet again in the living room, everyone going back to what they were doing before you entered the living room. But you couldn’t concentrate on your book, annoyed by the way your cold toes touched each other inside your socks and how there was a constant flow of cold air coming from the exposed vents hanging from the high ceiling. Even the throw blanket you’d grabbed from the edge of the couch a few minutes after sitting down in the bean bag by the window didn’t seem to keep you warm enough. You put the bookmark between the pages of your book and then set it aside on the floor before pulling the blanket up under your chin, shivering slightly.

“God, it’s so cold,” you muttered, rubbing your arms under the blanket and trying to generate some heat. “Did Bucky say anything about when they’ll come around and fix the AC?” you asked, looking at Yelena and Ava.

They shook their heads, Yelena telling you that Bucky had tried to get some people down here but didn’t have any luck. With her face turned to the window, she look like a cat basking in the sun.

“Apparently they’re all too busy with installing ACs all over New York,” Ava added and shrugged her shoulders, a sorry expression on her face.

“Hey, [y/nn], if you want, you can come and sit with me. I give great dad hug! Yelena can confirm. Right, Lenochka?” Alexei opened his arms invitingly and let his eyes wander between you and Yelena, whose face pulled an embarrassed grimace.

“Dad, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I don’t think [y/n] wants a dad hug from you, right now.”

“That’s really nice of you, Alexei,” you thanked him, sending him a kind smile.

He nodded, his shoulders slumping a little, but his bright grin didn’t falter. “Always! You are family now!”

It was then that Bob and Bucky walked into the living room, carrying seven cups of hot cocoa, whipped cream in a can, a packet of mini marshmallows, and some cookies between the two. They set the mugs down on the coffee table and told us to get together.

“OK, Bob and I have made the executive decision that we’re gonna drink some hot cocoa and have ourselves a lil movie night.”

“Bucky, it’s 4 in the afternoon,” John noted, looking at his wristwatch, and Bucky sent him a glare.

“If you don’t wanna join us, then suit yourself, Walker. I bet Valentina still has some paperwork you can take care of, if you really wanna work,” Bucky schooled him, sitting down in his usual spot on the couch.

“No, no. It’s fine! Movie time it is.”

The team all cosied up on the couch, leaving a spot between Bob and Yelena for you. You plopped down, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs, hoping you’d stay warmer this way.

“Want some blanket [y/n]?” Bob offered and lifted the blanket he’d put over his legs a second before. You reached over to him, your fingers brushing against his as you pulled on the fabric a little. His fingers were warm, toasty even, and your eyes went up to meet his gaze.

“How are you not freezing?” you asked him, your fingers staying wrapped around his for a moment, hoping to coax some of his warmth.

“Well, I kinda run hot…” His voice wobbled a little, and he gulped, his cheeks turning pink. Bob averted his gaze, his eyes moving down to your hand slowly slipping into his, but you could still see him bite his lip nervously.

“Wish that was me right now, to be honest,” you mumbled and put his hand on your cheek, leaning into his palm. “I feel like I might actually turn into a fucking ice cube every second now.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a perk in situations like these…” His thumb swiped over your cheek instinctively, a soft smile on his face, and then his eyes sparkled a little, going wide. “You could… come a little closer. Maybe I can help you warm up?” Bob motioned his head for you to move on over and put his arm out for you.

You didn’t have to be told twice, quickly scooching over to him and putting your head on his shoulder. The second his arm wrapped around your back, it felt like a warm and cosy blanket being placed around you, the citrusy-yet-earthy scent of his cologne enveloping your senses. You got a little more comfortable, putting your feet between his crossed legs. Bob’s hand dropped to your knees, rubbing up and down your shins, the friction creating a soothing warmth on your skin.

“Wait, I wanna cuddle, too,” Yelena exclaimed, scooching over, too, and throwing her arms around the two of you. Her head came to rest against your back, and she hummed as her fingertips drew lazy patterns on your knees.

You stayed like that for a while, Yelena eventually lying down in the space that you’d left vacant by moving to basically sit in Bob’s lap and falling asleep, soft snores rumbling behind you every now and then. At some point, your knees had fallen against Bob’s chest, and you’d cuddled up closer to him, his cheek resting against your temple.

“Are you getting warmer?” He asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes, and you nodded, the comforting warmth of his embrace slowly lulling you to sleep as well. His hand moved from its resting place on your ankles to your cheek, and he ran his thumb over it again.

“If you wanna nap, I’ll keep you safe from turning into a popsicle, ok?” There was a certain easy playfulness to his voice that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded drowsily and burrowed your face in his neck, closing your eyes against the flickering lights emanating from the TV. With the hot cocoa warming you from the inside and Bob’s arms wrapped around your frame, it didn’t take long for you to get swept off to dreamland.

Bob’s voice woke you up a little later, his breath hot against your ear: “Hey, we’re ordering take out, you want something?” His thumb was caressing your cheek again, and your eyes fluttered open, trying to blink away sleep. “What are you getting?”, you mumbled groggily and wiped at your eyes, slowly pulling away from him.

“Chinese. We’ve already gotten mini spring rolls and wontons but we weren’t sure what you’d wanna eat,” Bucky told you, looking at you from behind Bob. He smiled at you and then handed you his phone. “Get yourself something nice, Val’s paying.” Bucky sent you a wink and then leant back against the couch, his eyes back on the TV.

~~~

You were tossing and turning in your bed, the covers pulled up under your chin in a futile attempt to stay warm. The cold had crept into your very bones, and nothing seemed to help anymore. You’d tried tea and more hot chocolate and even made a cup of hot milk with honey, hoping that it’d warm you up enough to fall asleep. But it had been almost an hour of tossing, and you were getting fed up with each tick-tock of the clock hanging over your bedroom door.

You turned on your phone and looked at the lockscreen, a too bright 1:47 am glaring back at you. You sighed and locked your phone again, turning onto your side and pulling your legs to your chest. Images of earlier that day ran through your mind like a film through a projector, the only thing missing being the rattling noise of the cooling fans and the motor. Memories of Bob’s arm slung around your shoulder, his hand rubbing up and down your upper arm. His blue eyes flashing over to you every now and again as if checking to see you’re still you and haven’t turned into a human icicle. His other hand was drawing loose patterns on the bare skin from where your joggers had ridden up above the thick socks. You hadn’t even noticed at first. It felt too natural for him to hold you like that. Especially after having yearned to feel his hands on your body in any way for so long.

His touch had sent tiny sparks through you, like bursts of electrical currents, and with them came a pleasant warmth. A warmth that made your insides heat up in a way that the hot chocolate couldn’t. You ached to feel this warmth again. To feel the childlike excitement that ran through your veins while being in his arms. To have his delectable scent cloud your senses with every inhale.

You longed for his warmth so much that you hadn’t noticed yourself get up out of bed. You only realised when the cold of the door handle crept up through your fingers. You pushed the handle down, trying to be as quiet as possible, knowing that your door tended to creak when opened too quickly. Not that any of your other team members should’ve been awake at this hour, but still, you wanted to ensure that no one knew about your night-time stroll. Deep down, you were scared that Bob would open the door. That he’d be awake to find you standing at this doorstep, shivering from the low temperatures in the Tower.

Once you reached Bob’s bedroom door on the other side of the apartment, you let your hand hover for a second, your blood rushing in your ears and your heart skipping a beat or two. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on his door as softly as possible, barely making any noise. You could hear faint shuffling from the other side of the door, the groan of the bedframe under Bob’s body. You waited, quietly counting in your head. Then there were footsteps but they stopped again. You imagined Bob standing on the other side of the door, unsure if he’d imagined the rapping at this door. You inhaled, held your breath for a second, exhaled. Then again. The tips of your fingers rested against the cool wood, tingling. You wanted to knock another time, but your brain didn’t seem able to send the signal to lift your hand and knock again.

Just as you found yourself turning towards the door, the door handle moved downwards. The door opened a smidge, and your eyes travelled upwards, slowly, like those of a scared animal. Blocking the warm glow of the lamp on his bedside table, Bob’s eyes met yours, and then his eyebrows hitched up, just for a split second before a smile took over his features.

“[y/n]?” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoping to protect the serene tranquillity of night. He opened the door a little wider and you realised that he was only wearing a pair of boxers. They sat low on his hips, and there was the tiniest trail of hair running down from underneath his belly button and disappearing into his underwear. You shook your head, trying to peel your gaze from his hips and remember why you’d come here. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, your hand brushing away a strand that had fallen into your face. You tried to come up with an appropriate explanation, one other than ‘hey, I’m cold, can we have a cuddle?’ but you found yourself at a momentary loss of words.

“Oh no, I think you’ve turned into a popsicle, after all.” His words were followed by a soft chuckle, and your eyes went to the floor. You suddenly felt incredibly stupid for leaving your bedroom and walking to his in the middle of the night.

“I… I think I should go back, uh, to my room,” you murmured, your hand lifting to have your thumb point in the direction of where you came from. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You turned again, and just as you were to take the first step, Bob came up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. Warmth radiated through your arm and chest, and you felt yourself lean into his touch a little.

“[y/n], wait. You didn’t wake me up.” His grip on your shoulder tightened a little, and he added: “God, you really are freezing…”

“Yeah, well… you run hot and I run cold…”, you murmured and you let your head fall.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you… Do you… I mean…”, he stammered, trying to find the right words. “Do you wanna come inside? I could… I mean, we could… you know…”

You looked over your shoulder and saw his Adam’s apple bop up and down as he gulped, unease taking over his face in the shadows.

“Do you want a hug?” He finally offered and scratched the back of his head.

“Yes, please.” The words fell from your lips before you had the chance to stop them, so you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stop any more from escaping. You rolled your eyes at yourself, took a deep breath, and then turned back to him, your mind getting hazy from all the back and forth. “Yes, I would really like a hug right now?”

The softest ‘ok’ came from Bob, and he opened his door to let you step into his bedroom. He opened his arms, and you walked up to him. The second his arms wrapped around you, you felt the tension fall away, and you melted into him. Into the warm glow that enveloped you. You buried your head against his chest, closing your eyes, and wrapped your arms around him, too. His muscles tensed and then relaxed again under your fingertips, getting used to the cold of your touch.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled and looked up at him, pulling your head back a little.

“No, you’re good, sweetheart,” he put his head on top of yours and pulled you even closer. Your heart bloomed at the pet name, adding to the warmth taking over your body with every second he held you close. He closed the door, pushing at the wooden slab with his foot, and let his fingers run through your hair.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Your words were hesitant, barely audible in the darkness of his room. You hoped that the darkness would just swallow them. That Bob couldn’t feel the way your heart was racing and how it skipped a beat whenever his thumb brushed over that one spot on your back. “It’s just that it’s so cold in my room and I can’t fall asleep when…”

You could feel his head bop in affirmation before he even uttered the words: “Of course you can stay here tonight.” You didn’t know just how badly he tried to suppress the urge to add ‘you can stay here every night’. The words were on the tip of his tongue, threatening to burst free. Instead, he pulled away from you and then motioned to his bed.

Bob walked over but you stayed in your place at the door, watching him lift the covers and then climb in. That’s when he looked up and frowned for a split second before he patted the mattress.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” He sent you a sheepish smile and winked at you, earning a breathy laugh from you.

Mustering up every little ounce of confidence, you shuffled over to him and climbed into bed next to him. You didn’t plant yourself right next to him, no, but left a little gap, suddenly feeling like you were a teenager again and sitting in bed with your crush for the very first time. You clasped your hands over the covers and tried to hide the smile at your own nervousness. You might kick ass on a daily basis, but sitting in bed with Bob seemed to be your very own final boss.

“You can come closer, I don’t mind,” Bob assured and opened his arms again, inviting you to scooch over.

“I don’t know why I am so nervous,” you lied, looking over at him and biting on your bottom lip anxiously. “I mean, we literally cuddled earlier… in front of everyone else…”

“Right? I mean, it’s not like we haven’t done this before,” he agreed and you could see his cheeks turning pink. “I could, uh, put on a shirt if you want. If you feel more comfortable then.” He pointed at his wardrobe and shrugged his shoulders.

“No, that’s ok.”

Your eyes travelled down his face. Over his throat. Stopping to watch the vein flutter under his skin quickly for a second. His chest rose and fell with every inhale and exhale. Your gaze moved further down, following the trail of hair that disappeared under the blanket and then to his hand.

“I'm sorry, I tend to… freeze when I'm nervous.” When you realised the unintended pun you laughed at yourself, and then looked back at his face. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes, and you realised the nervousness abate.

You scooched closer to Bob and let him wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to bridge the distance. He put his head against your temple, and you cosied up against his chest, your hand resting on his pectoral muscles.

“Did you have another nightmare?” You asked him, your gaze travelling up to him slowly.

“Why do you ask?” His voice was filled with confusion, and he met your eyes.

“Well, you said you were already awake when I knocked… it's quite late, so,” you explained and let your fingers trail up his chest, running along the edge of his collarbone.

“Oh! No… I just couldn't get my mind to quiet down,” he revealed, his eyes following the movement of your fingers. The vein in his neck started to pulse more quickly, and you let your finger run over it slowly, carefully.

“I'm sorry…Anything in particular?” You looked at him from underneath your lashes and smiled at him.

His eyes wandered to your lips and stayed there for a second before he looked away, over to his bedroom door.

“Uh, no,” he chuckled, and then his eyes flitted to you for a brief second before leaving your gaze again. He did this often when he lied to John or even to Yelena. “Just this and that, you know.”

“Yeah, I get that, too, sometimes.” You put your head on his shoulder again and tried to hide the smile from spreading. “We should probably try and get some sleep, though.”

You could feel Bob nod his head again, and then he scooted down, pulling you with him. Your leg snaked over his thigh, tangling itself with his legs and his left hand found your elbow. He started drawing loose patterns on his skin again, and you could hear his heart skip a beat with your head resting on his chest.

“Are… are you warm enough like this?” His hand left your elbow and he made to pull up the covers.

“Yeah, you're pretty hot, so…” You could hear him choke on his spit a little, his body turning away from you while he tried to catch his breath again. “I mean, you're pretty warm. Body temperature wise…” You sat up, your hands clasping together in your lap while the heat rose up your neck, making your cheeks burn.

When he caught his breath again, he ran his hand over his face and chuckled softly.

“Yeah, of course,” he looked at you from over his shoulder and took a deep breath. “Of course that's what you meant.” He coughed once more and then turned back to you.

“I mean, why would you mean anything else?” Bob shrugged his shoulders, and there was a sorry smile on his face.

“Why wouldn't I? It's not like you aren't hot, you know… It's just... We're teammates, right?” You were scrambling for words, your hands getting clammy with every passing second. “And just because I think you're hot doesn't mean… that doesn't mean you feel the same about me, so…”

His eyes went wide, and suddenly, you were scared he'd choke again. He turned around fully, his hands moving all over the place nervously.

“Please don't choke again,” you begged him and moved back on the mattress. Your feet were on the floor as the regret set in. “I think, I… I’m just gonna… Go back to my own room.”

You stumbled back, readjusting the shirt you were wearing, and tried to make your way to the bedroom door in the dim light.

“Wait. Stay, please!” Bob hurried after you and stopped you, his right hand resting on your left arm. His left hand cupped your cheek, and you closed your eyes, scared to find pity in his gaze. “Please, look at me.”

You obliged him, meeting his eyes, and you were surprised when you found no pity in them. Only the softness radiating off of the smile that was spreading on his lips.

“You don't even realise how wrong you are about me not feeling the same way about you…” There was a certain something about the way he said those words. Like he'd wanted to get them off his chest for a long time. “And I don't care about us being teammates.” He puffed out his chest a little, and you snickered at the image in front of you.

“Bucky would kill us, if he knew,” you laughed and he shrugged, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Last time I checked, I'm kind of invincible. But still, it'd be a good reason to go, you know.”

You nodded at him, a big grin on your lips. There was a flutter in your tummy, like butterflies from being in love for the first time. When he leaned down to you, his fingers on your chin to pull you closer, your breath hitched, and your eyes flitted to his lips.

“Can… can I kiss you?” His words were soft and so quiet you weren't sure if you'd heard him right. But you found yourself nodding anyway, turning your head upwards a little and closing your eyes. The kiss was timid at first. Slow and tentative. Barely there.

But when he realised you wouldn't pull away, he sighed quietly and deepened the kiss. You melted against him. His arms wrapped around you, and your hands went up into the hair at the back of his neck. And suddenly, you felt a warmth spread through your whole body, making you think that you'd never felt warmth before.

_____

Taglist (if you want me to add you to future projects, just let me know):

@flaneurpastel

[projectiondepartment]

i've been really into having fun and being myself lately so finally, i present: mission impossible: the institutional agonies essay (that i've been talking about for i don't know how long now) cheers!

[peachiejeongin]

Hii honey, i’d like to request a fic where the reader is Jisung’s girlfriend, and she has a curvy/chubby body — including an apron belly and visible stretch marks. She’s always been a little self-conscious, but she’s trying to love herself more. One day, she goes out to the beach with some friends, wearing something a little more revealing than usual because she wants to feel confident. But people make rude comments about her body, and she ends up coming home early, crying and feeling humiliated and ashamed. Jisung finds her crying and comforts her. He reassures her, reminding her how beautiful and sexy she is to him (ykyk 🫣🫣)

There’s absolutely no pressure if you decide not to write this/not comfortable writing this. I respect your boundaries and guidelines <3

I love your fics and your blog sm!!

let me be your mirror | han jisung

Pairing: Han Jisung x chubby!reader Genre: Fluff, Angst, Established Relationship Warnings: Mentions of weight, weight insecurity, rude comments about weight Notice: Hello, my love! Thank you so much for your request! I'm so glad you like my blog and my stories! I always love writing comfort stories like this, especially as a chubbier girl myself. Without further ado, enjoy the story!

word count: 2.7K

You never liked looking in the mirror.

Growing up, you had always been a curvier individual. You had thicker thighs, an apron belly, and visible stretch marks along your hips and thighs. As a kid, you never thought much of it; however, as you grew into your teenaged and young adult years, you found yourself struggling more with accepting your body as it was.

You were not terribly self-conscious, but you were just enough to where any wrong move of your body or incorrect glance in the mirror would make you shrink back into yourself. 

Therefore, you rarely looked into a mirror, not intently at least; if it was necessary, such as doing your makeup, hair, or brushing your teeth, you obliged, of course. Yet you never observed yourself; you never looked at how outfits looked on you or how your figure was reflected back at you in general. You did not want to go through the effort of picking out the perfect outfit just to view one small flaw in the mirror and question everything you had previously thought.

Because of your reasoning, you never looked in the mirror more than you had to.

Today, however, was the day you were going to change that.

Thankfully, with the help of those who cared for you and a little self-motivation, you found yourself trying more and more to love yourself; after all, body positivity was in, and if anyone else had a problem with your body, that was on them, right?

Thus, you found yourself smiling for the first time ever as you looked in the mirror. Today was beach day with your friends—an event you had all been planning for weeks. You had figured for such a special occasion, why not treat yourself to a new bathing suit?

It was a bit revealing, you would admit—a two piece, baby blue bikini with a thin-stringed top and tie-sides on the bottoms that hugged and accentuated your body in all of its prominent curves.

But damn did you look amazing.

The bathing suit fit just right in every facet. The top showed a moderate amount of cleavage while also keeping everything secure. The apron belly you were so used to hiding was on full display and with pride. The bottoms, although riding up slightly, were tied to perfection around your hips and ass. The stretch marks on your thighs were visible, but you did not mind; everyone has them, you thought.

For the first time in a long time, you felt confident in how you looked, and you were excited to head to the beach and flaunt just how spectacular you appeared and felt.

As if your excitement could not peak further, your ever adoring boyfriend, Jisung, entered the room.

“Hey, baby. Do you want—DAMN!” Jisung nearly dropped his phone, his jaw dropping and eyes going agape. “Hello, gorgeous!”

Jisung immediately adorned his words by taking your hands in his, kissing the tops of them lightly as he found himself completely mesmerized by you.

You let out a light chuckle.

“I guess I don’t need to ask if I look okay,” you remarked, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink.

“‘Okay?!’” Jisung repeated in an exasperated tone of voice. “You look more than ‘okay!’ You look stunning! Beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal, sexy—”

“Okay, Ji!” you laughed out, pushing his shoulder slightly. “I get it!”

Jisung giggled. 

“Seriously, love,” Jisung continued. “You look very nice.”

Your boyfriend came closer to you, resting his hands on your shoulders and kissing your forehead.

“And I hope you have a wonderful time with your friends.”

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” you quietly asked, your hands lightly grasping his forearms. Jisung nodded.

“Yeah, I’m just not in a beachy mood today,” he replied with a smile. “Think I’ll stay home and game for a while.”

You smiled, giving an understanding nod.

“If you’re sure.”

At that moment, you heard a car honk from outside of your apartment, undoubtedly belonging to your friends.

“That’s my cue,” you beamed, taking an opportunity to glance one more time in the mirror. “Are you sure I look good?”

“Babe, I promise you look absolutely, undeniably beautiful,” Jisung reaffirmed. “Now go have fun with your friends!”

“Okay, okay!” you chuckled airily, grabbing the small beach bag you had packed and pecking Jisung’s cheek before heading out.

Jisung smiled as you did so, his heart filled with pride as he saw his girl being confident in herself.

The sun was warm on your skin as you stepped out of the car and carefully onto the soft sand, feeling its grainy texture sink in between your toes. You took in a deep breath, intaking the scent of fresh air mixed with the slight mist and salt of the water nearby.

Your mind was clear, enthused, and ready for the day ahead.

You and your friends were quick in setting everything up; beach chairs lounged just near the shore, towels draped over them. A basket sat nearby filled with snacks and drinks for the day. Most importantly, you and your friends splashed, laughed, and swam as the sun made you all glow. You were enjoying yourselves without a care in the world.

The day was perfect.

Until the comments came.

You had emerged from the water to grab a snack; you had been in the water for almost thirty minutes by that point, so were you feeling quite hungry. As you reached into the basket to grab a mini-sandwich your friend had brought along, you heard snickers from nearby.

At first, you thought it was just the wind rustling against nearby tree branches, so you thought nothing of it.

Then, you heard the whispers.

“Bold move wearing that.”

“What was she thinking?”

“Of course she’s grabbing a snack.”

You turned around, finding the source of the comments to be a group of teenage girls sitting on a hill nearby. As soon as you noticed them, they looked away, pressing their lips together in attempts to contain their cruel laughter.

Yet again, you tried to shake it off.

You thought you looked great, and that was all that mattered.

However, as you turned away, focusing back on your sandwich and the sun encapsulating you in its heat, the comments continued.

One in particular stuck in your mind:“I wouldn’t leave my house if I looked like her.”

You froze.

Your heart tightened. You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning with a mix of fury and sadness. Your previously confident demeanor had melted away in an instant. Suddenly, your bikini felt too tight; your stretch marks turned from something everyone had into something that disgraced your thighs. Everything felt as if it was spilling over.

Including your tears.

Without thinking, you went to find the friend who had driven you all to the beach, wrapping a towel around your waist in an attempt to conceal yourself from the rest of the beach, whom you prayed were not thinking the same as those girls.

“Hey, Winter?” you yelled out, motioning for her to come towards you.

“Hey girl! What’s up? Are you okay?” Her voice morphed from delight to panic as she noticed your beet-red face and tear-stained cheeks.

“I’m so sorry to ask, but, um,” you choked your words out, trying not to cry in between syllables. “Can you drive me home?”

“Babes, we just got here,” Winter responded with a teasing tone. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

“Are you sure?” Winter asked, crossing her arms and not believing you for a second.

“Yeah, I just…” You stole another glance at the teenagers, who were still cackling. “I don’t feel well is all. I’m sorry.”

Winter looked at you, then towards the girls, then back at you. Her eyes screamed at you that you did not have to leave because of some petty ass teenagers, but your gaze yelled back that you needed to get out of there before you broke down.

Finally, Winter nodded in understanding and sympathy, quickly explaining to your other friends what was going on. They all bid their farewells—most of them frowning as they did so—as you and Winter made your way to Winter’s car.

The car ride home was silent. You did not want to talk about what had happened, and Winter respected that.

Before you knew it, you were back at your apartment, looking at the front door with regret.

How could a day that was supposed to be so fun turn into such a disaster?

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Winter spoke, dragging you out of your degrading thoughts. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah,” you responded in a soft voice, trying to conceal your heart-ache. “See ya.”

You hopped out of the car, walking regretfully to the apartment, the towel still snug around you.

You slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind you and trying to keep your sobs from spilling out in fear you would worry Jisung.

You nearly collapsed on the couch, laying down and burying your face in your hands as you quietly cried.

You did not understand.

You had been so confident.

You thought you looked good.

Ji thought you looked good.

Your friends thought you looked good.

Why did you let a group of immature teenagers who did not even know the difference between you and the next person get to you?

They had made every insecurity of yours resurface, and you hated that more than anything. More so, you were upset at yourself for letting it happen.

However, before you could sink deeper into your despairful mindset, you heard a door creek open and footsteps echoing down the hallway, along with brief laughs and mutters.

Jisung.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself, using the towel to quickly wipe your face of any tears and praying to God Jisung would be so focused on getting back to his game that he would not notice you being home so early.

Your efforts were in vain.

As Jisung strided by the entrance to the living room, he glanced inside, swiftly noticing you on the couch. He took a step back, his brows furrowed as he walked inside the room.

“Back already, baby?” he asked in confusion. “That was a short trip.”

“Yeah, uh, the beach was kinda dirty! Killed the vibe!”

You hid your face as much as possible from him with the towel, trying to mask the crack in your voice.

Jisung knew you better than that, though.

“Honey,” he said, his tone urging as he took a seat beside you on the couch. “Are you okay?”

His hands came gently over top of yours, lightly bringing down the towel from in front of your face.

The sight before him—your reddened face, puffy eyes, and tear-streaked cheeks—broke his heart.

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

You did not even answer before the tears poured out. It was as if everything—the humiliation, the shame, and the insecurity—came crashing down on you all at once.

Within seconds, Jisung pulled you into his arms, his hands tracing soft circles on your back.

“I’m,” you sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“What on earth do you have to be sorry for, baby?”

“For coming home early,” you replied shakily. “And for letting some losers ruin my day.”

“Did somebody say something to you, Honey?” Jisung asked, his voice soft and steady.

“These girls,” you began. “They kept laughing at me and making really mean comments. One of them said she would never leave her house if she looked like me.”

Jisung’s eyebrowed crossed and his grip on you became tighter.

“I am so sorry, baby,” he gently cooed. “Those girls don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“But what if they do, Ji?” you questioned, all self-doubt re-entering your mind. “I mean, look at me. I’m hideous. I’m hideous and I’m chubby and I never wanna fucking go outside or look in a mirror ever again.”

You practically fell over in Jisung’s lap, sobbing uncontrollably as he consoled you.

“Hey, listen to me,” he told you softly. “You are not hideous. Sure, you’re a little chubby, but that doesn’t have anything to do with your beauty. If anything, it makes you even more beautiful to me.”

“How?” you sputtered out. 

All of a sudden, an idea popped in Jisung’s mind.

“Let me show you,” he answered vaguely.

He gently lifted you up, guiding you to your shared bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, just in front of the mirror perched in the room.

“C’mere,” he told you, patting his leg. You hesitantly obliged, sitting comfortably in Jisung’s lap, but refusing to look at yourself in the mirror; you feared that if you did, the events of the day would never leave your brain.

Jisung, however, was not having that.

“Look at yourself baby,” he whispered. You shook your head quickly, a lump forming in your throat.

“Baby,” Jisung said more sternly. “I need you to look at yourself. For me. Please?”

Jisung’s eyes pleaded with yours, the pureness of his gaze finally allowing you to give in.

You reluctantly glanced at the mirror, trying not to scowl at every part of your body. As you did so, Jisung kissed your cheek.

“Good job, love,” he told you. “Now, I want you to know that what you think is hideous, I think is absolutely breathtaking.”

His hands moved to your waist, slowly sliding up and down your sides as his head rested on your shoulder.

“Like here, for example,” he continued, his hands now coming just in front enough to lay on your apron belly. “You always see the flaws, but I see home. This belly is yours; it’s soft and warm, it’s where I rest my head when I’m tired, and it's slowly where you learned to love yourself first. It’s part of you, and that makes it perfect.”

Jisung’s hands then moved to your thighs, massaging them lightly.

“And don’t even get me started on your thighs, baby,” he told you with a chuckle. “Way better than any pillow, not to mention I have to resist the urge to smack your ass whenever you walk by me in your shorts—”

“Ji!”

“Sorry!” He let out a light laugh and you did the same, making him light up as he watched the sadness within you slowly melt away. “But it’s true! They’re so thick and soft and they automatically make anything you wear look damn amazing!”

You let out another string of giggles as Han playfully jiggled your thighs.

“Oh, and these,” he continued, his fingertips lightly tracing your stretch marks. “These are the most you. They tell your story. Everything you’ve been through.”

Jisung leaned down, pressing feather light kisses to them.

“Baby, I wish you knew how I looked at you,” Jisung stated in a gentle tone just above a whisper. “You are so, so beautiful to me. Not just because of how you look but because of who you are. I love every mark, every curve, and every inch of you. You are sexy, strong, and most importantly, you are enough, my love.”

His arms wrapped tightly around your middle, and as you held tightly onto him, you felt yourself breathe a little easier. The truth was that Jisung saw you; he saw you as more than a chubby girl. He saw the real you, curves and all, and his love made the world seem a little less cruel.

“I think I’m going to head back to the beach,” you whispered, a newfound determination present within you.

“Hell yeah,” Jisung whispered back. “And when you get there, flaunt what you’ve got to those bitches. Because you are gorgeous and have every right to own it, baby.”

You smiled brightly, standing up as Han followed suit and turning to face him.

“I love you,” you said quietly. “Thank you for that.”

Jisung brought you into his arms once again for a brief, yet tight and warm hug.

“I love you too,” Jisung replied with a sweet, smooth voice. “Never forget that.”

You were determined not to, as you realized that the only mirror that accurately reflected yourself was Jisung himself.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @ᴀquazero

🏷️@amararosesblog @velvetmoonlght @amarecerasus (dm/inbox to be added!)

[ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ? ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ, ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ!]

[cheftsunoda]

idk if you write wag x reader or you only do poly but i'm shooting my shot so hear me out...i'm thinking pride month. i'm thinking lily zneimer with a fem reader. i'm thinking shyness and mutual pining. please i beg.

ivy— lily zneimer

blurbs

lily zneimer x !fem reader

in which yn relives her biggest accomplishment in life— loving lily. and maybe all this recollection will bring lily back into her life.

(a/n) : to all my girls, gays and theys— i am so sorry if this breaks your heart. it broke mine writing it but i got inspired by one of my favorite gays (frank) and this is one of my all time favorite songs and writing using it as inspiration was so enjoyable to me. love you all.

poly george carmen story will be up later tonight!

pls pls listen to ivy while reading. i beg of you.

—

—

“I thought that I was dreamin’ when you said you love me” 🌿

It happened on a Friday night in November, in the makeshift fort of bedsheets and textbooks they’d built in Lily’s childhood bedroom—half a physics problem set between them and the soft hum of Bon Iver playing through a laptop speaker. The air smelled like cinnamon tea and the barely-washed hoodie Lily always wore when she was nervous about exams. You were lying on your stomach, half-asleep on a page of handwritten notes, your legs tangled with hers under the blanket. Neither of you had said anything for a while, just passing Lily’s highlighter back and forth like a secret. Lily had been quiet for longer than usual. You felt her eyes on you, her fingers toying with the edge of your sleeve.

“YN,” she said, her voice barely a breath. “Can I… can I tell you something?”

You rolled onto your side to look at her, cheeks pink from the warmth under the blanket or maybe from something deeper. “Yeah, of course.”

Lily blinked slowly. Her lashes fluttered like she was battling with herself, like the words were too big for her mouth.

“I—” She stopped. Then let out a nervous laugh. “Okay. Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I’d never laugh at you,” you whispered, and it was the truth. You wouldn’t. Not with your heart already halfway in her hands.

Lily looked down at where your fingers brushed, then finally met your eyes. “I think I love you. No—no, I do. I love you.”

Time stopped in that little room. The heater clanked. The highlighter rolled off the bed. Your heart tried to climb out of your chest. You sat up a little, letting the silence stretch just enough to make her squirm before you smiled—small, crooked, aching.

“You think?”

“I know,” Lily mumbled, immediately burying her face in the crook of your shoulder. “Oh my God. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

You laughed into her hair, holding her close, the both of you wrapped in that moment like you were the only two people on the planet. “I love you too, Lil.”

She peeked up, her eyes wide and glassy with something unsaid. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, pressing your forehead to hers. “So much it scares me.”

Her hand found yours under the blanket. Fingers laced. A tiny kiss on your collarbone—featherlight, a question more than a statement. You let your fingers trace her jaw, the curve of her smile, the hollow of her throat where her pulse raced faster than yours. It didn’t go further than that—just limbs tangled, soft laughter in the dark, and the quiet safety of knowing someone saw you completely and still stayed. That was the first night you ever heard her say it. You’d hear it a thousand more times. But never quite like that. Never when it felt that pure.

—

“The start of nothin’— I had no chance to prepare— I couldn’t see you comin’” 🌿

You met her in sophomore chemistry, fourth period, the day your school switched up everyone’s schedules for no reason anyone could understand. You’d walked in late, still clutching a granola bar and a crumpled excuse note from the office, and there she was—Lily—in your usual seat, bent over her notebook, chewing the end of her pen and looking completely out of place and exactly like she belonged.

“Uh—sorry,” you mumbled, gesturing vaguely toward the chair.

She looked up. Big blue eyes. Hair tucked behind one ear. Her lips parted like she’d been caught mid-thought. “Oh. Sorry—! I didn’t know someone sat here. I can move.”

“No, it’s okay,” you said too fast. “You can—yeah. Stay.”

So you sat next to her instead. Close. Not close enough to be weird, but close enough to feel the heat of her arm when she leaned over to read the board. Your skin buzzed where it nearly brushed hers. You didn’t hear a single word the teacher said.

For the next forty minutes, you fidgeted with your pencil and snuck glances at her whenever she wasn’t looking. She took notes like it was a test, all neat and underlined and color-coded. She smelled like citrus shampoo. She bit her lip when she was thinking. You were already doomed.

Halfway through the class, the teacher assigned lab partners. You both froze when your names were called together. You looked at her; she looked at you. A small, nervous smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m Lily,” she said, once your stools were tucked in at the lab bench.

“I’m YN.”

Her smile widened. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Silence. You picked at the edge of the lab sheet while she tried to find the goggles that didn’t fog up. Every time your fingers touched while setting up the experiment—just a tap, just a brush—it felt like a firework in your chest. And maybe she felt it too, because she kept biting her lip and glancing at you like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You laughed when she poured too much iodine into the flask and stained her fingers, and she turned pink and smiled at you like it was the nicest sound she’d ever heard. It was small, barely anything, but by the end of class you both lingered at the lab station, not ready to leave. Everyone else had already packed up. Your backpack stayed zipped.

“You’re really smart,” you said, as she double-checked her notes. “I mean, like. The way you take notes. And stuff.”

Lily turned to you, flushed again, but grinning. “Thanks. I think you’re… cool.”

“Cool?”

“Like. You said I could keep the seat. That was… cool.”

You both laughed. And then the bell rang. And just before she turned to go, she said it in the softest voice, like she didn’t want to take up too much space in your life yet—

“Do you maybe wanna study together sometime? For the quiz next week?”

You blinked. “Yeah. I’d—yeah. Definitely.”

“Okay,” she said, and smiled again—shy and glowing. “Cool.”

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no thunderclap, no spotlight, no instant thunderbolt. But somehow, when she left the room, your world felt different. Lighter. Quieter. Like something had gently clicked into place. You hadn’t even touched her hand. But you already knew. You were going to fall in love with her.

—

“Ooh, I could hate you now. It’s quite alright to hate me now.” 🌿

It was raining the day she told you. The kind of rain that sticks to your clothes and makes everything feel heavier than it already is. You should’ve known something was wrong. Lily had texted ‘can we talk?’ earlier in the day, and your stomach had dropped before you even read the rest. She only said that when she couldn’t hold something in anymore.

You met in the parking lot behind the engineering building, the same place you used to kiss between classes when no one was around, where you used to trade energy drinks and kiss half-laughing with the scent of motor oil and asphalt on your hands. Now she stood in front of you, arms crossed tightly over her chest, soaked hair sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes wouldn’t meet yours. She looked like she hadn’t slept. You said her name once—soft, like maybe that would be enough to undo whatever she was about to say. But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Lily said, her voice cracking halfway through. “But I need to. And I—I don’t want to lie to you. Not anymore.”

You waited. Your heart was already halfway out of your body.

“I think I’m in love with someone else,” she whispered.

You blinked. For a second, you couldn’t even understand the words. You thought maybe you heard her wrong.

She kept going. “With Oscar. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You couldn’t breathe. You took a step back, and she reached out instinctively, like she could take it back just by touching you. “No—don’t. Don’t do that.”

“I didn’t plan it, YN,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t like that. We were just talking—just talking—and I don’t know how it happened, but it did, and I tried to push it down, I did, but I can’t lie to you anymore.”

Your voice was shaking when you finally found it. “How long?”

“Three months,” she said, barely audible.

You laughed—sharp and bitter. “Jesus.”

“I never stopped loving you,” she rushed. “I swear to God, I didn’t. I still do. I think I always will.”

“Then why?” you snapped, louder than you meant to, your hands clenched at your sides. “Why are you doing this if you still love me?”

“Because it’s not the same anymore,” she said, crying now. “It’s not fair to you. I can’t keep pretending I’m not thinking about someone else, and you don’t deserve that. I would never do this if I didn’t have to.”

“You don’t have to,” you said. “You’re choosing to.”

Lily broke down then, her knees folding slightly like she could barely hold herself up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking coward.”

And you stood there, rain soaking through your hoodie, watching the girl you built your life around crumble in front of you, and all you could think was God, I wish I could hate her.

“I could hate you,” you said, the words escaping before you even knew they were forming. “I probably should.”

She looked up at you, eyes red, mouth trembling. “You can. You should. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I won’t,” you said, even though you wanted to. “Because I know you meant it. All of it. Before him.”

“I did.”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking. “Then go.”

“YN…”

“No. Just—go.”

She hesitated. Like maybe she thought you’d stop her. Like maybe you’d reach out and say it one more time—don’t choose him. But you didn’t. Because some part of you knew she already had. So she left. And you stood in the rain long after she was gone. Soaking. Shaking. Trying to hate her. Failing. Because even now—especially now—you still loved her.

—

“When we both know that deep down, The feeling still deep down is good” 🌿

You see her for the first time in years on a screen. She’s in the background of a paddock interview, tucked under an umbrella with Oscar, laughing at something you’ll never hear. She looks a little older—so do you—but her smile is the same. That smile that used to light up your whole damn world before it broke you. You pause the video. Your finger hovers over the play button. You can’t bring yourself to press it again.

You thought you’d buried her, that girl from chemistry class with ink-stained fingers and nervous eyes. But she lives under your skin still, pressed into the quietest corners of your memories—your firsts, your almosts, your if-onlys. You don’t miss her in the way that keeps you up at night anymore. Not like it used to. But sometimes, on slow days, you catch yourself smiling at nothing—at the ghost of her. At the echo of a joke only the two of you ever laughed at.

You wonder if she thinks of you when it rains. If she remembers how you used to run through thunderstorms barefoot. If she still has that old hoodie of yours she said she’d never give back. You wonder if she’s still in love with you, just a little. Because you know you are. Not in the way you once were. But in a way that still feels good.

—

She doesn’t talk about you much anymore. Not to Oscar. Not to anyone. But you still live in her. Some nights, when the hotel rooms are too cold and Oscar’s away at press dinners, Lily lies on her back and watches the ceiling and thinks of you. Of the girl she loved before she even knew what loving someone meant. She tells herself it was another life. But she still remembers the way your laugh used to shake your shoulders.

She still wears the ring you gave her on a chain around her neck. Oscar thinks it’s from her mother. She’s never corrected him. She loves Oscar. She does. But some part of her heart still beats to the rhythm of your name. It doesn’t ache like it used to. It just… lives there. Sometimes, she drafts messages to you in her Notes app. Just to say I saw your name today, or Do you still make your tea too sweet?

She never sends them. But she doesn’t delete them either. You were her first real thing. Her truest thing. The one that shaped everything that came after. And no matter how much time stretches between you, the truth remains. The feeling is still there. Quiet. Tucked deep down. But good. Always good.

—

“If I could see through walls, I could see you're faking” 🌿

It had been months since you’d last seen her. Not since the parking lot. Not since the rain-soaked goodbye. Not since you told her to go, even though you never meant it. You’d tried your best to stop looking for her. You changed your walking routes, dropped the engineering elective she was still in, stopped going to that café near the mechanical lab where you always used to study together. You buried her in quiet routines and busy days, and most of the time it worked. Until it didn’t. You saw her on a Wednesday. Late afternoon, on the steps outside the main library, where the sun hit just right and made everyone look a little more golden than they really were.

Lily was standing in a small circle of people—laughing. Or at least, she looked like she was. But you knew her. You knew the real version of that smile—the one she used when she was belly-laughing on the floor of her bedroom, hair messy, cheeks flushed. The smile that unfolded slow and shy whenever she saw you across a room. This wasn’t that. This was the smile she gave when she was tired of being asked if she was okay. The one that pulled just a little too tight at the corners, that never reached her eyes. You knew that smile. You used to press your fingers to her jaw and whisper, “You don’t have to fake it with me.”

But you weren’t hers anymore. You didn’t get to say things like that. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, textbooks clutched to your chest, frozen in place while she laughed at something someone said—then turned slightly, like she felt you watching. Your eyes met. And for one second, just one, everything fell away. The noise, the students rushing past, the heat of the concrete through your sneakers. It was just her. And you. And everything you weren’t saying. She didn’t wave. You didn’t smile. But her laughter stopped. And in her silence, you heard everything. You turned away first.

Not out of anger. Not out of spite. But because you knew that if you didn’t, you’d walk to her and say her name and touch her arm and ask, “Are you okay?”

And she would lie. Because she always did when she was trying to protect you. And you would forgive her. Because you always did. Because even now, you still loved her. You walked away without looking back. But if walls were made of glass—if time and hurt and pride weren’t in the way—you would’ve stayed long enough to say—

“I see you, Lily. Even when you think I can’t.”

—

“If you could see my thoughts, You would see our faces” 🌿

Some days, you get through it without thinking of her at all. You go to class. You laugh with your friends. You remember to water the plant on your windowsill. You start to believe, maybe, that the ache is behind you. But then there are the in-betweens. The slow elevator ride. The quiet walk home after sunset. The click of a pen during a lecture. The taste of spearmint gum. And suddenly, there she is.

If Lily could see your thoughts in those moments—if she could press her hand to your temple and look inside—you know exactly what she’d find. She’d see your faces. Not just the two of you now, older and distant and hurting—but you as you were. Two girls in matching sweatpants at 2 a.m., trying not to wake your roommates with your laughter. Two girls kissing under a stairwell after acing a physics midterm. Two girls falling asleep on each other’s shoulders in the library, highlighters still in hand. She’d see the version of her you still carry… Smiling into your hoodie. Crying into your collarbone. Whispering “I love you” for the first time, voice trembling like it might break if she said it too loud. She’s in everything. Still. Quietly, softly. Like background noise your brain doesn’t know how to mute.

You wonder if it’s the same for her. If Oscar ever catches her staring too long at a wall. If he asks what she’s thinking and she lies, says nothing. Because what would she say?

“I was thinking about a girl I once loved so deeply I forgot what it meant to be alone. I was thinking about how I left her. And how some part of me never came back from that.”

But you’ll never know. So you keep it to yourself. You carry her in your thoughts—hidden, sacred. A collection of moments no one else gets to touch. And if she ever looked closely, if she ever really saw you again, maybe she’d recognize the pieces of herself still stitched into the way you smile at your coffee, the way you tilt your head when you read, the way you love. Maybe she’d know…You’re still there. In here. Always.

—

“We didn't give a fuck back then—I ain't a kid no more.—We'll never be those kids again” 🌿

It hits you while you’re walking past the old gas station near the edge of campus—the one with the flickering sign and the vending machine that never worked but still somehow stole your quarters every time. You’re not even sure why you’re here. You’d taken the long way home, just trying to kill time, just trying to stop thinking about her. But then you see the curb. The cracked pavement. The exact spot where you and Lily sat that night—sophomore year—so loud and alive and impossibly young.

You remember it perfectly. It was just past midnight, early spring, jackets zipped up over pajamas. You’d snuck out of your dorms and walked to that gas station just to buy slushees and sour candy and pretend you were living in a movie. You’d climbed onto the curb, your knees bumping hers, faces sticky from sugar and laughter, and you’d talked about nothing. About everything. You were seventeen. Maybe eighteen. In love in a way that felt endless.

You didn’t care about the future then. Didn’t think about careers or timelines or who you’d be when it all stopped feeling easy. You didn’t even care if anyone saw you holding hands under the fluorescent lights. You just were. Together. Whole.

“We should get matching tattoos,” Lily had said through a mouthful of watermelon sour strips. “Like dumb ones. Frogs or something.”

You’d laughed so hard your Slurpee spilled on your shoes.

“Why frogs?”

“Because frogs are underrated.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” you’d whispered. And she’d kissed you, just like that, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now you’re standing in the same place, older, quieter, bones heavier with all the growing up you didn’t ask for. And she’s not beside you. She hasn’t been for a long time. There’s no sugar on your tongue. No stolen kisses under flickering lights. Just the ache of knowing you can never go back. You’re not those girls anymore. You pay bills. You answer emails. You smile politely when people mention her name like it doesn’t gut you. You scroll past headlines that say Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend spotted in Monaco paddock and pretend your chest doesn’t tighten.

You miss her. But more than that, you miss you. The version of yourself who laughed too loud and believed love was enough. The version who sat on that curb and didn’t give a fuck. You ain’t a kid no more. You know too much now. And no matter how vividly you remember it, no matter how fiercely you want it back—you’ll never be those kids again.

—

“Everything sucked back then—We were friends” 🌿

It was the middle of junior year, and everything sucked. Your grades were slipping. Your parents were fighting again. You’d stopped showing up to half your classes because even the act of getting out of bed felt like climbing Everest. The world felt too loud, too sharp, and you were walking through it like your skin didn’t fit right anymore. You didn’t know how to explain it to anyone. Except Lily. You hadn’t kissed her yet. You hadn’t even told her you liked her like that. You were still just friends—in the loosest, messiest, most beautiful sense of the word. But she knew. She always did.

She’d show up outside your house with iced coffee and no questions. She’d drag you into her car and blast music you hated just to make you roll your eyes. She’d sit with you in silence for hours, her pinky brushing yours on the armrest like she knew how badly you needed to be touched without being asked. One night, when the world felt particularly cruel, you finally cracked.

You were sitting in her room, lights low, curled up under the blanket she kept for you. You weren’t crying. Not visibly. But you must’ve looked broken in some way because she turned off the movie you’d barely been watching and scooted closer.

“Hey,” she said, barely above a whisper. “You’re allowed to say you’re hurting.”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on a thread unraveling on the sleeve of your hoodie.

“I mean it,” she said, voice stronger now. “Everything is horrible. School. Home. All of it. You’re not crazy for feeling like it’s too much.”

Your chest cracked open just a little at that. The smallest breath of air getting through.

And then—softly, so gently—you said, “I feel like I’m disappearing.”

Lily didn’t speak for a moment. She just reached for your hand and laced her fingers through yours like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re right here. With me. I see you.”

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear that until you were already crying—quiet, slow tears that leaked down your cheeks and soaked into her sweatshirt. She held you for hours. Said nothing else. Just kept her arms around you like her body was the only home you needed. And that night, as you drifted to sleep to the sound of her breathing, you thought— Everything sucks. But she doesn’t. She’s the one thing that doesn’t. You were just friends. But she already felt like the closest thing to love you’d ever known.

—

“In the halls of your hotel— Arm around my shoulder— so I could tell— How much I meant to you—meant it sincere back then—We had time to kill back then” 🌿

You don’t remember the name of the hotel. It was just one of those small, chain brand ones on the side of the highway—the kind with stale carpeting and vending machines that only took exact change. You were there for some high school engineering competition, wearing matching t-shirts and badge lanyards, sleep deprived and running on pure sugar and the rush of being somewhere new. It wasn’t anything special. But it’s one of the only memories that still comes to you clear and full, like it happened yesterday instead of years ago.

You and Lily had just come back from the closing ceremony—giddy and exhausted, her arm slung around your shoulder as you wandered the hallway, pretending you didn’t know how to get to your room just so you could stay close. Her hair still smelled like that citrus shampoo she always used, her hand warm against the curve of your neck. But that night, everything in you ached. You paused under the dim wall light near the elevator, her arm still resting comfortably around you, and it was then—you remember it so clearly—that she leaned her head against yours, just for a second.

And she said, voice low, almost sheepish. “You make everything feel easier, you know that?”

Your heart stumbled.

“I do?” you asked, like it was a joke, even though your throat was already closing with the weight of what that meant.

“Yeah,” Lily said, quieter now. “I just… I feel better when you’re around. Like nothing else exists but us.”

She was shy back then, even more than you. But that night, she wasn’t hiding. Not behind sarcasm, not behind jokes or nervous laughter. She meant it. Every word. And you could tell. That’s what made it different. Not the hotel or the hallway or the soft humming of an ice machine behind you. But the way she held you without needing a reason. The way she said you made her feel okay, like that was the most obvious truth in the world. You both knew it then—maybe not in full, but enough to carry the weight of what was coming. You had no plans, no pressure. Just time to kill and hearts too full to understand yet what they held.

You’d stay up until 3 a.m. that night, legs tangled on the scratchy hotel comforter, watching videos on her phone and whispering dreams into the dark. And in the morning, she’d braid your hair with shaky fingers before the awards ceremony and pretend it didn’t mean anything. But it did. You both knew it did.

Now, years later, you find yourself standing outside a different hotel. The kind she stays in now—sleek, international, impersonal. She’s probably upstairs somewhere, curled beside someone else, a life away from vending machines and fluorescent lights. But your shoulder still remembers the weight of her arm. And your heart still remembers the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that felt real. You had time back then. And now? Now you just have the memory.

—

“I broke your heart last week—You'll probably feel better by the weekend” 🌿

It had only been five days. Five days since Lily stood in front of you in the rain and told you she loved someone else. Five days since she watched the way your chest caved in on itself, your mouth set in a silence that sounded louder than anything she’d ever heard. Five days since you told her to go. And she did. She hasn’t stopped thinking about you since.

She lies next to Oscar now, in a hotel bed with too many pillows and none of your warmth. He’s asleep—peaceful, content in a way she can’t seem to reach. The room is quiet, but her head is screaming. Your name echoing through every thought like an ache she knows she brought on herself. She stares at the ceiling, her phone dimmed on the nightstand beside her. She hasn’t blocked you, but she hasn’t opened your messages either. She’s too afraid of what she’ll find. Too afraid of finding nothing at all.

“I broke your heart last week,” she whispers to no one. To herself.

She tries to soften it in her mind—You’ll probably feel better by the weekend. Like that makes it okay. Like it was just a paper cut. Like you hadn’t built a life around her hands. She tries to imagine you now, curled up in that worn hoodie you used to fight over, face buried in a pillow. Angry, probably. But you’ll be okay. You always were better at moving on than she was. Weren’t you?

She turns over, restless. Oscar shifts beside her, mutters something in his sleep. She closes her eyes and tries to pretend it’s enough—that this is the love that makes sense now. That the life she’s stepped into is one she didn’t have to destroy something beautiful to reach. But when she dreams, it’s you she sees. Not the heartbreak. Not the crying. But you—grinning in the hallway of that old hotel, braiding each others hair in early morning, whispering into her neck when she used to wake up from nightmares.

She broke your heart last week. She told herself you’d feel better by the weekend. But the truth? She doesn’t think either of you will feel better for a long, long time.

—

“All the things I didn't mean to say—I didn't mean to do —There were things you didn't need to say — Did you mean to? Mean to?” 🌿

You weren’t supposed to see her that day. But the campus bookstore is small, and the universe is cruel, and there she was—Lily—halfway down the aisle, running her fingers along a row of overpriced mechanical pencils.

You froze, book in hand. You should’ve turned around. Should’ve left. Should’ve pretended not to see her. But she looked up before you had the chance. Her eyes widened. And then dropped. And then she nodded once. Just enough to be polite. Just enough to be nothing. You couldn’t help it—you walked up to her, heart racing, some part of you still desperate for something more than silence. More than the way she left.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey,” she replied, voice too soft to touch. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You swallowed. “I come here all the time.”

“Oh.”

Silence. And then you said it—the thing you hadn’t meant to say, not like this, not here.

“I still don’t understand how you did it.”

Lily blinked. “Did what?”

“Left. Just like that. Like we were nothing.”

She winced, but you were already in it, already unraveling.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you added, instantly ashamed, voice trembling. “I just… I think I needed to.”

Lily looked at you like you were holding her heart in your hands again. Like she wasn’t sure whether to beg for it back or let you crush it.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said. “I didn’t mean for it to go that way.”

“But it did.” You laughed, sharp and shaking. “And then you said all those things like they didn’t mean anything. Like I’d be fine. Like you were doing me a favor.”

Lily looked away. “You didn’t need me to say I loved him.”

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “But you did.”

And it hangs there. Between you. The one sentence that still tears open your chest every time you think about it.

“Did you mean to?” you ask, almost pleading. “Did you mean to say it like that? Mean to leave like that? Like I was just some phase you grew out of?”

She looks at you then. Eyes glassy. Tired. Honest.

“No,” she says. “I didn’t mean to. Any of it.”

And you believe her. God, that’s the worst part. You believe her. But belief doesn’t undo damage. And regret doesn’t undo goodbye. You both stand there for a moment longer, drowning in the words you never meant to say. The ones that still haunt you. The ones you wish you could take back, or at least soften. Then she nods again. One last time. And walks away. And you stay. In the middle of a bookstore. Holding a book you’ll never read. With a heart full of echoes and the awful knowledge that some things can’t be undone. Even when you didn’t mean to.

—

”I've been dreamin' of you, dreamin' of you —I've been dreamin' of you, dreamin' of you— I've been dreamin', dreamin'” 🌿

The train station in Milan is buzzing, but your head isn’t really here. You’ve just wrapped a four-day project with an Italian motorsport tech firm—long days, longer nights, cold coffee and hotter tempers—and now you’re sitting on a worn bench beneath the departure board, your laptop half-zipped in your bag, earbuds in, not playing anything. You’re tired. Not just physically. Soul-tired.

And maybe that’s why you let your thoughts drift the way they do, the way they always seem to when you’re somewhere new, somewhere far away from home. You think of her. Of Lily.

It’s been years now. Time has been both cruel and kind. You’ve built a life that isn’t defined by her anymore. You’re successful. Focused. A little lonelier than you care to admit. You don’t cry over her name like you used to. But you still dream of her.

Still catch glimpses of her in crowds. Still find her smile on strangers. Still feel her voice in the back of your head when you’re looking out the window of a train or walking through a city where no one knows your name. You’ve been dreaming of her lately. More than usual. That soft kind of dreaming—not always painful, but always real. You wake up with her name in your mouth and the shape of her hand still ghosting your palm.

So maybe that’s why, when you hear it—

“YN?”

—your first thought isn’t That’s impossible. Of course. You look up slowly. And there she is. Lily.

Standing a few feet away in the middle of the station, suitcase by her side, hair longer than it used to be but tied in the same half-messy bun she always wore when she was tired. Her eyes are wide, stunned. Like she doesn’t trust what she’s seeing either. You blink, heart catching in your throat.

“Am I dreaming?” you ask, barely a whisper.

She exhales—shaky, like she might cry. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

And for a moment, neither of you moves. You just stand there, frozen in the middle of the station, a thousand people rushing past but none of them mattering. Just her. Just you. You rise slowly, walking toward her like you might scare her off if you move too fast. She doesn’t step back. Her eyes are glassy now.

“I haven’t seen you in—”

“Three years,” she says, too quickly. “I know.”

Your chest twists.

You want to ask her how she’s been. Where she’s going. Who she’s become. But none of it feels right. None of it feels big enough for this. Instead, you say, “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

Lily’s lip trembles. Her hand tightens on her suitcase handle. “I know,” she says softly. “Me too.”

You don’t say I still love you. You don’t say Come back. But you both know. It’s in the way she looks at you like she never stopped. It’s in the way your body feels like it remembers her shape just standing near her. It’s in the breath you take, for the first time in months, that doesn’t feel heavy. You don’t know what happens next. Maybe this is just a moment. A final one. A soft goodbye dressed like a miracle. Or maybe it’s something more. But either way— You were dreaming. And for once, the dream came true.

—

The coffee shop is tucked away down a quiet side street near the station, small and warm and dimly lit—exactly the kind of place you would’ve brought her to back then, when you were younger and still believed the right setting could fix a broken conversation.

You sit across from her at a little table by the window. Your fingers cradle a ceramic mug that’s far too hot, but you don’t let go. It feels surreal. To be here. With her.

Lily hasn’t changed much. Her hair’s a little longer, her voice a little steadier. But the way she looks at you? That hasn’t changed at all. It still softens at the edges. Still makes your chest feel like it’s been cracked open just enough to let the past back in.

You’re both quiet at first. Sipping. Fidgeting. Letting the moment stretch.

Then she says, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You nod, throat tight. “Me neither.”

She smiles, but it’s not happy. It’s sad, in that way that only old love can be. “I kept dreaming it, though. I’d see your face in crowds. Hear your laugh in someone else’s.”

“I’ve been dreaming of you too,” you say, not bothering to lie. What would be the point now?

Lily looks down, fingers running along the rim of her cup. “I thought you hated me.”

You exhale through your nose. “Sometimes I tried to. I thought it would help.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

She doesn’t apologize. And maybe she doesn’t have to. Because it’s not just about the leaving anymore. It’s about the way you both kept carrying each other in silence.

“I loved you so much,” she says suddenly. Like it burst out of her before she could stop it. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

You look at her, and the air shifts. Your hands are still shaking. “You left.”

“I know,” she says. “I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself for it.”

You want to ask why. Why she chose him. Why she didn’t fight harder for what you had. But deep down, you know the answer won’t heal anything. And the truth is—you didn’t fight either. Not really. You let her go. You told her to. There’s a pause. A long one. She’s looking out the window now, watching the world pass by like it didn’t break you both.

And then—quietly—you ask, “Are you happy?”

She takes a long time to answer. “Sometimes.”

It sits heavy between you.

You nod. “Me too.”

You don’t know what this is. If it’s closure. If it’s something new. If it’s just a moment you’ll carry for the rest of your life like a warm scar. But when you walk out of the cafe, side by side under a soft drizzle, you feel lighter than you have in years. Not fixed. Not whole. But softer. And when her hand brushes yours—accidentally, maybe not—you don’t move away. Some things don’t come back. But some things never really left.

—

[creatingblackcharacters]

When it comes to casting for shows and musicals, the thing I'm wondering now is when that should influence casting?

Like, I understand if it's the first time putting on a newly written play, the choices would be very deliberate. If it's on Broadway or the West End, you're held to a higher standard. But if a community theatre is putting on the same show, and the best fitting person for the role based on their performance is a minority, wouldn't it also be a problem to delegate them to a different part based on their race?

I'm not sure I'm wording it right. I'm just mostly thinking of my friend who couldn't be any of the lead roles in the school production we put on as they were all men and were told that if she played one of them, even if she was pretending to be a man, that the audience would read incorrectly into it and get offended. Which sounded like a bullshit excuse (and a failing on the school's part with picking the show because most of the drama students are girls or feminine presenting nonbinary people) but really crushed her.

These aren't one to one experiences you're discussing.

A more comparable experience would be if they told your friend she was allowed to perform as a man, but cast her in lead roles meant to mock women. She could have played any single one of the male leads on the cast list! There were characters with range, with nuance, she could have done incredibly!

But no. the only ones she gets are the ones that play into cruel stereotypes about women. And how convenient, that not just her, but every role around her in this play that's meant to denigrate women... Is also played by a woman. 😐

(But at least you were represented, right?? You were best fit for the part!! You got a Lead Role!!)

Yeah, you do have to consider race sometimes. Every musical isn't gonna be Hamilton, where you have rapping Black men playing founding fathers and slave owners (and even THEN, the cast is so diverse that it works!) If it's a kids company or a community theatre, sure, you might not have as high a standard. I'll suspend my disbelief to an extent. And as a casting director, you have to at least communicate with the people who come to try out. "Hey, this role is like this, it might be an odd experience, are you okay with this?"

So, I would think the start at least would be making the whole cast diverse. But if I stand back after going through my whole casting, and everyone I chose to be a Bad Person is a person of color because "they did the best".... 😐 To me, it looks like race already played a role, whether you wanted it to or not.

[bookwyrm314]

"don't wanna vaccine, don't get one" is a dangerous way to frame this, because they are not very big on personally responsibility and make it everyone else's problem.

Sure, you could opt out of vaccination. But you also then have to opt out of public and private education, have to work from home, etc.

And when it is their kids, it is flat out medical neglect.

So I'm a big fan of "don't do things you don't wanna do" in terms of, like, who you date and what kind of jobs you do.. you can't opt out of society without fucking off to the woods, which they clearly are not actually about.

Being a member of society means your parents and teachers teaching you to wash your hands after you go the the bathroom, after you come home from being outside, etc. Being a member of society means not going to school/work when you're sick, and wearing a mask when you have to leave your room so you do your part to protect others from your illness. Being a member of society means getting vaccinated against illnesses*.

*And, yes, some people have allergy or immune reactions that prevent them from getting vaccinated, which means it is all the more important for literally everyone else to get theirs done on time. "I'm afraid of needles" and "I'm an idiot" are not really medical reasons to avoid your shots.

Conservatives live in a repressed, fearful world. They don't stand up for others. They long to control others.

The lack of empathy and near zero emotional intelligence create the perfect storm of sadism.

[nqueso-lies]

Hi, so this is VERY RANDOM but I'd like to hear your opinion because I'm on the fence about it and I love you and your opinions.

So I like dark themed romance and I like bucktommy so I was thinking and I'm in the middle of writing a dark themed romance for bucktommy.

My issue is if that's too much? Is it okay to write something that is not fluffy, romantic or hurt/comfort? Because most of the works I've read are like that and they great and the fandom is amazing and that what inspired me to write again after 10 years.

I'm scared whoever going to read it won't take it well and I'm scared I'll start discourse and people making posts about my fic and pointing fingers at me. I'd just disintegrate.

I'm sorry but I'm having a meltdown since a month ago and still do. I write like one sentence and then ask myself "what's the point?" And close the writing app, and this is killing my brain because I'm already a slow writer and I'm struggling with English.

And to give you an idea about it, it has stalking, kidnapping and manipulation.

Should I tuned it down, should I drop it, should I go with what everyone else is writing, what 😭.

I'm sorry, but I really didn't know who should I ask but you.

You can choose not to post this and just give me an answer or just ignore me. I'd hate to disturb your peace if this ask attract unwanted attention, I'd absolutely hate that to happen to you.

I was going to answer this with an @ anon but I think it's important that everyone see your ask because it makes me sad.

It doesn't make me sad because you want to write dark romance for bucktommy, it makes me sad that you feel like you can’t because you'll be ridiculed for it. I can't speak for all bucktommy fans but I can say that there are currently dark romance themed bucktommy fics out there and they seem to be well received and I know I read them.

Imo, if the fic is tagged accordingly, then go for it. I'm currently reading a few mob boss fics that I would describe (as well as the writers) as dark romance.

There's nothing wrong with safely exploring things through art. How many people love to watch the show 'You'? Gallavich fic is heavy on dark romance. Bucktommy are legal adults.

I feel like the CSA fics really fucked up this fandom. That was completely different. Those fics were deliberately mistagged and sent to people to trigger them. That's not what you or other writers who properly tag their fics, are doing.

If someone reads your fic and it has a trigger in it that is tagged and they get angry that's on them.

For instance, and please forgive me, I'm not calling this writer out, but there is a bucktommy series about a very specific fetish that is no where near my interest levels... and you know what I do?? I scroll past it.

Just because I don't enjoy that doesn't mean others don't.

I would recommend turning on comment monitoring (?) to get a feel on the reactions, but I don't see why you'd have a problem.

Annie, please write it. Tag appropriately and have fun! It's what we're all here for at the end of the day anyway.

[usertoxicyaoi]

revenged love is literally basically just "i'm horny and i want that man carnally and i'm about to make it EVERYONE'S problem. deal with it!" and you know what? i respect that, man.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Welcome to Beast's Party

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Only a few hours remained before Emma's party.

Luke: "Oh hey, Licht, Nokto. You showed up at just the right time."

Licht: "Is there a problem?"

Luke: "Gilbert's gone."

Nokto: "That's a big problem."

Licht: "You think he got caught up in some kind of trouble?"

Luke: "I doubt it. He's the type to cause trouble, not get caught in it."

Licht: "That's... not really a good thing, you know."

Nokto: "Prince Gilbert was the most excited about the party, so maybe he'll just pop up out of nowhere?"

Nokto: "That said, starting the party without the person who planned it feels kinda wrong. And if—just if—something did happen to him, it could turn into an international incident. Which would be a whole other problem."

Licht: "Let's split up and search. Luke, tell us where you've already looked."

Licht: "No sign of him."

Nokto: "Same here."

Luke: "Not here either."

Licht: "He's not in Emma's room, is he? He was really fond of her."

Luke: "That was my first thought, too."

Luke: "But he has this weird sense of sincerity, so I don't think he'd see her before the time we agreed on."

Licht: "You sure know a lot about Gilbert."

Luke: "I think someone said that once... probably... maybe."

Nokto: "Wow. That's like vague on top of vague."

Licht: "Did anything about Gilbert's behavior during party prep seem off?"

Luke: "Not really. I think he was his usual self."

Nokto: "Oh—wait. Didn't he seem a little extra reactive at one point?"

------------Flashback-----------

Gilbert: "Luke-sensei~ I finished the rose!"

Luke: "Whoa, you really are good with your hands. Not a single unnecessary wrinkle."

Gilbert: "Yay!"

Luke: "Also, stop calling me sensei. It's giving me goosebumps. My fingers are even starting to twitch."

Gilbert: "Aww, Luke sensei, are you okay? Is it tendonitis?"

Luke: "Saying it cutely doesn't help at all!"

Luke: "How about you two? Everything going smoothly?"

Nokto: "I'm good, no problems here."

Luke: "Nice and clean work. Licht, let's see yours."

Licht: ".........."

Nokto: "Licht, if you keep pulling like that, the fabric's going to stretch."

Nokto: "Just lightly pinch the edge of the cloth with your right hand, then wrap it clockwise with your left—see? Easy."

Licht: "Got it."

Licht: "Thanks. You really make everything look effortless."

Nokto: "You're welcome."

Gilbert (whispering): "Fufu, it's so obvious he's secretly blushing because his big brother thanked him."

Luke (whispering): "Moments like this really remind you that they're brothers."

Luke: "Alright, this should be all the roses we need for the party decorations."

Licht: "The table's covered in roses. I didn't realize we had made this many."

Nokto: "Once we set them up in the ballroom, it's gonna look stunning."

Luke: "Red, yellow, blue, green, purple, orange, black, white… We've basically got every color."

Nokto: "If I had to pick one that's missing, I'd say transparent."

Luke: "Yeah, even I can't make that out of fabric or any material, really."

Nokto: "But what if I told you it actually exists?"

Gilbert: "Really? A transparent rose?"

Licht: "It's an old legend—one that only a few people know about."

Licht: "They say that on the night of a full moon, in the castle's rose garden, a small, transparent rose blooms—a rose that brings happiness."

Gilbert: "Wow, that sounds perfect for the Kingdom of Roses—though I bet Chevalier would just scoff at it."

Luke: "Yeah, I can already picture that."

Gilbert: "A transparent rose that brings happiness, huh?"

Nokto: "Sounds like something she'd like."

Licht: "It's such an old legend. I doubt she's heard of it."

Gilbert: "But if she did, she'd definitely want to see it."

---------Flashback Ends--------

Licht, Nokto & Luke: "Ah..."

Nokto: "Come to think of it, tonight's a full moon."

All Three: "There you are."

Gilbert: "Oh? What's with everyone showing up together like this?"

Luke: "We were looking for you. If we don't keep an eye on you, who knows what kind of trouble you'll get into."

Gilbert: "You worry too much. It's fine—Emma's party is tonight, so I'll behave."

Nokto: "We'd really appreciate it if you could stop causing trouble regardless of whether there's a party or not."

Licht: "Are you looking for the rose?"

Gilbert: "Yep, that's right. It's a beautiful full moon tonight, after all."

Gilbert: "See? Not a single cloud in the sky. I can clearly see the doubt written all over your faces."

Licht: "So you believe in that legend?"

Gilbert: "Whether I believe it or not doesn't matter. I'm just curious, that's all."

Nokto: "Still, thinking you'll find a transparent rose in this huge garden is kind of a stretch."

Gilbert: "Life's more fun when you keep a bit of your inner child. You guys are missing out."

Gilbert: "Maybe you should take a page from Clavis."

Luke: "If we all acted like Clavis, Sariel would probably whip him into tears."

Nokto: "I can kind of picture that. I might even want to see it."

Licht: "Nokto."

Nokto: "Kidding, kidding."

Luke: "So, you're looking for the rose... for Emma?"

Gilbert: "The little bunny loves those kinds of romantic legends. She'd believe it in a heartbeat."

Luke: "Yeah, she's definitely the type who'd fall for something like that."

Gilbert: "To be honest, I thought about inviting Emma to join me in the search, but I figured I'd earn more affection points if I told her I searched for it alone."

Nokto: "Wow. The world's walking disaster is trying to use earnestness as a weapon."

Luke: "Still, no matter how hard you try, you won't find a transparent rose—because it doesn't exist."

Gilbert: "Huh? It does."

Luke: "………."

Licht & Nokto: "Huh?"

Gilbert: "Look."

Licht: "The petals really are transparent."

Nokto: "It's way smaller than I imagined."

Gilbert: "Exactly—it's transparent and tiny, so it's hard to see from that distance."

Gilbert: "Here, come closer. Take a good look."

*pop*

Licht & Nokto: "!?"

Gilbert: "Ahahaha! Gotcha~!"

Luke: "Knew it. You made that rose yourself, didn't you?"

Gilbert: "I knew you'd figure it out, Luke."

Gilbert: "I actually made a few prototypes to surprise little bunny."

Gilbert: "And since you all helped, I figured I'd show you too—as a small thank you."

Licht: "More like a prank than a thank you."

Luke: "You're such a damn big kid."

Gilbert: "Hehe. See? It's more fun when you don't lose your inner child."

Luke: "You're too close—back off already!"

Licht: "That rose was so detailed, most people would've been fooled."

Nokto: "Guess we lose for even believing it for a second. That stings a little."

Gilbert: "But even if it was just for a second, that transparent rose did exist inside you, didn't it?"

Gilbert: "Doesn't that make it more of a win than a loss?"

Luke: "You're the living embodiment of twisted logic."

Nokto: "There's a limit to how far you can spin things with words."

Gilbert: "Wow, that's harsh. Can't you at least call me a romantic?"

Luke: "Nope."

Licht: "Not a chance."

Licht: "I'm not saying Gilbert's right, but maybe the legend survived all this time because that rose lived on in someone's heart."

Licht: "And yeah… I can see Emma liking something like that."

Luke: "Wow, you're actually kind of a romantic."

Licht: "I'm not."

Nokto: "Huh? Where's Prince Gilbert?"

Luke: "He's gone?! Where'd he go?"

Nokto: "Wait, isn't it about time for the party to start?"

Licht: "He went to pick her up."

Luke: "If sneaking around were a competition, that bastard would take the gold."

Nokto: "Well, we should get going too."

Nokto: "After all, we want to make her smile just as much as he does."

♡ Silvio, Leon, Azel, Yves

♡ Kagari, Clavis, Keith, Sariel

[so-and-sos-blog]

I've had similar thoughts to lapislantern's argument here (I hope you don't mind me shortening the reblog chain). The past year has gotten me leaning a lot more towards your side, but I think there is something to this argument.

(Apologies if this gets rambly and/or if I overexplain things that are obvious.)

When you put up a poster, you are signaling two things:

1. The content of the poster.

2. That there is a reason why sharing that content was worth designing the poster, printing it with paper and ink, and going around putting it up in places.

If you want to inform people of something they don't know or convince them of something they don't agree with, then point 2 is basically trivial. But someone has to not agree. Nobody puts up posters saying "the sky is blue". It's true, but everyone knows it's true, and everyone knows that everyone knows.

Similarly (warning for antisemitic slogan), no reasonable person would put up a poster saying "Jews will not replace us". Of course you won't. That doesn't even make sense. But in the context of believing that Jews are trying to "replace" white people, then the statement becomes a rallying cry. The full message is "I know that Jews are trying to replace us, but they will fail because we are strong". That interpretation provides the reason for putting up the poster. And I'd argue that anyone who sees that poster will immediately understand that. Thus, that reason ("Jews are trying to replace us") is part of the message.

(See also: "not all men" -> "feminists hate all men", "it's okay to be white" -> "SJWs are trying to make you think that being white is bad".)

Could it have been intended to mean something else? Maybe, but there are two things to note. First, if I'm right, it conveys this idea regardless. "Convey" here means it might put the idea in people's heads, persuade people to believe it, or embolden people who already agree against those who disagree. And if it does, then that's going to cause harm, and that matters. Second, if the author meant something different, there's at least a chance that they would have realized the problem and avoided it. But they didn't, and that's evidence.

So, about the hostages.

Back in late 2023, it seemed (to me and apparently a bunch of people I'd been following) like everyone outside of Tumblr was talking about October 7th, about the hostages, about condemning antisemitism, and nobody was talking about what Israel was doing to the people of Gaza. And if they did, they downplayed it, and/or they were lambasted for "making no mention of October 7th/the hostages/Israel's right to defend itself". Celebrities were being blacklisted for posting links to Palestinian charities on social media. Someone painted over a "Free Palestine" mural to make it say "Free the hostages". Only after the ICJ hearing in early 2024 did the mainstream conversation seem to turn against Israel. That might not be a good description of the full picture, but that was what I perceived.

And in that context, saying "Bring them home"/“Free the hostages” or whatever seems pointless to say. Nobody is saying "don't bring them home, I hope they die". But people are saying "it's not worth killing thousands of other people just to bring them home" and being attacked for it. And to someone who either doesn't know or doesn't care very much about the Palestinian death toll, the latter sounds like the former: they would believe that if you oppose Israel’s actions in the war, you must just not care about the hostages and/or about Jews. I'm 90% sure I have seen at least someone saying exactly that. And that interpretation provides a reason to put up the poster. And so that seems to be the message that the poster conveys.

At least, that's what I would have said early on. But in a cultural context where "I care about these Israeli lives" *isn't* obvious, all of that might be moot. And after following a few Jumblr blogs for a year, and watching antizionist blogs on my dash get progressively more deranged, I don't know anymore.

But I hope that all makes sense.

no like fr the way that a lot of people look at israelis -- there's no group of people on earth i look at that way. literally no group of people where i'd look at posters of hostages from that group and go "that's obviously genocide propaganda i'm tearing it down." certainly not any group of people where i'd watch a video of their house blowing up and hear a woman crying for her dog in the rubble and point and laugh.

i can't even imagine having that response honestly. i can imagine apathy sure but glee? over people suffering? looking at a whole nationality that way? there's no way

i think that has to corrode your soul. i mean how can't it?

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

JEALOUS BOY

I can't stop writing for him these days hah. Tagging @shintaru @hyukwwn @zyart-jpg @sylith dividers cred: @enchanthings

AN: I don't really like what I write recently but, well, still writing during these times can be helpful for writer's block, right?

You didn't even do anything. It was just a stupid game.

A game called Truth or Dare. You were just with your friends — Hyuk was there too. Y'all had bit of alcohol, dancing, singing but got bored of it too quickly.

"Why not play a game? Truth or Dare maybe?"

You remember your friend offering the idea — it was sweet, innocent idea purely for entertainment purposes.

Until it escalated. Maybe the alcohol kicked, maybe they were just joking — you hope they were — when they dared you to kiss your friend, knowing damn well Hyuk was there too.

Obviously you refused, but the very guy who you were dared to kiss had audacity to kiss you on the cheek.

Yeah, everyone just laughed at that time, except Hyuk and you—especially Hyuk. Throughout the entire party, he was so tense, his mood completely ruined.

And that's how you ended up in this situation, at your home, staring at Hyuk from another room.

He was silent, way too silent. Just scrolling through social media — not distant but just...closed off. His eyes were just glued on his phone even though he was just scrolling through your Instagram page, he hasn't even glanced at the banana you gave him earlier.

With a sigh, you gathered courage to talk to him. It's not like he was scary, it's just strange to talk to him now, you're not used to seeing him upset or jealous — it's rare sight to behold.

"Hyuk." You called him, taking steps towards him. He just glanced at you, his cheek getting squished by the pillow.

Without saying anything else, you plopped on top of him. He didn't resist, but let out a deep sigh instead.

"I'm sorryy." You apologized, for second time already. "About earlier...I'm surprised he did that too. I guess he was drunk and thought since it's a game—"

"Bullshit." He cut you off, his voice firm and unyielding. "At the last party, he had strong alcohol tolerance enough to drink 30 glass of wine, but now you're telling me he got that drunk with just one glass he's been sipping entire time?"

He wasn't jealous, not really — okey, maybe a little, but it was just bothering him how you had no problem being friends with a guy who clearly likes you.

You spoke up again. "So you're saying he did that on purpose?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He huffed, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

The realization coloured your expression — realization that he wasn't just jealous, but upset. Maybe even feeling kind of betrayed.

To be honest with yourself, you aren't exactly the type who's good with words either — pretty much like him. But even so, that didn't stop you from suddenly kissing his cheek.

He was caught off guard and before he could even say anything, you kissed his nose next, then his other cheek.

"What are you doing?" He asks as you kissed his forehead.

"Making it up to you." You answered.

His lip twitched slightly upwards. "You think that's enough?" He questioned you, raising his eyebrow slightly, his muscles much more relaxed now.

"Then how do you want me—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence when he crashed his lips to yours. His kiss was intense, as if he was trying to claim what was rightfully his, leaving you breathless in the process.

His hand cupped your cheek, his right hand resting on the small of your waist. You almost let out a moan, wanting to back away and inhale air already but he didn't let you, instead he kissed you further.

The intensity of this almost made you dizzy but for a moment, it felt like his lips were addictive, stronger than the scream of your lungs.

When he finally pulled away, letting you catch your breath, you couldn't even process when the kiss ended, as if all you senses were messed up due to sudden rush of oxytocin.

You fluttered your eyes open, met by his dark eyes that reflected your face. Though not deeply visible, his cheeks were flushed pink and his breath — messy.

"Just..." He spoke up. "Don't continue talking to him."

"I won't. I'll block him too." You promised and left small peck on his lips.

His lips stretched in genuine smile — finally. Finally he wouldn't get to see that asshole anywhere near you again, he wouldn't have to get territorial over you every single time you met up with your friends just because he was here. But what made him happiest is he got you all for himself once again. And there was no better feeling than that.

"I love you." He suddenly said, his left hand now pushing the strands of your hair behind your hair.

"I love you too, dummy." You declared, lowering your head to his chest, resting your cheek right where his heart is. His heartbeat was fast and bit messy, it was almost chucklesome. He had his cute side, after all.

You passed remaining hours resting on his chest, even though he fell asleep himself. At least he wasn't upset now, nor jealous or tense. Just safe and relaxed. And you swore you wouldn't make him upset ever again.