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wordbunch · 5 months ago

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their love language [LOTR characters]

a/n: not requested, just a little idea that i've had and wanted to share 💛 do let me know how you liked it, what you think, and i always greatly appreciate reblogs and comments 🥰 i wish you a sparkling new year!

ARAGORN ♡ acts of service and words of affirmation

This man would do anything for the person he loves and he is the most comfortable when it comes to expressing his feelings in that way. Any type of physical labor and tasks is no issue for him if he can make it easier for you, and you have grown to notice it all the time and appreciate it. His heart doubles in size when you return your affections in that way too, especially since he isn’t exactly used to having things done for him. When the mood is just right, he has no trouble waxing poetic about you and elaborating his feelings, whether in Westron, Sindarin or any other language - you are worth all of them! When he does that, it’s usually in a hushed tone with a special air of intimacy, and it feels so sacred and special.

BOROMIR ♡ physical touch and quality time

He is one tactile man and a human furnace, like, constantly, and having an arm around you simultaneously means keeping you safe as well. It’s a way for him to show his love, but also to be his protective self. However it’s not just you he’s trying to reassure through gentle touches, he also feels better and happier knowing you’re there and so close. Due to his position, he has many obligations and not always the desired amount of free time, so he’s keen on spending all on it on you. Boromir feels immensely guilty if he must cancel something last minute, or be late for a meeting with you because he was held up somewhere else, but you can count on the fact that he’ll make it up to you tenfold.

FARAMIR ♡ words of affirmation and quality time

As a person who is well-read and a romantic soul, yet someone who hadn’t particularly received many verbal validations, his absolute go-to are words of affirmation! He will shower you with sincere compliments, praise your achievements, reassure you when you’re down… he will even write poetry for you, or just recite something on the spot, it’s honestly the sweetest. Much like his brother, Faramir can be quite busy, but he tries to make sure that none of his duties interfere with the time that he sets aside to spend with his beloved.

LEGOLAS ♡ gift giving and words of affirmation

This peculiar young prince doesn’t necessarily have a favorite way of showing you love and he can be all over the place with it - he hadn’t exactly had a bunch of experience with romantic relationships - but something that seems to be a constant is him giving you small tokens of his affections. Not even something fancy all the time, sometimes it will be a pretty flower or a hair pin, but everything pretty reminds him of your beauty and he wants you to know that. If he’s unsure about how to verbally explain all the ways you make him feel, he can always revert to one of many elven songs and poems to describe it!

FRODO ♡ words of affirmation and acts of service

He is a book boy and absolutely the type of person to write long, heartfelt letters! Initially he would hide behind them because it’s easier to write feelings down and slip that under your front door, but just give him time and soon enough he’ll be raving about how in love he is with you and how you’re the best of the best in his eyes - but face to face. Frodo is very selfless as we all know, and he’s able to anticipate your needs and help you with all sorts of things before you even ask for it. Also he really appreciates your gratefulness for it.

SAM ♡ acts of service and quality time

Acts of service is the ultimate love language of this sweet gardener!! He would do absolutely anything for you, strenuous or not, and not even expect anything in return. You’re aware of that and thus you make sure to properly thank him for everything he does in more ways than one. You always joke that he’s going to spoil you. Sam loves just existing with you, not even doing anything particularly significant, but just spending time together no matter what you do. Everything with you feels like home and he never wants to leave your side.

MERRY ♡ gift giving and physical touch

He definitely has a mix of all love languages, but surprising you with small tokens of affection and seeing your eyes sparkle in surprise is just his favorite thing! He notices and memorizes when you like something, and he will use the first opportunity to acquire it for you and make you happy. Besides that, having you physically close to him is a must - Merry is almost constantly fiddling with your fingers, has an arm around your shoulders, or just mindlessly scratching up and down your arm. It’s a simple reminder that you’re there, safe and loved.

PIPPIN ♡ physical touch and words of affirmation

Those are his favorite ways of both receiving and giving love: they’re so straightforward and genuine (and he is least likely to mess up). Everything seems better and brighter when your hand is securely clasped in his, or he receives a forehead kiss, or ruffles your hair and playfully nudges you. Pippin isn’t quite used to compliments and his cheeks will heat up every single time you offer him a genuine compliment or encouragement, and he wants to make you feel the same way - he can talk a lot anyway so, might as well talk about how wonderful you are!

ÉOMER ♡ acts of service and physical touch

Maybe he isn’t the best at romantic proclamations of love, or picking out the perfect anniversary present, but whatever you need him for, he will be there in a heartbeat. Secretly he likes to feel your eyes on him as he does something for you, it makes him feel very proud. Another thing that never fails him is physical affection, because sometimes hands and lips say more than words ever could. And he makes sure that you can feel exactly how passionate and loving he is in every single kiss and caress.

ÉOWYN ♡ quality time and physical touch

She loves her independence and her peace, but letting you in made her realize it’s not too bad having someone occupying her space and thoughts. Éowyn loves to include you in her daily activities and she really grew fond of doing all sorts of mundane things together - you just make them so much more vibrant and interesting. Something that became her weakness as soon as you two met was your gentle touch and affection like no other, especially after long days and during cold nights, and it’s a simple but effective way of showing how much she cares for you.

ARWEN ♡ words of affirmation and gift giving

She is a romantic soul through and through, and she never gets bored of praising you, whether it be for your kindness, beauty, wit, or anything else. She also loves discussing all sorts of topics with you and that’s one of the things that made her fall for you in the first place. Also, this beautiful elf-maiden likes beautiful, dainty things, and she loves making you happy through little surprises and meaningful gifts, especially subtle matching jewelry!

taglist my beloved (probs not even valid anymore but oh well) @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorin-painter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth @moth-makay

@bubbleyukismile @kitexvi @herstudios @babe-bombadil

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shdysders · 4 months ago

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no one noticed

pairing: jenna ortega & female reader

summary: in which you fly across the country to surprise jenna, holding onto the hope that things will go back to the way they were.

word count: 6.0k

author’s note: no one noticed - the marias

You couldn't tell when it had all started.

You didn't even know what it was.

All you knew was that it wasn't like it used to be.

Jenna used to notice everything. It was the way her gaze would linger a little longer than anyone else's, searching your face like it held all the answers.

She'd catch the smallest changes in your mood, the tiniest cracks in the facade you showed the world.

No one else noticed those things—not when you were quieter than usual, not when your smile didn't quite reach your eyes—but Jenna always did. She'd tilt her head, her brow furrowing in that way that meant she was piecing together a puzzle, and ask softly what was wrong.

It wasn't just your emotions she picked up on. It was everything. The way she'd notice when you'd changed your perfume, leaning closer and smiling as if it were her favorite secret.

Or how she'd spot the faintest smudge of eyeliner you'd tried to wipe away, running her thumb gently along your cheek without a word.

You hadn't even realized how much it had meant to you at the time, the way she saw you in ways no one else did. How she made you feel like you were someone worth noticing.

It had been effortless for her, her attention so natural and constant that you never had to ask for it. You'd be talking about something insignificant—some show you'd watched, something you'd read online—and she'd interrupt with a soft laugh, telling you how your eyes lit up when you were excited. She'd make you feel seen in a way that no one ever had, as if every little thing about you was worth treasuring.

Jenna had always been the person who noticed, even when no one else did.

So when that started to change, you wondered if it was all in your head.

At first, it felt small—just a few moments here and there that you could shrug off. Like when you'd been quiet during a phone call, and Jenna didn't pause to ask if something was wrong. Or when she'd missed the faint tremor in your voice, something she'd once been able to pick up on like a second language.

You told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that you were overthinking. But then it started happening more often. Little things piled up until they didn't feel so little anymore.

Still, you didn't want to blame her. Instead, you turned it on yourself, convincing yourself that you were imagining it. That you were making something out of nothing.

Maybe you'd just grown too used to her attention, you thought. Too dependent on the way she always noticed things no one else did. You felt almost ashamed for needing that kind of validation, for craving it the way you did.

There were nights when you couldn't sleep, lying awake and wondering if you'd lost your mind. You told yourself that she hadn't changed, that you were the problem—that you'd become hypersensitive, searching for cracks that weren't really there.

And since no one else seemed to notice it, you couldn't help but feel like you were wrong. Like you'd made it all up.

Jenna still said the right things sometimes. She still asked how you were, still smiled at you like you were her whole world when you were 'together'. But it didn't feel the same. There was a distance now, subtle but unmistakable, like a thin layer of glass separating you.

You told yourself that if no one else could see it, then it couldn't possibly be real. But deep down, you knew.

You knew, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself yet.

You'd told yourself over and over that things would get better.

Every time Jenna's name flashed across your screen, every time you saw her face smiling at you through a grainy video call, you felt that flicker of hope. She'd always say the right things—how much she missed you, how she couldn't wait to see you again. For a moment, you'd believe her.

But then the call would end, and you'd be left staring at your reflection on the dark screen, feeling emptier than before.

It was getting old, this routine of clinging to a connection that didn't feel real anymore. The virtual version of Jenna wasn't enough—it never was. You didn't want to see her through a screen; you wanted her here, next to you, holding you, laughing with you, noticing you.

But instead, you sat alone in the silence of your room, waiting for a text that might not come.

There were moments when you hated yourself for feeling this way. For needing her so much. You tried to rationalize it, telling yourself she was busy, that her work demanded more of her time now. You knew she wasn't doing it on purpose—but that didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear.

You'd catch yourself staring at your phone, half-hoping she'd call, half-hoping she wouldn't, because you didn't know if you could stand hearing her voice and still feeling so far away.

The distance wasn't just physical anymore. It was in every text that felt shorter than it used to, in the FaceTime calls where her eyes darted off-screen as if she had somewhere else to be. You'd thought, more than once, about asking her why she always looked like she was about to disappear. But you never did.

You'd told yourself it was because of work.

She loved what she did, and you loved that for her. How could you not? She'd always dreamed of it, always thrown herself into it with a passion that had drawn you to her in the first place. So, of course, she was busy. Of course, there were long days, packed schedules, and late nights. You'd whispered those words to yourself so often they became a mantra.

She's not ignoring you. She's just busy.

You told yourself that was the reason for the less frequent texts, the shorter calls, the way her replies came hours later now—sometimes not at all. It was work. It had to be. And you couldn't blame her for it. You wouldn’t blame her for it.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

It was getting old—lying awake in bed, phone clutched in your hand, fighting the pull of sleep just in case she'd call. Some nights, you didn't even know what you were waiting for. The sound of her voice? The comfort of knowing she was thinking of you? It never felt like enough.

And yet you kept waiting, night after night, feeling the ache of loneliness settle deeper into your chest.

You used to think you were strong, that you could handle the distance because it wasn't permanent, not really. But now, you weren't so sure. You felt yourself slipping, losing the ability to pretend everything was fine.

Maybe you'd lost it.

Maybe you were losing it—overanalyzing, clinging too tightly, wanting too much.

It wasn't like you could explain it to anyone else either. Nobody else saw what you did. Nobody else noticed how the little things were falling apart. So maybe you'd imagined it all.

And yet, lying there alone, staring at the darkened screen of your phone, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it wasn't just work.

It was something else.

You felt awful for even thinking it. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn and your chest tighten with guilt. But sometimes, late at night when the silence felt too heavy, the whispers in your mind grew too loud to ignore.

What if Jenna had found someone else?

She'd been gone for months now, busy with filming, constantly surrounded by new faces, sharing spaces and moments with people you didn't know and couldn't see. You knew it wasn't fair to think that way. She was away for work, doing what she loved. But still, the idea crept in like a shadow you couldn't chase away.

What if she'd found someone who could give her the things you couldn't? Someone who could be there for her in ways you weren't able to, offering physical comfort while you were hundreds of miles away?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought. It felt like a betrayal of her trust, an insult to everything you shared. Jenna wasn't like that. She wouldn't do that. But still, the ache of doubt lingered.

So instead, you turned the blame inward.

Maybe you were the problem.

Maybe this was all in your head, some twisted fabrication of a restless mind desperate for attention and reassurance. Maybe you were losing it—grasping at straws and creating problems where there weren't any. Or worse, maybe Jenna really was pulling away because of you.

Maybe you were too clingy, too needy, too pushy. Maybe she'd grown tired of the late-night calls, of your questions about her day, of you trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You'd lie awake in bed, turning those thoughts over and over until your chest felt tight and your eyes burned with tears you refused to let fall.

But you couldn't let yourself think that way. You couldn't let yourself spiral.

So you shoved it all down—every fear, every doubt, every whispered insecurity. You buried it beneath forced smiles and reassuring words, convincing yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You'd wait for her call, for her text, for any sign that things were still okay.

You had to believe it was just work.

Because the alternative would break you.

It made sense to keep it to yourself too. You avoided bringing it up—not to family, not to friends, and certainly not to Jenna. What would be the point? You'd perfected the art of acting like everything was fine, pasting on a smile that didn't falter even when your chest felt tight and your head felt heavy with unspoken worries.

Around others, you acted normal. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded when the conversation called for it, and deflected any questions that veered too close to how you were really feeling. Because, in the end, nobody could read your eyes.

Nobody even tried.

Nobody but Jenna.

At least, that's how it used to be. Once, she'd been the only one who could see through the cracks in your facade. She could look at you and know instantly when something was wrong, even when no one else had a clue. She wouldn't even have to ask; she just knew. It was something you'd always loved about her—that quiet attentiveness, the way she cared so deeply and effortlessly.

But now, it didn't feel that way anymore.

There was no point in letting the cracks show, no point in spilling everything when it felt like she wouldn't notice, or worse, that she didn't want to. So you kept it buried, tucked away behind your smiles and your carefully constructed responses.

You wished it weren't true. You wished you could believe she still saw you the way she once did. That she still noticed the things no one else did. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, that belief became harder and harder to hold onto.

And you hated yourself for it. For doubting her. For doubting what you had. For doubting the one person who had once been your constant.

It wasn't like you had proof. Nothing you were feeling, none of the doubts gnawing at the back of your mind, were confirmed to be true. That's what made it worse—the uncertainty of it all. You were acting like everything was fine, smiling through conversations and going about your days like you weren't slowly unraveling inside, but the truth was, you didn't even know what you were holding back anymore.

You didn't know if Jenna really was pulling away, or if you were just imagining it. You didn't know if the long silences and the hurried calls were a sign of something deeper, or just a product of her busy schedule. You didn't know if it was you, if maybe you'd been too needy, too much, or if it was something entirely out of your control.

And yet, you were pretending like you were fine. Around family, friends, even Jenna during the few moments you got to speak to her, you tried your best to act normal. Because if you couldn't even be sure of how you felt—if you couldn't even figure out what was real and what wasn't—then how could you explain it to anyone else?

It was easier to push it down, to keep the doubts and the worries locked up where no one could see them. Easier to smile and nod and go through the motions than to let anyone in on how you were really feeling.

Because deep down, you knew there was no point. Nobody had ever tried to read you, not really. Nobody but Jenna.

And that was what scared you the most. Because if she wasn't noticing now, maybe she never would.

Nothing about this felt right. The distance between you and Jenna was like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every action, every word. Should you ask her about it? Should you speak up, lay everything bare, and risk hearing what you were most afraid of?

It felt like the logical choice, the brave thing to do, but even the thought of it made your chest tighten. What if she confirmed your worst fears? What if she told you it was over, or worse—that she hadn't even noticed anything was wrong?

But keeping quiet didn't feel right either. Pretending you didn't feel the cracks widening between you, ignoring the ache of unanswered questions, felt like a betrayal to yourself. And yet, every time you tried to muster the courage to bring it up, something held you back.

The words would sit on the tip of your tongue, heavy and unspoken, while you sat in silence. You didn't know what to do, caught in this limbo where every decision felt wrong.

And maybe that was why you kept spiraling—because the loneliness of it all was unbearable. Lying in bed at night, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that this was normal, but the truth was that loneliness had a way of magnifying everything.

Every little doubt, every unanswered text, every distant call felt like another brick in the wall building between you.

You hated how much you overanalyzed everything, how your mind wouldn't let you rest. Every time your phone vibrated, you'd hold your breath, hoping it was her.

Every time it wasn't, your heart sank a little further. The quiet ate away at you, and the more time passed, the more you felt like you were the only one fighting to bridge the gap.

But forcing her wasn't an option either. It didn't feel right to demand more of her, to pull her into a conversation she didn't seem ready to have.

If you confronted her, if you said everything you'd been holding inside, what would happen? Would she tell you that you were right, that she'd already started to drift away?

Would she admit there was someone else, someone who could give her the kind of presence and attention you couldn't?

You couldn't bring yourself to think about it, let alone ask. If she wasn't yours in the way she used to be, you didn't want to know.

The idea of forcing her to stay, of begging her for something she wasn't willing to give freely, felt wrong in every sense. And yet, the thought of losing her entirely was unbearable.

So instead, you clung to the hope that time would fix it. If you didn't say anything, maybe things would fall back into place on their own. Maybe Jenna just needed space, time to navigate her busy schedule, and she'd eventually find her way back to you.

If you waited, if you were patient enough, maybe she'd realize what she had with you and want to hold onto it again.

But the waiting was agony. The longer you stayed silent, the more it felt like you were watching the clock, counting the minutes until something changed—or until it was too late. Time was supposed to heal things, wasn't it?

So why did it feel like the more time passed, the more everything unraveled?

There were moments when the thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome: What if Jenna was pulling away because she was leaving? It lingered at the edges of your mind, whispering possibilities you didn't want to believe.

The way her replies had become shorter, her texts less frequent, the way her calls felt rushed, like she couldn't wait to hang up. Was it just the stress of her work, or was she trying to create distance before breaking things off completely?

It felt absurd, cruel even, to think that way about her. But those doubts had a way of twisting everything, making every interaction feel like a confirmation of your worst fears.

Still, you clung to one fragile belief: it couldn't be that easy for her. Jenna wasn't the kind of person to let go without a fight. She wasn't the kind of person to give up on something she cared about.

And wasn't she still calling, even if less often? Wasn't she still texting, even if her words felt half-hearted? Surely, if she wanted to leave, she wouldn't be holding onto these threads of connection.

Surely, she couldn't just walk away from everything you'd built together. It wasn't that simple—was it?

It can't be that easy.

But even as you thought it, the uncertainty lingered. Because sometimes, it was easier to leave quietly, to let things fade without confrontation.

And what if that's what she was doing? What if she was pulling away so subtly that by the time you noticed, it would already be too late?

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone.

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone. The uncertainty clawed at you, feeding off the spaces between her words, the silences that stretched just a little too long.

Every time you hung up the phone, you'd sit there, staring at the darkened screen, trying to convince yourself that you were imagining things. That there was no way she could leave without a word.

But then she mentioned it. Casually, like it wasn't supposed to mean anything at all.

"We just wrapped the last scenes today. I'll be flying home soon," she said one night, her voice smooth and even. It was the sort of news that should've lit up your entire world, something that should've made you count the days until she walked through the door again.

But as much as you wanted to believe her, there was something in the way she said it that didn't sit right.

Her smile—soft, rehearsed—didn't reach her eyes. Her voice carried the right notes, hitting every expected beat, but none of it felt real. Not the way it used to.

She said she couldn't wait to see you, to hold you, to console you after being apart for so long, but it sounded like a line from one of her scripts—memorized, polished, and distant.

And the way her eyes darted away from the camera only added to the weight in your chest. You watched as her attention flickered to something else, something out of reach—a notification, a script, maybe just the corner of the room she was sitting in. It didn't matter what it was. What mattered was that it wasn't you.

She looked like she was about to disappear, like she couldn't wait to hang up.

The thought clung to you, sharp and unrelenting. You wanted to believe her, to hold onto the version of Jenna who used to make you feel like the center of her universe. But that Jenna was slipping through your fingers, one short call at a time.

Still, you smiled through it. You nodded when she said she'd be home soon, when she promised things would feel better once she was back. You told her you couldn't wait, forcing enthusiasm into your voice even though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

What else could you do? Confront her? Push her to say something she might not even be ready to admit? You didn't know if you were prepared to hear the answer, especially if it confirmed the worst of your fears.

So you kept quiet. You waited, holding onto the hope that maybe this time, when she walked through the door, she'd prove you wrong. That she'd wrap you in her arms and make you feel like everything was okay again.

But that hope, thin as it was, didn't erase the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It didn't stop you from replaying her words over and over, searching for something that wasn't there.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince yourself otherwise.

If she was coming home, maybe things could go back to how they used to be. Maybe the woman who noticed every small detail, who could read your emotions before you even knew how to name them, was still there. You clung to that possibility, desperate for it to be true. It felt like your last thread of hope, fragile and fraying, but still holding on.

Unable to sit in your spiraling thoughts any longer, you booked a flight to her city. It wasn't a decision you made lightly—flights weren't cheap, and it wasn't like you had money to throw away.

But logic didn't matter anymore. You told yourself it was worth it, that seeing her in person, surprising her as she was about to board her flight home, would make her remember what you had. It was reckless, maybe even unnecessary, but you didn't care.

You told yourself it was about the surprise. Showing up unannounced at the airport, catching her before she stepped on the plane home—it felt romantic in a way that you hadn't felt in months. A grand gesture to prove, not only to Jenna but to yourself, that there was still something worth fighting for.

If she saw you there, waiting for her at the airport before she even boarded her flight home, maybe it would remind her of what you had. Maybe it would remind her of the love that had once felt so natural, so easy.

You weren't packing bags or planning to stay; this wasn't about extending your time together. It was about showing her that you still cared enough to make the effort. That even when everything felt wrong, you were willing to fight for what you had. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to remind her why she had once fought for you, too.

You spent the entire flight running through scenarios in your mind. She'd see you across the terminal, and maybe her face would light up the way it used to when you surprised her.

Or maybe she'd be confused, unsure why you'd gone to such lengths when she'd already promised to come home. And then there was the other possibility, the one you couldn't bear to entertain for long: what if she didn't seem happy to see you at all?

What if her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she asked, gently but firmly, why you'd bothered?

Still, you clung to the hope. It was all you had left.

The plan was simple: show up unannounced, surprise her at the airport, and make her feel the way you used to. You pictured her running into your arms, her words spilling over with apologies for how distant she'd been.

Maybe she'd tell you she'd missed you just as much as you'd missed her. Maybe this would be the moment everything changed, the turning point you'd been waiting for.

But beneath that hope, there was a voice you couldn't silence. It whispered doubts you didn't want to hear: What if she'd already let go? What if this trip wasn't the romantic gesture you'd built it up to be, but just another reminder of how far apart you'd drifted?

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of seeing her again. That was what mattered. She was coming home, and you were going to make sure that this time, it felt like coming home to you.

When you arrived at the airport, the rush of excitement coursing through you made your hands tremble.

The overhead announcements blended with the distant hum of engines and the chatter of travelers, but all of it felt like background noise. Your focus was sharp, your mind singular: find Jenna.

You moved through the terminal with purpose, your eyes scanning every face in the crowd. Each time someone walked by, your heart jumped, only to settle back when it wasn't her. It was almost overwhelming—the sheer volume of people, the endless possibilities of where she might be.

But you didn't let it deter you. You kept walking, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floors as you weaved between bustling families and travelers clutching their luggage. The excitement hadn't dulled; it thrummed in your chest with every step.

You were just excited to see her face.

There was something surreal about the thought of seeing Jenna in person again. For months, your interactions had been reduced to grainy screens and lagging calls. The details of her face—once so familiar—had started to feel distant, like a memory that wasn't quite sharp anymore. But now, you'd see her clearly. No pixelation, no delays, no guessing whether her tone matched the look in her eyes.

You found yourself craning your neck, peering through the crowd, your pulse quickening with each new face that wasn't hers. Every person walking by seemed to blur together, but you didn't care. The anticipation was too strong, too consuming.

She'd be here soon. You were sure of it. And when you saw her—when she looked at you and realized you'd come all this way just to surprise her—you felt certain everything would fall back into place. You'd wrap her in your arms, and she'd smile that smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. Everything would go back to normal.

Your excitement only grew as you kept moving, your gaze darting across the terminal. The weight of the past few months seemed lighter here, replaced by the spark of hope that seeing her again brought.

You were so ready to leave behind the grainy screens, the clipped conversations, and the gnawing loneliness. Soon, you'd have her here—right in front of you.

Every brunette you spotted sent a rush of anticipation through you, only for it to fade as you realized it wasn't her. But the thought of seeing her in person kept you moving, your steps light despite the weight of everything you'd been carrying inside.

Then, you saw her.

For a split second, you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. She was just ahead, standing near one of the boarding gates, her familiar figure unmistakable even from this distance. Your heart swelled with relief and excitement, your hand twitching at your side as if it already itched to reach out to her. She was right there, and everything you'd been holding onto—the doubts, the fears—seemed to melt away.

But the joy that had begun to bloom in your chest withered almost instantly.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone standing next to her—a blonde, their features partially obscured by the way they were leaning close to Jenna. The scene in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach, your body freezing as the sight registered.

It wasn't just the proximity of their bodies; it was the way they seemed so at ease with one another. Jenna's laughter rang out, soft and warm, a sound you hadn't heard in weeks.

You took a shaky step closer, trying to convince yourself that there was some reasonable explanation. Maybe it was a colleague, a friend—someone who worked with her.

It had to be.

But the way Jenna tilted her head toward the person, her gaze soft and unguarded, made it impossible to ignore the intimacy between them.

Your breath caught when she reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of blonde hair away from the other person's face. The gesture was gentle, almost tender, and it felt like someone had grabbed your chest and squeezed. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even as your stomach churned with a sickening mix of disbelief and hurt.

She hadn't looked at you like that in months. Maybe longer.

The thought hit you before you could stop it, an unwelcome truth that only deepened the ache spreading through your chest. You tried to rationalize it—tried to tell yourself that you were overthinking, that you didn't know the full story—but the way they leaned toward each other, the way Jenna's lips curled into a smile that felt entirely too genuine, shattered every excuse you could muster.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, the bustling crowd around you fading into the background. Your fingers clenched at your sides, the hope you'd clung to so tightly now slipping through your grasp like sand.

The excitement that had carried you here dissolved, leaving behind a hollow ache that spread through your entire body.

You didn't know who the blonde was, couldn't make out their features fully, but it didn't matter.

All you could see was the way Jenna looked at them—the way she leaned in to whisper something, her expression so open and free. It was a look that once belonged to you, and now, it felt like a memory you could barely hold onto.

Your mind raced, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and heartbreak. Part of you wanted to march up to her, to demand answers, to ask her why she hadn't looked at you like that in so long. But another part of you—the quieter, more vulnerable part—knew you wouldn't.

Because what if the answer was exactly what you feared?

So, you stayed where you were, your chest tightening with every second that passed. The Jenna you'd come here to surprise, the one you'd hoped to reconnect with, felt farther away than ever—even though she was standing just a few feet in front of you.

You had wanted so badly to see her face, to feel like everything could be okay again. But now, as the scene played out before you, all you could think about was how foolish you'd been to hope.

You couldn't look away, no matter how much it hurt. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion—every crack and splinter dragging out the inevitable.

Jenna didn't even glance around the terminal, didn't seem to notice anyone but the blonde in front of her. Her focus was entirely on them, like the rest of the world didn't exist.

You tried to remind yourself that she couldn't have been looking for you—there was no reason for her to. She didn't know you were here, waiting, desperate to surprise her. Still, it didn't dull the sting. It didn't stop the ache in your chest as you watched her laugh, completely unaware of your presence. She looked so... comfortable. So at ease. She didn't even flinch when someone brushed past her shoulder, her attention glued to the person in front of her.

You felt rooted to the spot, your legs heavy and unwilling to move. All you could do was watch it unfold—the way her smile seemed unguarded, the way her body tilted slightly toward theirs as though pulled by an invisible string. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear what they were saying; their body language spoke louder than words ever could.

You wanted to believe that you were overreacting, that there was some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to convince yourself. Jenna didn't look like someone who was holding back. She didn't look like someone who was keeping anyone at arm's length.

And it hit you—how easy it all seemed for her.

Maybe leaving you really had been that easy for her.

The thought clawed at your insides, tearing through the fragile hope you'd carried with you. You'd thought it wouldn't be simple for her to drift away, that the bond you shared was too strong to break so easily. You'd convinced yourself that, deep down, she'd be struggling as much as you were, that her distance was temporary, that she still cared.

But now? Watching her like this, so at ease, so unbothered, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Maybe it really hadn't been hard for her to let go. Maybe she'd been letting go for a long time—so slowly, so quietly, that you hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Your chest tightened as the realization sunk in. You'd spent weeks, months, holding on to the hope that she would come back to you, that the distance between you wasn't as wide as it felt. And yet, here she was, looking happier and more present than you'd seen her in months—just not with you.

You blinked rapidly, your throat burning as you fought the urge to cry. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Seeing her again, being here, was supposed to remind you why you'd fought so hard to hold on. Instead, it was like a door being slammed shut in your face, a reminder of just how far apart you'd grown.

The irony wasn't lost on you: she was finally here, right in front of you, but it felt like you'd already lost her a long time ago.

You stood frozen, watching Jenna and the girl, their conversation seeming so effortless, so natural.

Their laughter was soft, shared like a secret, and it pulled them closer. You didn't need to hear what they were saying to know where it was heading.

The way Jenna leaned in just slightly, her head tilting toward the blonde, was enough to make your stomach drop.

You'd waited so long for this moment—for Jenna to come home, for her to hold you again, to console you with promises that everything was going to be okay. But as you watched her now, it was clear that wasn't going to happen. Not here. Not now. Not with you.

Your chest felt heavy, a knot tightening in your throat as you took a shaky step back, then another.

The world around you blurred, but it wasn't until you felt the wet streak on your cheek that you realized you were crying. The tears came slow and small, a quiet betrayal of everything you'd tried so hard to hold in.

You couldn't watch anymore. You couldn't stay there, hoping for something that had already slipped through your fingers. Without a second thought, you turned and started walking, weaving through the crowd with no real direction, just an aching need to get away.

You left before Jenna could see you, before she could ever know you were there.

And as you disappeared into the throng of travelers, you felt the weight of it—the emptiness, the quiet finality of leaving without a trace.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter

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loserlvrss · 1 year ago

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I JUST WANNA START A 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 BOY! ───── SICK OF YOU BEING POLITE, BOY 𓂃. 보이넥스트도어이한

req?oui , , it was a harmless prank, what could go wrong?

𝐅.reader one shot ⓘ suggestive & toxic 1406THOU 四月 ꒰ BUT SOMETIMES ( i miss you )

You don’t know why you were doing this. Even as you applied the black, green and blue makeup, you couldn’t think of a valid reason. Yet, here you were, sat on your couch scrolling through your phone, just awaiting the opportunity to prank your sweet, unsuspecting boyfriend.

Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable in your relationship. Hell, you used whatever excuse to try and justify it. But, the truth is, you wanted to see if he had it in him to get mad at you. He was so damn peaceful all the time—you loved that about him, really—nonetheless, deep down, your heart raced with the thought; the anticipation when he’d finally catch a glimpse of your artwork that he’d deem someone else’s.

This was fun.

You knew it’d work. You’ve never let Donghyun purposefully leave marks on your skin, not because it didn’t feel good to have him kiss you but, simply because you’ve always found them tacky and a hassle to cover up. You’d wasted so much makeup in the past trying to do so, so whenever he’d come close to leaving purple patches, you’d tell him to stop. He’d even tried to bargain by saying he'd just leave them in places only he could see but, you still refused.

Especially if you couldn’t return the favor.

You knew this was an evil way to push his buttons, that you oh-so-desperately wanted to see pushed. It was selfish, really, however at this moment in time the plan was already set into action. You wanted to start a fight, just to see if he could.

He’s never gotten mad at you. He’s never yelled at you. He’s never dared put a hand on you. And, that was a dream but, somewhere deep down, you knew it was also just as boring as it was desirable. You wanted him to yell at you, tell you what to do—at least once—manhandle you, throw you around a bit, pull your hair, grip your skin...anything.

You wanted so much, and maybe this wasn’t the right way to propose it but, it didn’t matter anymore as his voice broke through the silenced air.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” You asked, acting oblivious as you scrolled through Twitter and Instagram in turn.

He shrugged, and you don’t know if it was the fact that he seemingly didn’t care, or if it was that maybe he just brushed it under the rug as anything else, that began to piss you off.

Nonetheless, you decided you were in it for the long run. After all, you wanted to see if he’d start the fight. It was game you wouldn't lose.

And, throughout the rest of the afternoon you’d catch Donghyun staring in your direction, shifting his gaze when you’d make eye-contact. He kept a calm demeanor, never asking again what the purple marks on your neck were. He’d even hugged you before he left for practice, getting all up close and personal with the artwork.

You were finding it hard to believe he hadn’t actually noticed.

Maybe he was gathering his thoughts. Maybe he was trying to decided why you didn’t smell like another man—why he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. Maybe as much as his buttons were pushed, this was it for his stemmed anger. Maybe dance practice was his way to relieve the stress you caused from time-to-time. Maybe the cool, calm and collected Donghyun was the only version of your otherwise, smiley, boyfriend.

Maybe you were beginning to feel bad because you had no idea the feelings he had towards this prank. Did it upset him? You wouldn’t be none-the-wiser to it if it had. He was good at shielding emotions, and maybe that’s where you needed to draw the line. Maybe that’s where your conversation should’ve began, instead of whatever the Hell TikTok had inspired you to do.

You kept looking at the clock on your home screen, counting down the minutes until he’d come back to you. And, just as you had decided to end the prank, opting for a civil—adult-ish—confession of wrong-doings, a text illuminated your dark screen.

It read: We need to talk.

Yet, you couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. Of course, you knew what it was about, that’s the only thing that’s been wrong throughout the last few months between you two. What else could it be? And why, now that you were finally getting what you wanted, didn’t it feel good?

You didn’t answer him, partially because you didn’t know what to say; it was a prank. I just wanted to see if you’d get mad at me. I’m so bored of this. Nothing seemed correct, or frankly, truthful.

You also knew that he wasn’t far. He wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, just to torture you—though it would’ve been deserved. So, you waited by the door for your boyfriend to get back, the thought of washing away the eyeshadow long gone.

Then, it finally opened with the pattern of your key code. The air became thick and you found it hard to swallow with a lump in your throat. Were you sorry? yes. Did you feel bad for being immature? yes. Was a tiny part of you still curious to see how this would play out?

Yes.

"Y/n," Was the first, and only thing he muttered for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. You watched anxiously as he put his bag down, eyed him as he took his shoes off, and almost burst when he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Donghyun was able to torture you, even if unintended.

His eyes finally met yours but then they drifted to your neck, and further to your collarbone. He knew. He's known since the first question left his lips hours and hours ago.

"What's that?" His arms snaked between each other, and you found it wrong to think it was hot but, you very much did.

Almost like deja vu, the same feeling crept up from down within you. "What's what?" You reenacted.

Although, this time, he didn't let it go.

Donghyun approached you quickly, too fast to get away before you were sandwiched between the plaster and his body.

His hands were slow with movements. Those oh-so-stupid-fucking-hands that had you, literally, at his fingertips. One forcing your head by your jaw to expose your neck, while the other brushed away the hair that disguised the marks from his view.

You fronted being indifferent but, truth be told, if he wasn't holding you up your knees would have buckled already, leaving you as a mess on the floor in front of him.

"You must think I don't know you," He voiced, holding eye-contact as he pushed his thumb between your lips, gathering just enough saliva to then press the digit to your neck and swipe. And, it smudged with enough force, despite being labeled as waterproof. "Tell me why you felt the need to paint these on. I couldn't think of one good reason all day, princess."

And, the nickname he always called you—innocently and less than—had your heart in absolute shambles; the anticipation was just as good as if he'd raised his voice, you thought.

Maybe your vanilla-scented boyfriend had finally gotten the hint that you wanted more, despite going about it in a less than thoughtful way. And, maybe you realized that you didn't hate that he was always nice, no you loved that about him but, sometimes it was okay if he wanted to be a little bit meaner with you. After all, he could always say my...anything he wanted, and that would still mean that he saw you as his forever only.

"I-I," You couldn't think straight when he attached his lips over the previously (fakely) marked spots. His breath was hot, lips gentle then firm as he sucked against the spots he knew you'd rarely let him have his way with. "I—uh, fuck. Leehan,"

His voice was low against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and a whimper up your throat, "If you wanted something, you could've just asked me, baby. I'd give you anything."

The eyes that you've grown comfortable with always seemed to be there despite the firm placement he had you in. You knew he loved you more than anything, so you knew his words were true. And, his demeanor broke when he kissed your lips, almost giving you whiplash.

His palms laid flat against your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweetly, "If you wanted everyone to know that you're mine, let me do it myself."

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loveemagicpeace · 2 months ago

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Astrology Notes

Saturn in 4th house transit( not always ) but during this time, you may learn something about your family or find out that you are adopted. Although Saturn in this house is not bad, it can bring many benefits. it is the house in which Saturn otherwise feels comfortable.Very good transit for gaining independence and self-determination.

Neptune represents the grandmother, the wise old women. The first sign of a Neptune contact is a sense of loss, despair, hopelessness or confusion. Many people instinctively use this as a time to travel, a time to live on the surface of cultures, to escape from their own world and drift through someone else's. When u have transit Neptune-Moon: a visionary, drug-sensitive, spiritual time where the individual experiences the dissolving of emotional responses. Time out from the world to unconsciously reorganize one's emotional reality. Transit - Neptune-North Node: finding one's spiritual path, finding a group or "tribe" with a basis in the arts; healing; drug abuse; the metaphysical which propels one into a new life direction. Neptune-South Node: loss in the "tribe" of an old wise woman; a restructuring within the tribe of the spiritual leader, or the visionary one in the family; meeting a person from the past with whom you feel a spiritual connection.

When u choose your partner u will also feel compatible with him based on your sun. Your sun is your ego, joy, spotlight. So for ex.: gemini & gemini sun can be good in a relationship but the relationship can be very unstable. A sag sun woman & a taurus man will be difficult together. A woman will always need liveliness, playfulness, travel and passion. While a taurus man will be much more reserved, likes to stay at home and likes to be settled, he doesn't like too much change and a fast life. He likes stability and a woman who is stable. A gemini man is often associated with a merchant, a traveler. Geminis like to go through life without a plan and thinking. They get over relationships quickly and quickly find a new woman.

Virgo sun are very frugal people, they will only buy things they really need and do not like to waste money on unnecessary things. They like a practical lifestyle and like to do things that are productive during the day. They are also picky when it comes to money and won't buy something that is really expensive, they prefer to buy something that is worth it and that the price is as affordable as possible. Virgo man like order and cleanliness. They are quick to notice small details and like women who dress decently and neatly. They usually look for a woman who is a housewife or likes order and likes to clean.

The Sagittarius woman and the Virgo man are very different and rarely get along. The Virgo man doesn't like spontaneity or too fast a pace. The Sagittarius woman, on the other hand, is very unpredictable and loves adventures. Sagittarius women like to dress extra while Virgo men prefer to dress more neutrally and don't like to stand out and can sometimes be embarrassed when someone is very stand out. This is just based on sun sign. But I would also say that someone with a lot of virgo placements and someone with a lot of sagittarius placements will not find a common language or interests. They are quite different people.

It is said that the Gemini man's third marriage is the only one that is valid. However, statistics show that even among the third wives, there are almost no Scorpios. Scorpio women are such that they already accustom Gemini men to order in their first marriage. However, it is certainly true that these two must show a lot of mutual understanding if they want to live together. Gemini men should talk seriously with Scorpio women. This will also benefit their career.

Aquarius woman and Gemini man-Their relationship stems from love at first sight. They both have the same ideals, both are full of ideas that can make life more beautiful. Gemini and Aquarius love to flirt and have dinner at home. Such a marriage does not know jealousy. Gemini likes to adapt to the new ideas of their partner. And they act correctly, because Aquarius realizes what she has decided. She is sociable and with her he will meet many people who will be useful to him in his professional life.

A cancer man likes a woman who is family-oriented, fair, a homemaker. Many times they are looking for a woman who is like a mother. They are often moody and have their own habits that they stick to. They get a lot of their habits from their mother or from their family in general. They have a hard time adapting to new things. They are more inclined towards the past than the future. They have few good friends and their circle is narrow and private. They are very private about their home.

Cancer man and Aries woman are very different and often have difficulty getting along. Cancer wants a family and a peaceful life. Aries, on the other hand, can bring unrest and a lot of stress. However, they can be very compatible in the professional field.

Cancer man and Libra woman. Cancer is inward-looking, while she is outward-looking, and it is sometimes difficult for them to follow the same path. In love, they can complement each other. However, Cancer would like to marry a housewife who would replace his mother, to whom he has always been attached. Libra is excellent at her tasks, but she does not like to get her hands dirty. She likes to be a lady.

The Pisces woman has a lot of problems with men and many times they don't suit her the way she would like them to. The Taurus man and the Pisces woman are different in how they give love. With Gemini man, Pisces may feel that he is too light-hearted and not paying as much attention to her. It could also be that he won't be that loyal to her. Libra man and pisces woman are a good catch. However, he may be too focused on the attention of others or like to be adored by other women. Which a Pisces wouldn't like.

The Pisces man is naturally spiritual, gentle, in touch with his emotions. He is modest and does not care about money. However, he is very much in his own world and a dreamer. He has his own ideals and fantasies that he seeks in women. However, they are often disappointed in love. A female leo will be too fiery for him and he may feel too vulnerable or exposed around her. A marriage with a Virgo could fail because they are too different. He insists on his dream world, while she wants reality and order. She may become too critical of him over time. Libra woman and Pisces man -There is some risk in this marriage, although both long for eternal love. But sometimes they get entangled in contradictions and then they don't know how to move on. Libra should cheer up her little brain and pull it out of depressions. She is charming, but her emotions are sometimes just played. Her sensitive husband may soon notice this. Otherwise, they love peaceful coexistence.

You will usually have long-distance relationships with people you share the 9th house with. You will also travel a lot with them over long distances. These are also the people you will have the best time with on your travels.

The moon represents where you find the most comfort and how much home means to you. What you need emotionally. Venus represents the kind of love you want and the kind of relationships you tend to create. What you really want in a relationship and what you value most in the relationship itself.What will quickly attract you on the partner. Mars represents energy and what sexually attracts you to a person and at the same time what kind of energy you like in others.

Moon in Gemini -Communication is very important to you and you like stimulation in every given moment of your life.Moon in Scorpio-You value privacy and like to have a home that is deep and you need a lot of intimacy. Moon in Cancer-You like a home that is comfortable, safe, beautiful, and where you feel emotionally fulfilled.

Capricorn Venus- You show love through practical things and through building a life together with the person. You like someone who is serious and determined. Someone who will make you feel like they will never leave and will always be here with you even in difficult times. Sagittarius Venus-You like adventure, playfulness, and travel. In love, you will be very happy with a partner who will prepare a special surprise for you and who will enjoy life with you. Maybe someone who created a playlist for you. Aries Venus-Love can be something that takes you over and gives you a lot of passion but at the same time leaves space for you. A partner who will always be with you but at the same time understands your hot-bloodedness.

-Rebekah💗🌊

#astrology #zodiac signs #energy #my notes #astrological houses #astrology observations #planets

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mylovesstuffs · 2 months ago

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“It’s not cute” — Choi Seungcheol

Request: hey, Celeste!!! how are you doing? I'm so glad your requests are open!

i wanted to request something (in whatever form you feel most inspired to): reader having essential tremors (it's an actual condition im not making it up 😭✋) and being frustrated about it, maybe lashing out or breaking down one day. the fact that everyone points it out and sometimes joke abt it, etc. angst + comfort , maybe? also i'd like it to be w cheol or wonu, but tbh any of them is absolutely fine!

tysm <333

It starts with eyeliner and ends in a breakdown. The world doesn’t understand what it’s like to live in a body that won’t always obey, tired of laughing first before someone else can. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to understand it all, he just holds your trembling hands like they’ve always been steady, and loves you like you’ve never been less.

Genre: Non-idol au, established relationship, angst and comfort, introspective slice of life and character study

Pairing: Seungcheol × fem!reader

Content: Essential tremors [aka benign tremor, familial tremor, and idiopathic tremor], emotional breakdown, eyeliner symbolism [bc girlyhood], comfort from a loving partner who is choi seungcheol, no judgment, warm arms and understanding hearts, one-sided flashbacks to bullying/teasing, reader struggling with internalized shame, reassurance, love that stays

Content warning: Mentions of medical condition [essential tremors], anxiety, childhood bullying, ableist microaggressions, internalized frustration and self-doubt, crying, cursing once or twice, one emotionally charged breakdown. No explicit content.

Word count: 921 words

A/N: It was supposed to be shorter... about 400 words like a drabble, though I still think it's drabble but I was hoping for it to either be 400-500 words or 1k 😔

For my sweet anon—i hope this gives you even a sliver of the comfort you were looking for. This one was written with a lot of heart at like... 2:46 am when i should’ve been asleep but cheol brainrot said otherwise. To anyone else who reads this and relates even a little: your exhaustion and frustration is valid, and your hands deserve to be held gently too. I experience a slight tremor as well, though I believe it’s genetic since it runs in my family. According to my doctor, mine is primarily triggered by stress and anxiety [I was under treatment back in October during a period when my mental health went really down]. I’ve been prescribed different medications since then, not specifically targeted for tremors, but the tremor was listed as one of the symptoms being addressed in the medication guidelines. While I might not fully relate to this experience, as my condition hasn’t been formally diagnosed and doesn’t really interfere with my daily life, I still hope I was able to do this piece justice. Also, huge thanks to Calli @hhaechansmoless for beta-ing. As always, we run anyway ! (￣▽￣)ノ♡

It starts small, and it always does; a dropped spoon, a tremble in your fingers while pouring water. The slightest bit of shake that you'd think it could pass unnoticed, but that, people always notice, and never don’t comment on.

“Why are you always shaking?”

“You nervous or something?”

“You should drink less coffee.”

“Aw, you’re like a baby deer.”

Haha, it is so funny to you at this point. But today, it feels entirely different to you, it's like you're not yourself anymore. You’re tired, and you just want to put your eyeliner on, but the line goes jagged again. And for some reason, that tiny thing becomes the last straw of the day.

You slam the eyeliner on the counter and nearly knock over everything else with your unsteady hands. “God, I’m so sick of this!” you hiss. “Why can’t I just be normal for five fucking seconds?”

The bathroom door creaks open and you already feel Seungcheol behind you. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

You blink back your unshed tears, but still they betray you like everything else lately. “It’s not cute, Cheol. It’s not quirky, or funny, or something you get to joke about. I hate it. I hate how I shake. I hate how people treat me like it’s some personality trait. It’s a condition, and I’m tired.” Your voice cracks, and so does your composure, and you sink down onto the closed toilet lid, face in your hands, breath shaky just like your very own fingers. The way they’ve done for so long, it doesn’t even surprise you anymore.

All you expect right now, is silence. But instead big, calloused, warm hands wrap gently around yours.

Shaking or not, he brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles, softly and slowly. “I know it’s not cute when people don’t take it seriously,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “And I’m sorry if anyone’s ever made you feel like you have to pretend it’s no big deal.”

You look up with your glassy eyes and trembling lips. “I’ve never once thought less of you for it,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be ‘normal’ to be everything I love.” A small sob leaves your lips, and he pulls you into a hug, his arms secure around you, voice a low hum against your hair. “You can be frustrated. You can hate it, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here, even if your hands shake every day for the rest of your life, I’ll still hold them just like this.”

You want to believe him, even as your fingers tremble. In fact, you do believe him; believe that he doesn’t want to let go, that he won’t.

But there’s something bitter lodged deep in your chest, a heaviness that doesn't disappear just because someone holds you through it, because you've heard this before. Variations of it. Words that sounded like comfort, but were laced with pity, gestures that looked like care, but never stayed long enough to be safe.

You remember being younger and dropping your spoon in front of classmates during recess. The laughter and the mock sympathy haunted you for years and they still does. “Are you scared?” they'd tease. You weren’t; not then at least. You didn’t even know what was happening, and why your body betrayed you when all you wanted was to be still.

And now, years later, it’s not even the tremor that hurts most, it’s what comes along with it without your consent. The way people watch, the way they assume it’s your fault, the way you're constantly being explained—to others, to yourself, that you’ve become a walking explanation.

“You know, she has this thing—”

“It’s not that big of a deal—”

“She’s always been like that—” You’re always like that.

It chips away at you, little by little, and you start adjusting your life to avoid the gaze. No eyeliner on days you feel particularly self-conscious, two hands to hold a cup, even if it makes you look ridiculous, rehearsing how you’ll brush it off when someone points it out again; laughing before they do, so it seems like you're okay with it.

You’ve weaponized your own shame into pre-emptive jokes. Turned your fear into something palatable… but it still hurts. It hurts when people don’t even ask if you’re okay. They just assume you’re something to laugh at, to observe, and you’ve been strong for so long, that today just felt like the end of it. Like how this one tiny thing —the jagged eyeliner—was all it took to remind you how helpless it can feel to live in a body that doesn’t always listen. But now, there’s warmth.

And maybe that should terrify you, because if people can be cruel, then love can be temporary. But his arms around you don’t feel temporary, his silence doesn’t feel judgmental, and most important of all, he doesn’t ask you to feel better; he just stays along with you.

You want to believe that someone can see all of it: the struggle, the cracks, the exhaustion, and still choose to stay, but not because they pity you, not because they want to fix you, but because they love you even like this, and especially like this.

Your breath hiccups in your throat, and you let yourself lean into him just a little more. Though your hands still shake, you begin to believe they don’t make you any less worthy of being held.

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cruel-seduction · 5 months ago

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James Potter as Your Boyfriend

a/n - I am listening to my romantic playlist on repeat so it might be more cheesy than I intend it to be.

(୨୧) That Infuriatingly Perfect HairJames Potter is the guy who knows his hair is a mess and somehow still uses it as his primary flirting tactic. (Like, sir, did you actually think ruffling your hair would make me swoon? … Okay, maybe a little.) He smirks every time you roll your eyes at him doing it, but the kicker is when you catch him fixing it in a reflection right before seeing you. “Gotta look sharp for my girl,” he says with a wink. (Spoiler: he does not, in fact, look sharp, but you love it anyway.)

(୨୧) The Walking Ego (Who’s Secretly a Softie)He loves to show off in front of you, especially on the Quidditch field. He’ll pull stunts, grinning like he’s the coolest guy in the world, just to hear you cheer his name. (Never mind that he almost fell off his broom that one time; we don’t talk about that.) But when it’s just the two of you, his cocky demeanor drops, and he’s all shy smiles and quiet, “Did you really think I was good out there? Or are you just saying that because you love me?” cue him melting when you reassure him.

(୨୧) His Endless Need for Validation

James is the guy who constantly asks, “Did you see that?!” anytime he does anything remotely impressive, even if it’s just catching a piece of parchment midair. (You could be reading, and he’ll yell, “Love, LOOK!” before performing some ridiculous stunt). He’s a golden retriever in human form, and if you don’t immediately cheer for him, he’ll sulk until you give him a kiss. (You love it, though. Admit it).

(୨୧) His Terrible Jealousy

James acts like he’s the most confident guy alive, but the second someone flirts with you, his ears turn red, and he starts loudly talking about how amazing his girlfriend is. (You: “Subtle, Potter.” Him: “Not subtle, James Potter.”) If you so much as laugh at someone else’s joke, he’ll spend the next hour sulking until you kiss him and say, “No one compares to my idiot.” (He perks up immediately, naturally.)

(୨୧) The Chaotic Pillow Talk

James is that boyfriend who talks nonsense when you’re lying in bed together. One moment, he’s whispering sweet nothings like, “You’re my entire world,” and the next, he’s like, “Do you think Sirius could charm his hair to look like yours? Because I think about it a lot.” (You: “What the actual fuck?” Him: “I’m serious.”) Somehow, you love him more for it.

(୨୧) The Unintentional PDAJames isn’t subtle. At all. He’s the guy who’ll grab your hand in the middle of class, lean over, and whisper, “You look really pretty today,” loud enough for everyone—including Professor McGonagall—to hear. (You’re mortified; he’s grinning like a cat that got the cream.) And when you try to scold him later, he just shrugs and says, “What? I’m not gonna hide how I feel. Everyone should know you’re mine.”

(୨୧) The Emotional ProtectorJames may be a reckless Gryffindor, but when it comes to your emotional well-being, he’s shockingly thoughtful. If you’re upset, he’s the first to notice, even if you try to hide it. He’ll pull you into a quiet corner and say, “What’s wrong, love? You know you can tell me anything.” And if you cry? Oh, this man will hold you so tightly it’s like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world. (He definitely whispers, “I’ve got you, always,” like it’s a solemn vow.)

(୨୧) The Ride-or-Die RomanticJames Potter is the kind of boyfriend who makes you feel like you’re his entire world. He’s got that intense Gryffindor loyalty, and once he’s in love, there’s no turning back. He’ll write you corny notes like, “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, and I’m including winning the House Cup in that list.” (They’re signed with little doodles of a stag and a heart because he’s the absolute worst.)

(୨୧) The Over-the-Top Romantic Gestures

He’ll do big, stupidly romantic things, like charming the stars in the Astronomy Tower to spell out your name (Sirius: “You’re disgusting, mate.” James: “Shut it, Pads, she’s the one”). But he’s also the type to leave little notes in your books, like “Marry me?” and “You’re the sexiest witch alive.” (You’ve found many letters in Hogwarts, A History. Yes, you kept them all.)

(୨୧) The Unexpected Vulnerability

Despite all his confidence, James has quiet moments when he doubts if he’s enough for you. “You could have anyone,” he’ll say softly, tracing patterns on your arm. (His voice cracks, and your heart aches). You always pull him close, reminding him that he’s more than enough, and he’ll smile in that shy, boyish way that makes your chest warm. (You: “You’re my James.” Him: “Always.”)

(୨୧) The King of Over-the-Top Gestures

James doesn’t just love you; he worships you. He’s the guy who’ll book out the entirety of Madam Puddifoot’s just to have a private date (you: “James, this is ridiculous.” him: “Ridiculously romantic, you mean”). But he’ll also sit with you on the Quidditch stands, freezing his arse off, just because he knows you like watching the stars after a match.

(୨୧) The Secret Softie

Yes, he’s cocky. But when it comes to you? This man melts. You mention being tired? Suddenly there’s a hot cup of tea waiting for you in the common room. (You: “How’d you know?” Him: “I’m James Potter. I know everything.”) He’d deny it if anyone else asked, but he lives to see you smile. His whole demeanor changes when it’s just the two of you—less bravado, more tenderness. (If you catch him staring at you all lovesick, just know he’s planning your wedding in his head.)

(୨୧) The “I’m Your Biggest Cheerleader” Energy

James will hype you up like his life depends on it. Got an essay due? “No problem, love, you’ve got this!” Need help with a spell? He’ll spend hours practicing with you until you nail it. And when you do, he’s out here clapping like you just won the Quidditch Cup. (Sirius: “Mate, chill, it’s a summoning charm.” James: “IT’S A BIG DEAL, PADFOOT.”) You can’t even be annoyed because the way he beams at you makes your heart flutter every damn time.

(୨୧) The Ego and the Heart to Match

James knows he’s hot—and he’ll never let you forget it. (You: “You’re insufferable.” Him: “You mean irresistible.”) But here’s the kicker: despite his cockiness, he’s never made you feel less than cherished. He’s the type to blow off quidditch practice just to study with you for your OWLs, or charm your quill to write faster when he sees you stressing. (You didn’t even ask. He just noticed.) He may act like the world revolves around him, but you’re the sun he orbits.

(୨୧) The Bravado

This man will not shut up about how good he is at everything—Quidditch, hexes, kissing you senseless against a bookshelf. And the worst part? He’s not wrong. (You: “Cocky much?” Him: “Confident, sweetheart. There’s a difference.”) But then there’s the unexpected softness, like when he presses his forehead against yours after, whispering, “You’re all I’ll ever want.” It’s the mix of arrogance and vulnerability that leaves you completely undone every time. (Yes, you’re ruined. No, you’re not mad about it.)

(୨୧) The “I’d Die for You” Loyalty

James would go to the ends of the earth for you—and you know it. He’s reckless when it comes to protecting you, stepping in front of danger without a second thought. (You: “Stop being so stupidly brave!” Him: “I can’t help it; it’s in the Potter genes. Do you want your kids to have these genes??”) Even in his most infuriating moments, you can’t deny how deeply he loves you. He’s yours, completely and irrevocably, and Merlin, does it feel good to be loved by James Potter.

#jamespotter #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #james potter one shot #james potter dialogue #james potter drabble #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter x black reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n

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p0orbaby · 8 months ago

Text

Skeletons

summary: aitana has a secret that you’re reluctant to keep, but you do, because having her in private is better than not having her at all

warnings: angst, closeted relationship

a/n: inspired by this request ! fyi i’m not a massive fan of the ending so if you think it’s bad then your opinion is valid

word count: 4.9k

It’s been a long day, another day of tactical meetings and drills, the weight of another training session at Barça hanging heavy on your body. You sit beside Aitana in the lounge of her flat—everything pristine but minimal, almost impersonal, as if she's never spent enough time here to give it a real life. No personal touch to the decor, just basic furniture. A lamp that looks like it was picked because it was there and not because it meant anything. The kind of living space of someone who only ever comes home to sleep, or maybe to avoid something else. You think you know what that something else is, or maybe it’s just a suspicion that’s been gnawing at you for years, a quiet terror lodged deep in the center of you, almost as if it's waiting for something to happen. You’re pretty sure it's always been there.

You notice how she sits too close, legs curled beneath her on the sofa, leaning into you in that way she always does when she’s not really aware of it. Aitana’s always been like that—too close, too warm, her casual touches like a silent scream at the back of your mind—her fingers brushing your arm, her shoulder pressing lightly into yours, her laughter soft and private, like you’re the only one who could ever understand the joke, like she trusts you with something that’s too big for either of you to say out loud. It’s a proximity that drives you insane, but you’ve learned to live with it because there’s never been another option. Not really. Not when every look, every smile, every stupid moment of her being this…close keeps you on a knife's edge between bliss and misery.

She looks at you now with those eyes that you’ve memorised, those soft brown eyes that never stop searching, like she’s always trying to find the right words but can never quite get there. It’s a little terrifying, the way she looks at you sometimes. Like you’re the answer to something she hasn't quite plucked up the courage to ask yet.

“I’m glad you came over,” she says, her voice softer than usual, like she's thinking about something more serious but doesn't want to show it. Her hand is on your arm again, a casual thing, but it’s not casual, not to you. It hasn’t been casual for years.

You nod, biting back whatever sarcastic response you might’ve thrown out, because this—this moment feels like a delicate thread, as if one wrong move could break it. And you don’t want to break it. God, you don’t want to break it.

“Of course, I came over. You needed me, right?” you say, forcing a lightness into your voice that feels false, but you’re so used to this performance. It’s second nature. Being near her and pretending like it’s normal when your heart is pounding loud enough to deafen you.

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s something under that single word, something unsure. She leans back into the sofa cushions, and you feel the shift, the weight of her thigh brushing yours, your heart picking up speed even as you try to ignore it. You look at her, and she’s staring at the floor now, like she’s trying to figure something out but can’t bring herself to say it.

You’ve never been good with silence, not between the two of you, not when it feels like this, charged and dangerous, and you almost say something—anything—to break it, but she beats you to it.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, her voice quiet, her gaze still on the floor. She shifts, her fingers tightening slightly on your arm, and your chest clenches, that familiar wave of something crashing over you. “About…stuff”

The vagueness of it should annoy you, but it doesn’t. Not when her voice sounds like this. Not when her whole body feels tense, like she’s holding something back.

“What kind of stuff?” you ask, keeping your tone casual, keeping the panic buried deep where it belongs. You can’t show it. You can’t let her see how much this is affecting you, how much every word out of her mouth feels like it could unravel you.

She finally looks up at you, and there’s something different in her eyes. Something you haven’t seen before, or maybe you’ve seen it a hundred times but you’ve never let yourself believe it could be real. Her gaze holds yours for a moment, and then she looks away again, biting her bottom lip like she’s nervous.

It’s not a look you see from Aitana often. She’s usually so sure of herself, so confident, even when she’s being quiet, even when she’s being thoughtful. But this—this feels different. She’s fidgeting now, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee, and you can’t help but watch her, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head, trying not to let yourself hope. Because hope is dangerous. Hope is a trap you’ve fallen into too many times, and every time you climb out of it, it feels like it just leaves you more bruised.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” she says, and her voice is so soft now, so fragile. It’s like she’s terrified of what she’s about to say, and that terrifies you because Aitana is never terrified.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “What’s up?” you ask, trying to sound calm, even though your heart is racing and there’s a knot forming in your stomach.

She hesitates for a moment, and then she reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit you’ve seen a thousand times but never thought much about until now, when everything about her feels heightened, like you’re seeing her for the first time all over again.

“I…” She stops, her voice faltering, and then she takes a deep breath, forcing the words out like they’ve been stuck inside her for too long. “I think I might like someone”

Your chest tightens. This is it. The moment you’ve always dreaded. The moment where she tells you about some guy—some random guy she’s fallen for, the guy she’s going to love the way you wish she would love you.

“Oh,” you say, and it comes out flat, empty. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else.

But she doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Her fingers are still tapping against her knee, her eyes still fixed somewhere just past your shoulder.

“It’s… weird,” she continues, her voice wavering, and now she’s biting her lip again, harder this time, and you can see the tension in her jaw. “Because I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this about…a girl”

Your heart stops. You freeze. Every part of you goes still as her words sink in, slow and heavy, like they’re not quite real. Like they can’t be real.

But she’s still talking, her voice shaky, her eyes finally meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, the uncertainty, the fear that she’s saying something wrong, something that’s going to ruin everything. And suddenly you’re not breathing, not thinking, not doing anything except sitting there, staring at her, because what else can you do? What can you say when the thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly, inexplicably, in front of you?

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, and now her hand is resting on your arm again, her fingers brushing your skin in a way that feels deliberate, feels like more than just a casual touch.

And you—God, you don’t know what to do either. You don’t know how to breathe, how to think, how to process what’s happening. Because this—this moment—is something you’ve imagined a thousand times in your head, something you’ve dreamed about but never really believed would happen.

But it is happening. Right now. Right in front of you.

You blink, your throat tight, your mind a mess of thoughts that don’t make any sense, and she’s still looking at you, still waiting for you to say something, do something, anything. But you can’t. You can’t because you’re terrified that if you move, if you speak, if you do anything, this moment will shatter and you’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.

So you sit there, frozen, staring at her, trying to understand how you got here, trying to understand what this means, trying to understand her—Aitana, your best friend, the girl you’ve been in love with for what feels like forever.

And she’s looking at you like she’s scared. Scared of what you’ll say, scared of what you’ll do. But more than that, she looks scared of herself, of what she’s feeling. You can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she’s still not sure if this is okay, if she’s okay, if liking you—wanting you—is something she’s allowed to want.

“I’m scared,” she says softly, and it breaks you because Aitana doesn’t get scared. She’s brave. She’s fearless. She’s everything you’ve always wanted to be. And now she’s sitting here, vulnerable and uncertain, and you don’t know how to help her because you’re still trying to figure out how to help yourself.

But then she looks at you again, her eyes searching yours, and something shifts. Something clicks into place. And before you can stop yourself, before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach out and take her hand, your fingers lacing with hers, warm and steady and real.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m not going anywhere”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, she smiles, just a little. A small, tentative smile, but it’s enough. It’s everything.

It starts slowly, like all dangerous things do. A late-night text that pulls you back to her place after training, her fingertips brushing your hand on the walk back from the gym, a lingering glance that lasts just a second too long when she thinks no one’s paying attention. You both fall into it like gravity’s pulling you, and for a while, it’s enough. Enough to have her behind closed doors, enough to know that, at least in those quiet moments between just the two of you, she’s yours.

But it’s also nothing like what you’d imagined all those years, lying in your own bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what it’d be like to have her next to you for real. It’s not perfect—it can’t be, not when everything has to be hidden. You’re still her best friend in public, the girl she spends all her time with, the girl who knows her better than anyone else. But not the girl she kisses when the cameras aren’t flashing, not the girl she pulls close when no one’s looking.

Those moments belong only to the nights when her guard is down, when her walls crumble and she lets you in, just for a few hours. It’s messy, but you’ve always known it would be. Aitana is nothing if not a contradiction—so sure of herself on the pitch, so certain of what she wants when it comes to football, but with this—with you—she’s hesitant. Insecure, even, and it’s a side of her you’re still learning how to navigate.

It’s late one night after another exhausting match, and she’s already taken her shower, her hair damp against the pillow as you lie beside her. Her apartment smells faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser she never turns off, and the air between you feels heavy, like it always does after sex. Like there’s something unsaid just hanging there, but neither of you is brave enough to say it.

She’s resting her head on your chest, one arm draped lazily across your stomach, her fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin. And for a moment, everything is perfect. Just her and you, tangled together in her too-big bed, your bodies sore but comfortable in the way that only comes with familiarity. You feel her breath against your neck, steady and soft, and you close your eyes, trying to commit every second of this to memory. These are the moments you live for now.

But then she speaks, her voice low and hesitant, and you know what’s coming before she even says it.

“You know we can’t tell anyone, right?” Her fingers stop moving, and she lifts her head to look at you, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “Not yet”

It’s not the first time she’s said it, and it won’t be the last. You’ve had this conversation before, too many times to count. But each time, it feels like a fresh wound, like she’s cutting into you all over again with that same blunt blade. You want to tell her that it hurts, that it tears you apart every time she introduces you to someone as “just a friend” or dodges questions about her love life in interviews, leaving you wondering what it would feel like to be acknowledged, even just once.

But you don’t say that. You won’t. Because you know she’s scared. Scared of what it means, scared of what people will say, scared of admitting to herself that she’s not the person she thought she was. And you love her too much to push her. So instead, you nod, keeping your voice steady even though your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Yeah, I know”

She sighs in relief, dropping her head back to your chest, her body relaxing against yours again. And just like that, the conversation is over. She’s yours again—for now, at least.

But there are moments, moments when the secret feels too heavy, too suffocating, and you don’t know how long you can keep carrying it without cracking under the pressure. It happens one day after a game, when the whole team goes out to celebrate a win, and you’re sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and trying to keep your distance. Because that’s what you do now. You keep your distance. You stay just close enough to be there for her, but never close enough to make anyone suspicious.

Aitana’s across the room, talking with a group of teammates, laughing at something Alexia says, and for a second, it’s like she forgets you’re even there. She’s in her element, charming and confident, the version of herself you’ve always admired. And when someone asks her about dating—probably joking, probably not thinking twice about it—you watch her laugh it off, deflecting like she always does.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone,” she says, so casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you don’t exist. Like the nights you’ve spent together, wrapped up in each other, mean nothing.

It hits you harder than it should. Harder than it ever has before. And you know it’s not fair to feel like this—it’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to you. You knew what this was when you started, knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You drain the rest of your beer, the bitterness burning your throat, and get up to leave before anyone notices. Before she notices. You can’t sit there and watch her laugh and flirt with other people, pretending like she’s not going to go home with you tonight. Pretending like she’s not yours.

When you’re halfway to the door, you feel her hand on your arm, and you stop, turning to face her. She looks up at you, her expression soft, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice low enough that no one else can hear. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’m tired,” you say, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice. “I think I’ll head home”

Aitana frowns, her hand still on your arm, like she’s not ready to let you go yet. Like she can feel the shift, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. “I thought we’d—”

“I know,” you cut her off, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to hear her try to make this okay when it’s not. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You pull away from her, walking out into the cool night air, your heart pounding in your chest. You need space. You need air. You need time to remember why you’re doing this, why you’re putting yourself through this, why you keep coming back to her even when it hurts.

And later, when you’re lying in your own bed, staring up at the ceiling again, you remind yourself of all the reasons why. The way she looks at you when no one’s watching. The way she holds you close at night, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. The way she whispers your name in the dark, her voice soft and vulnerable in a way it never is around anyone else.

She’s worth it, you tell yourself. She’s worth the pain, the hiding, the pretending. Because you have her. Maybe not in the way you always dreamed, but you have her.

It’s an away game in Seville, the kind where the atmosphere is tense but electric, the city vibrating with the weight of the upcoming match. The hotel isn’t much, just another chain where the carpets smell faintly of stale cigarettes and overuse. You’re in one of those rooms that looks exactly the same as all the others, sterile and impersonal—off-white walls, a single window overlooking the car park, a television bolted to the wall like an afterthought. But right now, none of that matters.

Aitana’s there with you, her back pressed against the cheap headboard, her hair a tangled mess around her face. She’s just come out of the shower, skin still damp and smelling like hotel soap, and there’s something reckless in her eyes tonight, something unspoken simmering between you both. There’s always been that quiet, dangerous tension with her, like you’re both walking a line neither of you knows how to stay on.

You hadn’t planned for this. Maybe you never plan for it. It’s just a hunger that’s become second nature, something that overtakes you both when you’re alone together, something neither of you can resist. Her lips had found yours the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, the match tomorrow the last thing on either of your minds. You’re supposed to be resting, supposed to be saving your energy for the game, but there’s always this with her, this fever that takes over when you’re in the same room.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pulling her close, her fingers digging into your back, her breath hot against your neck as you press her against the mattress. The room feels like it’s spinning, like it’s just you and her and nothing else matters. And the noise—God, you can’t help the sounds she makes when you touch her, the way she bites back a moan, then gives up, letting it out like a release of all the tension she’s been holding in. The bed creaks beneath you, too loud in the silence of the hotel, but neither of you care. It’s too late to care.

You lose track of time. You lose track of everything except the feel of her beneath you, the way her body responds to yours, the way she whispers your name like it’s the only word she knows. And for that stretch of time—however long it is—she’s yours, wholly and completely. There’s no team, no match, no world outside this room. It’s just her, and you, and the way she looks at you when she lets her guard down, when she lets herself need you.

But then there’s a knock at the wall, followed by a muffled voice that snaps you both back to reality. You freeze, still half-entangled with her, your breath ragged, your heart pounding.

“Oye! Quiet down in there!” someone yells through the wall. The voice is too familiar—Pina, or maybe Patri—it doesn’t matter who it is. The point is, they’ve heard. The walls are paper-thin, you realise, and you hadn’t exactly been discreet.

You scramble off her, untangling yourself from the sheets, and for a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, loud in the sudden silence. Aitana’s eyes are wide, her face flushed, her bare chest rising and falling rapidly, and you can see the panic starting to creep in. Not panic because they know—no, they don’t know who she is. Panic because they think it’s just another random hookup. Another girl you picked up on a whim.

There’s another knock, louder this time, more insistent. “We get it! You’ve got company,” someone calls, laughing now, their voice tinged with amusement. “Didn’t know you’d have a guest tonight”

You let out a breath, already slipping into the familiar role. The one where you play it off like this is nothing. Like this is just another night, just another girl. You’ve done it so many times before—it’s a routine at this point. The jokes, the teasing, the knowing looks from your teammates when they hear about another one of your so-called conquests. It’s all part of the act, the persona you’ve built to cover for what’s really going on.

You flash a quick smile at Aitana, hoping to reassure her, but the look she gives you is anything but reassured. It’s tight, like she’s barely holding it together. You ignore it for now, your mind racing for the right thing to say.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about that,” you call back, trying to keep your voice light, casual, like you’re not lying through your teeth. “I’ll keep it down. Promise”

There’s more laughter from the other side of the wall, some muttered jokes about your reputation, about your ‘lucky night,’ but eventually it quiets down. They’re not going to press you. They never do. You’ve always been able to laugh it off, always been able to make it seem like none of it matters.

But when you turn back to Aitana, you see the way her eyes have gone dark, her face tight with something that looks like pain, like anger. She’s pulling the sheets up around her, suddenly closed off, like she’s trying to build a wall between you both.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice low, tentative. You reach for her, but she pulls away, sitting up straighter, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself.

There’s a heaviness to the air that wasn’t there before, a weight that settles between the two of you. It’s in the way she’s breathing—slow, measured—like she’s thinking too hard, like she’s bracing herself for something. You glance over at her, half-expecting her to meet your gaze with that teasing smile she always gives after moments like this, but her face is turned toward the ceiling, eyes wide and distant, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Aitana?” you say softly, your voice barely cutting through the thick quiet. You can feel the tension in your chest start to coil, tight and uneasy.

She doesn’t respond right away, and when she finally does, her voice is quieter than you expect, almost tentative, like she’s not sure how to say what’s on her mind. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, still staring up at the ceiling, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the sheet.

You frown, sitting up a little, trying to make sense of what she means. “Do what?”

“Cover for me.” She says it so softly, like it’s a secret, like it’s something she’s ashamed of, but not in the way you’re used to. Not the shame of being found out. This is different, quieter, heavier. “I know why you did it, but… you didn’t have to”

You blink, thrown off for a second. “You mean… when they knocked on the wall?”

She nods, slowly, her eyes finally drifting from the ceiling to meet yours. There’s something in her eyes that makes your heart drop, something that feels like guilt, but not the kind that comes from getting caught. It’s the kind that lingers, the kind that’s been building for a while.

“I know it’s stupid,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper now, her fingers still moving in that absent way across the sheets, like she’s trying to distract herself from what she’s saying. “I know it’s just how it is. But… when you said that, when you acted like it was someone else, it just—it felt wrong”

You can feel your chest tighten, the words sinking in, slow and heavy. You want to tell her that you had to, that it’s how you’ve always handled it, that you were just trying to protect her. But the way she’s looking at you now, her eyes soft but resolute, makes you pause. She’s not angry. She’s not hurt, not the way you thought she might be. She’s just… sad. Sad that you feel like you need to keep pretending, like you need to keep covering for her.

“I didn’t think it’d bother you,” you say, and it sounds like an excuse as soon as it leaves your mouth, even though it’s the truth. You’ve done this so many times before, played it off like it’s nothing. It’s always been your way of protecting her, of protecting what the two of you have.

“I know you didn’t.” She sits up then, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as she looks at you. Her hair falls over her face, messy and damp, and she brushes it aside absently, not really paying attention to it. “But that’s the thing. You shouldn’t have to. Not anymore”

There’s a beat of silence, the words hanging in the air between you. You sit up straighter, searching her face, trying to understand exactly what she’s saying. You’ve had this conversation before, or at least versions of it. But it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt like it’s this close to something real, something neither of you can take back.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice cautious, like you’re afraid to push her too far, to make her retreat behind that wall she’s so good at building.

Aitana lets out a slow breath, her eyes not leaving yours. “I mean… I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being a secret. And I’m tired of making you cover for me like you’re ashamed of what we have.” Her voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability in it that catches you off guard, something raw and exposed. “I don’t want to do that to you anymore.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. You’ve always been the one to take the fall, to laugh off the questions, to keep up the charade. You’ve always thought you were doing it for her—because she wasn’t ready, because she needed more time. But now, sitting here, looking at her, you realize that maybe you’ve been doing it for yourself too. Maybe you’ve been hiding just as much as she has, afraid of what it would mean to actually be out there, to actually be seen.

“Aitana…” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice soft but firm.

“I know it won’t be easy,” she says quickly, like she’s already thought this through a thousand times. “I know people will talk, and it’ll be… hard. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to hide us. I don’t want you to pretend like I’m just someone you picked up or some random girl in your bed. I’m more than that. I’ve always been more than that”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve spent so long keeping this part of you hidden, keeping this relationship in the shadows, that the idea of stepping out into the light feels… terrifying. But at the same time, hearing her say it, hearing her admit that she’s ready—that she wants to be open—it makes something inside you shift, something that feels like hope.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter now, more careful. You don’t want to push her, don’t want to rush her into something she’s not ready for, even though every part of you is screaming to say yes, to finally stop hiding.

She nods, her eyes steady, her expression soft but sure. “I’m sure.” She reaches out then, her hand finding yours, her fingers threading through yours with a quiet certainty. “I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from them, not from anyone.”

You feel the weight of her words settle over you, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like you can breathe. Like the walls you’ve both built are finally starting to come down.

“I don’t want you to hide either,” you admit, the words coming out easier than you thought they would. And it’s true. You’re tired of pretending too, tired of covering for something that’s real, something that’s yours.

Aitana smiles then, a small, tentative smile, but there’s something bright behind it, something that makes your chest ache in the best possible way. She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“So… I’ll tell them,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but filled with a kind of quiet determination that makes you believe her.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart pounding, your hand tightening around hers. “We’ll tell them”

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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hyunjinsmuze · 11 days ago

Text

TORN

warning: ⛔️smut, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, hickeys

contains: smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, jealousy, a little angst

summary: You never meant to fall for either of them, but now you’re caught between, tangled in love, guilt, and everything unspoken.

pairing: idol!Han Jisung x Reader x idol!Jeongin

words: 6.3k

When you first walked into the practice room, no one looked twice.

You were just the new choreographer young, serious, sleeves rolled to your elbows, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable but never unkind. You were hired last minute to help clean up footwork and spacing for the upcoming tour setlist. The company had mentioned your impressive portfolio, but you didn’t act like someone who needed validation. You carried yourself with calm control, the kind that didn’t scream for respect, just quietly received it.

In the beginning, you kept to yourself.

You bowed politely when entering the studio, clapped your hands twice when they got too rowdy, corrected mistakes without unnecessary commentary. You didn’t talk much, but when you did, your words were clear, intentional.

“Felix smaller step on count seven. You’re blocking Minho’s line.”

“Changbin, soften your knees. You’re tensing again.”

“Jeongin, good energy but watch your upper body. Too much.”

You were firm, but never harsh. They didn’t dislike you, they just didn’t know you.

Jeongin was the first to crack you open.

Not on purpose—he was just easy to read. He’d mess up the same count three times and laugh every single time. One night, as rehearsal stretched past midnight, you caught his reflection in the mirror making exaggerated faces behind you during water breaks. You didn’t scold him. You just arched an eyebrow in the mirror, lips twitching with the start of a smile.

The next day, he offered you a protein bar before practice. “here, you need some food,” he said.

It didn’t take long after that.

You started staying late, five, ten, fifteen minutes to go over someone’s moves. Then twenty, thirty, because you were waiting for your bus. And sometimes Jeongin stayed too.

You’re not sure when it started.

Maybe it was the night he asked if you wanted to grab ramen after practice half-joking, probably expecting you to say no. Maybe it was when you said yes.

Maybe it was the first time you sat beside him on the floor, half-laughing, knees touching, chopsticks in hand, eating convenience store ramen like you were in some low-budget drama. Or maybe it was the night you fell asleep next to him on the dorm couch, in the middle of a movie, your head slipping down until it rested on his shoulder…

and he didn’t move.

That was the turning point.

Because Jeongin didn’t like skinship—not really. Not when it wasn’t necessary. But with you, he didn’t flinch. He let you stay there, quiet, content. When you shifted closer, forehead brushing his arm he didn’t stop you.

You weren’t dating. Nothing was official. But he was your person, and you were his.

You had inside jokes.

You shared playlists.

You started saving clips from practices and sending them to him privately with dumb captions.

He texted you before sessions with things like: “How strict are you feeling today?” or “If I bring you coffee will you go easy on me?”

You were close. Closer than you’d planned.

You still taught professionally. Still corrected their moves, still clapped your hands to get their attention. But you laughed more now. Smiled when Hyunjin made a dramatic entrance. Rolled your eyes at Seungmin’s sarcasm. You started wearing hoodies to practice instead of tailored jackets. You let your walls down at least with them.

At least with him.

But Han noticed.

From the very beginning, he noticed you.

There was something about your focus. The way you stood even after hours of rehearsing. The way you adjusted someone’s hand placement like it mattered more than anyone else realized. The way you didn’t always speak when the others were joking around not because you felt out of place, but because you didn’t need to fill every silence to feel included.

You fascinated him. But he didn’t approach, not right away.

He wasn’t shy. He just wasn’t sure what to make of you. Until he saw you with Jeongin.

The first time he noticed you walking back to the dorms together, heads tilted toward each other, laughing at something only the two of you seemed to understand he felt it.

That little twist in his chest.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

But the more he watched the way you looked at Jeongin when he wasn’t paying attention, the way Jeongin’s eyes always found yours first when something funny happened he felt it again. Something deeper.

Han wasn’t jealous.

Not exactly.

He just… wanted to be the one making you laugh.

He wanted to be the one you leaned on, the one who knew your thoughts before you said them.

He wanted to know what it felt like to be close enough to touch.

But for now, he watched.

And waited.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Time changes things. Not always in big, dramatic ways, but in little ones the way the Stray Kids members no longer bow quite so formally when they see you, or how they text you memes in the group chat now instead of dance questions.

You weren’t just their instructor anymore. Not to them, and honestly… not to you either.

Somewhere along the way, lines blurred. It started simple — small talk in the practice breaks turning into inside jokes. Seungmin once brought you a coffee and you thought it was a one-off until he started asking if you wanted one every other day. Chan gave you his hoodie once when you were freezing, and you forgot to give it back for two weeks. You and Hyunjin shared playlists now.

And Jeongin… well, Jeongin still walked behind you whenever you all left the studio late at night, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking to yours whenever the streetlights hit just right.

You weren’t sure when it had happened when you went from being the professional who kept a polite distance to someone they joked with, hung out with, invited to karaoke nights. It just kind of happened. One day, you were just teaching them a tough transition, and the next, you were sprawled out on Chan’s studio couch beside Jeongin, arguing about what topping was superior on instant ramen.

You still taught, still guided them through choreography and counted off the beats like muscle memory. But outside of that, you were theirs. One of them.

Which made it all the more complicated when Han started looking at you differently.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed him before. You had. He was loud and sharp and wickedly funny, the kind of person whose energy pulled attention without asking. But where Jeongin was soft-eyed and gentle with you, Han was unpredictable. Bold, but not obvious. Observant in a way that made your skin prickle.

And that morning, he was early.

You were already at the practice room before the rest of the members earbuds in, stretching absently, lost in your own world. The studio door creaked open, and you turned, expecting Chan or maybe Hyunjin.

Instead, Han.

He paused in the doorway, eyes flicking down your frame in a split second before he smirked. “Damn,” he said casually, tossing his bag on the floor near the mirrors, “Is there a rule about looking that good this early, or…?”

You raised a brow, amused. “You’re early.”

He shrugged. “Could say the same about you.”

“I work here.”

“Yeah,” he said, flopping onto the floor next to your water bottle like he owned the place, “But I’d show up early too if I knew you’d be warming up like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Are you always like this in the morning?”

He gave you a lazy grin. “Only when I’ve had enough coffee. And when I’m trying to charm someone.”

You nudged his knee with your foot. “You’re gonna have to try harder.”

“Bet.”

The banter was effortless — something about Han always made it feel that way. He didn’t flirt like someone trying to win you over. He flirted like he was already confident he had.

The rest of practice went by in a blur. The others trickled in slowly, one by one, and you shifted naturally back into your usual rhythm. But Han lingered close more than usual pbehind you during formations, over your shoulder when you demonstrated movements, always with some low comment or quick-witted tease.

Later that day, when most of them had scattered off to eat or nap, you stayed behind in the studio to jot down some notes. Jeongin had offered to wait with you, but you waved him off gently promising you'd be fine and you'd text him when you were done.

You didn’t notice Han was still there until he sat down next to you again, tossing you a bottle of water.

“You always this hardworking?” he asked, cracking open his own drink.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you guys don’t trip over yourselves.”

“Please. You’d miss it if I stopped messing up.”

You laughed. “Would I?”

“You would,” he said smoothly, then leaned his head back against the mirror, letting the silence sit comfortably for a second. “Hey, random question.”

You looked over. “Yeah?”

“I’m working on something. A song. Just a concept right now, really but I think it could be something.” He turned to you more fully now, his tone shifting just slightly. “Would you… maybe want to help with it? Just some ideas, maybe vocals. I’ve heard you hum along during practice. You’ve got good instincts.”

You blinked. “You want me to work on a song with you?”

“If you want.” He tried to play it cool, but you could see the flicker of something honest in his eyes. “I mean, I won’t beg. But I think it’d be cool.”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love to.”

And just like that, something shifted.

You didn’t know it yet didn’t know what kind of weight those lyrics would hold, or how many nights you’d stay up talking in that studio while the rest of the world slept. You didn’t know what Han was already starting to feel, or how close it all was to changing everything.

You just knew he was looking at you in a way that felt like the start of something.

Something not so innocent.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You weren’t doing anything wrong.

At least, not in the way that mattered.

Han was laughing at something you’d shown him on your phone some dumb meme, probably, or an old video from a fan sign where Changbin tripped over a mic cord. You’d both been crying laughing over it for like a solid three minutes, the kind where you clutch your stomach and try to catch your breath, and Han was already leaning into your space the way he always did when something made him laugh too hard.

His hand reached for your phone, fingers brushing over yours when he pulled it from your grip.

“Show me again,” he said between breaths. “Please. I need to save that. I’m gonna bully Binnie with this forever.”

You leaned in automatically to grab the phone back, and that’s when it happened.

That pause.

The moment your faces ended up a little too close. Too close to ignore. Not touching, not even really moving — just still. His fingers wrapped loosely around your phone, yours still half-curled around it, and both of you kind of… froze.

His breath hitched. Yours probably did too. And you didn’t look away.

For like, two seconds.

It was nothing. Nothing happened. You moved. He cleared his throat. You laughed something off under your breath and grabbed your bottle of water to pretend like your face wasn’t warm.

What you didn’t realize was that Jeongin had seen the whole thing.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it.

You were sitting on the studio couch with Han. Jeongin was behind you, sitting in a chair, legs stretched out like he wasn’t paying attention but you should’ve known better. He was quiet. Still. Phone in his hand but not looking at it, just kind of… watching.

You didn't see the way his eyes narrowed, just barely. The way his fingers clenched around the phone in his lap.

And the weird thing was —it wasn’t even a dramatic change. It was more like… this slow tilt in energy.

Like gravity had shifted slightly. Like something had gone sour in the air.

You noticed it maybe ten minutes later. You and Han were still on the couch, still occasionally leaning over each other's shoulders when he played some demo from his Notes app, and Jeongin?

Jeongin didn’t say anything.

Didn’t laugh. Didn’t joke. Didn’t even roll his eyes at Han’s dumb commentary. He was just… quiet. Staring at the floor. Then back at you.

It got weirder when Han tried to stretch out.

He shifted a little on the couch, spreading his arm lazily along the back like he was getting comfortable, not touching you, but definitely a little close and Jeongin, who had been leaning forward in his chair, suddenly sat up straighter.

“You done there?”

Han blinked. “What?”

“I said,” Jeongin repeated, tone perfectly calm, “You done? I wanted to sit.”

There was a pause. Han didn’t move.

“…There’s a chair right there,” he said eventually, nodding to the empty one beside him.

Jeongin tilted his head, and for a second, you thought he was going to argue.

Instead, he just looked back down at his phone, jaw tight.

It stayed weird like that for the next hour. You kept trying to catch Jeongin’s eye, but he was being deliberately difficult making short, clipped comments when you asked questions, barely reacting when you said anything funny, even though usually, he laughed at literally everything you said like it was the best thing in the world.

Eventually, Lee Know finished recording in the booth, and Han stood up to stretch with a groan.

“Let’s go grab food,” he muttered to Minho, who nodded and started grabbing his stuff.

You stood too, tugging on your hoodie and reaching for your bag. “I’ll catch you later—”

“Wait for me?” you said quickly to Jeongin, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He gave you a look. Shrugged. “Fine.”

That was weird.

You stayed behind to clean up a few things, tossing water bottles into the bin, tucking your charger into your bag. When you turned around, Jeongin was still there standing near the door, arms crossed, staring at the floor.

“Okay,” you said carefully, walking toward him. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing.”

“Jeongin.”

“I said nothing,” he replied, a little sharper this time.

You stopped walking. “You’ve been weird ever since practice started. You barely said anything. You looked like you wanted to set Han on fire.”

He didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched.

You frowned. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Jeongin exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. “You’re just… I don’t know.”

You stared. “No, tell me.”

His eyes met yours, and they were tired. Frustrated.

“You’re just close with him all of a sudden,” he said finally, voice low. “You and Han.”

You blinked. “Okay, but so? He’s my friend.”

Jeongin didn’t reply.

You studied him for a second. Then: “Wait. Are you—”

“No.”

“Jeongin.”

“I said no.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re jealous.”

He scoffed. “Why would I be?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Do whatever you want with Han,” he muttered under his breath, already reaching for the door.

Your heart stuttered. “Jeongin.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Is that really how you feel?” you asked. “Like I’m doing something wrong?”

His voice was quiet. “It just looked like something else.”

You walked a little closer, not touching him — just enough that he could hear you clearly.

“It wasn’t,” you said. “We were laughing.”

“You were staring.”

You didn’t have an answer for that. Not really.

He finally turned, and his eyes weren’t angry…they were hurt. Like he didn’t even mean to be mad, he just couldn’t help it. And that, that stung more than anything.

“I don’t like feeling like I’m watching something I didn’t know I was supposed to be competing with.”

You blinked. “Competing?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

And then he left.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You didn’t know it, but jeongin had been thinking about you more than he should’ve. More than he ever let himself admit, until now.

He didn’t know when it started — maybe it was the first time you showed up in the studio with your hair tied messily and a cup of coffee in your hand, calling him “Jjongie” like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was the way you always knew when he needed space, but still stayed close. Or maybe it was the way you fell asleep next to him once, head on his shoulder, and he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want the moment to end.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. That it was just friendship. That he wasn’t that kind of guy the one who pined or got caught up in things like feelings. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being harmless.

And now ?

now it felt too late

You had been spending more time with Han lately. Not on purpose not like you were avoiding jeongin but… everything felt different. Off. Like the balance had shifted and you weren’t sure how to fix it.

You still loved jeongin — in the way that your soul does when it’s been tied to someone quietly for so long. He was still your comfort, your best friend, the person you looked for in a room. But now, when he looked at you, it was guarded. Cool. Like you were someone he used to be close with.

Han, on the other hand, had been showing up in little ways.

He’d ask you to stay late and go over choreo ideas. He’d slide his water bottle across the floor when yours was empty. He started texting more about music, stupid memes, whatever came to mind. And somewhere along the way, he started showing up in your thoughts when you weren’t even trying to think of anyone.

So when he knocked on your door that night, you weren’t sure what you expected but it wasn’t this.

“Han?” you blinked, still in your hoodie, barefoot in the doorway.

He looked nervous, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Please.”

You let him in.

You sat on the couch, facing him.

“I can’t keep this bottled up anymore,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

And before you could even ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed you.

Soft. Quick. But enough to send your thoughts scattering like sparks on pavement.

You pulled back, heart racing.

“What was that?” your voice cracked a little.

“I like you,” he said. No hesitation. No game.

You stared at him, breath catching.

You liked him, didn’t you?

But there was jeongin. There was everything else tangled in your chest.

“I think you should go,” you said softly, holding back the tremble in your throat.

Han stared at you.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you whispered. “This is all… too much. I just… I think you should go. I’ll see you at practice.”

He hesitated, eyes flickering with something like hurt but he nodded.

And left.

But you didn’t go to practice the next day.

Or the next.

When you finally did show up again, you didn’t stay after. You barely looked at Han, and jeongin… jeongin didn’t even try.

He’d gotten distant quieter. Everything was heavy and silent between you now. You’d pass him in the hallway and he wouldn’t even glance.

It hurt more than you thought it would.

A few days later, you waited outside the studio after practice.

You saw jeongin walking out alone, bag slung over his shoulder.

You reached out and touched his arm gently.

“Hey… jeongin?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

You stepped in front of him.

“Do you even care?” you asked, voice small, breaking at the edges.

He looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever.

His jaw was tight.

“Would it even matter if I did?”

The words landed heavy in your chest.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

He held your gaze for a moment longer unreadable — and then walked away.

You stood there, frozen, feeling something inside you unravel.

You went back to the practice room.

Han had left his jacket behind.

You curled up in the corner, knees to your chest, and let everything spill out the tension, the confusion, the ache you’d been trying to ignore.

You didn’t even hear the door open again.

Han walked in, pausing when he saw you curled up on the floor, face buried in your arms.

“Y/N…” he said softly.

You looked up, eyes red.

He crossed the room and sat down beside you without asking.

“Talk to me,” he said, gently. “Please.”

You didn’t look at him. Your voice was muffled through your tears.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. I care about you, I really do… and I care about jeongin and it’s like I’m stuck in the middle of something I never meant to start.”

Han stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“He’s mad at me. I think I’ve lost him. And I didn’t even do anything wrong, not really, and now I feel guilty for everything and I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks.

Han moved a little closer, careful.

“I never wanted to make things harder for you,” he said. “I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. You don’t owe me anything. But I’m here. Okay?”

You nodded, barely.

And he sat beside you on the cold studio floor not saying much more, just existing there with you in the mess of it all.

Letting you cry.

Letting you breathe.

Letting the silence hold what your heart couldn’t say yet.

Moments passed. The only sound filling the stillness of the practice room was your quiet sobs, soft and uneven, like waves crashing inside your chest.

Han sat beside you, his breath slow and steady, watching you without a word.

After what felt like forever, you looked up at him, eyes red and swollen, voice trembling as you asked, “Why do you like me?”

He met your gaze without hesitation.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “There’s just always been something about you… something I can’t explain.”

You swallowed hard, confusion twisting inside you like a storm.

You didn’t know what you wanted — didn’t know who you wanted.

You liked him. You did. But you liked jeongin too. You had always liked jeongin. But Han… Han made you feel ike like you were you. in ways you hadn’t realized you were missing.

Your heart was tangled in all of it.

Without thinking, without planning, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, uncertain but Han didn’t pull away. He kissed you back, deep and slow, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

Before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, breath hitching as he whispered against your lips, “Is this what you want?”

You didn’t answer with words. You just kissed him harder, hands clawing at the fabric of his shirt.

He grinned against your mouth before peeling it off, skin warm and solid under your fingertips.

Your own shirt was soon tangled in his hands, the room growing hotter with every touch.

Clothes fell away, hesitations dissolving.

He kissed your neck, sucking lightly at the spot underneath your ear that made ur back arch. He lent you back as you winced feeling the cold floor against your back.

“hannie” you looked up at him clawing at his jeans.

“i know. shh your gonna get what you want” he teased removing his pants and boxers at the slowest pace possible.

Your hand wrapped around his length gasping at his size, he groaned. loudly. bucking his hips into your hand.

“fuck baby~” he muttered pulling ur wrist away and rubbing his tip through your folds pushing at the entrance.

“so wet” he smirked

“please” you begged

That’s all he needed. he pushed into you slowly making you feel him inside.inch, by inch

He bottomed out almost immediately, but it didn’t take long for him to start fucking you, at just a slow pace taking his time making you feel.

“s’good oh-“ you moaned sweetly. your hands tangled in his hair moving to scratch down his back which only made han pick the pace up.

You were tangled together on the cold floor of the practice room — the place where it all started, the place where everything felt so complicated and raw.

“close” he groaned out biting your shoulder.

“me too don’t stop~ ah” you cried out, han slammed into you harder.

your orgasm hit you unexpectedly you clenched around han your legs wrapping around his waist your whole body shaking his name rolling off your tongue

It wasn’t long untill han was cumming, he pulled out pumping himself a few times releasing himself all over your stomach.

When it was over, he held you close, breathing slow and steady against your skin.

“your okay” he reassured as you still shook in his arms

“yeah i’m okay” you said trying to convince yourself that this WAS all okay

He drove you home in silence, the night air heavy with unsaid things.

You stood in your room afterward, heart pounding, hands trembling.

You didn’t know what to do.

You’d just slept with Han — the boy who made you feel like you were seen.

But jeongin was your best friend.

You wanted to fix things with him. You wanted to make it right.

But how?

You didn’t have the answers.

You only had the confusion swirling inside you like a storm you couldn’t escape.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You’d been avoiding it all day, everything between jeongin and Han that had been simmering under the surface since that night. But now, stepping into the dorm after practice, the tension was impossible to ignore.

The living room was unusually quiet. Chan has offered you to come over to work on a new dance though non of you have even started on it. The other members sat scattered, eyes on their phones, pretending not to notice the heaviness in the air. But you saw the sharp looks thrown whenever the door creaked open and jeongin stepped inside, his face stormy.

Jeongin hadn’t said a word all day. He’d spent hours wandering the streets, you’d heard. Nobody knew where exactly. And now, his shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, like he was carrying a weight too heavy for his age.

Han was sitting near the couch, his own expression unreadable but his eyes flicking toward jeongin the second he entered.

You stayed near the hallway, not wanting to get involved, but the quiet between those two was shouting at you.

Jeongin didn’t even glance at Han as he dropped his bag. Then, after a long pause, Han finally spoke.

“Where the hell have you been all day?” His tone was low but sharp, the kind of edge that never quite breaks into a yell but still makes you flinch.

jeongin shot him a look—flat, tired, but bitter.

“You asking me or telling me?” he replied, voice snarky, thick with frustration.

Han raised his eyebrows, leaning forward just a little.

“Look, what’s your problem?” he said, voice dropping to something almost pleading.

Jeongin scoffed, bitterness dripping from his words.

“You’re my problem.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Han didn’t flinch. “Explain.”

Jeongins eyes burned.

“You are.”

Han’s mouth twitched, like he was trying to keep cool but failing.

“Fine. I’ll spell it out. You’re acting like this because of her.”

“Because of y/n?” jeongin spat, voice rising.

“Yeah. Because of her.”

Jeongin laughed a sharp, bitter sound. “You think you know what she wants? You think you’re the one she wants?”

Han’s silence spoke louder than words.

“I slept with her,” Han said, voice low but steady.

The words crashed like a wave.

Jeongins face twisted, his anger breaking loose.

“Fuck you,” he hissed, stepping forward. “I hate you.”

The slam of the door echoed like a gunshot through the dorm.

You stood frozen, the weight of everything crashing down.

You wanted to be mad, yell at han for just yelling out your business like that, but you were frozen, you were angry at han he had no right…But it was jeongins reaction that broke you, without saying a word you left.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Days passed.

Jeongin was absent again, the empty space he left in the dance room almost unbearable.

You found yourself watching the doorway too many times, waiting for him to walk in, waiting for the tension between you to break.

Felix sat beside you, quietly watching your face.

“Is he okay?” you finally asked, voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Felix hesitated, then said, “You need to talk to him. Y/N. He’s not okay.”

Your chest tightened.

One evening, heart pounding with nerves, you found yourself standing outside his dorm room.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to knock.

The door opened before you could.

Jeongins eyes were guarded, tired.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice catching.

He looked away.

“I’m not the one who’s been sleeping with your friends,” he said bitterly.

Your heart broke. “jeongin, that’s not fair. I’m here because I miss our friendship. I miss what we had.”

He laughed, bitter and dry. “It stopped being a friendship a long time ago. You knew that.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I didn’t know anything,” you whispered.

He took a step closer, voice soft but raw.

“I’ve been in love with you. Always have been.”

You swallowed hard.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t know how you felt.”

Your voice barely audible, “I felt something too.”

His eyes darkened.

Without warning, he pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours.

The kiss was fierce and desperate, filled with everything neither of you had said.

You pulled away, breathless.

“I can’t,” you whispered. “Not now. Not after Han.”

Jeongin’s hands cupped your face, his voice a low growl.

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

His lips found yours again softer this time, but still demanding.

You melted into the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed down your neck and pulled you onto the bed.

You should have pulled away… but you didn’t. Instead, you gripped him tighter, pulling him against you, opening your mouth and letting his tongue explore yours.

You could feel him — how hard he was pressed against your thigh. You lifted your hips slightly, and he groaned.

His fingers teased at the waistband of your joggers, slipping beneath to touch you exactly where you needed him, even through your lace panties.

“Jjongie,” you moaned, arching your back, craving more.

He pushed your panties to the side, his fingers finally making direct contact with your soaked core.

He wasn’t slow. He didn’t even give you time to think before he was two fingers deep, pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your moans spilled out in stuttered breaths a mix of “oh”s and “ah”s, growing louder with every thrust of his hand.

“Cum on my fingers,” he said more of a demand than a request.

“Fuck, Jeongin—” you cried out as he curled his fingers at the perfect angle, hitting that spot that made your body shudder.

His thumb rubbed your clit ruthlessly and then you snapped.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your body arching, shaking, your voice raw.

“Mmm, you did so good,” he whispered, pulling his fingers out, then crashing his lips into yours again — rougher this time.

Clothes were stripped off slowly, each touch sending more heat through your body, your skin prickling.

The kiss deepened. The room spun. All you knew was that this felt real.

That this was something.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, lining himself up at your entrance. He was bigger than Han, not as thick, but longer. You nodded.

That was all he needed.

He thrust into you no hesitation, no slow build-up just raw, desperate motion.

He didn’t let you adjust. He just started fucking you like he couldn’t hold back anymore, his grunts low and hungry in your ear.

“Fuck, you feel so good… so tight, so fucking tight,” he growled, slamming into you like it was the last time he’d ever have you.

You couldn’t even speak, your mind was gone, wrecked. You were a moaning, gasping mess.

He kissed, sucked, bit at your neck, leaving marks like he wanted to claim you.

Your hand tugged at his hair, the other finding his and intertwining your fingers together.

There were no more thoughts. Just feeling. Just this.

You could feel all of him every inch, every time he hit your cervix, it made you feel like you were going to fall apart again.

“Oh, Jeongin— I’m close, close again!” you screamed, digging your nails into his biceps.

His thrusts grew sloppy, and you could feel him twitching inside you he was close too.

“Cum—cum with me,” he panted, resting his forehead against yours, watching your face as you came undone.

You nodded frantically, biting your lip.

And then it hit harder than before. Your vision blurred, your body shook, your second orgasm tearing through you.

Jeongin thrust one last time, the hardest he had the whole night, before finishing deep inside you, moaning your name like a prayer.

He held you afterward, both of you too still, too full of everything and nothing.

“Y/N, what—” he started.

“I don’t know… I don’t know anything,” you cut him off, your voice breaking as you clung to him.

Trying not to cry.

Trying not to feel the weight of what you’d just done.

jeongin was asleep beside you.

Your eyes wide open, heart pounding with a thousand thoughts.

You had slept with both of them.

Both Han and jeongin.

And now, you were caught in the middle of something too big to name.

You loved them both.

You didn’t know what to do.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You get home, your fingers trembling as you lock the door behind you. The weight of everything, the stolen moments, the whispered secrets, the tangled feelings is crushing your chest like a thousand pounds. Your phone buzzes almost immediately. Han’s name flashes on the screen. You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I know what you did with jeongin.”

His message stares back at you like an accusation. The truth hangs heavy between you two now, unspoken but impossible to ignore. You don’t know what to say, what to do. You can feel the distance growing already, even though you’re the one hiding behind silence.

Days pass. You don’t show up to practice. The empty space where you should be is like a ghost haunting the studio. The other members reach out, but their messages feel distant, like background noise you can’t catch onto.

Except for two.

Han and jeongin.

Their texts come differently, each filled with urgency but also hesitance.

Han: “Can we meet? We need to figure this out.”

jeongin: “I don’t want to lose you, but we have to talk.”

You want to answer. You want to crawl back to one of them, or maybe both. But inside, your mind is a storm—swirling confusion, guilt, and an aching heart.

You lie awake at night, feeling sick, but not with a fever or cold sick with love. You’re drowning in it. It’s consuming every corner of your mind. You love them both. You really do. But the thought of choosing? It feels like losing a part of yourself.

The friendship you once had feels fragile, like glass shattering underfoot.

You decide, maybe, it’s better to leave things as they are try not to let it get any more complicated. To protect what little normalcy you have left. But it’s tearing you apart.

Then your phone buzzes again.

Han’s name. You open the message with trembling hands.

“I can’t keep waiting. You have to choose me or jeongin.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure it echoes in your ears.

Before you can even start to type a reply, another message pops up.

jeongin: “I’m not going to stand on the sidelines anymore. It’s me or nothing.”

Your breath catches. The screen blurs. You’re caught in the middle, every option burning, every choice impossible.

Your breath catches as the screen blurs before your eyes, heart pounding wildly in your chest. Two messages, two ultimatums, two futures hanging on a fragile thread. Jeongin’s words ring in your ears “It’s me or nothing.” Han’s desperate plea burns through your mind “You have to choose me or Jeongin.”

You stare at the screen, frozen, fingers hovering over the keys but unable to type. You love them both Jeongin, with his quiet, steady warmth that feels like home, the one who has always been your closest friend, the one who showed you what it meant to be truly seen. And Han fierce, open, raw who ignited something wild inside you, who saw all the parts of you you kept hidden.

But how can you choose between the two halves of your heart? How can you risk losing either of them when both mean everything to you?

The weight of it all presses down on your chest. You realize that love isn’t always clear-cut or easy. Sometimes it’s messy, tangled, confusing and sometimes the hardest battles are the ones fought within yourself.

You close your eyes, trembling, knowing that no matter what happens next, nothing will ever be the same again.

@sammhisphere @lilithmotans

A/N: comment to be added to tag list

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thewritingfairy · 3 days ago

Text

࣪ ִֶָ☾. a special drabble

based on my own gender dysphoria trigger warnings: neglect, dysphoria, chronic health issues main m.list series m.list

You look in the mirror and wonder who you are, you wonder what went wrong. You wonder how you wish you didn’t look as feminine as you do. You wonder how you just wish you look like nothing and everything all at once.

You wonder when you stopped breathing when your ‘family’ addressed you as she, as a woman. You wonder when you started crying every day for not just their neglect but how much you hate your body.

You wonder when it started, you wonder why you cannot recognise yourself as you look in the mirror. Sometimes you wonder if you feel this way because of your health, that you simply wish to be someone else. But even if that is what it is, it doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.

You just don’t want to be addressed as a woman, you just wish people saw you as you truly are.

So you slowly came out. “I don’t really care about pronouns,” you had said, twirling with your pen as you looked off to the side. Terrified of how your friends might react.

“Is that truly how you feel?” Francis asked and your breath had hitched. He noticed and he smiled in a way that comforted you greatly. “I meant if you truly don’t prefer a pronoun, because if you do we won’t mind, right guys?”

All of your friends made noises of agreement and Willow had dropped to the ground dramatically. “Does this mean I am no longer the token friend?” she had asked dramatically, her tone full of amusement and it truly did calm you. Even as Francis scolded her for pretending that she’s a token friend, that she is just an annoying friend (truly she isn’t, but siblings always fight don’t they?)

“I prefer they/them,” you had admitted and from that day foreword your friends called you by those pronouns and slowly your class picked up on it. And when you told your teachers everyone you knew started calling you they/them.

It’s kind of pathetic Tim never noticed while he was still in school, it made Duke hate him the most.

taglist (main story): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

#☾ thewritingfairy #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #platonic yandere batfam #yandere dc #batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #yandere platonic #yandere batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #neglected reader #x disabled reader #x gender neutral reader #no charracters tagged as this is drabble where they don't appear

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forwhomthewordsflow · 9 months ago

Text

Sleeping Conditions

steve harrington x fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: established relationship, some allusions to smut, reader has breasts, fluff, fluff, more fluff, some anxiety

author's note: i felt the need to validate my own specific sleeping conditions with this little blurb that ended up being longer than expected...we're not high maintenance! we just wanna sleep!

word count: 2.6k

The weatherman had jovially warned the city of Hawkins this morning about a bit of rain that was supposed to roll in later on in the evening. A slight drizzle, just enough to water the grass but nothing to worry about.

Except, the weatherman seemed to have underestimated today’s weather, because you were currently sat down on the couch at your boyfriend’s house watching the torrential downpour that was occurring outside his living room window.

Normally, this would be cause for celebration. An impromptu sleepover at Steve’s house! Yay!

But you were not celebrating, no. You were sort of freaking out, actually.

You’re able to fully recognize how strange it is for someone to have such specific sleeping conditions in the way that you do, but what are you supposed to do? It’s the only way you can really get a good night’s rest!

In your perfect world, you’re in your room where the thermostat is set at 69. There is not one light source in sight, you even make sure to throw a t-shirt over the tiny light on your alarm clock. Alone in your completely pitch black room, you’re able to sleep comfortably in just a pair of comfy panties. You love the way your two blankets, duvet, and jersey sheet set feel on your bare skin.

In order for you to be able to fall asleep the pillow under your head has to be just right, you have to have a slightly flatter pillow parallel to your body, your smallest blanket has to be tucked between your legs in a specific way, and the blankets have to be adjusted based on how hot or cold you feel on that particular night.

When plans are made for you to sleep somewhere else, you always make sure to bring your two pillows and your smallest blanket, but you still can’t seem to sleep that well unless you’re really tired.

It’s really a lot.

So naturally, with all of this in mind, you’re freaking out about having to stay the night at Steve’s house tonight.

You love him, you really do, but your relationship with him is still relatively new. You’ve only spent the night together a handful of times, and those nights of sleep for you were always aided by the effects of one too many drinks at the Hideout with friends or a passionate night of lovemaking.

You’ve never had a normal night in with Steve before.

And he is so excited about it.

Steve’s been craving any ounce of domesticity with you that he can get. Sure, he’s made you romantic dinners before and you’ve come over for movie nights a bunch of times, but it’s never been just a normal sleepover.

He can’t wait to watch you go through your night routine, to cuddle up with you in bed as you both fall asleep, and then to wake up to you tomorrow morning.

He was all too excited to alert you to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to drive home safely tonight, and that you’d most likely have to stay the night with him.

You’re thankful Steve hasn’t noticed how anxious you’re becoming as the night goes on, because he’s so sweet that you could cry.

He watched you through the mirror as you brushed your teeth together side by side.

The huge grin on his face made it hard for him to get to his back teeth, but he’d gladly sacrifice one night of dental hygiene for you any time.

He sat on the toilet and gazed adoringly at you as you washed your face and brushed your hair.

Steve was happy that the travel sized toiletries he’d purchased for you a couple weeks ago were being put to use.

You took a longer time than you normally would in an attempt to delay the inevitable, but Steve was on an opposite mission.

When you were finished in the bathroom, Steve ran into his bedroom to fix up his bed and lay out a t-shirt for you to sleep in.

You stood there nervously, holding the t-shirt in your slightly shaking hands. You know you won’t be able to sleep in this, but would Steve be comfortable with you sleeping practically naked? He might take it as a sign that you want to have sex or something, but you’re feeling much too anxious to get into that headspace right now.

Steve notices you standing at the foot of his bed, staring down at his faded Hawkins Athletics t-shirt in your hands.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Your head shoots up to meet his eyes, quickly trying your best to wipe the upset look off of your face. You nod your head and smile over at Steve.

Steve shoots you a warm grin, he’s not convinced that you’re totally fine, but he’s assuming you’re just a little nervous about the storm or staying the night with him.

You retreat back into his bathroom to change out of your clothes and into his t-shirt, which Steve finds a little odd. He’s seen every square inch of your body, and you’ve certainly changed in front of him before, but he shrugs and goes back to fluffing his pillows for you.

Meanwhile, you’re taking comfort in the smell of Steve on his shirt, holding it up to your nose and taking deep breaths over and over hoping to calm yourself down.

So what if you can’t sleep tonight? You’ve definitely survived through sleepless nights before.

But Steve would definitely notice if you couldn’t sleep. He’s so caring and attentive.

That means that he’ll be awake worrying about why you’re not asleep, which keeps him from getting any sleep, and then you’ll both just be awake and miserable all night long.

Maybe you should just pretend to fall asleep until he actually falls asleep.

You’re startled by a gentle knock on the door.

“Sweetheart? I’ve got the bed ready for us.”

You take one more deep breath, exiting the bathroom to envelope Steve in a tight hug around his chest.

He stumbles back a bit at the force of your affections, but is quick to wrap his strong arms around you with a warm chuckle into your hair.

“Ready for bed?” he asks you.

You sigh into his chest. “As I’ll ever be.”

After half an hour of cuddling with Steve, you’ve given up on all attempts to get comfortable.

It’s not that you weren’t comfortable in Steve’s arms, far from it. The feeling of his naked chest rising and falling against your back and his thick arms surrounding you was possibly the only thing keeping you from crawling out of your skin at the moment.

Steve’s felt your irregular breathing and squirming for the past ten minutes, but he didn’t want to distract you just in case you were on the cusp of falling asleep. It was the slightly irritated sigh you let out that let him know that something was wrong.

You knew you shouldn’t have sighed like that, but you couldn’t help it. The pillow under your head wasn’t right, the blanket on your legs was too warm, and you could feel the tag on Steve’s t-shirt resting at the back of your neck. You felt Steve’s arms tighten just a bit around you, you had hoped he’d been asleep.

“Hey, you okay?” he whispers into your ear.

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m okay,” you answer, “just trying to get comfy.”

You feel Steve rise to one elbow behind you and you turn your head to look up at him as he clicks on the lamp on his nightstand.

“What can I do to help?”

The sweet, adoring look on his face is what causes the dam to break, and your eyes fill with tears.

Steve is instantly alarmed, rushing to hold your face gently in one of his big hands.

“Baby, baby,” he coos, “Hey, what’s wrong, huh?”

You roughly wipe your face with the heels of your palms, and let out a trembling breath.

“It’s nothing, Steve. Let’s just go to bed, okay?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow together as he frowns down at you. “Baby, I’m sorry but something’s obviously wrong. Tell me what it is so I can fix it.” He brings his hand back up to your cheek and lets his thumb stroke your skin back and forth soothingly. You decide to let it all out.

“It’s just that–I can’t sleep here.”

Steve looks at you confused. “I–you’ve slept here before, right?”

“I mean, yes, but also no. It’s all so complicated Stevie.”

He sees that your walls are starting to come down with the use of your favorite pet name for him. He loves when you call him Stevie, it’s only when you’re being soft and sweet with him that you use it.

“Just tell me what’s bothering you, baby, please. Maybe I won’t think it’s so complicated.” Steve strokes the hair next to your ear and speaks to you in his lower, warmer, sleepy voice. It’s like a balm to all of your worries.

“I have these very specific sleeping conditions at home. If it’s not just right, then I can’t sleep.”

Steve nods his head. “What kind of conditions are we talking about?”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to lay it all out on the table in front of Steve, hoping and praying that he doesn’t think that you’re some kind of high maintenance freak when it’s all over.

“I can’t sleep with a shirt on, it feels weird on my skin. And I can’t sleep without my pillows from my bed. Or my blanket between my legs. And I feel all hot and itchy and it’s usually so cold and dark in my room.” You’d been ranting while making an effort to not meet Steve’s eyes, worried at what you might see there. When you finally do look at him, he’s hard to read.

“I know it’s a lot and it’s probably too much and I’m probably too much and-”

You're interrupted by Steve placing his pointer over your lips to silence you. The firm stare he’s fixing you with commands of your attention.

“First of all, you are not, ever too much. I can handle anything you throw at me, baby. I swear.”

The edges of your lips quirk up in the beginnings of a smile, Steve takes his finger from your lips and goes back to holding the side of your face.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this before we laid down?”

You huff softly and look away, embarrassed to have been so scared to tell him about your anxieties when he’s obviously the greatest, sweetest, most understanding boyfriend on the planet.

“I guess I was just nervous that you’d think I was high maintenance.”

Steve scoffs. “You’re saying this to the guy who used to wake up an hour earlier for school in the mornings so that he could do his hair every day.” Steve playfully growls into your neck when he says this, and you can’t hold back your giggles.

He looks at you, still stroking your hair, and smiles before planting a kiss on your lips and pulling away with a ‘mwah.’

“What can we do to make it better, hm?”

You think for a bit, and then sheepishly ask, “Would it be okay if I slept without my shirt?”

Steve blushes and blinks at you a few times, shocked that you’d even feel like you had to ask.

“Of course, baby. I’d never say no to that, c’mon now.” You both sit up, giggling softly as he helps you take your his shirt off. Steve seems to be trapped in a daze, his eyes glazing over as he takes in all of your newly naked skin.

“What’s next?” he slurs, still staring at your chest. You laugh and playfully shove his shoulder, breaking him out of his trance.

You look around at the bed and his room, biting your lip while you think of how else to make yourself more comfortable.

“Do you have any extra pillows maybe?” you ask, bringing your knees to your chest and resting your chin on top of them.

Steve does a quick survey of his room, then remembers that he might’ve seen some in his closet. He darts out of bed and makes his way over to his closet to search for them.

You take this opportunity to bask in the love you have for him. In the warm light of his lamp, you watch as the muscles of his upper body flex and ripple while he rummages through his closet. You can’t believe that this beautiful man is not only yours, but that he’s going through all of this effort just to make sure you can sleep comfortably with him in his bed. You’re so unbelievably lucky.

Steve turns around to triumphantly hold up two pillows for you to inspect.

“Which one?” He asks.

“Both, if that’s okay.” He nods and hurries back over to the bed, pillows in hand. You take one and place it on top of the one you had been laying on, trying to copy the fullness of your pillow at home. You take the second pillow and place it between your legs, for your right leg to rest on top of. You’d always loved sleeping on your side, but hated the feeling of your thighs sticking together.

Steve tries to be good, but he can’t help himself from watching your naked breasts move while you readjust the pillows to your liking. He feels a warmth in his chest as he observes you making yourself comfortable in his bed, and he wishes for many, many more nights like this.

You adjust the blankets around your leg so that your leg isn’t completely covered, and you finally lay down with a huff.

“Better?” Steve asks as he leans over to turn his lamp off. He’s happy to slide behind you once again, relishing in the feel of your bare skin on his.

“I think so.”

Everything is fine, really. It’s just that the pillow in between your thighs keeps slipping away. Ugh.

“You think so?” Steve tickles your side with his fingers, he loves the sound of your girlish giggles.

“It’s just the pillow between my legs. It won’t stay put.”

Steve takes a breath, assessing the situation. He doesn’t really have any other throw blankets lying around, and he makes a mental note to buy some more before the next time you come over. Then, he gets an idea.

“Can I try something?”

You turn your head towards him and nod, curious about what his idea is.

Steve takes the pillow from your legs and pulls it out from under the comforter, tossing it at the end of the bed. He then grabs your right thigh and lifts it a bit. You begin to question his plan, but then you feel the warmth of his right thigh sliding between yours. Steve hikes his knee up a little higher on the bed, so that his thigh fits snuggly in between your legs.

“Oh,” you say, cheeks heating up at the feeling of his thick, muscular thigh against your core.

You adjust your hips a bit, and then at last relax into Steve’s embrace, comfy at last.

Steve laughs smugly, “Is that alright?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, smiling and already feeling sleepier by the second.

“Goodnight sweetheart,” Steve whispers into your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“G’night Stevie,” you reply.

The last thing you feel before drifting off into dreamland are Steve’s arms tightening around you, holding you as you sleep soundly all through the night.

taglist <3

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @yujyujj @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics

#steve harrington fluff #steve x you #steve x reader #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanction #steve harrington x femreader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic

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