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storiesforallfandoms · 11 months

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i don’t ever wanna see you with him ~ roman godfrey;hemlock grove

word count: 2551

request?: no

description: after he gets jealous of her best male friend, she decides to put him in his place

pairing: roman godfrey x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

Roman Godfrey was spoiled and entitled. Everyone in Hemlock Grove knew that. He was the heir to the massive empire in their small town, so it wasn’t a surprise that he had a sense of entitlement. That entitlement tended to extend to his romantic relationships, too. Roman was often very possessive and jealous over his girlfriends. Most of them liked that, most of them viewed it as hot and endearing.

(Y/N) was not one of those girls.

She and Roman had met through (Y/N)’s best friend, Peter. He was enamored with her the minute he laid his eyes on her, and, secretly, (Y/N) had felt the same way. Not that she would ever tell him that. She had been warned about Roman before she met him. She wasn’t about to give into him so easily; she made him work for it - for her. And he really did put in the work until (Y/N) trusted his commitment to her and agreed to date him.

There was one issue about Roman, though, and that was his jealousy towards (Y/N) and Peter’s friendship. He thought he kept it lowkey, but both Peter and (Y/N) knew. They both knew Roman better than he thought they did. They could see when his eyes darkened whenever he looked at them. They could see his jaw tighten whenever (Y/N) laughed at something Peter said. They could see the way Roman always needed to be touching (Y/N) whenever the three of them were hanging out.

It wasn’t that Roman didn’t like Peter. When it was just the two of them, they were the best of friends. It was Peter with (Y/N) that Roman didn’t like. And that was what pissed (Y/N) off. Peter had been her friend long before he was Roman’s, and long before Roman and (Y/N) started dating. And that’s all they were - friends. There had never been any sort of romantic feelings between them, and there never would be.

That’s why (Y/N) was walking up to Peter’s trailer on her own on a sunny afternoon. He was laying in a hammock, his eyes closed as he soaked up the sun. Upon hearing her footsteps, he opened one eye and peered over at her.

“Where’s your shadow?” he asked.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “He’s not that attached to me.”

“He may as well be a wart on your ass, (Y/N). Especially when it comes to me.”

“He’s certainly a pain in my ass,” (Y/N) muttered. “Move over, I want some hammock.”

Peter chuckled and shuffled over slightly. (Y/N) got into the hammock, laying with her feet towards Peter’s head and her head towards his feet. The hammock swayed with the motions before it settled again.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” (Y/N) said as her body relaxed into the swaying fabric.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Roman. I didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“Is that healthy? Like, for your relationship.”

“I didn’t lie to him or anything. He’s busy with some family shit, so I haven’t even heard from him yet today. If he were to ask, I’d tell him I’m here.”

“And then he’d show up and kick my ass.”

(Y/N) sighed and rested her head back against the hammock. “Do you think he’ll ever stop being so...”

“So Roman?” Peter finished. (Y/N) nodded. “It’s hard to tell. His entire life he’s been surrounded by enablers, or he’s been under the control of his insane mother. I think we’re the first people to treat him like an actual person and not like he owns the world. So either we could help him, or he’ll annoy us both to a point where we can’t deal with him anymore.”

The latter option was what worried (Y/N) the most. She loved Roman, other than his jealousy he was an amazing boyfriend who loved and cared for her so deeply. She didn’t want to lose him, but she knew Peter had a point about if Roman couldn’t control that jealousy. She couldn’t live the rest of her life wondering how Roman was going to react to every guy she interacted with, whether it was friends, co-workers, or just random guys she ran into on the street. And she definitely was not going to be made to choose between Roman and Peter when she had known and been friends with Peter the longest.

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Peter knew what she was thinking. It wasn’t the first time they had this conversation.

They fell into a comfortable silence. There really didn’t need to be any conversation. This was the first time in quite some time that the two were able to spend time together and actually enjoy it. So that’s what they were doing: enjoying their time.

The enjoyment didn’t last too long, though, as they heard a car pulling up in front of Peter’s place. Peter’s mom’s car was already in the driveway, so there was only one person it could be. That suspicion was confirmed by a car door slamming and Peter rolling his eyes when he saw whoever it was approaching. (Y/N) huffed out a sigh as she prepared herself for the argument that was undoubtably coming.

“You two look comfy,” Roman commented.

“We are,” Peter responded. “Wanna join? you can lay across us.”

Roman glared at him before turning to (Y/N). “I was trying to call you. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

She looked down at her purse where her phone was, which she had left on the ground when she climbed into the hammock. She gestured to it. “It’s too far away for me to reach. And my phone is on vibrate, as it always is, and you know that.”

His jaw clenched. (Y/N) felt her frustration reaching its peak.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” Roman asked.

“Well, for one, you haven’t responded to my texts at all today, so it’s not like I’ve even been talking to you today,” (Y/N) retorted. “And two, you don’t own me, Roman. I’m not required to tell you every single thing I’m doing or where I’m going.”

“You do if you’re hanging out with other guys by yourself.”

(Y/N) swung her legs over the side of the hammock and stood up so quickly that Peter nearly flipped out of it. She approached Roman with such ferocity that Roman took a step back before she reached him.

“Let me tell you one thing, Roman Godfrey: I’m done with this jealousy bullshit. I am not your property, I am your girlfriend. You do not control where I go or who I’m friends with. Especially when the person in question is my best friend who I’ve known way before I met you. This dark, entitled rich boy bullshit might work on other girls in this town, but it’s not working on me. If you want someone to put up with that, then you may as well find someone else to be your girlfriend, cause I can’t do this anymore.”

She picked up her purse and put it over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Roman asked as she started walking away.

“Anywhere that’s away from you!” she hissed. Over her shoulder she added, “I’ll talk to you later, Peter.”

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was home by herself that night. Her parents had gone out to some kind of function, and had asked if she wanted to tag along, but she told them to go on without her. She felt like she needed some time alone to come to terms with what had happened that day.

Peter had texted her asking if she was okay, but she hadn’t responded. She wasn’t upset with him by any means, as he didn’t even do anything wrong, but she just felt like she didn’t want to talk just yet. When she did respond, it was going to be to tell him she wanted to forget everything that had happened that day and to move on as if everything was normal, minus the fact that she and Roman were no longer together.

Roman hadn’t texted or called at all. She wasn’t sure if it hurt more that he hadn’t, or if it had hurt less.

She was sat in the living room, half paying attention to some movie that was playing on TV, when a knock came at the door. The sudden sound startled (Y/N). She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she knew her parents weren’t either as they weren’t even home. She figured it might be a door to door salesman, or someone trying to talk to her about the Lord, although it seemed too late at night for any of that. Either way, she stood from the couch and went to answer the door.

Standing there, leaning against her doorway, was Roman Godfrey.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“Can I come in?” he asked in return.

“Not until you answer my question.”

“I came to talk to you.”

“You have a phone, which I know you know how to use because you were blowing mine up before you came to attack me and Peter.”

“I wanted to come talk to you in person. You’d be more likely to answer the door if you didn’t know I was coming than to answer your phone if you knew it was me calling.”

Okay, he has a point.

(Y/N) reluctantly stepped aside and gestured for Roman to come in. She closed the door behind him and led him towards the living room. She had been sat with all the lights off before Roman knocked and hadn’t realized just how dark the room had become. She switched on a small table lamp and muted the movie before sitting back in her spot on the couch.

“Your parents aren’t home?” Roman asked.

“No, they’re gone to some gala for dad’s work,” she responded. “Don’t get any funny ideas. We’re not together anymore, remember?”

Roman winced, as if her words had physically harmed him. “Yeah, I know. That’s what I came to talk about.”

He sat down next to her on the couch, but left a respectable distance between them. She appreciated that it seemed like he wasn’t trying to be too pushy towards her or anything, at least not yet.

“Go on then,” she said, waving her hand at him. “Start talking. What was so important that you had to come down from your castle to speak to the commoner?”

Roman scowled at her. “You know you’re not a commoner.”

“Compared to you and your wealth I am. But that’s not the conversation we’re having right now. Whatever it is you wanted to say, say it, and then I’ll decide whether or not I want you to leave immediately.”

Roman sighed and ran his hands through his hair. (Y/N) quickly glanced at the dark brown strands that were between his fingers. His hair was always incredibly soft. (Y/N) always loved to run her hands through his hair and seized every opportunity to do so. She had to look away just as quickly and shove down those painful memories. She couldn’t let herself break and go back to him just because of something so trivial.

“I’m sorry.”

The words shocked (Y/N) so much that she almost physically jumped when he said them. They were words she had very rarely ever heard said with such sincerity coming from Roman’s mouth. She had heard it in sarcastic mutters under his breath whenever his mother chastised him for something stupid, or said to defuse a situation that was getting a little too heated, but this wasn’t in either of those ways. This time, he actually meant it.

“Can you say that again?” (Y/N) asked.

Roman chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I said I’m sorry.”

“One more time.”

“(Y/N), I do have more to say.”

“Yeah, but this is what I want to hear.”

Roman shook his head at her, a smile threatening to break out across his face. “Look, what you said earlier, at Peter’s, you were right. You are my girlfriend, not my property. I shouldn’t have been so possessive and attempting to control your friendship with Peter. I just...every time you two are together, I’m reminded about the fact that you and Peter are close, and that you’ve been close for a very long time. I know that Peter isn’t as much of a prick as I am, some would say he’s an actual nice guy I guess. I know there’s nothing between the two of you, but there’s always been this fear in the back of my mind that maybe...maybe that could change. That you would want Peter more than you want me.”

There was hurt in his big green eyes. His confession surprised her because Roman always seemed so confident in himself. It was one of the first things she had ever heard about him, about how cocky he was.

“Why did you never tell me before?” she asked.

Roman shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to seem like a crazy, possessive boyfriend. I didn’t realize I had already been acting like that. I actually thought I was hiding it well.”

“Yeah, because showing up to Peter’s place because I didn’t answer my phone is totally not a crazy, jealous boyfriend move.”

He chuckled. “Okay, touché. That was not one of my better moments.”

“None of how you were acting was one of your better moments,” (Y/N) said. “I would’ve much preferred you to have told me how you were feeling instead of bottling them up and allowing yourself to treat your best friend like garbage whenever we were hanging out.”

Roman cringed. “I did treat Peter pretty terribly, didn’t I? God, he probably hates me.”

“You’re definitely not his favorite person right now, but I’m sure you can get back in his good graces by acting like an actual person and not like a jealous piece of shit.”

“What about your good graces?”

(Y/N) thought to herself for a moment. He had come to apologize in person. He knew the way he had acted was wrong, he actually apologized for it, and it seemed like he was willing to make a change. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to work on the jealousy and actually change it.

“I think you can get back there,” she said. “You’ll just have to work for it again.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

(Y/N) smiled. She moved closer towards him and unmuted the movie. “You can start by cuddling me and finishing this bullshit movie with me.”

He smiled back at her and put his arm around her shoulder. “I can do that. But why are we finishing the movie if it’s bullshit?”

“Because I’m invested in the bullshit.”

Roman chuckled and pulled (Y/N) towards him. She rested her head against his shoulder and he put his head on hers. He tested the waters by placing a kiss on the top of her head. (Y/N) didn’t argue. Instead, she turned her head to kiss his cheek before settling against him again.

#Roman Godfrey #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #hemlock grove #hemlock grove imagine #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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setsugekka · 10 months

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❥the sun will rise, and we will try again (m)

↳ Minho would tell himself everyday that it was good enough. That he was happy enough. Content enough. Alive just enough.

He chose you over himself, you just never really knew it.

lee minho x fem!reader — friends to lovers, unrequited love, angst, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [11,6k wc] cws: heavy pining, alcohol consumption, sexual activity under the influence, penetrative sex (unprotected), some light teasing.

Minho has never been sure whether to curse or be forever indebted to his eidetic memory.

On one hand, it made school a breeze, and the majority of his career prospects thereafter similarly simplified. Not that he had taken any of them truly to heart, obviously — given the fact that he had followed you all of the way to another country for not much reason beyond feeling like it.

That’s what he said, that’s always what he would say.

But it’s his eidetic memory that has such a particular way in proposing his suffering. He deliberates that he may always remember exactly what it was that you were wearing that night, and precisely the food stands that surrounded the two of you at that moment in time. It’s been three years since that night and the two of you had attended the Christmas festival each and every time — the same one, same location — and sure, the shop locations and snack booths change year after year; the only constant being the large glühwein stand in the middle of the festival which served as the prime meeting spot for all of the attendees.

A large windmill-looking contraption, seats strewn about as far as one could see and people at every inch of one another — laughing, smiling.

Loving.

And Minho remembers this night in particular because it was the first year that the two of you had moved to Germany together — you for school and Minho for…his own reasons. Years later and of all of the things he does remember, he’s not sure he recalls whichever lie it was that he had told you about why it was that he chose to move to another country with you; the only thing that was for sure, is that whatever he said was not the truth.

Long, tan coat with a burgundy scarf accenting colorfully, Minho remembers watching the way you struggled to hold the strap of your bag up and on your shoulder as you juggled a glass of glühwein in one hand, and your change in euros in another — realizing that dealing in cash was a rather distinctly Berlin sort of thing that would certainly take some getting used to — but taking your bag and slinging it over his shoulder, hearing the desperate exhale of a “thank you” escaping from your lips as if freedom had surely been assumed to never come — he pulls the polaroid camera out from the main pocket and smiles with just the left corner of his mouth, holding it up and dangling it in front of you. “Shall we? Commemorate the move?”

Minho takes one of the two of you together, you snuggled up into his arm next to him in an attempt to fit into the frame — he takes another — and then for the third one, it’s the moment he’ll certainly never forget for as long as he lives, he truly believes that.

The way your arms wrapped around his own in the instant and warm lips pressed to the skin of his cheek just as he takes the photograph. It became quite a topic of humor once the film developed — the look of shock on Minho’s face at the sudden realization of what had physically occurred. And emotionally.

Minho knows that he was in love with you long before that moment — and well aware of it at the time, as well. Figure one would have to be to move to another country just to be around a person — and sure, the two of you were friends and had been for a good while prior but…it was a big change, a huge leap of faith. Minho thinks, his final shot at what could be the rest of his life.

And it was an easy choice for him. A man with no particular ties to home and a hunger for adventure — for seeing, doing, experiencing. Despite having never even been to Germany prior, he found himself now uprooting his entire life to go live there for however long it took. Whatever it was, at least. Acknowledgment? Acceptance? Love? Loss? Minho figured that at the end of this, he would have some answer, and may as well get to experience life while he was at it.

Although, perhaps choosing to live together wasn’t the best option, given the circumstances. His circumstances. Not to be confused with circumstances that the two of you were equally and equivocally involved in and aware of. He was well aware that his feelings were one-sided.

Until they weren’t.

It’s another moment in time in which his photographic memory deserts him in the most cruel ways. All of the test taking and number crunching in the world that served him well, only to betray him like a dagger straight to the heart. A scene that he can’t stop replaying in his mind even still. It’s been years.

For the most part, Minho has learned to let go — to move on. Minho has learned to be precisely what you need him to be in your life — crushing and deforming himself to fit into the exact mold that you find ideal at any point in time. A friend. A companion.

After two and a half months of perfect dating bliss (if you were to ask him, of course) he still remembers the way you smiled at him — pathetically, like you were cooing at a puppy who wasn’t able to get it’s way — when you told him that you just wanted to be friends. That they should go back, undo, revert the process.

Long, long after Minho had already ingrained the taste of you into his mind for the rest of eternity, and the way you looked the first time he kissed you, when it wasn’t the intent of a couple of drunk friends late one night just having a giggle.

Lee Minho resigned himself to making himself as small as he had to in order to make you feel as big as you could, unbeknownst to you, of course. Any way that he was required to bend and lessen, he was happy to oblige — an alternate state of happiness, perhaps.

You were always going to be the only thing that mattered, forever, he thought; and at the expense of himself, if necessary.

He thinks often about how he simply just doesn’t want you to forget where you belong; and not in a possessive, jealous, weird wannabe-boyfriend kind of way, it’s just that he truly is in love with you and will do anything for you, and that love like that — romantic or otherwise — is hard to come by nowadays. Minho had always prided himself on his absolute devotion to people. To anything that he deemed worthy of himself.

You, the most worthy in his eyes, albeit you would never know, probably.

And that was the burden that Minho had to bear after that night of being told that all of the late night kisses, and cuddling, and holding hands in your center-city loft: for a fleeting moment in time, he was able to live precisely the way that he had dreamed of with you — memories he would have to hold onto to despite the pain that they held, because they also served as the happiest simultaneously. He contemplates often if he should have told you in that moment — told you everything — spilled his guts out for you, a full display of raw emotion and disgusting vulnerability. Would it have mattered? Would it have changed the course of the relationship? Friendship?

Minho looks down at his phone, setting next to him on the concrete flooring of your shared balcony, tapping the screen to illuminate it with intent to read the time.

“Almost 2am, eh?” he says to no one, tipping the beer bottle in his hand all of the way back in an attempt to drip any remainder of alcohol onto his tongue, but to no avail. Rolling his eyes, he abruptly sets the bottle down, clattering with the other four empty bottles also keeping him company.

“Late night,” he adds under his breath, as if to be playing out a conversation between two people despite no one else being present. This is by design, because Minho would rather be dead than ever make his own problems, yours.

But he knows where you are, and he knows what you’re doing.

And most pained of all, he knows who with.

For Minho, moving to Germany with you was an easy decision — not one he had put a lot of thought into. A man that fresh out of college made a good living for himself freelancing photography work along with a handful of other things here or there, it landed him a comfortable amount of money to play around with for a while, and Berlin being the relatively cheap city that it was; affordable accommodation helped make the choice even simpler.

Plus, it was with you, as if he would ever give up the opportunity.

And it wasn’t some deeply considered, manipulative, creepy attempt at trying to mind game you into a relationship with him — that happening was all-in-all, a happy accident. Of course, the ideal outcome of his, but not gamed for, not finagled. More than anything, Minho just wanted to be around you. Exist in your space. Experience a life with you in it; by whatever means necessary.

He would find, however, that this would result in grave emotional torment. Every day waking up and going to sleep feeling the same way: having to swallow the hot dagger of things not being exactly how one wishes them to be. It was good enough, sometimes suffering is. These are the choices we make to coexist with others.

Minho would tell himself everyday that it was good enough. That he was happy enough. Content enough. Alive just enough.

He chose you over himself, you just never really knew it.

When you eventually crawl out of your bedroom at a quarter past eight in the morning, you come to find your roommate already sitting at the shared dining room table — coffee in-hand and newspaper lying on the table. A sight for sore eyes, that Lee Minho. Always stable. Rarely changing. If there was one thing you could count on, it was him — for better or for worse, as it were.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says dryly, eyes not prying themselves from the words laid out in front of him, “long night?”

He’s being funny, or so he thinks — knowing how hungover you are.

“Ha ha, Lino,” you quip back, accessorizing with his nickname from college to express just how unamused you are by the exchange already. “Yeah, I got in pretty late. What time did you go to bed?”

“Around midnight,” he lies, and it feels like a jab to the heart every time he does, not enjoying the habit he’s made recently of telling little fibs to you in the moment.

“Lucky you,” you respond, pouring yourself a coffee and plopping yourself down into a white chair adjacent to the one where he sits. “But I don’t have class today so I suppose it’s fine. Do you want to do anything?”

Minho finally looks up, eyes slowly pulling from the article he had been reading, “are you capable of doing anything today?”

“Oh my god, I had a few drinks, I didn’t get annihilated, calm down. Let me have a coffee and a painkiller and I’ll be fine,” you quickly answer, rolling your eyes. “I want to go to the mall to get a new dress.”

Always somehow the best and worst way to spend a day with you, he thinks to himself.

“Alright, let me know. Alexanderplatz? I might want to take some photos while we’re out that way.” he adds, looking back to his newspaper and sipping from his mug.

“Of course, Princess,” you respond, kicking back the rest of what’s in your mug and standing to head back towards your bedroom. “Anything you want.”

Deep down, despite knowing the joke, Minho always hates it just a tiny amount when you say that — because it’s not true. However, over the years, and especially in Berlin now, Minho has absolutely mastered the art of acting; of not projecting, of maintaining a cool, calm and collected demeanor.

You’ll never know the way he dies by your hand every day. Not if he can help it, at least.

The mall is busy, Alexa Centre typically is, but especially around holiday season with the Christmas festival just across the street, and Minho can’t help but regret just a bit his agreeing to come with you for this excursion.

“What did we come here for, again?” he asks, trying to manage his tone as to not sound exceptionally annoyed. Which he is, but he doesn’t want to sound it.

"I need a dress,” you reply, rolling your eyes because you can see right through him regardless.

And Minho sort of wants to forget the reason again, because he knows what a new dress entails.

“You should get something new, too, you’ve been cycling through the same shit for a few years now,” you tell him, linking an arm into his and pulling him into the direction that you had desired to go.

To Minho, every moment with you happens in slow motion — so that he carefully craft the memory; etch it into his brain for all of eternity, at least that’s what he hopes. Every touch, every split second of intimacy — whether as friends or anything else — he doesn’t care. These are all of his moments. The flip book he proverbially looks through every night before he goes to sleep to remind himself of what he’s doing, and why he’s there, and all of the ways that he has failed as every second passes by.

“Yeah, I guess I should,” he answers, allowing himself to be dragged into a shop and stopping next to you in front of a mannequin — adorned with a silver, loosely fitted, glittery dress and a large, fluffy black coat atop it.

“Wow,” you say, a little bit in awe at the outfit on the mannequin, but more so at what the outfit on the mannequin could mean for your trip to the Centre. “If I'm really able to get this shopping trip done this quickly, it’ll be a fucking miracle.”

Minho laughs and agrees, moseying himself over to the men’s section and rifling through some long-sleeved shirts on the hanger. It’s only a short while before you return to meet him, shopping bags indicating a successful foray into Alexanderplatz, and in record time, at that.

“I’m gonna get something,” he says, pulling a few hangers onto his arm and continuing to look around. It was a good trip, things had gone well.

And we can’t have that, now can we?

“Are you still seeing that girl?”

Minho stops in his tracks, frozen in place by the question. It’s certainly not an out of place one by any means — not given the relationship between the two of you. Friends tend to talk about their romantic situations…circumstances…affairs.

But truthfully, he hated talking about it with you, because it made him feel fake.

Minho did date. In fact, he had been seeing the same woman for a few months now. Not anything serious — and yes, she knew that — but it was the phoniness of the entire thing. He sits awake in bed every night pining for another woman that he can’t have while he runs around and attempts to forget it between the legs of the one that he can have.

He hated that man. That man, like every other man. But deeply, Minho was looking for any sign that he could eventually forget you, let you go. Move on. He figured he would be doing you and himself a disservice to not at least try.

Suppose sometimes that comes with collateral damage — albeit, with intent to take the best care he could.

“Yeah,” he finally responds after what feels like hours, “she’s been busy so we haven’t met lately but, yeah.”

“We should all go out together some time!”

Sounds like a fucking miserable idea.

"I’d like that, let me know,” he responds. Fucking fool. God forbid he let you suffer for even a second at the expense of his own well being.

Despite the relative quickness of the shopping trip, rain falls from the skies as the two of you exit the large shopping mall — people crowded around under the awning in feeble attempt to stay dry — the wind not lending itself to the endeavor, and Minho looks over at you as you attempt to shield yourself from the wetness; strands of hair strewn about and squinting, he pulls out his camera for the first time since the two of you have left the apartment and snaps a quick shot of your profile. You slap his arm playfully as he brings the device back down from his face and smiles.

“I must look crazy in that photo, quit it.”

“Nah, you don’t,” he replies, looking back at it on the digital display. He reconsiders not once, but twice, if he should say the thought really running through his mind.

His heart tends to get the best of him, however.

“You look beautiful.”

And you smile at him in response before letting out a quiet “oh shut up,” Minho puts the camera down and away once again.

He finds himself musing to no one all too often, perhaps, “am I allowed to look at her like that?” And unfortunately, never being met with an answer.

Minho is happy for every day that goes by where he is not met with an invitation to go double dating with you and your partner, but as the days drag on with no such invite and more noticeably, you spending more time at the apartment, he begins to feel a worry — a distinct cloud of eerie sadness wafting over the shared living space that is never acknowledged. Every relationship has it’s struggles — Minho forces himself to not wish ill of yours, despite knowing that the wishing of any intent does little in actuality. Would it make him a bad man to wish for you and your partner to break up?

He feels guilt every time the fleeting thought passes by him, but still it passes by all the same.

After a week, Minho startles to the sound of you knocking on his door close to midnight. Meek knocks, knocks entirely unlike you.

“They said it wasn’t working out, I don’t know,” you say, arms crossed and shoulder leaned up against the door frame of Minho’s bedroom. “I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

“Are you okay?” Minho asks, shifting in his seat — uncomfortable with the topic, and the nervous energy coursing through him at the prospect. He disgusts himself, on some basic, primal level.

You sigh and shrug. “Yeah, I mean, it’s fine,” you start, answering on the exhale. “We weren’t together all that long and it was just kind of casual so…it’s fine.”

Make a move on his newly single best friend, Lee Minho absolutely will not. Not under any circumstances. Minho questions if he would make any sort of move on you at all, under any circumstances at all, and fails to come up with a scenario in which he might.

But it delights him, deep down, no longer having to deal with the intrusive thoughts of the sheets you lie between elsewhere. For now.

“Hey, I know it’s late but uhh,” you begin, changing your demeanor from a solemn one to a more joyous one in an attempt to pick up the mood. “Would you want to like…go get a drink and some take out or something tonight?”

And Minho simply smiles at the proposition.

“Sure, of course I would.”

It’s one of those nights where you’re happy to be living where you are. Berlin — seemingly a city that never really sleeps, with corner stores open for hours on end and selling just about anything you could imagine — including alcohol; it's a stop to the nearest one before the kebab place on the adjacent corner, to then make your way to the dimly lit park only a couple of blocks down from the apartment. A relatively cold night, not one the two of you would be loitering in under normal circumstances certainly — but desperate times call for desperate measures, and to Minho, “anything that you desire” falls into that slot. Thus, chilled to the bone with a bottle of wine to share between the two of you and a kebab each — you sit on a cool, grassy hill just under a couple of trees where the visual of the streets and the very much alive city sidewalks still remain lit. Minho takes it upon himself to steal a few glances at you, of course — some from his peripheral — some much less inconspicuous, as you speak about living in the city and how much you have been enjoying it, how you considered never moving back home.

How you had everything that you needed right here already.

“What do you think?” you ask the man next to you, turning and looking towards him as he stares out towards the streets not too far off from where the two of you sit — wine bottle in hand and taking a swig directly from it before beginning to answer.

Trying to figure out which lie to tell you this evening.

“I like it here too,” he replies, trying to reign in any volume of emotional tone from his words. “It’s nice.”

“It’s nice? That’s it?” you chuckle, stealing the bottle from his hands with playful aggression and sipping from it just the same as he had. “Sounds like you could be anywhere, then.”

Internally, Minho laughs at just how unfathomably untrue that statement is.

“It’s a beautiful city and I enjoy being here,” he amends, carefully and not wanting to give too much of himself to the conversation. “And of course, I enjoy spending time with you.”

Even just saying it makes his heart drop into his stomach, despite it being a completely normal thing for friends to think and feel towards one another. To say 'I enjoy your company, thank you for being a part of my life.'

Minho knows that it feels bad because the intent is off. Truthful words hiding behind a cloak of fictitiousness. It’s true but in all of the wrong ways.

“Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine being here with anyone else.”

Words that flip Minho’s entire world upside down in an instant.

In a movie, this would be the moment where he finally kisses the girl, confesses his feelings for her and empties his heart right at her feet — only for her to joyously accept him and his love, and for them to live happily ever after.

He’d have been lying if he said he didn’t consider it.

But in the end, he settles for the removal of a wine bottle from your hands — drinking down the remains, and standing up in place — reaching a warm hand down to you for you to take.

“It’s getting late, we should get back home.”

When the two of you do arrive back home, taking turns showering in the single shared bathroom and trading off goodnight wishes before retiring to each room, Minho flops himself into his bed for the night — arm draped across his forehead to do his typical pre-sleep routine of torturing himself with countless thoughts of what if’s and what could be’s. On tonight’s agenda; a little special treat of realizing that he is no longer in any position to be dating anyone else — that things have become too entrenched. He was not escaping you, not so long as this continued to go on.

He realizes in the moment that this was always the life that he had chosen. Was it really reasonable to assume that he would ever be capable of being in a good, healthy, committed relationship with another person? Unlikely. Long ago, years ago, when Minho had chosen you, he had chosen all of the things that would go along with that.

Including the endless pining of not being with you, albeit, this not a part of the manual when signing up, of course.

For the first time, Minho acknowledges and makes peace with how unhealthy his pining is. It’s easy to make a case for anything when it’s impact on your life is easy to ignore. They say “when it starts impacting your life negatively, that’s when you know you have a problem.”

He knows, he just doesn’t necessarily want to fix it — not in the way that may be required of him, at least.

“I love you, why won’t you let me.”

The words ring through his brain repeatedly as he dozes off to sleep, but not before sending off a lazy text to the other woman, about how they should have lunch tomorrow — to talk.

such a unique flavor of masochism, unrequited love.

Minho sometimes finds himself wondering what goes through your mind when someone mentions his name to you.

He tries not to allow himself much time to it — because the what if’s make him crazy with unknowns, but certain weak, lonely nights at home — nights when you’re out with friends, or late with class work, he can’t help himself. Does it make you smile? Do you get butterflies? Do you feel anything?

One particularly lonely Wednesday night, he reminisces about the first time he met you. A weekend spent together as a result of a mutual friends gathering: a rental home for an after-semester getaway for partying, relaxing, maybe even hooking up. At least, that had been Minho’s plan. Meet a nice girl, have a nice weekend together, probably never speak to her again after the fact. Nothing against her, he just hadn’t been looking for anything at the time.

Love has a funny way of knowing when you’re least equipped for taking it on.

You walking into the house in your skinny jeans and a loose sweater, bag slung over your shoulder — Minho doesn’t believe in love at first sight on a fundamental level, and he would certainly never attribute the connection the two of you shared to it if he were asked.

It was a thought he kept to himself, completely asinine and unreasonable as it was, he couldn’t ignore the truth of the matter.

He remembers Hyunjin introducing the two of you when the three of you had all found yourselves at the makeshift bar — watching you attempt to find an empty cup that was not previously used with much trouble. Minho holds out an empty and seemingly dry cup from his hand and towards you without saying a word. He remembers the way you stared at him like he was insane, and like he surely thought you were an idiot.

Hyunjin catches the scene, sliding himself over and between the two, “it’s okay,” he assures you. “He’s mine, he means no harm.”

“Kind of nuts for a woman to take a cup from a strange man at a house party, don’t you think?” you say in response, not entirely to Hyunjin alone, but also to the stranger in front of you.

“I accidentally had two,” Minho says dryly, pointing to the bottom of his own cup that had a beverage inside of it. “It was stuck, but you’re welcome to continue on your search.”

It’s against your better judgment in usual circumstances, but with Hyunjin’s glowing approval you take the chance — accepting it and pouring yourself a drink. Holding it up in a bit of a cheers towards the man with the brown hair and the sort of crooked smile, you thank him.

That was the moment, for whatever reason. You didn’t know it, there was no indication at all.

That night, as he stands with you in a group of people, listening to the way you speak and interact with not only them, but him — he thinks that he’s probably going to fall in love with you. Looking back now, he realizes he already had by the time the drunken conversation about whether people have one or two butts had begun to take place in the living room of the rental home.

Minho would find himself spending the next year contemplating all of the ways that the two of you would be perfect for one another. The nature of infatuation — you can convince yourself of it easily, can’t you?

It’s been years now, of Minho never saying what he’s really thinking. Suppose people never really do? That’s what he tells himself.

“Do you want to go to this party tonight?”

Minho looks up from his book, sprawled out lengthwise along his bed in sweatpants and a black shirt with bleached out splotched from the last time he had attempted to do his hair and he finds the question a little hilarious, given the way he currently looks — in no position to be seen by people, and hardly even much of one to be seen by you.

“Um,” he starts, squinting a bit as he attempts to run the idea through his mind. “Where? Who?”

“Couple of friends from my humanities class are having a get together,” you say, shrugging as the words leave your mouth. “We’re not doing much else so figured I’d ask.”

“Yeah, sure,” Minho answers, slowly sitting himself up from his bed and sliding a bookmark in between pages before closing his reading material. “Give me like, thirty minutes?”

You roll your eyes. “Who are you going there to impress?”

People don’t say what they’re really thinking.

“Can’t I not want to look like I just rolled out of bed?”

“You are just rolling out of bed”

“yes, but I don’t want to look like it,” Minho insists, standing and walking towards his clothing rack, “now get the hell out so I can get ready.”

“Oh my god,” you exasperate on your exit.

The playful banter being one of the things Minho loves about your friendship the most. Play fighting made his heart skip a beat or two, every time. A bizarre charming point, perhaps, but a charming point to him all the same.

When the two of you arrive to the apartment, the gathering is already in full swing. A relatively small grouping of people — all from different places in the world — a few drink options sitting out on the kitchen counter but nothing too excessive or over the top, Minho is actually pleased to find that this would probably just end up being a reasonably chill night. A night to just spend time in your presence, and among good company. He introduces himself to your friends and vice versa before settling down on one of the smaller sofas in the general living space with small drinks in hand. You look at him, watching him survey his surroundings in the same way that he always does — taking everything in. Enjoying the moment.

“Tonight will be nice,” you say softly to him, leaning over to nudge him lightly. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Of course,” he responds before bringing his glass to his lips and sipping, “everyone seems nice.”

“They are,” you affirm as you take a sip of your own.

A few hours into the night, right around 11pm, the host of the party calls for the attendees to gather around the living room for fun and games. Minho raises an inquisitive eyebrow, unsure of what to expect, but another caring nudge from you settles him once again.

It always was just that easy for you with him.

As the host carries on an explanation of what was planned for the rest of the night, you lean into him and ask delicately, “sorry for asking if it’s a sore spot but…did you and that girl stop seeing each other?”

After all, love is a pretty good reason to make everything go wrong.

Minho shifts in his seat a bit, and almost choking on the liquid he had just taken into his mouth he manages to swallow down and sort of chuckle. “Yeah, not a big deal, though. We both agreed.”

Lying to you never got easier no matter how many times he did it.

“Ah,” you respond, unsure of how else to carry on the topic. “Well that’s good — I mean, it’s not good, but it could have been worse…I guess? Sorry.”

Do you know what it’s like to be so in love with someone that you can’t even breathe?

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

Sort of true, depending on how you look at it.

The two of you bring your attention back to the host in just the moment that they mention a game of truth or dare. Minho’s fight or flight response kicks in immediately despite his perfectly managed demeanor on the outside and you can’t help but feel a bit of discomfort yourself. Doing things that you wouldn’t normally do was not your idea of fun, even in the nature of a game.

And as the game carries on among the people in the room, everyone makes it out relatively unscathed. No one being asked to do especially heinous acts, Minho begins to feel a sigh of relief at the fact that he might actually be able to get out of this night having only had to chug a beer, or maybe lick a kitchen floor — all things he can manage without a care.

“Okay Minho, truth or dare,” a blonde girl from across the room shouts a bit louder than necessary.

“Dare, give it your best shot!” he responds enthusiastically, happily playing along with the atmosphere of the evening.

“Okay,” she smirks, tone dropping into something a bit mischievous, and in the moment Minho truly considers that maybe he got a little bit too brave.

“Seven minutes in heaven with her,” she says, pointing towards you. “Should be easy enough, shouldn’t it?”

He swallows hard, because of course it is. The two of you live together. Your entire life is effectively one long game of seven minutes in heaven together, just without all of the spontaneous joys the kids tend to enjoy of it when playing such a game in the teenage years.

“Okay, where?” he answers confidently as the girl walks over to them and drags them both down a hall and into a bedroom.

A bedroom? Really?

While the implications are certainly not lost on him, and despite being absolutely and madly in love with you, Minho finds himself at least a little insulted at the thought that someone would consider that he’s not capable of even being in such a wide open space as a bedroom offers with you. He loves you, and he wants you, but he’s not a fucking snake.

But it’s the fact that the dragging doesn’t end once into the bedroom — still being pulled towards a small door at the other end of the space, the girl pulling it open and shoving the both of you inside and closing it immediately thereafter.

And now Minho suspects that this might just be the tiniest closet ever invented. How do people even make closets this small? Much less use them. What the fuck.

He can hear the girl outside of the bedroom say some words — he can hear her voice, but the actual things she says get lost among his hyper awareness at your body pressed tightly up against his own. Hands splayed out on his chest in an attempt to keep yourself held upright and steady.

You shift against him in an attempt to create space, or comfort. Something. It’s a fleeting attempt. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he responds, clearing his throat. Minho stands statuesque in the darkness of the space — surrounded by a handful of coats that smell faintly of old cigarette smoke, cologne and beer.

Silence takes over. It’s awkward. Minho thinks it’s the first time that the two of you have ever felt this uncomfortable in the company of the other. Not even the break up was this bizarre.

And he knows it’s not only radiating off of him. Not with the way you keep shifting against his chest.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says finally, “It’s just a game, we can just go home if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you respond quietly. “It’s kind of nice, I haven’t been this close to a man in a while,” you chuckle.

Minho knows it’s a joke, all in good fun, but the implications of it are impossible to ignore. He wonders for a second — running the sentence through his brain a few times before truly asking himself what he’s really wondering.

Is this…sexual tension?

of course, it’s not the first time he’s ever experienced the concept of sexual tension. But not with you. Not like this. When the two of you briefly dated the first time, sex had never even been on the table; he realized later, after the fact, that this was because you had firmly been in friendship mode the entire time, and never truly viewed him sexually. As someone who could be fucked. Who could fuck you.

Minho doesn’t want to simply fuck you. He figures that if he had played his cards right in any number of situations, it’s possible that he already could have. It’s not completely unheard of for friends to fuck, and the both of you are obviously good-looking.

It’s not what he wants, though. And it’s definitely not worth tanking any potential future just for one night.

It is becoming painfully apparent, however, that the two of you actually share very little physical affection, even just as friends. Feeling your body pressed up against his has Minho realizing that he doesn’t remember the last time that the two of you hugged — really hugged. Not an arm linked or being dragged around by a wrist — but an actual, full embrace.

He snaps back into the present, thinking about checking his phone for the time, but knowing fully well that not more than two minutes could have possibly passed.

Around 2am, games end and cups dry as guests begin exiting the apartment. You both thank the host for the invite and the warm reception before heading out into the chilly night to make your way home. A somewhat bizarrely quiet walk back home, no doubt as a result of the game played.

Minho staunchly disbelieves in wishing death upon anyone, but if emotions were personified, they’d be the first to go.

You turn the second key into the door, lock clicking open and door lightly squeaking as it opens. Minho walks in first, kicking his shoes off and setting his coat up on the hanger — setting his wallet and keys onto the holder next to the door designated just for such things. You follow suit.

But it’s a swift switch of direction, when you reach forward and dig fingers into Minho’s shirt — pulling him towards you, into you, and spinning him so that his back presses up against the door. You push into him, chests meeting just as they had back in the tiny closet at your friends place. All part of the game.

This, however, was not.

And Minho’s head spins, the way your cold lips press up against his own, so fast that he almost doesn’t know what hits him. He doesn’t meet your enthusiasm at first — considering the fact that this is all a mistake, just a misunderstanding. Surely you simply fell into him, this is all just a funny scene in a romcom where the girl accidentally slips into the guy who is desperately in love with her and it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

You pull off of his lips, peppering kisses lightly to the side of his mouth, “Minho,” you whisper between two, “kiss me back.”

“I—” he tries to respond, but before he knows it, your lips are pressed to his hard again and now he knows it’s intentional, despite not knowing why. Part of him wishes he was a better man, a stronger man. A man that could resist the temptation of experiencing bliss for even just a moment in time.

But he isn’t.

Minho brings his hands up, cupping the sides of your face and kissing back against you with matching firmness. He pulls himself off of the door and brings his body forward and against you. He’s all encompassing, feeling as though he’s attempting to devour you. Not far from the truth, perhaps.

It’s sloppy, messy. Minho thinks that the two of you never kissed like this before, not even during the brief stint of dating. He wonders for a moment what has changed, neither of you having drank that much that night, nothing was different in your relationship — not really.

He was forever constant. “I love you” running through his head each second that he’s able to taste you on him in that short time before you carefully pull from him and smile at the sight of his bright red, brutally kissed lips.

“We should go to bed,” you say, gently holding one of his hands in your own.

“Yeah,” the only thing he can manage to utter out that won’t expose him as everything he really is.

“Thank you for tonight, it was really fun,” you say, slowly pulling your hand from his own, and Minho only nods and whispers “sure” in reply as you turn and head towards your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Minho stands there in the doorway of the apartment, in the aftermath of a whirlwind that he’s sure will be just as quickly forgotten by you as it had been decided upon. The worst bit, he thinks to himself, is that he’ll probably never forget that moment for as long as he lives, given that they come to him so few and far between.

When he sends himself to sleep that night, opening the scrapbook of memories of us that he has carefully cultivated in his mind, he slots it away along with all of the rest. So, so, many memories of moments in time in which he’s allowed to experience paradise.

The mere existence of you, over the years, grows to be so big inside of him. All consuming.

“Minho.”

And he’s barely conscious at all, only drawn awake by the utterance of his name and the way that every expanse of his flesh that your fingertips touch leaves a trail of fire in it’s wake.

“Touch me.”

It’s all a whisper, barely legible, so little that he believes for a moment he may still just be asleep. He focuses for a second — as hard as he can will himself — on the physical sensation of you pressed up against his side, in his bed, hand roaming the exposed skin of his chest under his duvet — only dipping low enough to brush against the waistband of his boxer briefs and that is the moment that he is brought wide awake and to his senses, tensing strongly under your touch — so strongly that it causes you to pause and slowly pull back from him.

“Should I go?” you ask, and he becomes starkly aware of how standoffish he appears, quickly responding that no, you should not, before reaching over to you and snaking a hand of his own around your waist and under your loose bed time shirt.

As much as he wishes nothing more than to genuinely be lost in the moment, his mind takes him to countless what if’s, as it always does in such situations. Feeling the way you move beside him with every press of his hand into the apex of your thighs, he relishes the look, the sound — of course — but at the fore front of his mind, and his chest, the painful feeling of emotional strangulation in his throat; knowing what this is to you, and precisely what it isn’t.

Equally inconsequential to the both of you but in strikingly different ways: to you, a quick release, and to Minho: the image of you coming just another moment added to the scrapbook of his insignificance.

For the first time possibly ever, when Minho walked into the dining room in the morning for his coffee, you’re already up, sitting there waiting for him. A common scene but flipped, that feels so frequent to him now. Constantly unsettled in all of the ways that he thought he had been.

“Morning,” he says, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring himself a drink, then walking over to join you at the table. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you say. And that’s all.

He had hoped that deep down, the two of you could get out of this situation unscathed. It wasn’t much. Just a hand down your panties and then you retired to your own room again for the night. That’s what Minho told himself for the entire rest of the night that he couldn’t sleep, at least. It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. Everything will be fine.

“We should talk.”

Ah.

“About last night.”

Minho knew that already.

“Okay,” he says, almost sheepishly — a tone not often worn by him, but with a million thoughts running through his mind and almost all of them meaning the worst, it was all he could manage out in response.

“I’m not blaming you, obviously, I started it,” you begin, rolling your eyes — at yourself mostly, but painfully so to Minho all the same. “But we shouldn’t cross lines like that. Like I said, totally my fault, I just don’t want there to be the wrong idea or anything, ya know?”

Yeah, he knows.

As far as he’s concerned — truly, all things considered — this was the best possible outcome, actually. On a scale of terrible to catastrophic, this was much closer to the terrible end of the spectrum. Obviously, you weren’t going to confess your undying love for him and how you wanted to be with him forever and ever, but if the only wound Minho has to leave with is the reminder that he will only continue to suffer in all of the same ways he already had been; he writes that off as a win, as pathetic as it was.

He chuckles in response, corner of his mouth upturning as he gives you a playfully devilish grin from over his mug, “Wasn’t good enough, huh?”

Laugh through the pain.

“Oh my god Lino, really? Stop it! Don’t make it weird!”

He watches you shy away in embarrassment, hiding behind the newspaper you had in your hand and continues to laugh. He knows it’s not the case, but he has to keep things light — especially because of the way his chest feels so fucking tight in that instant.

Naturally, you take it as his admittance to the terms, which is as intended by him. Meanwhile, Minho wonders how long he can stand being reminded of all of the ways he will never be the one for you. Yes, he chose this. Yes, he would choose it again.

but still, he wonders sometimes.

Placing your used mug in the sink and filling it with water, you grab your belongings and head towards the door, pulling your keys from the rack and waving at him. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be home!” before turning on your heel and running out of the door.

Minho remains in his seat, still staring up at the front door long after it has already closed behind you. Despite being an often self-reflective man, it’s the first time ever — truly ever — that he finds himself feeling almost guilty about the thought that crosses his mind, going just as quickly as it had come. A fleeting conception in a split second of hurt.

It’s so fucking exhausting loving you.

Is this resentment?

When the next party rolls around — only a few weeks later, Minho makes it a point to be more mindful. No more drunk party games, no more passing physical touches. It’s not the end of the longing, not by a long shot.

But suppose it might be time, he thinks to himself. He’s been thinking it to himself since that morning at your dining room table.

You see, the thing about Lee Minho is how he loves totally. Completely. With every fiber of his being, and despite some times coming off as cold or standoffish, the one thing that was always going to be true of him was that once you were his: you were his completely.

Well, the better way of looking at it was that you had him completely, rather than the other way around.

A contract that Minho once happily signed his life away to, now feeling bitter to the thought — for the first time since that night at the house party back home where you met, Minho contemplated letting go. Moving on. Properly.

But he knew that that meant letting you go, and that was a tough pill to swallow.

You had noticed the way that Minho no longer cared after you the way that he once had, but in ways so subtle that you almost questioned if they were there at all. The tiniest gestures and changes: Minho was far from rude, far from mean, not even particularly uncommunicative.

But he was distant. Impersonal in a way that felt brand new, like a stranger of exact likeness had moved in overnight.

Minho contemplates all of the ways in which he can forget you, while you, unknowingly, contemplate all of the ways in which you can retrieve him.

Two people simply never feel exactly the same way about one another at exactly the same moment.

So you try not to think much of it, watching the way the brunette across the room runs her hand down his arm as she laughs at whatever it is that he’s saying to her. You think of how charming and funny and warm Minho is. Kind, constant.

But the clock is ticking, unbeknownst to you.

There is a world in which the greatest tragedy is a love story that, despite both people feeling the same — fails to occur simultaneously. As the sand in the hour glass for Minho ticks away, yours only just begins — and the problem being, you just don’t know. An alternate universe where the glimmer that would appear in Minho’s eye each and every time he met yours — it didn’t live any longer, and it’s typically only in those moments of hindsight that you ever really noticed it had existed at all. In it’s absence.

Minho looks over towards you from across the room during a short pause in the conversation with this other woman, and it’s different. Surely you’re not imagining it now. It’s still him, it’s still warm, and he still carries care, concern for you.

But a glimmer of light behind the eyes dims with every passing second, before turning back to the person in front of him and grinning wide.

Had you always…?

When the night ends and the two of you head home together, it’s silent for the majority of the way. Minho carries a half empty beer bottle in hand with him and a cigarette in another — you weren’t fond of when he smoked but it had become a social drinking thing he picked up since living in the city. Besides, who were you to say anything about it?

Saying anything to Minho at all now felt completely foreign to you.

Getting back to the apartment building, Minho sets the glass bottle down on the street and heads up with you, still in silence and putting out his cigarette at a trash can just before the stairs. it feels like five hundred flights of stairs despite only being five, but finally reaching the front door feels like a god send. Reprieve. Being near him…you now find suffocating.

“Night,” you say in feigned brightness before turning and heading towards your bedroom, hopeful that you can make it out of this night relatively unscathed.

“Is everything alright?”

The first thought to your mind, is “no,” obviously, because it’s not. The second, is the better choice.

“Yeah of course, I’m just tired,” you laugh, “exhausted from watching you flirt with that girl all night I guess!”

It drops from your lips before you even have a chance to control it, petty bitterness lacing each and every word and it’s so obvious, too. Completely transparent in it’s contempt. You wince as you turn back towards your door and can only pray that he takes it as the joke you only barely were capable of tonally implying.

Minho’s taken aback, confusion splashed across his features.

“What?”

“I’m kidding, goodnight!”

“You don’t get to do that.”

And all you want to do is run away to your bedroom and hide, go to sleep, try again tomorrow, but it’s the tone of his voice in those quiet words that stops you. That, and the growing romantic inquisitiveness for him in your heart.

“You don’t get to—” Minho starts again, but pauses, and you can tell the way that he sounds; his voice, his demeanor even without the ability to see him, he’s angry. Years of pent up emotional obstruction, after all. “You can’t act like this, not about that. That’s absolutely not fair.”

You finally turn around to face him as he still lingers in the doorway of the entrance, not even having removed his coat or shoes yet.

Minho wears a mask almost all of the time around you, and for a short while, he remembered what it had been like to live without you being at the forefront of his ever waking thought — incredibly selfish of you, he thinks to himself, to place yourself there once again. He had almost remembered what it had felt like to feel whole again — to not have to wear the mask that hides each and every pathetically tragic thought and feeling that came to him.

The mask is still off, evidently, from the way sorrow graces his every feature in the dimly lit entry way of your apartment. The place that may surely become the grave for you both, in some way or another.

“Minho, I—” you respond quietly, sadly. It sounds exactly the way you sounded when you broke up with him and stings in all of the exact same ways, Minho recalls.

He never was able to forget, after all.

“I don’t know, I must have just had a bit too much to drink,” you say, trying to laugh off the entire situation. “It’s not an excuse, of course, it’s not like you’re my—”

Minho’s eyes had since pulled to the side, jaw clenched in irritation, until the utterance of those words left your mouth. Eyes now pulling in your direction.

“Your move,” he thinks to himself in the moment.

“You’re not my boyfriend or anything,” and it’s the twist of that specific word that just so perfectly does the same to the perpetual knife in the heart that he’s carried for you for years.

You simply chuckle, hoping that the moment passes so that the two of you can go to sleep and carry on like normal in the morning.

“You’re so fucking selfish,” Minho spits, and the words feel like a slap to the face, because what? Where is this coming from?

Little do you know.

“What the fuck?”

“Love to play house, have a man around to go out with, to hold your bags for you, to rub you off one every now and then when it suits you,” he says, the resentment fully flowing through his tone with every word. “And then have the fucking gall to be jealous when I just talk to another woman? Do you hear yourself?”

It’s not the words that he’s saying, because he’s right, but rather the way that he’s saying them. Minho has never spoken to you like this in all of the years that the two of you have known each other.

Words coming from a place of the deepest contempt, and sounding just the same.

“You don’t get to talk to me like this,” you finally respond, walking back in his direction as he goes back to grabbing his wallet and keys — the only things he had happened to set down upon walking in. “Minho, it’s not fucking okay to talk to me like that.”

“Nothing about this situation is okay!” he shouts, turning back towards you and dropping his wallet from his hand; it landing in such a way that numerous items spill from it, although, he notices not — having been caught up in the moment. “You have no idea. You don’t have a clue what it’s like being around you every day. You’ll never fucking get—”

It’s then that Minho pauses, noticing the way that your eyes had stopped watching the way his lips tore into you and had settled towards something on the ground. Following yours, they land on presumably the same item that your own had just moments earlier.

A lone polaroid photograph from the first Christmas festival since moving to Berlin together — your lips playfully planted to his cheek. Even after all of those years, the quality of the photo had not waned. Perhaps Minho had just taken extra special care of it — just as he had with all of your other memories before.

“Minho…”

Perhaps this is it, defeat after all, he contemplates. Years of playing a dangerous game, all leading up to this moment.

Failure. Freedom?

“Here’s the truth,” he says, airy in tone and eyes still dropped to the ground, not daring to look back up and chance meeting yours. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Nothing makes me happier, and nothing makes me sadder — than you.”

A pause takes the room, neither of you being entirely sure what to say in the moment. It’s been such a long time coming, the confession from Minho — feeling immediately liberated upon the last word leaving his mouth, in spite of what it was, and in spite of what it meant, too.

Maybe this was freedom after all.

“And I’m moving out.” he finalizes his statement, bending down to gather the belongings from his wallet and carefully placing them back into the spots from which they came — the photograph included.

“What if I wanted to try?” you say suddenly. “Again, I mean. Try again.”

And in moments like these, Minho desperately wishes he were a stronger man, a man more capable of doing what’s best, what’s right, what’s safe.

“Don’t,” he responds, a pathetic plea to talk you down from whatever it is that you’re attempting to do. Unconvinced that it’s coming from a place of genuine reciprocation.

Change can be terrifying, sometimes people will do anything to avoid facing whatever may lie ahead. A concept that Minho finds himself all too familiar with.

But it’s the look on your face in that very instant, that has Minho halting with his hand on the doorknob. You won’t beg, you wouldn’t, and it’s not fair; too much to ask of a man that had already given you everything of himself before you even knew it. Maybe that was his fault, maybe it was yours.

Maybe it was everyone’s, and also no ones.

But what if the timelines did manage to overlap — just briefly — just long enough. Strings of fate barely holding onto each other by a thread before the inevitable snap of discontentment. That is, unless force be relinquished in just the knick of time.

Could they do it? Had they done it?

“For the last time,” Minho starts, and for the first time — in all irony — with full transparency. “I will do anything for you, so tell me.”

You know it’s easier for you in that moment than it’s ever been for him in all of the years that he’s put himself aside to be next to you, but the fact does not do much to quell your fear of the unknown, the what if’s. You wonder how Minho has lasted, living every day in and out just like this — and worse.

But you have to do it.

“I want to try again,” you answer, looking up at him through lashes and tears welling in your eyes ever so slightly. “I know it’s selfish to ask you to stay, but I have to. Please stay. Please try again.”

A man that always prided himself on being a bit cool, tough looking — all too happy to rush towards you and scoop you into his arms after the words finish leaving your lips — wasting no time pressing his own to yours, as well.

“Don’t expect too much of me,” you say, somewhat playfully between kisses, “I haven’t been in love with you for as long as you have with me.”

“Oh shut up,” Minho replies, kissing you hard again.

And it’s not the first time Minho touches you sexually — not even in the month, but this time is different — carrying you with legs around his waist to the couch in the living room, plopping you with back against the cushion and immediately covering you with his entire being, kisses become more and more hurried and needy. So needy. The way you feel in your stomach makes you think you might just be right there with him.

Minho wastes no time pulling his torso off of you and prying his shirt off, following suit with your own before quickly working towards his jeans; the sound of belt buckle clattering and zipper pulling resonating in your ears, and it’s enough just then to realize that this is really happening. Part of you is a little surprised that it hasn’t yet.

Better late than never.

Minho stands to pull his jeans from his legs, and once again follows through with your own — pausing to really take in the sight before him. Sure, he’s seen you in swimwear before, and even changing, but this was different.

This was for him, this was meant for him to see now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, carefully lowering himself back down to you and shuffling his hips in between your legs; hardened length settling just against your clothed core and eliciting a sigh of relief, but also desire from the both of you, sighs immediately swallowed by the others mouth in between fervent kisses. “You’re perfect.”

You relish in the way that Minho makes an attempt to consume you entirely that night. Lightly toned body pressed fully against your own, his hips gently pressing against your own as his hands snake up and into your hair — fingers wrapping within strands as if you hold you in place, as if to ensure you could never leave him. Not now. Not after all of this.

Chaste kisses following the natural curve of your jawline, down towards your ear and up against it, Minho whispers that he loves you but his voice dripping with desire, with passion, and you believe that truly nothing could sound better to you. Minho still ever so delicately grinding against you — as if with no intent at all — completely encompassing you beneath him and breathing, whispering in your ear, the feeling comes onto you quickly. Not that you will orgasm, but that you desperately need to.

“Minho,” you groan, bucking your hips up to meet his own, “Don’t. Just—”

It’s not really a sentence, and so Minho chooses to not acknowledge it as such.

“Hm?” he quietly responds, pulling his left hand down from it’s entanglement in your hair and caressing the side of you all of the way down until it finds it’s resting place on the underside of your thigh. Pulling it up and out to give Minho a better angle to not fuck you with, it makes you want to cry in desperation. You find it unbelievable how quickly you’ve unraveled beneath him after all of these years. Had this been the case all of this time, or was it a simple matter of the strings of fate perfectly aligning at just the right moment.

The thought it interrupted by the man above you, whispering in your ear if it’s okay, if he can have you, and ignoring all of the patriarchal implications of the concept of a woman giving her body to a man; in the moment, in a vacuum, just between the two of you. It feels right.

And so, you are happy to have him.

Minho allows your leg to drop to free up his hand and release himself from his fabric confines — fingers then gently making their way to the side of your panties and carefully toying at the side — but not enough to make much happen, and Minho laughs at your impatience from under him, huffing against his face at his lack of being inside of you.

“Where did all of this come from?” he quips against the side of your face, and you choose not to acknowledge it in favor of focusing on the main event; the way he finally pulls the fabric aside and exposes you to the tip of his length and wasting no more time pressing into you slowly. Such a delightfully pleasant stretch as you adjust to him — and Minho feels it — every pulse and squeeze of your walls around him as he attempts to steady himself inside of you. It’s been so long, that he’s wished for this moment, he thinks about how it’s somehow even better than he ever could have imagined it being — your warmth enveloping him in every conceivable way and all at the same time. Emotionally, mentally, physically.

You can feel his breath against your ear, the way it already begins to lose it’s cohesion with the first few gentle strokes into you, but really, it’s that first groan of “fuck” into your ear that has you reeling, and your orgasm creeping up on you much faster than you had ever thought possible. The throaty, airy, desperation in his voice — so weak because of you, so absolutely enamored by you in all ways.

It wouldn’t be long, not for either of you. It had already been too long, it turns out.

“M—Minho, I—” you whimper out and against the skin of his shoulder: a desperate plea of your own. “I’m going to come soon, what the fuck,” in much fewer and less complete words, but you’re thankful that somehow he must have caught the memo, lifting his torso up with his hands planted flat against the couch cushion beneath you in an attempt to fuck into you better, more thoroughly, the best attempt he can make in the moment to try to get you there before him. He hasn’t said it, but you can tell that he’s close — too close for his liking, surely.

“Close?” he sputters out, forgoing sentences altogether, and with a quick nod and a biting back of a sharp whine, Minho changes the angle of his hips in such a way that grinds his pelvis right against your clit and you swear in that moment, you think you’ll pass out on the spot. Repeated chants of his name along with desperate requests to not stop and it’s a handful more presses of his hips into your own before your eyes roll into the back of your head before clenching shut; mouth ajar in silent shouting as your orgasm washes over you in intense waves, the man between your legs never relenting until his own catches him, following your lead of pleas of names as he does his best to fuck the both of you through your orgasms, until his body no longer reads capable of cooperating and he collapses — once again pressing his torso flush against your own and panting hot breath into the curve of your neck.

It does cross your mind, albeit briefly: that perhaps this would now be the end of everything as you know it between you and Minho. That maybe everything the two of you had experienced up until that moment had just been a journey to this — that no one was in love, that none of this had been real all along.

But when Minho pulls himself back up a bit, granting enough space between your two bodies to once again allow himself to plant kisses on every centimeter of skin that his mouth could possibly reach, all the while telling you all of the ways in which he’s madly, desperately and completely in love with you, you actually do wonder if maybe sometimes, just maybe, two people can feel the precisely the same way for one another, at precisely the exact same moment in time; because surely if it were possible, it would feel just like this.

Between kisses onto the flesh just below him, Minho contemplates all of the ways in which this was never meant to actually be. He knows that deep down, nothing he did ever put him in a position in which he deserved this, that he was never owed love, or sex, or you.

He wonders how he ended up so lucky, after all. Minho thinks back to the first year that you both moved to Germany together, and the first christmas festival — the night that the two of you took the polaroid photograph that he would forever keep with him everyday since that night, unbeknownst to you. He still remembers every detail perfectly, right down to the way your lips felt pressed against his cheek, despite knowing so many more feelings now.

Minho pulls himself up, just barely — only enough to reach your cheek to kiss you in just the exact spot that you had kissed him that night, and then whispers into the skin, “I love you.”

The single most important moment in Lee Minho’s life: that kiss at that Christmas festival that year. Life is only ever a series of moments that form us, shape us.

And the next second, we are in another moment.

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #lee minho smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n #lee minho scenarios #lee minho imagines #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 1 month

Text

Stealing Kisses

(Actors from The Boys in the Boat)

Joe Rantz, Don Hume, Bobby Moch, George (Shorty) Hunt

tbitb masterlist

A collection of kissing scenes. Might write something for Chuck Day later, we’ll see, anyway, got carried away with Don, I would die for Bobby

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz:

Joe is a gentleman. He plans it’s out, wanting to take you on a decent date beforehand to set the mood and feel out just how much you like him. He doesn’t have money or a nice apartment or cooking skills for that matter. What he does have is his strength and his smarts.

So he takes you for a boat ride one sunny afternoon. He brings his guitar, opting for a little less country than the banjo, and paddles you out to a secluded spot. Despite his protest, you brought a basket full of treats and you talk as you share them under the hot sun.

His blond curls become waves of amber grain in the sunlight. After a while you fall into a comfortable silence which gives him the opportunity to pull out his guitar. Now he’s been planning this date for a little while so he picked some new songs to memorize. Sweet and romantic but not too lovey dovey. Though he doesn’t hide the fact that he loves country music.

As he strums his guitar he catches you intently staring at him. You look at him with so much affection that it makes him blush and stutter and he forget the words to his song.

“You’re cute, Joe.”

It makes him laugh so much he has to stop playing entirely. You tease him, enjoying his laughter.

After he recovers you both decide to venture out onto land. Wild flowers grow along the banks in great colorful bunches. Joe begins collection some, blue and purple and white and yellow, and he begins to weave them together.

It’s a special trick he learned while he lived alone, cutting and clearing trees for a living. During his breaks he taught himself to do this. The braid the delicate flower stems into bracelets and rings and crowns.

Joe makes the finest crown his has ever managed. He carefully lays the creation on your head and tucks away any loose strands of hair. ‘You’re gorgeous’ he wants to say. If he was a little more gutsy he would.

His hands trail down to cradle your cheeks. He’s not gutsy enough to tell you you’re pretty but for some reason he has the gall to lean down and kiss you.

His lips are a little chapped from rowing practices, the heavy breathing dropping his jaw and the wind biting his lips. But they’re gentle and sweet. Joe soaks up the private moment and rests his forehead on yours. He wraps his arms around your waist and sways back and forth with you. He starts singing again and you dance together in the afternoon sun.

Don Hume:

Let’s be honest here, you’re more likely to kiss him first. You simply make him too nervous to even find the coordination to plant his lips over yours.

After their first win, Don is dragged out to celebrate. Luckily his sweetheart of a few weeks now is already there. You’re happy to see Don out and about whether or not he likes it. Bobby flashes you a wink as he pushes Don into a chair next to you.

It’s too loud. You can’t hear a word the other says. In a blinding moment of courage, Don takes your hand and pulls you out of the hall. His calloused palm is sweaty. His fingers tremble between yours. You remember him first approaching you, Bobby pushing him forward and then abandoning him at your library table.

“Hey, you’re Don Hume right? From the rowing team, right?”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

“What can I do for you, Don?”

His tongue had gone dry. Where are his words? His mouth dropped open “I—” you smiled at him and it made everything worse.

“C’mon, Don!” You heard Bobby whisper shout, a collection of the rowing team has amassed behind a bookshelf, quietly cheering him on.

“Can-can I takeyouonadate?”

He panicked and cursed himself out, thinking he spoke too fast and you don’t catch what he said and now he’s going to have to ask all over again.

“I’d love to go on a date.” Your smile brightened and Don’s shoulders drooped in relief.

He still stutters asking you on dates now.

Don finds himself walking you across campus grounds and the pale light of the moon. “You did so good, Don, in your race.”

“Thanks.” He speaks so softly the whistle of the night breeze in the leaves is almost louder. He turns to you, catching your gaze first and then blushing and nervously glancing down at your lips.

He’s never kissed anyone before, but he thinks he wants to kiss you.

There’s a comfortable silence that fills the space between your faces. Don’s eyes keep flickering to your Cupid’s bow. To that perfect curve. He starts to say something but his words leave him again as he feels soft lips shutting his mouth.

His lips are rough, worn from the blustering winds. He smells faintly of sweat and the river water that sprays up from the churning oars.

Don can hardly think enough to kiss you back. He blinks, stunned and you lean in to kiss him again and again. He’s overwhelmed by the warmth of your lips and the velvet soft press of your tongue. His shaking hands clutch at your cheeks, trying to ensure that it doesn’t end.

“Don, baby—”

“Kiss me again, please.”

There’s a smile on your lips when you wrap your arms around him. “Only if you promise to dance with me.”

“Yes, yes, okay. Just…”

This time he kisses first.

Bobby Moch:

Bobby is a confident man. He maybe shorter than your average guy but his boldness makes up for it. But I also think you’d kiss him first.

You’re waiting for him to finish up practice, your routine being to go on a long walk and let Bobby blow off some steam before studying together and then going home. Bobby emerges from the shell house, clearly bothered, but he can’t help his smile when he sees you waiting on a bench with two warm cups of tea in your hand.

“Good evening, lovely, should we go to the library or the bridge?”

You hand him a cup and take his free hand. “I think… the library would be nice.”

“Me too.”

He squeezes your hand. He starts his rant and angrily blabbers on until you’re at the steps of the library. Somehow, between all his complaining, he’s managed to chug his whole cup of tea.

The library is fairly empty at this hour. Most students having given up on studying for the day and retired to either their dorms or gone off to work. Bobby drops his bag onto a secluded sofa and the two of you sit down for a nice, quiet study date.

While Bobby reads over his textbook chapter, you notice things about him. The wrinkle that forms on his forehead when he's focused. The tilt of his eyebrows. How his lips purse. You notice the tiny blemishes on his cheeks; they were once little nicks or pimples that he picked. You keep stealing glances of him. Absolutely fascinated by the way lamplight reflects off his skin or the curve of his jaw or the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows. He hadn't really bothered to straighten out his hair after his shower and it's dried wild, tickling his face.

Bobby catches your gaze and it's stunning, how light pools in his eyes. How his irises brighten. His gives you an adoring look and returns to pouring over his textbook.

Then there's his lips. They look so soft and they're so gently rounded they look hand carved. Occasionally he'll lick his lips and you get a flash of tongue and white teeth. At some point you decide to just go for it. You've been dreaming of kissing Bobby for some time now but he's been content to let you take things at your own pace.

You reach of his textbook, "Need something?" Bobby asks genuinely. His gaze is uncharacteristically kind. He's always yelling at the top of his lungs or bossing around or saying something snappy. That's just Bobby. So why does he look at you like this? Like he's watching the sun rise.

"Yes, actually." And then you deliver a kiss to his lips. Bobby is caught off guard and before he can really even kiss you back, you're pulling away. "Sorry--"

"Don't even think about it." Bobby quips, "Get back here." He cups the juncture of your jaw and throat to bring you in but you hide in his palm. "Finish what you started. C'mon. Don't you feel like trying it again? I'm ready."

When your lips touch again Bobby is gentle in making it last. He never presses too hard but be doesn't let you shy away again either. He kisses you until the taste of him has stained your tongue and the oxygen is gone from your lungs.

George "Shorty" Hunt:

Sly dog, this one is.

George is highly tactical(he likes to think so) and because he’s so brilliant he hatched a perfect plan to get you to kiss him. He wants to see how bold you can be.

He makes three plans, two of which fail. They go like this. The first time he tries it, you’re walking him to practice. His jacket is slung over his shoulder and he’s telling you about his engineering class. “You know there’s this term we use called osculate which is where the curve of on surface meets the curve over another and they share a common tangent.” You raise a brow. Shorty licks his lips, “It’s also formal code for kissing.”

“Don’t even—” you swat at him and push him towards the shell house. “Go practice and share a tangent with Day!”

“Hey now,” Shorty pouts and disappears into the shell house, defeated. That was attempt 1. The second attempt hardly goes better.

It’s the night after their first win and Shorty is dancing with you. His nerdy pick up lines proved to be a failure so he goes for building some good old fashion romance. He’d gotten you flowers and taken you out for dinner before he brought you here where the music is so loud it blocks out everyone else around you.

Now you’re slow dancing, cheeks pressed together, hands laced with one another. The first thing you notice is that he smells good. You have no idea if he’s wearing cologne or if it’s the soap he uses to wash his clothes but he smells divine. The second thing is how soft his hands are despite the wear and tear of the pad. The third is that he didn’t put any product in his hair. You’ve always loved to play with the dark curls and fluff it up. But sometimes he styles his curls and the products make his hair stiff. But his curls are free today which tells you he’s been thinking about you and all the things you do.

“Watcha smilin’ about?” Shorty asks, his eyes light up as he smiles back. He hopes you’re thinking about it. He hopes you’re wanting to kiss him.

You plant your hands on his chest, “Nothing, you just make me happy.” It’s quite possibly quite possibly the nicest compliment he’s ever received. And then you rise up on your toes a place a kiss on his cheek. It’s not what he expected but he’s as pleased as ever.

The third and actually successful attempt is on the train before he leaves for Poughkeepsie. You’d arrived late and missed him boarding. You force your way to the train and look through the window. George sees you and throws the window open. “I was afraid you weren’t coming!” He shouts of the chatter. He’d actually been heartbroken.

“Had trouble getting here!”

“Can I…” you don’t catch what he says.

“What!”

Shorty smiles and shakes his head. He turns and gestures for something. He opens the window as far as he can and you see Chuck and Johnny behind him. And then George is falling out of the window. First his shoulders and chest and then his hips and your almost scream but Chuck and Johnny are holding his thighs. He wedges one hand on the window sill to support himself and the other reaches for you.

He pulls you as close as he can and gives you a kiss goodbye. “I’ll come home with a gold medal!” Don’t you worry!” The people who notice give him a cheer and a laugh as he’s pulled back into the train. He blows you one last kiss and then the train starts rolling.

tbitb masterlist

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this piece please be sure to check out my masterlist and if you want to request something you are more than welcome to. Have a nice day.

- the author

#joe rantz #joe rantz x reader #bobby moch #bobby moch x reader #boys in the boat #callum turner x reader #don hume #don hume x reader #George hunt

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caapsiizzereads · 9 months

Text

Meet me in the afterglow

Jamie Tartt x f!reader

Words: 2,7k

Warnings: language, a bit of angst (with a happy ending this time)

A/n: part 2 for Tell me that I’m all you want 🫢

Jamie has never been more excited for the pre-season. The weather in London is delightful today, the sun is shining and the temperature is at that perfect level of warmth where it doesn’t feel too hot. He’s back at Nelson Road Stadium, right where he belongs. No funny business this year. Jamie’s smiling cheerfully as he’s walking down the very familiar corridors, holding a cup holder with two cups of coffee in his hand. He strides into your office, and you smile brightly at him, putting your work aside and giving Jamie your full attention. You happily slip back into your routine.

Jamie had barely seen you during the off-season. If you weren’t working, you were somewhere away with Jason. You’d been to, like, four different countries in five weeks, living your best life. Vacation definitely suits you – you look so radiant and well-rested. Your hair is wavier than usual, your skin is glowing, and your posture is relaxed. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

“I’ve missed this,” you say after fifteen minutes of chatter and giggles, and Jamie grins at you. “Almost as much as I missed this,” you add, smugly bringing the coffee cup to your lips. Jamie rolls his eyes but laughs nevertheless. God, he missed this too.

The blissful happiness doesn’t last long. Jamie doesn’t care much about what people say on the Internet, even if it’s everyone predicting that Richmond will get relegated again because it’s just poop-eh, yeah?

But then there’s something else.

“Did you know that Roy and Keeley broke up?” Jamie all but burst into your office.

You mimic zipping your mouth and throwing away the key.

“Oh, come on!” Jamie flops on the chair in front of you and sighs dramatically.

You shrug, unaffected. “How’s Roy doing?”

“Well, I promised not to say anything either!” Jamie crosses his arms determinedly.

Jamie doesn’t know whether it’s a lawyer thing or just a you thing, but he’s pretty sure that one stern look from you can make him spill all of his deepest secrets. So, predictably, you just raise one eyebrow, and it’s enough convincing for him to start talking.

After a short conversation, you agree that it’s a sad turn of events because Roy and Keeley were really good together.

“You and Jason are good?” Jamie asks because it feels fitting. He’s somewhat made peace with the fact that you’re in love with someone else. As long as you’re happy.

“Yeah, we’re good,” you smile.

It only gets worse from there.

Jamie is in your office the first thing after he hears that Zava might be joining the team because if someone knew anything about signing a new player, that would be you. You say that it’s just something that Rebecca wants, but it is very unlikely to happen. That is, until it does.

“Who the fuck signs a contract with ‘you’re welcome’?!”

Usually Jamie doesn’t like it when you’re mad, but nothing is more comforting for him than knowing that he has your support in his disliking for Zava. He becomes almost a permanent resident at your office. Every day, it’s “Zava this” and “Zava that”. Reminds you of the time when Roy first rejoined Richmond as a coach and refused to coach Jamie…

On the upside, Richmond is on a four-week winning streak. Like Zava or not, you’ve gotta admit that he is a hella good player. Before you can even finish that sentence out loud, the look on Jamie’s face is one of full-on betrayal. You roll your eyes, the fragile male ego.

“At least I'm still your favorite player,” Jamie declares self-assuredly.

“I'm sorry, at what point did I ever say that you are my favorite player?” you sneer at him, crossing your arms.

“It’s implied!”

“Aah,” you nod in faux agreement.

“So who is it then? It can’t be Zava.” Jamie will jump off a cliff.

“Lewandowski.”

Jamie shrugs, “Fair enough, he’s fucking great. I can be second after him.”

“See, that’s funny, because I don’t remember saying that you’re my second favorite either,” you say with an amused smile on your face.

“Oh, fuck off!”

Things haven’t been going really well for Richmond ever since that match against West Ham, they haven’t won a match for four weeks now. Needless to say, it was a little bit depressing. There is something else bothering Jamie, though. You’ve been acting weird lately, distant. You weren’t at the match last week, you told Jamie you couldn't hang out twice in one week, and when the third time you finally agreed, it seemed like your mind was somewhere else the whole evening. He gets that you want to spend time with your boyfriend, but Jamie wants some scraps of your time too! It takes you hours to reply to his texts, and even when he comes to your office during the day, it feels like even having a simple conversation with Jamie costs you effort. You just seem tired in general.

Jamie has been quietly sitting in your office for five minutes, waiting for you to finish whatever it is you are so busy doing. Not knowing what to do, he takes your coffee cup and takes a sip.

He grimaces in disgust. “What is this?!”

“Triple espresso,” you answer without looking away from your laptop.

No milk, no syrups, no joy, nothing.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Then don’t drink it,” you snatch the cup back.

“Not getting enough sleep?” Jamie smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

The look on your face just screams that you don’t find it funny one bit and can’t wait to be done with this conversation.

Jamie’s shoulders slump, “Are you mad at me?”

“For what, hurting my coffee’s feelings?”

“I don’t know! But you’ve been acting weird! You always say you’re busy, you don’t reply to my texts, you don’t make fun of my outfit choices, and I wore a jacket with shorts yesterday.”

“The fact that you know that it’s something I would make fun of you for means that my job here is done.”

“It was raining for the whole day two days in a row, and you didn’t even complain!”

“It’s London, it’s always raining.”

“And you always complain!” He’s got a point there.

Jamie looks genuinely worried, and you didn't mean to upset him at all. You sigh weary. “It’s not you. It’s just– I needed some me-time.” Jamie keeps looking at you, waiting for you to continue. “Jason and I broke up.”

Well, that was unexpected. Jamie doesn’t really know what to say. His previous attempt at post-breakup comforting wasn’t exactly successful.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you say apathetically. “Sometimes people are just not right for each other.”

“I thought you guys were great.”

“Yeah, me too,” there’s a very bittersweet tone to your voice.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jamie gets the hint. There’s only one thing that he wants to know anyway. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” That doesn’t sound very convincing even for yourself, and judging by Jamie’s skeptical look, it doesn’t for him either. “I will be,” you rectify, feeling a lot more sincere now.

His own selfish feelings aside, Jamie never really wished for you and Jason to break up (well, maybe except for the first, like, two weeks), and with you clearly being upset about it, Jamie doesn’t have it in him to feel pleased or hopeful about the fact. What you need right now is a friend, and that’s exactly what he’s going to be.

It’s fascinating how healing a good girls night can be because a week and two hours of screaming Taylor Swift songs later, you were terribly hungover but feeling like a whole new person. Luckily for you, your boss was one of the said girls, so after lunch, the two of you decided that there was no work that required your immediate attention and was worth all that suffering and, with a clear conscience, went home.

The loss against Man City was pretty bad. Especially considering that Zava left the team. And the sport in general… Jamie wasn’t so upset about this, but you weren’t particularly excited about all the paperwork that it left you with. Richmond hadn’t won a match in nine weeks, which was pretty discouraging too. You even invited Jamie for dinner after another lost match to cheer him up a little bit.

Then finally, a miracle happened, and Ted “came up” with some “total football” thing, which, once they had figured it out, seemed to work really well for the team. After they won a match again for the first time, Jamie invited you for a celebratory dinner, on which he cheated because he ordered takeout instead of cooking. You didn’t really mind, though, because Jamie’s cooking abilities are limited to a short list of dishes that he can make himself and a bit longer list of dishes that he can make if you tell him what to do, and you didn't feel like playing Nigella.

Richmond is on a winning streak, and the team’s spirit is exceptionally high. Jamie has been on his best game too, which he can admit that he has Roy to thank for, because he is mature like that now. Life has been really good lately.

The practice is over, and Jamie’s on his way to go and pester you when he bumps into Keeley in the hallway.

“Jamie!” She doesn’t appear to be as surprised to see him. “Walk with me.” She wraps her arm around his and starts leading him down the hall.

“You know that (Y/n) helps me out with the legal stuff in the firm, right?”

“Yeah.” Jamie’s not sure where this is going.

“So yesterday I asked her to come to this meeting with me ‘cause we were signing with that one guy. And he had his lawyer with him too, and he was, like, really hot. The lawyer, not the guy. And he was totally into (Y/n) too. I didn’t even know you could make legal terms sound so sexy…”

Keeley glances at Jamie, who resembles a kicked puppy at the moment. “I’m telling you all of this because you better put your big boy pants on and ask her out before somebody else does. Again.”

Jamie doesn’t even feel like asking how and how long she’s known, he just nods at her, and she gives him that sweet smile of hers and leaves.

It’s been almost three months since you and Jason broke up. Jamie’s been more than happy to be the one you spend your free time with again, and he’s been content with how things are between you enough to not want to risk it. He hasn’t seen you being really interested in someone anyway, but he’s seen people being interested in you. Evidently, it was just a matter of time before someone caught your attention too.

Jamie goes directly to your office, and the first thing that he notices is a big bouquet of flowers on your desk. Jason stopped renewing them a few weeks after your breakup, so it’s gotta be from someone else.

“Nice flowers,” Jamie announces his presence in the room. “Who are they from?”

“Just some guy I met at Keeley's meeting yesterday,” you say noncommittally.

So it is him. “Why is he sending you flowers?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but my guess is that he wants to ask me out.” You look pleased.

It’s now or never. “Don't go out with him,” he blurts.

You frown. “What?”

“Don’t go out with him,” he repeats with more conviction this time. “Go out with me.”

You contemplate him for a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jamie hadn’t really thought it through.

“Just let it go, Jamie,” you say insistently.

“The fuck I will!” There’s no going back now. “I want this. You.” That comes out a bit desperate.

“Right,” you scoff.

Now it’s Jamie’s turn to frown, “What?”

“For fuck’s sake, Jamie!” Even with your patience, there's a limit. “You only wanted me ‘cause you couldn’t fucking have me, which is somehow even worse than if you never wanted me at all.” You glower at him. “And now again. I’m not some fucking trophy for you to want just because someone else does!”

Jamie is completely stunned, just sitting there with his mouth open, not being able to come up with a single sensible thing to say.

Your attention turns to Higgins peeking through the door frame, “(Y/n), I need your help with something.” You have never been more grateful to see him.

“I’ll be right with you,” you nod at him, smiling. He reads the room and decides not to wait on you here.

When Higgins disappears from your view, you turn back to Jamie, “We have a good thing here. Let’s not ruin it.” With that, you get up and walk away.

You haven’t seen Jamie since your little talk yesterday. This is probably for the better because you needed some space after everything. You’re done with your work for the day, but instead of going home, you’re sitting in one of the thousands of seats at the empty stadium, staring at nothing in particular and a lot going on in your mind. The sunset is absolutely stunning today. The sky is colored with all kinds of shades of red, orange, and pink, illuminated beautifully by the afterglow of the sun.

You see in your peripheral vision that someone is walking towards you, and the clashing colors of the clothes that someone is wearing are enough for you to know exactly who this is.

Jamie takes the seat next to you. You just sit there in silence for a minute before he finally speaks up.

“You were wrong, you know,” he starts softly. “I’ve always wanted you. It’s only when I couldn’t have you that I realized it. I’m sorry I was an idiot. Shouldn’t have taken me so long.”

You keep staring forward, so he continues.

“You are not a trophy, but you are my best friend. It means more to me than you know, and I didn’t wanna risk losing it. But then Keeley told me about that guy, and I thought I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t say something.”

You finally turn to look at him. Jamie’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes of his, which makes it’s impossible to be mad at him. You give him a small smile. “You wouldn’t lose me.” He smiles too.

It gives Jamie the courage that he’s been looking for, and he gently takes your hand in both of his. “Give me a chance. Just one date. And if you hate it, I swear I’ll never bring this up ever again.”

You study him for a moment, and his eyes look so hopeful. “Alright, Jamie Tartt,” you smile at him. “Make it worth my while.”

Winning the last match of the season, Richmond finishes the season in second place. Not bad for a Premier League comeback. Today’s celebration is Ted’s last day with the team. He sure as hell will be missed, but today is not about sad farewells – it’s about appreciating the people around you and everything that awaits you in the future.

Ola’s is filled with music, laughter, and joy. Jamie looks around the room: Dani is having a drinking contest with Beard, Richard and Jan Mass are having a passionate debate about something, Ted is spinning Rebecca in the rhythm of Never Gonna Give You Up, surrounded by Keeley and the rest of the players cheering and dancing next to them. Like one big and very happy family.

Jamie is pulled out of his thoughts by the movement in front of him and the sound of glasses being put on the wooden table. Then you pull him up by his arm and start dragging him with you towards the dancing crowd with a carefree smile. Jamie eagerly takes your hand in his and lifts it above you, making you twirl. You laugh and give him a quick kiss on the lips. Life has never been better.

A/N: did i sneak in the name of the songs in the most literal corniest way? yes, and what about it.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso fic

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crusty-chronicles · 3 months

Text

Kite As A Dad Headcannons

An: You can't make me shut up about this man 😤😤. He deserves so much love and I'm not ready for Ch 16 of Moon and Sun. Fluff, lots of fluff.

----------------------

Kite, to put it quite simply, is a great father.

He never thought he'd ever have kids of his own. He always felt he was too busy, and relationships never tended to last with his line of work. But his perspective began to change when he met you.

He was content having you in his life. One of the only constants. He was content having the boys stop by occasionally. Already treating them like his own. And a part of him thought that was the closest the two of you would ever get to having kids.

So imagine his shock when you told him you were pregnant.

The surprise when he could see two little blimps of life inside you instead of one.

He's the type of father that when his little girl is older, doesn't mind her giving him ‘makeovers’. Who doesn't bat an eye when she starts applying splotchy eyeshadow to ‘make him pretty.’ Who lets her braid his hair and put all of her glittery clips in. Who makes sure to sit in on every tea party, tiara and all, just to see her smile.

He's the type of father who can never say no when his son asks to go on a fishing trip. Who teaches him all his favorite tricks for the perfect catch. Who listens to him rant excitedly about the trout he caught, listing off each and every fact from the top of his head. Who is more than supportive when he decides to be a hunter just like his father.

But even in the early stages he seemed to excel.

Kite is the type of dad to listen and nod his head when his two infants start babbling. Cooing a ‘mhmm’ and a ‘your’re absolutely right.’ Acting as if he really understands what they're saying. Who, when they make little grabby gestures, always seems to know what they want. Whether they just want to be held or fed, he just knows.

Who, instead of being grossed out when there's a bit of spittle on his shoulder, laughs it off instead. He'll set his little girl down to clean it off, only for his boy to drool on his boot next. Who'd rather it be that then the throw-up currently on the front of your shirt. And who, when you eye him with a mischievous smirk asking for a hug, flees while the twins giggle and laugh at the sight.

He's the type of father to beam with pride when his kids start speaking. Who, after being gone for a few weeks on an expedition, returns home to hear his two toddlers arguing in their playpen. ‘Gib me!’ from his son trying to pull the pacifier from his sister's mouth. A ‘No! Maaaa!’ from his daughter. And he's definitely the type who's heart melts when they turn around and coo ‘Dada’ at him for the first time.

He's the type of dad who absolutely adores the fact that both of his children look exactly like you. From your hair to your eyes, they were both mini copies of you. Who loves you with his whole heart, and in turn loves his kids just as much, if not more.

He's the type of father Who tries to be around more for you and them. Who makes sure he's not gone for more than a few weeks at a time so he doesn't miss any major milestones. Who immediately steps up to help you with the twins, and who tells you to rest so you don't overwork yourself.

Who wants to be able to give his kids everything he never had as a child. Including a home filled with warmth and love.

Who likes to tease you after a night of intimacy by placing a hand on your tummy and whispering, “Maybe we should have just one more. But knowing our luck,we'd end up with two again.”

-----------

This is how I cope!!!! I'm still not over MatPat 😞

#kite x reader #hxh kite #kite hunter x hunter #hxh kaito #hunter x hunter x y/n #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x y/n #hxh x reader #papa kite #kite as a dad #he'd he such a good father and you can't convince me otherwise #father headcannons #kite headcannons #kite fluff

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runningmunson · 1 year

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Hii!! If requests are open could I get an aemond and reader fic where theyre in an arranged marriage and she loves him but doesn't think he loves her back and she gets insecure bcs of what the people at court are saying?? happy ending and a love confession please! Thanks💕

The Life You Dreamed

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: insecurities?, angst to fluff

Masterlist

Falling in love with Aemond was as easy as breathing. He was a gentleman, strong, intelligent, and handsome. Everything you could want in a husband, he possessed. So no, falling for him wasn’t hard.

Continuing to love him, however, was like breathing in the cold morning air- difficult and painful. You could feel your chest tighten every time he resisted your attempts to show him how you loved him. Whether it was the many times he pulled his hand away from yours or when you begged him to join you at night only to wake as the sun rose to find he never went to bed with you. He could be gentle and kind one day, then distant and harsh the next.

Just like your lungs so desperately craved air, you crave to feel Aemond’s love.

It was one of those latter days where he would perform his duty the way he was taught but show no real care towards you. He escorted you, arms linked, into the hall where the royal family was celebrating the name day of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Your chair was pulled out, and his hand led you to sit next to his mother. Short pleasantries were made before the food was served.

Not long after, the music and dancing commenced. Alicent made her way around to greet all the Lords and Ladies who came to celebrate. Aegon, who was already drunk before the event started, had surprisingly dragged Helaena to the dance floor. That left you and your husband alone at the table. He had barely even said more than a few words to you since you got there. You had hoped he would ask you to dance, but you were not so lucky.

You felt the disappointment creep in as you watched the happy faces of those dancing in front of you. How you only wished to feel Aemond’s arms around you as you danced around the room, to have a taste of the joy these people must have felt.

You were drawn out of your thoughts to find Lord Tully standing in front of you. You figured he was there to talk to Aemond but left shocked when he held his hand out and asked for you to dance. You turned your head to see Aemond’s reaction and saw nothing but his typical neutral exterior, so you stood and walked around the table to accept his request.

“I would be happy to dance with you, Lord Tully,” you smiled brightly at him. He led you to the dance floor and placed one hand on your waist while the other grabbed your hand. You spun around the room together, laughing at one another's jokes and enjoying each other's company.

It wasn’t often that a man seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, so you tried to take advantage of the moment. However, it was hard to ignore the harsh stare of Aemond. If he didn’t like it, then he should have just asked me to dance, you thought.

After a few dances, you grew tired. “I think I am going to sit this one out and grab a drink.”

You walked toward a table that housed the wine and poured yourself a drink. There was a small group of ladies not far from the table. You could hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

“I heard someone spotted the prince leaving a brothel the other night yet again,” Lady Tyrell spoke. This piqued your interest, knowing you liked to hear occasional gossip of the people in the courts. You figured they must be talking about Aegon. It was common knowledge that your brother, by marriage, was not faithful to his wife and often sought comfort in wine and women.

“Maybe that is why her belly has yet to swell with child despite them being wed for some time. The poor girl can't possibly satisfy a real man such as himself,” Lady Tyrell continued, causing the other ladies to giggle.

You were confused at first. Aegon already had children with Helaena, so the only other prince is Aemond. Tears began to form in the corner of your eyes when you realized they were talking about you and your husband. Why would Aemond be visiting a brothel? You no longer felt well and wanted to leave.

Your eyes searched the room for Alicent and found her with Aemond, who was still at the head table. Your feet carried you over there as you tried to force your tears away. “Your grace, I am not feeling well and wish to retire for the night.”

“Of course, dear. I hope you feel well soon,” she pulled you into a hug.

“I shall accompany you then,” Aemond said and stood from his seat.

You shook your head, “That is not necessary, my prince. I do not wish to take you away from your niece and nephew’s party. My handmaiden will attend to me.”

Aemond raised his brow when you called him my prince. You haven't called him that since before you were wed after he requested you call him by his name. He took notice of your shining eyes in the candlelight and your withdrawn posture and knew something was wrong.

“I would still like to accompany you. If we may be excused, mother?” Aemond stood firm, almost begging you to challenge him. You gave in and bowed your head to the queen. He offered you his arm, but you turned away from him and made your way to your chambers, knowing he followed not far behind.

Aemond closed the door once you made it inside. You paced nervously, afraid to confront him about what you heard. He spoke up, “What troubles you?”

“Have you been visiting brothels?” you asked bluntly.

“What?”

“I overheard Lady Tyrell say people have witnessed you leave a brothel. She figures that is why I have yet to bear your children, that you visit those horrible places because I cannot satisfy you,” you could feel your throat tighten as a sob threatened to come out.

Aemond stormed over to you, “That is rich coming from Lady Tyrell, seeing as her Lord husband has fathered several bastard children. And no, I have not been visiting brothels. I have been with no other woman but you since we wed. I am not my brother and truly offended that you think so lowly of me.”

“Then why do we not have children yet? Why do you refuse to bed me most of the time? There has to be some logic for all of this!” you cried out.

“I do not believe this to be the true reason you are upset. What else troubles you so much that you falsely accuse me of something so vile?” Aemond was beginning to get angry at this point. He did not like when his integrity was questioned.

“I mourn, Aemond! I mourn for the life I wish to have,” you said but didn’t look at him. Your red-rimmed eyes were faced toward the window.

“You mean a life without me as your lord Husband?” Aemond stared at you with a clenched jaw, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

You shook your head, “I think you are mistaken. I mourn for the life I wish to have with you.”

“What do you mean by that?” He questioned.

“Aemond, I desire nothing more than to have a happy and loving marriage with you. I don’t want to question whether I am the only woman you share your bed with. I want to have your children together and grow old with you. It has been difficult for me to come to terms with the fact that it will never happen,” you sighed. Tears flowed free and landed on your cheeks as you let the pain crush your heart once more.

“Why- why would you desire that with me?” Aemond stared at you in shock. He couldn’t believe you possibly wanted a real life with him. You turned to face him.

You walked over to him and placed your hand on his face, slowly running your thumb down his cheek, “I love you, Aemond. I do not know why it is such a surprise that someone other than your family by blood could ever love you. I know I do not have your love, but that is a burden I have to carry alone.”

“Oh, my sweet wife. The only one who is mistaken is you. I have all but yearned to hear these words from your lips, for you to say you feel the way I do,” Aemond felt his anger fade, and relief flooded his body.

“You love me?”

“Yes, I love you. I have from the moment I laid my eyes upon you,” he took hold of your hands.

“But why can you be so cold sometimes? Why is it so hard for you to show me you love me like I have been trying to do to you?” you questioned, wanting nothing more but to understand him.

“I do not know how to show love. I’ve never had an example of what true love should look like and only ever known how my parents treated each other and me and my siblings. But truly, it is no fault but my own, and I am sorry for how I acted. I am so sorry that you have had to question my love for you,” his face turned into a frown, embarrassed at his actions.

He continued, “I want nothing more than the life you dream for us. I want days spent in bed making love to you. I want to dance the night away with you. I want a family with you, to watch our children grow up and have children of their own. I want to spend every day loving you as we grow old together.”

You couldn’t help but cry at his admission, knowing you prayed to the gods every night for this moment. “Do you promise?”

“I swear on my life that I will give you everything you have ever wanted as long as I am by your side,” he wrapped his arms around you to pull you closer, placing his lips on yours. You spent the night dreaming of the rest of your life together.

—

Taglist: @cullenswife , @wrendermeuseless , @darylandbethfanforever9

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen angst

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 5 months

Text

i never thought you'd happen to me.

masterlist | boygenius masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

this seems angsty but i promise it's not; i guess it's just a little snippet of people being human, finding comfort in another

instalment for the song 'leonard cohen' | wc: 813

Two broken souls can mend once forged together, meeting right when you need each other most, to fix what once was broken.

Darkness bares itself to you, sinking its teeth in so deeply that it scars. And no matter how far you walk into the light, it will never leave you completely, leaving shadows in any space it can. You carry it with you like a familiar friend, choosing to feel the warmth of the light on your cheeks, keeping it at bay as much as it will let you.

It’s a burden of being human.

But when you’re shrouded for so long, burned enough times, it’s easy to begin to think that perhaps that’s all there is for you. Maybe settling for glimpses of shadows is what you have to do; it’s better than being dragged under at least.

Emily let the dark times of her past follow her in her shadow, each and every tainted memory that brought her to this day. The ones that carried her through her career, through each blow that knocked her down, each piece she had to desperately put back together time and time again. The ones that made her who she is, the chief of the BAU.

She settled for the darkness that came to her just as the sun forms a shaded patch beneath a tree. Sometimes she welcomes it, leaning into its comforting touch, as an old friend greets you with familiarity. It’s a way for her to know that there’s a constant, something she can turn to and know it will always be there.

And then she met you.

Like a piece falling into place, she found comfort in the sound of your laugh, the sight of your smile, the memorised contours of your face.

She let you see the ghosts that followed her just as you did with her.

She was nervous the first time she pulled you in for a kiss, a late night in her office over case files and small glasses of the burning tequila she hid beneath her desk. She swore you to secrecy and you laughed.

She likes to trust her gut, whether she enjoys it or not, and she desperately ached for her heart to be right. That the touches you provide her with in passing and the way you subconsciously search for her in every room, are signs of reciprocated emotions.

How she adores being right. She tasted the liquor on your tongue and felt the flush of your cheek beneath her palm, she smiled at the breath you let out against her lips when you parted for air and at the shy flutter of your eyes.

You were the optimism she’s so constantly ducked away from. She was the optimism you’d always yearned to find; the one you’d always heard of, settling to never find it, even resenting the mere concept.

Emily was the moon and you were the body of water best suited to reflect her light. Better together, shining back at one another in a way that defied the darkness around you. It was easy to focus on the beauty of your love, to let it take the lead. And whenever the shadows showed themselves at least you weren’t alone.

Just like the nights you’ve shared so many times before, you found comfort beside each other, that solid intimacy of naked skin pressed against skin. The air was still and calm. Peace, occupied only by your breathing. Your head rested against her chest with the echoes of her heart beating a soothing rhythm whilst her hand stroked through your hair.

You could tell she wanted to say something. It's a perk of knowing somebody so truly and deeply; recognising the hitch of a breath, knowing that it signified words that begged to be set free. She’d watched the stars out of the window deeply in thought, a constant smile making her cheeks begin to ache.

“I have something cheesy to say,” she sighed, you could hear the embarrassed grin in her voice.

“I think I’m sleepy enough to stomach it,” you returned, she felt your lips twitch amusedly against her collarbone.

“You have ignited something within me that I never thought possible,” she muttered with her words falling onto the top of your head. “It makes me feel weightless and free, as though nothing can touch me.”

She couldn’t imagine speaking words more true. In fact, she couldn’t imagine any type of happy life without you. No person or thing could ever take that place next to her; the spot reserved for you, that blossoming garden never short on sunlight.

“What’s that?” you asked, sitting up to meet her eyes with yours, hazel filled with adoration. Her gaze was honest and just like that first night you let her hold your cheek, leaning into the touch that felt like home.

“Hope.”

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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mazeinthemiroh · 11 months

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Hi! First, I want to say I really love your writing ❤️

Can I request an Ateez reaction to catching their S/O singing and dancing to an Ateez song (maybe right when its their part as well)? ❤️

ateez catching their s/o singing/dancing to their songs

genre: insanely fluffy like idk what to do with myself, obviosuly louds of crack as well because it's funnnnnn

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of being drunk in woo's

a/n: i took the liberty of doing a little scenario for this ask because i thought it was just super cute and funny! hope you enjoy <3333

hongjoong

hongjoong lent against the door-frame and grinned to himself as he watches you getting ready to go out. oblivious to your boyfriend watching, you swung your hips to the rhythm of the music, humming to yourself.

it was only when 'TO THE BEAT' started playing did you gasp in excitement, clearly in your own little world as you braced yourself to do hongjoong's rap.

he held a laugh back as he continued to watch, listening to your.... attempt at rapping his verse. he couldn't tell whether he found it adorable or utterly hilarious. once you had finished your boyfriend's verse, you swirled proudly around in a flourish, before coming face to face with your grinning boyfriend.

"nooooo how long were you watching," you whined, covering your face with both of your hands in embarrassment. you swatted a hand at his chest as he threw his head back with laughter.

"long enough" he answered in amusement, still smiling as he pulled you in for a sloppy hug as you tried to pull away playfully, "hey, you may not be the best rapper, but you're definitely my favourite!"

seonghwa

you were waiting for seonghwa to join you at the park. you had set up a little picnic date for the both of you, and the park was very nearly empty, with the occasional dog walker or cyclist enjoying the fresh air.

on waiting for your boyfriend to make an appearance, you decide to play your summer playlist out loud, since you wouldn't be bothering anyone near you.

swaying gently to the music, you smile and pull down your sunglasses as 'Eternal Sunshine' started to play. the song definitely suited the weather; the sun's rays shone persistently down, kissing your glowing skin gently.

you sang softly and gently to the melody you knew so well, watching the breeze tickle the leaves of the trees. you didn't hear the footsteps of your boyfriend behind you, clearly entranced by the scenery.

"you sound so pretty," his gentle voice spoke as he sat down next to you, his hand finding your waist. you give him a shy smile in return.

"not as pretty as you, park seonghwa" you grinned and leaned into his touch, "so pretty that i will forgive you for being late!"

yunho

you were waiting for your boyfriend to get home from work. he always arrived a little bit later than you did, and so you had a few hours to be able to do whatever you wanted before spending time with him.

right now, you had your music blasted and echoed around the corners of the house. you thought you would get ahead on the household chores. you usually did the vacuuming and dusting while yunho did the ironing and washing up.

so there you were, dusting the over the surfaces, when you heard 'WIN' start to play. you smirked to yourself, your body moving to the beat of the song.

"heyyyyyyy, we are gonna win" you sang, your body doing what you thought were the correct dance moves (you knew they probably weren't.) when it came to the dance break at the end though, you twerked like your life depended on it. it just felt right!

and yunho was glad that he came home when he did to see you like this, the dance machine you were! your flustered face told was one that is now permanently ingrained in his memory as he laughed hysterically.

yeosang

you had the tendency to sing in the shower. when you were alone in the house, you sang at the top of your lungs. but when your boyfriend was there, you tended to tone it down a bit.

there you were in the shower again, your phone just outside and turned up just enough for you to hear it over the pouring water.

as soon as 'HALAZIA' started to play, you gasped this was your moment. grabbing the bottle of shampoo and grasping it in your hands like a microphone, you weren't aware how loud you were actually singing.

you did in fact wake your boyfriend up out of his light sleep. he smiled slightly at the sound of your voice and went to investigate some more, his curiosity overtaking him.

he didn't have to press his ear up against the bathroom door to know what you were singing. he could hear you attempt to sing his lower verses before clearing your throat. he let out a tiny giggle, an adoring smile growing on his face as he left you to sing your heart out.

san

well, you got bored when waiting for your boyfriend to get changed after his dance practice. you loved supporting him, but he took so damn long to get showered and ready afterwards.

as you waited for him, you had the whole practice room to yourself. you thought that you might as well make use of it.

so getting up, you played 'HALA HALA' on the sound system. the music bounced off the walls as you stretched half-heartedly, getting ready to do the choreography you had seen so many times.

you didn't notice your boyfriend come in, an amused look on his face as he watched your intense, concentrated expression. he was impressed that you remembered so many moves!

it was only until the very last move where you were supposed to grab your head and twist it like you were cracking your neck that actually caught you off guard; your neck actually made a loud crack sound and you thought you'd died for a second.

san was concerned at first but as soon as he saw you were okay, he burst into laughter at your perplexed and shocked expression.

mingi

getting ready in the mornings was fun with you because you always played music in order to get ready efficiently and on time. it also gave you a bit of a boost to start the day.

mingi was still in the shower when 'Rocky' started playing. you were just putting your underwear on, wiggling your butt to the music. this was your favourite ateez song yet, it was hard not to sing and dance along to it.

you didn't hear your boyfriend come out of the shower so you kept getting ready, fluently belting out the lyrics as if your life depended on it. but your favourite part was yet to come.

mingi could hear you singing and grinned, peering his head through the crack of the door as you shouted "let's start the second round, fix on!" not able to contain his laughter, he chuckled loudly at your immense enthusiasm. at first, you didn't notice but when you did?

"mingi!" you pushed the door fully open to your boyfriend almost in tears "why are you laughing oh my gosh." you huffed and folded your arms over your chest. "you're just jealous that i'm a better rapper than you!"

wooyoung

you don't know how you ended up in a karaoke bar with your friends. perhaps your friends pressured you into singing. or perhaps you were too drunk to be affected by insecurities you once had before.

whichever it was, all you knew is that you were on the mini stage, your friends the only ones really paying attention and cheering you on loudly.

your chosen song? 'WONDERLAND', of course. thank goodness your boyfriend wasn't here to see you make a complete fool out of yourself, and all whilst singing one of his own songs, right??

well, i wouldn't get your hopes up because mid-song, your charming boyfriend wooyoung had entered the same bar with a couple of his friends. he was laughing hysterically at your off-beat singing and unnecessarily sexy dance moves. it was too funny not to record this on his phone.

when your... special performance ended, you could hear an all-familiar shrill laughter somewhere in the club. when you turned in that direction, your eyes met with your boyfriend's. and you knew at that moment he was never going to let you live this down.

jongho

the producers at kq entertainment would sometimes let you into the studio and mess around, just because you were friends with them as well as the partner of their beloved maknae. you did get certain privileges for being jongho's significant other and you were going to take advantage of that!

at one point, when things weren't so busy, you asked if you could have one of the studios to yourself while waiting for your boyfriend to finish his vocal practice.

you thought you would have a little vocal practice yourself. shoving the headphones over your ears, you could only hear yourself now. you hummed to yourself, wondering what you wanted to sing.

'Utopia' came to mind, and without a second thought, you started singing into the microphone. you were impressed by your own vocals, particularly when it came to jongho's lines.

you didn't notice him even enter the producer's booth on the other side of the glass, but he could hear your beautiful singing. he watched and listened intently, a small, proud smile playing on his lips.

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fiapartridge · 1 year

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cruel summer | jack hughes

"he looks up grinning like the devil..."

jack hughes x reader

summary: it's another hot summer night at the hughes family's lake house, and yours and jack's secret relationship is tested now more than ever...

warning(s): swearing

top 3 songs on lover: cruel summer, cornelia street, dbatc (honorable mention: the archer) and you can quote me on that

You've known the Hughes family for as long as you could remember. Your parents met in college, and since then, your families have spent every summer at the lakehouse together. To say that the three boys and you were close would be an understatement. You guys were inseparable.

When Jack moved to New Jersey to play for the Devils, you had just recently got into Princeton. You both were elated. Sure, it was still about an hour drive away from him, but it beat being in Michigan. Before the move, everyone saw you and Luke as the best of friends, the ones that could barely go a day without seeing each other, the ones where laughing was the only thing in their vocabulary, but when you moved to New Jersey, all of that changed.

You still talked to Luke and you saw him on occasion, like Christmas break or on Thanksgiving, but not as much as you saw Jack. When Jack learned that you were going to Princeton, he rearranged his entire schedule to make him able to pick you up on the weekends and bring you to Newark to hang with him and the team. They became some of your best friends and Jack, well, you guys were closer than ever.

You suppose that that was when it all started: the secrecy, the quick kisses, the hand-holding underneath table linen— the start of your secret relationship. Though it was all out in the open in Jersey: you staying at his apartment; in his bed, having an extra toothbrush in his bathroom, wearing his hoodies, and staying up talking until the sun came up.

After a year of going back and forth between Newark and Princeton, debating whether this whole thing was merely just you guys hanging around each other for your families’ sake, or if it was really something more, Jack felt like he knew the obvious answer. He never wanted to talk to you and be around you because of your families. Sure, that was a factor, but he just loved you, and knowing you. And when he asked you to be his girlfriend, to his surprise, you said yes.

So when summer started up again and Jack Hughes was officially your boyfriend, you knew your families would have a field day with it, so you kept it a secret. You didn’t want things to change, you didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable with you going into his room anymore just like you had done so many summers before, or them being weirded out with the fact that you guys kiss and hold hands among other things. You guys just didn’t want them to see you two differently— especially his brothers. Quinn and Luke— they were your best friends. You couldn’t mess that up.

The boys (along with the addition of Z, Coley, Turcs, Eddy, and Duker, who practically begged Quinn to let them stay for the summer) were in the backyard, playing games in the pool when you walked back inside the lakehouse, water spilling off your swimsuit, dampening up the hardwood floor.

“Y/N/N, you’re getting the floor all wet,” your mom scolded as she and Ellen sat on the couch, drinking wine and talking about their lives leading up to today.

You grabbed a towel from the cabinet beside the door, letting it hang over your shoulders as Ellen smiled brightly at you. She waved you over to where they were sitting. “Oh, let me see my beautiful, Y/N/N.”

You grinned upon hearing Ellen’s voice. She was like a second mother to you. You came to her for almost everything. And Ellen loved her boys, but you, you were like the daughter she never had. “You, darling, are stunning,” she beamed. “Come, sit.”

You sat on the carpeted floor, not wanting to mess up the couch. “How’s college?” Ellen asked.

“It’s— a change, but I really like it.”

She raised her brow humorously. “Any boyfriends?”

Hm. You figured the first night of summer may not be the best time to tell her that you are dating her fucking son. So, you shook your head and said, “No. Uh, that department’s still in development.”

She laughed. “I remember when you and Lukey would chase each other around the house when you were little. You’d knock over every single vase in sight. We’d spent a thousand dollars on repairs that month.”

You scrunch your nose. “Sorry.”

“No, no!” she waved it off. “You kids were having fun. I missed it when you guys were kids. The boys have been— stressed to say the least, but the second Jack found out you were going to be in Jersey with him, it’s like his whole demeanor shifted. This past year, it’s like… he’s only been happy.”

“Speaking of Jack,” your mom turned to the figure walking through the backdoor.

“I was wondering why the lemonade was taking hours,” he smiled at you. “Hi, moms.” He kissed the top of his mom’s head and kissed your mom’s cheek as he stood behind the couch, beaming at you. He loved seeing you with his mom. Every girl he dated in the past had good relations with his mom, but they were never you. You’d known her since birth. No one had a bond like you two.

Maybe that was another fear; why you had to keep this whole thing a secret. What if Ellen hated you? I mean, she never could. She always anticipated you ending up with one of her boys, but there was still some fear lingering in the back of your head; that maybe she’d think of you differently.

“Sorry we stole her,” Ellen said. “We just needed some girl talk.”

“That’s never good.”

Ellen threw a pillow at him as he ducked, grabbing your hand and pulling you up towards the kitchen. “Go, go, go!” he yelled as you laughed behind him.

When you two finally made it into the kitchen, checking if anyone was around, Jack slowly backed you up against the counter, a smirk dancing across his lips as he held onto your hips and kissed you. You sighed into the kiss, placing your hands on his sub-burnt cheeks. There wasn’t much time for intimacy like there was back in New Jersey, so you took every slim chance you had.

“What’d you guys talk about?” he whispered, his lips still a close distance from yours as if moving a bit farther would ruin the electric atmosphere around you.

“College, you, boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends?” he looked at you, grinning like the devil before tickling your sides as you laughed, pushing his hands off of you. “What’d you say?” he asked once he was done attacking you with tickles. His hands remained on both sides of the counter, trapping you in him. You both glanced at the entrance from time to time, making sure the coast was clear.

“What? You jealous?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m so jealous. Let me go beat up this boyfriend of yours,” he said before pretending to hit himself in the face.

“Okay, okay, okay. This is getting embarrassing,” you laughed, scrunching your nose at him as you walked around him and pulled out the pitcher of lemonade from the fridge.

Just as Jack was about to pull you back into him, he jumped backwards upon hearing Luke’s voice enter the room. “God, you guys are so fucking slow. What are you doing? Making out?”

Your face turned beet red as Luke shook his head and took the pitcher from where you placed it on the counter.

“Why? Is that what you and Duker are doing outside?” Jack asked, smirking.

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes. “How have you never noticed that Duker and I have something going on? It’s like you don’t even pay attention anymore, Jacky,” he said, shaking his head before shuffling out the door and back outside to the pool.

You let out a breath, laughing as Jack wrapped his arms around you, matching your energy.

This was going to be a long summer.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #nhl fan fiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #jack hughes fluff

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satorkive · 6 months

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DNA :: SATORU

“첫눈에 널 알아보게 됐어, 서롤 불러왔던 것처럼, 내 혈관 속 DNA가 말해 줘,내가 찾아 헤매던 너라는 걸…”

gojo satoru knew that it’s his time.

honestly, he doesn’t know what to feel. emotions override his logical way of thinking that he doesn’t even have the energy to formulate his thoughts.

is this the end?

is this how suguru felt when he’s bleeding out?

is this how you felt when you took the blade for him?

is this how nanami felt when half of his face was burned?

if yes, then he’d gladly welcome the arms of death.

he can finally reunite with his bestfriend, his love of his life, and his almost-bestfriend. nothing is worth living in the jujutsu world. he can apologize to shoko when they meet again—not very soon, he hopes.

he has trained the kids so they can defend themselves. he shows a portion of his vulnerability to them, but they can never equate the two of you.

it was probably the best twenty-eight years he experienced in this cruel world. he hopes in the afterlife, he can be happy—for a lifetime. not just temporarily, but for eternity.

the sky is blue and the sun shines above him. the air is fresh and the war is fading.

“satoru!”

his eyes snap widely when he hears your voice. he frantically moves to go to you when he felt your soft hands touching his face.

the bleariness slowly vanishes and he can clearly see your pretty face who is looking at him in concern.

“are you okay? you seem to be… disoriented?”

“yo, satoru! you fell for [name] so hard you are ready to collapse? that’s lame.”

the voice he never heard for so many years greet him like an ice bucket.

what’s happening? he’s really dead? he didn’t wake up?

“oh, oh…” then he laughs. like a deranged psychopath laugh. you step back in surprise and suguru put a hand on satoru’s shoulder to smack him.

“oh my god, you’re being insane, satoru. what’s happening?”

the white-haired boy shook his head and wipes the tear that has fallen. “nothing, nothing. i thought i was being delusional—”

you chime in. “you have always been delusional, satoru, what’s new?”

suguru giggles like a girl and satoru stands up to headlock you. you put your hand over his and you feel like your blood thrumming in your veins. like your dna is recognizing who you are biologically engineered to be with.

you feel him and he feels you. goosebumps form under your blouse and you look at him with wide eyes.

it feels like you’re seeing him again. it feels like seeing him renewed your entire being. it feels like seeing him is coming home to him again.

“satoru, you’re…?”

“hi, baby.” he gives you that dimpled smile.

“whether we are in the past life or in this one as well, we’re going to be together forever because—

—we’re the two who found the destiny.”

#🫧 — riri’s love letters!#i love ‘toru #SATORU: LY 承 #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader

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kitashousewife · 8 months

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iwaizumi hajime doesn’t consider himself a nostalgic person.

but when summer crawls to an end? he’s feeling it for sure. every good memory, every long night for the last three months floods his mind. he finds himself longing for the early summer feeling of freedom and excitement, dipping his toes into a few months of bliss.

so, to mourn the time gone by so soon, iwaizumi has spent the last few days on the beach.

his broad shoulders shine in the sun, golden brown and littered with freckles. his cheeks, littered with freckles of their own turn to face the sun. he’s rotated to his stomach, deciding to rest his eyes while he suns his back. after this, maybe he’ll run into the ocean.

he’s trying everything in his power to make time slow down.

iwaizumi pouts when he rests his forehead on his hands, face nuzzling the fuzzy towel beneath him. he knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows his last year of university will start on monday whether he wants it to or not.

the beach is fairly empty today, which he assumed. everyone has slowly entered into their post-summer routines, leaving him to his thoughts, save it be for the few other people trying to pack in as much as they can during these last few days of summer. the sound of waves seem distant as iwa attempts to filter through the nagging thoughts of productivity.

he sits up, muscles flexing as he rises to his feet. the light blue shorts hugging his legs are pulled back down to his mid thigh before he walks into the water. he allows the waves to push him and pull him lazily, enjoying the steadiness of it all.

iwa is conflicted. sure, he quite enjoys not having anything to do besides hit the gym, call his friends and family, and take care of himself. but really, you can only spend so long at the gym (despite his best efforts of course) and when your loved ones live across the world, phone calls and facetimes can be limited. at least once he’s in school he will have a routine, a little more structure, and many more things to fill his time. that can’t be all that bad, people thrive on consistency and schedules!

he so strongly wishes that wasn’t true as he trudges back to land. despite wanting to be a beach bum gym rat without responsibilities, iwa knows that isn’t him.

a sad feeling creeps into his stomach as the sun begins to fall slowly. he packs up his things and takes one long look at the ocean. i’ll be back, he thinks. i can always come here to study, he shakes his head, almost laughing at how completely untrue that is. when he begins to walk home, the end of summer blues hit hard. to soothe his hurt, he decides to order a pizza for himself tonight. an end of summer, beginning of his last year celebration.

when he shuts the door to his apartment, he’s got his phone pressed to his ear between his shoulder, both hands full of his belongings. after he sets them down, iwa swears he hears something on the other side of the wall. pulling the phone from his ear, sounds of the pizza place’s hold music becoming a little less painful as he listens for the sound. as soon as he puts it back to his ear, he hears it again.

just as he hangs up to call the building manager, he hears something fall over, followed by a very disgruntled sound, and the front door slamming shut. about three seconds later, there’s a knock at his door.

iwa’s heart beats a little too quickly for someone with his stature, answering the door alone. when he checks the peep hole he sees you, arms crossed and lips pulling into a small pout.

“hello,” he opens the door just a bit, enough to show part of his body. really he’s a little embarrassed at the state of his apartment, but realized as well that he is still in swim trunks.

only swim trunks.

you notice, eyes going a little wider at the absolutely gorgeous man in front of you. tan body, muscular biceps and messy hair. before you get too distracted, you remember why you came over here.

“h-hi, i just moved in next door. i wanted to say sorry for all of the noise,” you wince as he nods. “i wanted to ask, do you have much experience building furniture?”

iwa is sure you’re embarrassed, but he can’t help but smile just a little bit.

“i have a little,” he opens the door a bit wider. “do you need-“

“yes!” you light up, thrilled that you’re finally getting some help. “come over, whenever you’re free. i would really appreciate it.” you wave, giving iwa possibly the prettiest smile he’s ever seen before turning on your heel to walk back home.

he shuts the door, snatching up the t-shirt on the kitchen counter before slipping it on and heading out the door once more. he decides that pizza can wait. who is he to not help someone in need?

“oh wow, you’re fast,” you open the door and motion for him to come in, and iwa’s cheeks turn pink. you introduce yourself quickly, he returns the favor, and he follows behind you to the living room. spread out are different parts and instructions, and based on the photo on the box, it appears to be a coffee table.

“the website said it would be easy to set up but i’ve been trying for thirty minutes,” you sit on the floor and sigh. iwa joins you, grabbing the instructions.

“it never is,” he thinks back to the absolute nightmare it was setting up his bed frame. “did you move in today?”

“this morning,” you nod, grabbing one of the many boxes in the room. “do you mind if i unpack? would that be rude?”

“no,” he says a little too quickly. “i would do the same thing. i hate having my things in boxes.”

you laugh, and his cheeks turn pink again. he cringes, knowing if any of his friends saw him right now he wouldn’t hear the end of it. sitting here in a pretty girl’s apartment, stinking of salt and sunscreen in a pair of shorts and some random old t shirt.

“how long have you lived here?” you’re in the kitchen now, moving different cups around with a furrowed brow. iwa is beside himself, he can’t believe someone this cute is going to be right next to him every day.

“about three years,” he tightens one of the screws, making amazing time building it. he almost wants to slow down so that he can stay longer, but he won’t bother you.

“that’s good to hear,” you move the now empty box to the corner. “i don’t want to have to move again any time soon.”

i don’t want you to either, he thinks.

the two of you talk while he finishes building, getting to know each other. you learn where he’s from, what he’s studying, and vise versa. you two chat about school and before you know it, your table is complete.

“oh my gosh, thank you!” you give him a tired smile. “can i pay you?”

he snorts. “no, don’t worry about that. i’m happy to help.”

“can i at least get you dinner? you have no idea how much this helps me.”

he stands in your kitchen for a moment, before nodding.

“that would be fine,” you smile at him.

“i’ll order a pizza, does that sound okay? i haven’t been to the store yet,” he nods, and you pull out your phone to call them.

iwa forgets his summer blues for an evening. each minute he spends with you, the longing feeling in his stomach is replaced with excitement. instead of mourning the summers end, he welcomes every opportunity coming to him in the new season.

as he eats pizza with you on your living room floor, he can’t help but smile. after three years, he finally has his first real “college” experience.

and when he goes home, he thinks of any excuse he can to get you over to his place.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi hajime #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader

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luaveltarot · 1 year

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(Pile 1-4 from left to right)

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 1

Stop being neutral. You need to have faith in yourself and stand up for your beliefs. I see you are tangled but it’s time to trust your wings so you can rise above that situation. You have to expect things can happen for you too and I see many blessings coming your way, they are about to knock on your door but you need to put the effort of walking up to the door to open it. You just can’t stand in confusion and contemplate whether to open the door or not. Or pick that call and let it ring till the screen goes black again. You’ll say life seems stagnant and you feel so stuck but even if something is right in front, you need to have enough confidence to face the consequences. Ik that you are having a hard time adulating, life does feel scary when you suddenly get independent but if everyone was scared like you, the ones who came before you then they wouldn’t even be able to get out of their house. They trusted themselves and they overcame this fear. It’s a cycle. Comfort zone does feel good but then you feel stagnant too right. So what will you do? You will trust your developed wings and fly out then you’ll see so many beautiful ,colourful and vibrant flowers. You’ll see trees, you’ll realise that whole is yours and there are more garden around you with various fragrances. You’ll even realise that your favourite fragrance and your favourite colour seems to change. You’ll slowly evolve and you’ll not even realise. You’ll look back at your old self and feel so proud of yourself of this time that yes I was not meant for one garden but trillions of gardens. The warmth of sun will make you feel alive again. You’ll feel energetic and you’ll be happy:).

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 2

Ok so you are unable to say no in your everyday life and that is what has burdened you, tired you and exhausted you. Things don’t manifest for you because you are not prioritising your sanity. You make others happy instead of yourself. You are waiting for something to happen but what I feel is that what you want you, you do everything it’s like you are standing right in front of what you wanted but suddenly you get a call from behind, you turn around and go to help others or just stand there to let them know you are there. Love yourself like you love others. I feel as if everyone loves you and adores you but this has created an invisible pressure on you to always be their superhero. It’s time to reflect and explore what the inner you is screaming at you but you can’t hear. You need to open up your throat chakra and learn to say no. I feel you’ve got mute to your emotions. Your emotions are also you and you just can’t treat yourself so unfairly. You are not obliged to meet anyone’s expectations really. Set yourself free, take a break and recharge yourself. Once you rest yourself enough I feel that things will happen for you smoothly. Make time for yourself, you need it. Stop sacrificing yourself for others and feel your breaths. You are alive for yourself, yes we have to be there for others but you can’t expect your 1% charged phone to go on forever, it will turn off and you will have to plug it in to charge enough so you can use it again. Same way you are required to charge yourself. Take care of yourself. <3

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 3

Someone you love has been sick? You lost some kind of opportunity because of them. You could have done so much in your life but your life stopped because you had to take care of someone significant in your life. Because of all this you feel no drive or inspiration. How long has it been since you last laughed? Laugh and laugh till your belly hurts. Watch a stand up comedy or see funny videos but laugh and smile more often. For those who have cats as pets, they feel you and they love you a lot. You have started to procrastinate a lot because you want to escape reality. Maybe you started some business and it failed too so now you are hard on yourself by pinching money. Money is coming towards you so don’t lose hope. This phase is temporary and will soon pass so don’t you worry. So many responsibilities and you have a hard time juggle all of them. Spend time with your pet and smile more often. For most part I feel it’s between a love interest and finances you are stuck, in between your creativity and inner child suffering so try to stay more optimistic, everything will be fine, trust me!

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 4

You need to protect yourself energetically. Everyday imagine white light surrounding you as a protective barrier. Moving forward, I see that you have been betrayed and things have just been chaotically bad for you in 3D. For some you have lost someone you loved and if it calms you to know then know they are in a better place. Also stop wanting to stand out, i think it will be better if you get lowkey for awhile and not have everyone’s attention on you because you have lot of evil eyes surrounding you. You also let the past stay in past and not move with the whole damn shackles in the present. You need to break those shackles of past events and move forward. Life ahead of you is colourful and vibrant, you will have many choices in life especially in love and friendship matters so next time you shower, imagine the water cleaning you and all the negativity flowing down the drain. I can already feel how light you’ll feel both internally and externally. There is hope and the sky will get clear, you’ll see sun and rainbows again. If possible sit in the presence of God or pray that you get calmness and comfort.

#tarot #divination #tarot reading #tarot witch #witchy #witch #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #pick an image #tarotblr #need to hear #luaveltarot

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youunravelme · 1 year

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drops of jupiter pt. 2

author’s note: lol i accidentally posted the beginning of this part in part one, so if you saw that, no you didn’t. again, this is not a super light read, deals heavily with depression, though it’s never explicitly stated. think liability by lorde/this is me trying by taylor swift. also i’m sorry for the amount of shrugging and sighing in this fic and the first part. every character is in a constant state of idk.

warnings: cursing, drinking/getting drunk, depression

summary: being friends with your ex wasn’t the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, breaking up with him took that slot.

prompts: “I thought I was going to lose you.” / “i just need you.” / “what the hell were you thinking? / “i don’t know who you think i am but i’m not leaving.” / “feel my fucking heartbeat right now and tell me i don’t love you.”

then

“we need to get up,” jack mumbled into your neck, his arm strewn over your waist.

“why?” you asked. “we’re on vacation.”

“vacation with my family. i wouldn’t put it past my brothers to harass us any minute now.”

you hummed and snuggled further into your pillow.

a bang pounded on the door that had you both flinching. you clutched the comforter to your chest even though you were both fully clothed.

“jack get up! we’re going to work out.” you heard quinn’s voice on the other side of the door, and if you listened closely, you could hear luke snickering.

“we’re on vacation!” you called back. “come back at a reasonable hour.”

“7 is reasonable!” quinn replied.

"in what world?” you groaned. but jack got up anyway, tossing on a clean shirt and a pair of joggers. “wait, where are you going?”

jack walked over and kissed your forehead. “go back to sleep, i’ll see you later.”

you watched him walk out before shutting your eyes and succumbing to sleep once more. when you woke up next, you went downstairs and were met with ellen standing at the kitchen island eating toast and eggs.

“you’re awake!” ellen greeted. “want some breakfast?”

you nodded and took a seat at the island. “but i can make it--”

“absolutely not. you’re a guest here, and guests don’t make breakfast for themselves.” she turned around and started cracking eggs into a pan before tossing some toast in the toaster. she seasoned the eggs and let them cook before turning back around to you. “did you sleep well?” she asked. you were fully expecting a teasing tone since you did sleep in the same bed as her son, but she was being genuine.

“slept fine,” you said.

“i bet,” ellen started. “all of you were very busy yesterday.”

and she wasn’t wrong. you spent most of the day on the lake, whether that was sunbathing on the boat or wake boarding. by the time the sun set, you were exhausted.

you glanced around the downstairs. “they still aren’t back yet?”

ellen tossed her head back and laughed. “sweetheart, it’s only been an hour since they’ve left. if anything, they’re probably headed to the ice rink by now.”

“but it’s summer, the rink should be melted?”

ellen grinned at you knowingly. “there’s a public indoor ice rink just ten minutes away. they probably went there after working out at the gym.”

“did jim go with?” ellen nodded. “so it’s just us?”

“just us.” she turned back around to plate your toast and eggs before she placed the plate in front of you. “how have you been? how’s school?”

you shrugged. “it’s been alright. nothing to write home about.”

“jack said you seem to be enjoying it.”

“it’s a step to getting where i want to be.”

“that’s what life’s about, hon. taking it step after step.”

now

you stared at your phone for what felt like years. there was no way this was your life, no way that you deserved any of the kindness that’d been shown to you. there was no earthly explanation for why jack hughes was insisting on you attending one of his games against ahaheim.

“you need to be social,” was his explanation. “besides, the boys missed you.”

quinn was in town for his game happening the next night, trevor was playing against jack and nico that night, and the plan was to go to dinner afterwards.

you were nervous to see quinn again, this being the first time you saw him since the break up. you weren’t sure how his family took it since you made a point not to text or call regardless of how much you missed them. it just wouldn’t be fair to jack.

but he met you outside the arena with a small hug and smile. “it’s been awhile, how have you been?”

you really wished people would stop asking you that.

you shrugged. “nothing much has been going on. how’ve you been? i haven’t kept up with hockey much lately.” truth be told, you didn’t want the reminder and couldn’t bear to keep using jack’s logins. you wondered if your account was still on his netflix.

quinn shrugged as well and nodded his head toward the arena so you both could start walking in. “life’s been normal, busy, but normal.”

“how’re your parents?”

quinn tucked his hands in his pockets. “they’re fine. they ask about you, miss you.”

you almost stopped walking. you never once considered yourself important enough to be noticed, let alone missed. “and luke?”

“still at michigan.”

you fell into a comfortable silence after that, something you’ve always loved about quinn, your ability to just be without any expectation of conversation. as you made your way to your seats, quinn stayed quiet, waiting until you were seated to finally say something.

“what made you come to this game?” he asked.

you wanted to shrug off his comment, to say something flippant, but you’d always been honest with quinn in the past. “jack invited me and i couldn’t say no.”

“but why?”

“i--” you paused. “i don’t know. i don’t think i could deny him of anything if he asked me.”

he nodded, seemingly content with your lackluster answer, maybe because it was the most honest one you’d given in awhile.

as the game began, quinn would make little comments here and there, mainly about jack and his performance. “he’s playing really well,” he’d say.

after jack scored a goal, you saw him scanning the crowd as nico and his teammates rushed him. but he didn’t smile until you two locked eyes. and if you smiled as well, who was to blame you? surely they’ve never seen jack hughes embody the full weight of joy. in the corner of your eye, you could see quinn smirk, but you ignored it in favor of looking at the players.

the both of you walked down to the locker rooms, flashing your lanyards jack had given quinn earlier that day. you stood outside, bouncing on your toes.

“what’s got you so antsy?” quinn asked.

you stopped. just now noticing that you were wringing your hands together. “i--uh--”

“you made it!” nico came out first with his hands open and arms spread wide in greeting.

“why wouldn’t we be here?” quinn asked. “we made plans.”

it was a brief second, but you caught it nonetheless, the glance nico made toward you that said everything all at once. before you could comment, trevor and jack appeared, the latter having the biggest shit-eating grin you’d seen in awhile.

“who’s ready for dinner?” jack asked.

then

“if i was a worm, would you still love me?”

“what?” jack laughed, hands buried in your hair as you rested you head in his lap.

“if i was a worm--”

“no, i heard you. i was just giving you an opportunity to say something else.” you slapped his chest lightly with your hand and abruptly sat up before scooting towards the other side of the couch. “hey no, come back.”

“not until you say that you’d still love me as a worm.”

“would i even know it was you? how did you turn into a worm?”

“an evil wizard came down and turned me into a worm. does that answer your question?”

jack grabbed ahold of your ankles and dragged you back to him. he pressed his lips to the side of your head and smiled. “i’d love you even if you were the smallest worm.”

now

jack picked out a small italian restaurant twenty minutes away from the arena. when he finally pulled up to the building (all of you riding together), your stomach sank. it looked all too familiar.

the last time you’d been there, was the last date you had before you broke things off. part of you wondered if he selected that place on purpose, but the more rational part knew it was his favorite spot in town.

the five of you walked in and got a table. it didn’t go unnoticed that as you all sat down, the only seat left was next to your ex boyfriend.

“it’s nice to have the gang back together,” nico said. “i missed you guys.” you wanted to look down at the table, but when nico made eye contact with you and smiled, you were glad you didn’t.

“are you ready to order?” the server came up and asked. “i can give you a few minutes if you’d like.”

you panicked and looked down at the menu. you hadn’t been here in so long you couldn’t recall what you enjoyed the most. by the time it made it to you, you were no closer to figuring it out.

“you okay?” jack mumbled.

you looked up to see his earnest eyes focused on you and you alone. not the boys, not the pretty server, just you.

“i can’t remember what i usually get.”

jack reached over and pointed to the top left spot on the menu. “you used to get the carbonara.” but you weren’t looking at the menu. no. you were looking at his profile, how focused he was at reading the ingredients to make sure it was something you liked.

you knew it because it’s what he used to do all the time.

“i’ll get the carbonara, please,” you said with a small smile.

the server walked away to place the table’s orders and conversation picked up again.

“so,” trevor started, staring you down across the table with something akin to smugness on his face. “are you seeing anyone?”

“trev,” jack cut in.

“no, i think we should let her answer,” nico said. “i mean, it’s been awhile since we’ve all been together and caught up.”

“i--” you choked out, your heart beating hard in your chest.

“guys cmon,” jack started. “just leave it.”

there was something in you that sparked up at hearing his insistence you keep quiet. something that rebelled against the idea of staying silent.

so you spoke.

“i’ve been on a few dates.”

and the absolute devastation of jack’s face was enough to make you want to take it all back.

then

“do you really think that baseball cap is gonna hide your very recognizable face?” you asked him as you walked into yost ice arena.

“i’m hoping people will be too busy focusing on the game to look at me.”

“how could anyone ignore this handsome face?” you asked, taking your hand and squeezing his cheeks into a fish face.

he smacked your hand away and gripped it in his own, swinging it between both of your bodies. the both of you walked over to the row of seats his family saved.

his mother and father smiled at the sight of you. bringing you into a hug like you were a part of their family. and maybe, to them, you were. you and jack had been together for the better part of three years at that point.

despite not having seen his family in a few months, jack still sat on the outside with you tucked in between him and his mother with his hand resting on your thigh.

a shiver went up your spine spontaneously. jack shot you a look before he threw an arm around your shoulder, bringing you in as close as he could with an arm rest between you two.

“you okay?”

“just forgot how cold ice rinks are,” you replied in hopes he wouldn’t notice your flushed face. three years and that man could still do that to you.

"you get used to it after awhile,” he said as he kissed the side of your head.

no, you thought. i don’t think i will.

now

dinner wasn’t as lively as it once was after your confession. trevor and nico tried to compensate, hell even quinn was making an attempt at conversation, but it was obvious you and jack’s hearts weren’t in it.

he wouldn’t stop staring at you from the corner of his eye and you couldn’t help but stare at the food he remembered you loved right before you shattered his heart again.

it wasn’t long before the five of you were headed home after nico covered the bill. jack drove, leaving you in shotgun, and everyone else in the backseat pretending the tension wasn’t suffocating. jack dropped the boys off at the arena, with nico saying he could take quinn and trevor to their hotels before they all but scrambled out of the car.

which just left the two of you idling in the parking lot.

after jack saw them get into nico’s car, you fully expected him to drive off and take you home. but he just sat there.

“how long did you wait before trying to find someone else?” he asked while staring out the windshield.

“it wasn’t like that--”

“then what was it like? what was i supposed to think? we’ve been broken up for five months now and you’ve been on multiple dates?” his voice escalated.

part of you wanted to shrink back into the seat until you disappeared into the leather, the masochistic part of you fully believed this was what you deserved, the third part felt like a cornered predator.

and that’s what won out in the end.

“oh don’t act like you haven’t gone out with some girls--”

“i haven’t!” that shut you up really quickly. “i haven’t so much as looked at another girl since you broke up with me.” he finally looked at you, but you wished he wouldn’t have. the tears in his eyes triggered that part of you that you’d stifled the past few weeks, the part that constantly reminded you how fucked up you were.

so you did the only thing you knew how to do.

you unlocked the door--

and bolted.

then

you were signing discharge papers when jack burst into your hospital room sweating and disheveled. you smiled when he came in, using one hand to wave him closer.

“what the hell were you thinking? falling off a ladder? what was so important you couldn’t wait until i got home?” he walked over to you and straight into your arms anyway, despite his chiding tone.

the nurse took the papers away to be filed and left him with you.

“it’s just a broken ankle,” you said like one would talk about the weather. “it’ll be healed in a matter of weeks.”

jack pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “i don’t like it. i hate that you got hurt and i wasn’t there.”

“the only one at fault here is me, jack. i was trying to hang up...” you trailed off.

“hang up what?” he asked.

but the nurse came back in with a wheelchair and a smile. “you’re free to go, hon.”

jack wheeled you out to the lobby. the nurse waited with you while he pulled his car up. when his car was parked in the front, he ran back inside and helped you get settled onto your crutches, walking behind you with his hands prepared to catch you should you slip. he helped you into the passenger seat before jogging around the front of the car to drive off.

“so what were you hanging up when you fell off the ladder?”

you smirked. “you’ll see.”

jack rolled his eyes. “if it’s the pictures we got printed, i told you i’d get to it.”

“like i said, baby, you’ll see when you get home.”

he parked in the driveway and told you to stay put until he could help you get out of the car. once you were situated on your crutches, he glanced at you, your leg, and the stairs you would inevitably have to climb before he squatted down and gestured for you to climb on.

“jack, i don’t think this is necessary--”

“i think it’ll go faster if you just hop on and get it over with.”

you sighed and climbed on his back with one arm loosely wrapped around his neck, the other holding onto your crutches, his arms holding your legs in place around his hips. jack went up the stairs with little to no struggle, which just baffled you. even after living in your third floor apartment for eight months, you still found yourself winded after going up all those steps.

“each and every day you find a new way to impress me, hughes,” you commented,

“yeah? what is it this time?”

“how you don’t feel like dying every time you walk up these stairs.”

he laughed but didn’t offer a response.

“no, i’m serious,” you said. “what’s your secret.”

“being a professional athlete,’ he deadpanned.

you threw your head back and laughed as his foot hit the final stair. jack gently placed you down on the ground while you got situated on your crutches again.

“you good?” he asked.

you nodded. “i’m fine.”

jack unlocked the front door and nearly fell backwards into you when a loud “happy birthday” erupted from inside your apartment.

you nudged him forward with your non injured foot but he took a moment to glare at you. “you broke your leg to hang up birthday banners?”

you leaned in and kissed him. “happy birthday, jack.”

now

“get in the car.” jack had opened his door and gotten out almost as fast as you had.

but you shook your head and kept walking. “no.”

jack caught up to you rather easily, being in better shape than you for professional reasons. he gently grabbed your wrist and turned you around. “i don’t know who you think i am but i’m not leaving you here. it’s late, we’re in the middle of a parking lot--”

“it’s well lit--”

“and you’re not wearing a coat,” he continued on like you weren’t even talking. “you’re gonna get sick or kidnapped so please just get back in the car.”

“i can’t,” you whispered.

“why not?”

“because you keep looking at me like you hate me.”

that stopped him dead cold in his tracks. any movement he had, whether it was his hands running through his hair or his pacing back and forth. “what?” and you wanted to take it all back just so you didn’t have to hear how broken one syllable could sound.

and then the tears started, the embarrassment and humiliation and the shame from your confession earlier catching up to you finally. “and i don’t blame you because i was awful to you."

“why would you think that?”

“because everyone does!” and you’re so close to tearing your hair out in frustration. with whom? you weren’t sure if it was frustration aimed at yourself or jack or the situation.

“i’m not everyone,” he said in the quietest tone you’d ever heard him speak. “okay? i could never hate you, even if i wanted to.”

you kept sobbing. “you are way too good for me, jack hughes.”

but he shook his head and brought you into his chest, lips pressed to the top of your head. “that’s not true,” he said. “not even remotely close.” a beat passed. “i love you.”

“jack--”

he took your hand and placed it over his chest. “feel my fucking heartbeat right now and tell me i don’t love you.”

“i can’t do this,” you whispered.

“why not? do you not believe me?”

“i’m no good for you, jack! this won’t work. please, just take me home.”

then

a knock drew you out of your reverie from staring at the mirror and obsessing over your flyaways.

“it’s for you!” your roommate called. you giggled. actually giggled to yourself at the idea of jack standing in your living room with your roommates.

you rushed out, dress flaring at your thighs. jack turned around at the sound of you coming out of your room and smiled with a bouquet daffodils in his hands.

“you uh--” he stuttered. “you look amazing.”

“do a little twirl,” your roommate giggled.

you spun around before walking over to jack. “hi.”

“are you ready?” he asked once he got his bearings.

you nodded. “just let me put these in a vase--”

“i got it!” your roommate said. “you two have fun!” she said before all but shoving you out of the door.

“so what do you have planned?” you asked once you were on the road. you weren’t nervous per se, having known jack for a year before he finally asked you out.

“would you stop?” he laughed. “you’ll find out when we get there.”

you huffed and sat back in your seat, looking out the window while jack played some country music on his phone. when he finally parked, you recognized the arena almost immediately as the one he played in regularly.

“you took your day off from the ice rink to bring me...to the ice rink?”

jack rolled his eyes. “have some faith. stay here,” he said before popping out of the car and jogging around to your side to let you out.

“i could’ve gotten out myself,” you said.

“i know,” he shrugged. “but thank you for waiting anyway.”

you walked inside together, hand in hand. jack led you to the locker rooms where he picked up a bag and took your hand again before leading you to the rink.

before you was a blanket in the middle of the rink with a basket full of what you assumed was food.

“you didn’t,” you said.

jack shrugged.

“but how are we gonna get out there? i don’t have skates.”

he unzipped the bag in his hand and pulled out a pair of skates. “your roommate told me what size shoe you wore. i figured we could eat and then i could show you how to skate.” he explained.

“you bought these?” you asked.

he shrugged again. “yeah, but it was nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing to you. it was everything.

now

you get the call at 4pm from an athletic trainer asking for your name. your heart settles in your throat when you hear the mention of jack’s name.

“there’s been an accident at the game tonight, he’s being rushed to the hospital right now. we called because he has you listed as his emergency contact.”

“o-okay,” you whispered into the phone. “which hospital is he going to?” the athletic trainer gave you the information as you hurried out the door in a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and slippers.

you didn’t remember to go the speed limit, hell by the time you got to the hospital, you weren’t even sure if you ran a red light or not. all you could focus on was jack.

jack was hurt.

you needed to call ellen. you needed to call jim. you needed to call that old lady who lived across the hall and ask her to check if you locked your front door. but all of that took a backseat because jack was hurt.

when you parked, you were taking up two spaces, but didn’t give a fuck because you were sprinting to the front doors of the hospital. “hi,” you greeted the front desk woman. “i’m here for my boyfriend?”

“you’ll have to be a little more specific, baby,” she said.

“i--”

you heard your name being called and whipped your head around to see the athletic trainer standing there. “i can show you to his room, follow me.”

you nearly cried in relief and followed the trainer. “do you know what’s going on?”

the trainer shook her head. “we had an idea, but we’re not doctors.”

you nodded, unable to say anything else, even as you entered the elevator. the both of you walked out of the elevator and headed down a long hallway to the very end. she gestured at the door and nodded for you to go in.

you couldn’t breathe. not when even when you saw him laying in bed laughing at a tiktok on his phone with his left leg propped up.

he looked up when you walked in the room. “hey--” but he didn’t have time to finish before you were sprinting across the room, grabbing his face in your hands, and kissing the life out of him.

it took him a second, but he responded fairly quickly, his own hands winding around your waist. you weren’t sure how much time passed before you were pulling away and looking him in the eyes.

“are you okay?” he nodded, rendered speechless by your display of affection. “i’m sorry, they called me and i freaked out and i didn’t even get to change--”

“did you--” he looked at you, more specifically what you were wearing. “you’re not wearing pants or a coat. are you insane? it’s freezing outside and you’re not even wearing real shoes!”

“they said you were hurt,” you said like it explained everything. “i couldn’t think, i just dropped everything and...”

“why?

“i--”

“you rejected me the other night, which is fine, it sucked, but it’s fine. but it doesn’t explain why you showed up. i think i at least deserve an answer.”

you do, you thought to yourself. that and so much more.

“i’m your emergency contact,” you replied.

“shit,” he said. “sorry i forgot to change that, i’ll--”

“and you’re still mine.” he stopped his rambling as you stroked his cheeks with your thumbs. “when i got the call, i thought i was gonna lose you.”

“you’re never gonna lose me, baby.” he moved your hands off his face so he could hold yours. “i’m yours, always have been, always will be.”

“i love you,” you smiled.

and it was like the sun came out in the middle of that hospital room when he smiled back at you. jack pulled your lips to his, or at least tried to. you both kept smiling too much for it to fully be considered a kiss.

“do you remember,” you said against his mouth. “do you remember when you moved out and took all our stuff?”

“mhm,” he hummed, but he was too busy chasing after your lips.

“i kept the skates.”

#jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #my writing

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