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@beebee18
Hello, I'm Beebee, it's a pleasure to meet you guys.
Main Masterlist.
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I have a little segment called beebeebabbles, it's just me babbling (logically). You can see the posts through the hashtag provided below. This is so weird- 😭
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I would like to make it clear here, we support Palestine on this blog. Please leave if you believe otherwise.
I don't think non-insecure people understand just how insecure you have to be to wholeheartedly believe no one can fall in love with you, ever.
Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader
Daryl learns that you don't think you're pretty (have low self-esteem). It breaks his heart a little. It also confuses the crap out of him.
The first time Daryl Dixon realized something was wrong, it was over a damn mirror.
Not a dramatic breakdown. Not tears. Not even a conversation.
Just a mirror.
The prison had become almost comfortable by then, as much as a place full of concrete cells and chain-link fences could be. People had routines. Jobs. Small rituals that made surviving feel less like drowning and more like floating.
You were standing in one of the empty cells with the tiny cracked mirror someone had scavenged months ago propped against the wall. The afternoon sun came through the narrow window, catching dust in the air. You didn’t know Daryl was there.
He’d only come looking for you because Glenn said you’d taken one of the last clean towels after helping Carol wash blood out of the kids’ clothes.
Instead, he stopped in the doorway.
You stared at your reflection for a long moment before grimacing slightly and looking away.
Not in vanity.
Not in disappointment over some tiny flaw.
More like the sight itself hurt.
Then quietly—so quietly he almost thought he imagined it—you muttered:
“God, you look awful.”
Daryl frowned.
You rubbed at your face like you could erase it somehow.
“Pathetic.”
The word hit him strangely hard.
Before he could think better of it, his boot scraped against the floor.
Your head jerked up instantly.
The expression vanished so fast it startled him. You smiled instead, easy and familiar.
“There you are,” you said. “Glenn send you?”
Daryl just stared.
You tilted your head. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lie.
His chest felt weird.
Tight.
He looked at the mirror, then at you.
You noticed the glance and immediately stepped in front of it casually, arms folding.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But for some reason it did.
A lot.
That night, Daryl couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Which pissed him off.
He was supposed to be on watch, not sitting on the edge of the catwalk replaying your voice in his head.
Pathetic.
The hell was that supposed to mean?
You were… you.
Everybody liked you.
Kids followed you around like ducklings. Carol trusted you. Maggie called you family. Even Michonne smiled more around you.
And Daryl—
Daryl looked for you constantly.
He noticed when you laughed before he even saw you. Knew your footsteps from everyone else’s. Knew how you hummed under your breath while cleaning knives. Knew you tucked your hands into your sleeves when cold.
Knew your smile could knock the air from his lungs.
Pretty wasn’t even the right word for you.
Pretty sounded small.
You were warm sunlight after weeks of rain.
You were soft hands patching wounds.
You were safety.
And apparently you thought you were ugly.
The idea genuinely confused him.
He leaned forward against the railing, scowling into the dark yard.
“How the hell…” he muttered to himself.
“What?”
Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin.
Carol stood nearby holding two mugs of weak prison coffee and looking entirely too amused.
“Quit sneakin’ up on me.”
“You were brooding loud enough for the walkers to hear.”
He grunted.
Carol handed him a mug anyway.
“What’s got you twisted up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Mhmm.”
Silence stretched.
Then Daryl muttered, “She said somethin’.”
Carol immediately looked interested.
“She?”
Daryl ignored that. “Caught her talkin’ to herself earlier.”
Carol waited patiently.
“Said she looked awful.”
Carol’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh.”
Daryl frowned harder. “What d’you mean ‘oh’?”
Carol leaned against the railing beside him.
“She’s always been hard on herself.”
“What for?”
Carol looked at him carefully, like he’d just asked why the sky was blue.
“You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“She doesn’t think much of herself, Daryl.”
His brow furrowed deeper.
“That’s stupid.”
Carol barked out a laugh.
“Not stupid. Sad.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
Carol smiled faintly into her coffee.
“You should probably tell her that.”
Daryl looked horrified.
“Hell no.”
You noticed Daryl staring at you more after that.
At first, it was subtle.
You’d glance up during dinner and find him already looking.
You’d catch him watching while you talked to Beth.
Or when you laughed.
Or while you braided Judith’s tiny wisps of hair.
Every time you caught him, he’d look away immediately like he’d been caught committing a crime.
It was oddly endearing.
Also deeply confusing.
“You got something to say?” you finally asked one afternoon.
Daryl, crouched beside his motorcycle with grease on his hands, blinked up at you.
“Huh?”
“You keep staring at me.”
“I ain’t starin’.”
“You absolutely are.”
He squinted suspiciously.
“You complainin’?”
Your lips twitched.
“No.”
His ears turned pink.
Cute.
You leaned against the fence beside him. “So what is it?”
“Nothin’.”
“Daryl.”
He went back to fiddling with the bike aggressively.
You watched him for a second.
Then softer, “Did I do something wrong?”
That got his head up immediately.
“No.”
The answer came fast. Firm.
You looked surprised.
Daryl swallowed hard.
“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
Something vulnerable flickered across your face before you covered it with a smile.
“Okay.”
But you still looked uncertain when you walked away.
And Daryl felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
A week later, everything got worse.
You were helping Maggie sort clothes in one of the cells.
Daryl hadn’t meant to overhear.
Honestly.
But he’d been walking past when he heard your voice.
“…this one’s cute,” Maggie said.
You laughed softly. “Not on me.”
“It’d look good on you.”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
There was a pause.
Then your voice, quieter now.
“I’m not exactly the cute one around here.”
Daryl stopped cold.
Maggie looked genuinely baffled.
“What are you talking about?”
You shrugged, focused on folding shirts.
“It’s fine. I know what I look like.”
Daryl’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.
Maggie started arguing immediately.
“You’re gorgeous.”
You snorted.
That sound.
Not amused.
Disbelieving.
Like the idea itself was ridiculous.
Daryl hated it instantly.
“You do realize half this prison’s in love with you, right?”
“Please.”
“I’m serious.”
You shook your head like Maggie was being ridiculous.
Daryl walked away before he heard more because something hot and angry had started building in his chest.
Not anger at you.
At whoever taught you that.
Because people didn’t just wake up one day hating themselves.
Daryl knew that better than anybody.
That night, he found you alone on the outer platform watching the sunset.
Orange light painted the prison yard gold.
You looked peaceful.
Until he got closer and saw the exhaustion in your eyes.
You smiled when you noticed him.
“There’s my favorite grump.”
“Hmph.”
He leaned against the railing beside you.
Silence settled comfortably.
Usually Daryl liked silence with you.
Tonight it felt too full.
“You okay?” you asked eventually.
“Yeah.”
You gave him a look.
“Liar.”
Daryl huffed quietly.
“You?”
Your smile dimmed slightly.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
He recognized that too.
He stared out over the yard for a long moment before speaking.
“Why d’you talk like that ‘bout yourself?”
You went still.
Daryl immediately knew he’d hit something sensitive.
“What?”
“Heard you talkin’ to Maggie.”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Oh my god.”
“She said you’re pretty.”
You groaned softly and covered your face with your hands.
“Please forget that conversation ever happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“Ain’t embarrassin’.”
“It absolutely is.”
Daryl frowned at you.
“What’s wrong with you?”
You blinked.
“…Excuse me?”
“I mean—” He grimaced. “Why d’you think that?”
Your expression closed off immediately.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“No, it really doesn’t.”
“You think you’re ugly.”
The words came out almost accusing.
Not cruel.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
You stared at him.
Daryl stared back stubbornly.
Then you laughed.
And it sounded awful.
“Daryl—”
“No, I don’t get it.”
Your smile vanished.
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I ain’t pretendin’!”
His voice echoed louder than intended.
You flinched slightly.
Instant regret punched him in the gut.
Daryl lowered his voice immediately.
“Ain’t lyin’ to you.”
You looked away.
“People say stuff to be nice.”
“Nobody’s nice no more.”
That startled a tiny laugh out of you.
Daryl pressed on carefully.
“You’re…” He struggled visibly for words. “Hell, you’re you.”
You blinked at him helplessly.
“That is not a description.”
“It is in my head.”
That made you laugh again, softer this time.
But your eyes still looked sad.
“You really don’t see it?” he asked quietly.
Your throat moved.
“No.”
The honesty in that answer nearly wrecked him.
Daryl looked at you for a long moment.
Then said roughly, “That’s fuckin’ crazy.”
You barked out a startled laugh.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Makes no sense.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I ain’t sweet.”
“You kind of are.”
“Nah.”
“You brought me three rabbits because I said I liked stew.”
“You were hungry.”
“You fixed my flashlight.”
“It was busted.”
“You gave me your poncho during winter.”
“You were cold.”
Your eyes softened impossibly.
Daryl suddenly felt very exposed.
“You do sweet things, Daryl.”
“Don’t mean nothin’.”
“It means something to me.”
That hit him directly in the chest.
Hard.
You looked down at your hands.
“I just…” you started quietly. “I don’t know. I’ve never been the girl people look at like that.”
Daryl almost interrupted immediately because that was objectively untrue, but you kept talking.
“There’s always someone prettier. Someone easier to love. I guess after a while you just stop expecting anyone to see you differently.”
Daryl’s heart broke a little more with every word.
Because you sounded so certain.
Like this belief had lived inside you for years.
“You think nobody sees you?” he asked.
You shrugged weakly.
“Not like that.”
Daryl stared at you like you’d lost your damn mind.
Then before fear could stop him, he said:
“I do.”
Silence.
You looked up slowly.
Daryl suddenly wanted to fling himself off the prison roof.
But he kept going anyway.
“Always do.”
Your lips parted slightly.
“You’re pretty as hell.”
You looked genuinely shocked.
Not flattered.
Not coy.
Shocked.
Like nobody had ever said it and meant it before.
Daryl felt rage again at whatever people had failed you so badly.
“You got this smile,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes now. “Makes everybody else smile too. An’ your eyes—”
He stopped abruptly, embarrassed beyond belief.
But you whispered, “My eyes?”
Daryl swallowed hard.
“Yeah.”
Your face had gone soft and fragile in a way that terrified him.
“You really mean that?”
The question sounded so small.
Daryl answered instantly.
“Course I do.”
You stared at him for so long he started panicking internally.
Then very quietly:
“I don’t know what to do when people are kind to me.”
Jesus Christ.
Daryl’s chest ached.
Slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal, he reached for your hand.
When you didn’t pull away, he threaded his rough fingers through yours.
“You ain’t gotta do nothin’,” he said.
Your eyes filled suddenly.
“Oh no,” you laughed shakily. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Wasn’t tryin’.”
“You’re very bad at comforting people.”
“I know.”
You squeezed his hand tighter anyway.
And Daryl realized with startling clarity that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make you see yourself the way he did.
It didn’t magically fix everything.
Daryl learned that quickly.
You still hesitated when compliments came your way.
Still deflected praise.
Still looked confused when people called you beautiful.
But slowly, things changed.
Little things first.
You stopped insulting yourself out loud.
Then one day Daryl caught you looking in the mirror without grimacing afterward.
That felt like winning a war.
And Daryl—
Well.
Daryl became relentless.
Not in loud ways.
Never in grand speeches.
That wasn’t him.
But he showed it constantly.
Saving the last good strawberry for you.
Resting his hand on your back absentmindedly.
Looking at you like you hung the moon.
Calling you beautiful under his breath when he thought you couldn’t hear.
You always heard.
Every single time.
Months later, after the prison, after grief and blood and miles of surviving together, you found yourselves sitting beside a campfire beneath a cold sky.
The others slept nearby.
Daryl sat close enough that your shoulders touched.
You leaned into him naturally now.
Like it was instinct.
Maybe it was.
“You know,” you said softly, “I still don’t really understand what you see.”
Daryl looked over immediately.
Moonlight silvered your face.
To him, you looked unreal.
“I see you,” he said simply.
You smiled faintly.
“Yeah, but—”
“Ain’t just your face.”
You fell quiet.
Daryl stared into the fire.
“You’re good,” he said roughly. “Even now. World’s gone to shit an’ you still care about people. Still kind. Still make everybody feel safe.”
Emotion thickened your throat.
Daryl continued quietly:
“You walk into a room an’ everythin’ feels lighter.”
Your eyes started watering again.
“You gotta stop doing that.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Making me emotional.”
“Hmph.”
You laughed softly.
Then after a long silence:
“I love you.”
Daryl looked at you immediately.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just truth.
“I know.”
You rolled your eyes. “That is the most obnoxious response possible.”
He grinned slightly.
Rare enough to steal your breath.
Then he leaned closer and pressed his forehead against yours.
“Love you too,” he murmured.
And this time, when he looked at you, you finally—finally—started to believe him.
Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader
You're shy. Really shy. Daryl think's its adorable. Daryl is awkward. Emotionally constipated. A wreck really. Match made in.. heaven ??
Nobody expected Daryl Dixon to fall first.
Mostly because nobody expected Daryl Dixon to fall at all.
The man barely spoke in full sentences half the time.
He communicated through grunts, prolonged eye contact, and occasionally wandering off into the woods for six hours.
Romance did not exactly seem likely.
And yet.
The first thing Daryl noticed about you was how quiet you were.
Not weak quiet.
Not nervous chatter filling silence quiet.
Just…
Soft.
You moved through camp gently. Spoke carefully. Always seemed like you were trying not to take up too much space.
The prison was loud most days.
People arguing. Carl running around. Generators humming. Walkers snarling beyond the fences.
Then there was you.
Calm in the middle of all of it.
The first real conversation Daryl had with you lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Carol introduced you after a supply run.
“She helped drag your stubborn ass back here,” Carol informed him while Daryl sat on the edge of a cot getting stitches.
You immediately looked horrified at the attention.
“Oh— no, I didn’t really—”
“She absolutely did,” Glenn cut in. “You were bleeding everywhere.”
Daryl grunted.
You looked at him briefly before quickly looking away again.
“…Sorry.”
His brow furrowed instantly.
“For what?”
Your fingers twisted together awkwardly.
“I don’t know.”
That made absolutely no sense.
Daryl stared at you.
You stared determinedly at the floor.
Then after a long pause, Daryl muttered:
“…Thanks.”
Your face lit up like he’d handed you the moon.
“Okay.”
And for some reason—
That tiny smile hit Daryl directly in the chest.
Hard enough to hurt.
You were painfully shy.
Everybody noticed it eventually.
You spoke quietly during group discussions. Apologized constantly. Nearly jumped out of your skin anytime too many people looked at you at once.
The first time Rick asked your opinion during a meeting, you physically startled.
Daryl noticed that too.
Noticed everything, actually.
How you stood slightly behind people in groups. How your voice got softer around strangers. How you smiled with your whole face once you got comfortable enough.
Most people overlooked shy people.
Daryl didn’t.
Maybe because he understood what it felt like to live like your existence was an inconvenience.
He started paying attention without meaning to.
Started gravitating toward you.
At first, it was small things.
Saving you a seat at dinner by silently kicking a chair out beside him.
Waiting for you during runs when the others walked too fast.
Wordlessly handing you things he noticed you needed before you asked.
You thanked him every single time.
Every. Single. Time.
Like nobody had ever done nice things for you consistently before.
It did weird things to his chest.
The first time Daryl realized he was completely fucked was because you laughed at him.
Not mean.
God, never mean.
He’d been repairing part of the outer fence while you handed him tools.
At one point he dropped the wrench directly onto his own foot.
“Son of a bitch—”
You laughed.
Tiny. Bright. Completely unrestrained.
Daryl froze.
Because he’d spent months slowly learning your smiles.
The polite ones. The nervous ones. The shy little hidden ones.
But this?
This was different.
This was you forgetting to be self-conscious.
Your hand flew over your mouth immediately afterward.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
Daryl blinked.
Then slowly:
“…Do it again.”
Your eyes widened.
“What?”
“That laugh.”
Heat crawled instantly across your cheeks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
You looked horrified.
“Because you’ll stare at me like that again.”
Daryl frowned.
“Like what?”
“…Like you just got hit in the head.”
Well.
That was unfortunately accurate.
Daryl looked away first.
Ears pink.
You noticed.
And suddenly you smiled shyly to yourself for the rest of the day.
The problem was that Daryl had absolutely no idea how to flirt like a normal human being.
None.
Zero.
His version of romance looked deeply confusing from the outside.
Following you around silently. Fixing things before you realized they were broken. Giving you the last piece of jerky without mentioning it. Staring.
A lot of staring.
“You know she ain’t gonna evaporate if ya talk to her,” Michonne informed him one afternoon after catching him watching you from across the yard.
Daryl scowled instantly.
“Ain’t starin’.”
Michonne raised one eyebrow.
“You’ve been holding the same bolt for ten minutes.”
Daryl looked down.
Shit.
Meanwhile, you were not doing much better.
Because Daryl Dixon was terrifyingly attractive.
Not in a polished way.
In a rough dangerous devastating kind of way.
The kind that snuck up on you.
Strong hands. Quiet loyalty. Eyes that softened only around people he trusted.
And somehow—
Those eyes softened around you most.
Which made functioning difficult.
Very difficult.
You became incapable of making eye contact for longer than three seconds.
Daryl noticed that too.
He noticed everything.
One evening, you nearly walked directly into a fence because he smiled at you unexpectedly.
Carol laughed so hard she had to sit down.
“Oh, honey,” she wheezed. “You’ve got it bad.”
You covered your face immediately.
Daryl looked deeply confused.
“Got what bad?”
Carol just laughed harder.
Everybody knew before either of you did.
Or maybe before either of you admitted it.
Beth caught Daryl carrying your favorite snacks back from runs.
Glenn noticed you unconsciously searching for Daryl first anytime he returned from hunting.
Carol caught you wearing Daryl’s poncho one cold morning.
That one nearly killed him.
Because he stepped into the courtyard and saw you wrapped in his clothes looking warm and sleepy.
Then you smiled shyly at him.
Daryl forgot how words worked for approximately thirty seconds.
“You okay there?” Glenn asked, clearly enjoying himself.
Daryl grunted something unintelligible and walked directly into a railing.
The thing about shy people was that once they trusted someone—
Really trusted them—
They became different.
Softer. Warmer. Braver in tiny quiet ways.
Daryl learned that slowly.
You started sitting beside him more often. Started nudging his shoulder gently during conversations. Started looking for him automatically.
And Daryl—
God.
Daryl soaked up every tiny scrap of affection you offered him like a dying man.
Because nobody had ever treated him gently before.
Not consistently.
Not without wanting something.
But you touched him softly.
Looked at him softly.
Like he was something worth caring about.
It terrified him.
The first time you fell asleep against him happened accidentally.
Long day. Late watch shift. Everyone exhausted.
You sat beside Daryl on the prison tower while he kept lookout.
At some point your head slowly tipped sideways onto his shoulder.
Then stayed there.
Daryl went completely rigid.
You made a tiny sleepy sound and instinctively curled slightly closer.
And that—
That nearly fucking ended him.
Because you trusted him enough to sleep against him.
Daryl sat there for two straight hours barely breathing.
Terrified moving would wake you.
Terrified because he liked it too much.
When you finally woke up, your eyes widened in horror immediately.
“Oh my God.”
Daryl looked over quickly.
“What?”
“I fell asleep on you.”
“…Yeah.”
“And you didn’t move me?”
Daryl shrugged, suddenly unable to look directly at you.
“Didn’t mind.”
The softness in his voice stunned both of you.
You stared at him.
Daryl stared very aggressively at the horizon.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
You smiled.
And rested your head back on his shoulder intentionally this time.
Daryl thought his heart might genuinely stop.
Unfortunately, neither of you knew how to actually confess feelings.
Which meant the entire prison suffered through months of unbearable tension.
“Please just kiss already,” Maggie begged one night.
Daryl nearly choked to death.
You turned so red Carol physically had to leave the room laughing.
“We ain’t—” “We’re not—”
You both stopped.
Then stared at each other.
Then looked away immediately.
Rick sighed heavily.
“Painful.”
The actual confession happened because of a thunderstorm.
The power had gone out. Rain hammered violently against the prison roof. Everybody crowded together in the cafeteria with lanterns and blankets.
You hated storms.
Daryl figured that out quickly from the way you flinched every time thunder cracked overhead.
Without a word, he sat beside you.
Close.
Your shoulders relaxed instantly.
Then another loud crack of thunder shook the room and you startled hard enough your hand grabbed his sleeve automatically.
Both of you froze.
Your eyes widened immediately.
“Sorry.”
Daryl looked down at your hand clutching his arm.
Small. Warm.
“…Don’t apologize.”
Your breath caught slightly.
Then, after a moment, his rough hand carefully covered yours.
Tentative.
Like he expected you to pull away.
You didn’t.
And suddenly Daryl realized something horrifying.
He never wanted you to.
Ever.
The realization hit him so hard he spoke before thinking.
“Think m’in love with ya.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Somewhere across the room, Glenn choked on his drink while Carol whispered, “Finally.”
But Daryl only looked at you.
Terrified now.
Because he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Your eyes were huge.
“Wh… what?”
Daryl looked deeply alarmed by himself.
“Forget I said—”
“No.”
Your voice came out tiny but firm.
Daryl stopped immediately.
You swallowed hard.
Then admitted softly:
“I think I’m in love with you too.”
Oh.
Oh.
Daryl stared at you like the world had just tilted sideways.
“You do?”
You laughed nervously.
“Yes, you idiot.”
Something helplessly fond broke across Daryl’s face then.
Small. Crooked. Beautiful.
You’d never seen him smile like that before.
Then awkwardly—because of course awkwardly—he reached for your face like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.
You met him halfway.
The kiss was soft.
Careful.
A little clumsy.
Perfect.
Daryl kissed like he did everything else honestly.
Like he meant it with his whole chest.
When he pulled back, your foreheads rested together while rain thundered outside.
“You’re blushin’,” he murmured softly.
“You’re staring.”
“Can ya blame me?”
Your shy smile returned instantly.
And Daryl thought, not for the first time, that maybe heaven wasn’t a place after all.
Maybe it was just this.
tumblr users love reading. you literally stopped for this post just because it has words in it
this is one of my favorite bits about tumblr
the users seem to actually prefer text posts to anything else, and treat it as a chore to play a video especially with sound
Zeke Tyler (The Faculty) x fem!reader - set in university
Zeke wears his glasses around you for the first time. You think it's the best thing you've ever seen. That's how your feelings get revealed.
The first time you see Zeke Tyler wearing glasses, you genuinely forget how to speak.
Which is humiliating.
Especially because you’ve spent the better part of two years pretending you are completely normal about him.
You are not.
Not even remotely.
University looks good on Zeke.
Annoyingly good.
Not in the polished, clean-cut way it looks good on frat boys or pre-med students with color-coded planners.
No.
It sharpens him.
He still wears black almost constantly. Still has that permanent lazy slouch that makes professors immediately distrust him. Still drives the same beat-up Pontiac that sounds like it might legally qualify as a weapon.
But college gave him room to breathe.
And apparently, when Zeke Tyler gets room to breathe, he becomes unbearable.
Confident. Sharp. Dangerously intelligent.
Pretty.
God, especially pretty.
It’s unfair, honestly.
The tattoos don't help.
The slightly longer hair definitely doesn't help.
Neither does the fact he now studies biochemistry and regularly says things so smart your brain short-circuits for several business days afterward.
The man can explain molecular structures while leaning back in a chair looking like sin personified.
You hate him a little for it.
Unfortunately, you also adore him.
Which is worse.
“You’re staring again.”
You blink.
Zeke doesn’t look up from his notebook, sprawled lazily across one of the library couches with his long legs stretched into the aisle.
“How do you know I’m staring if you’re not looking at me?”
“Can feel it.”
“That’s not scientifically possible.”
“Neither is half the shit we survived in high school.”
Fair point.
You kick his boot lightly as you sit beside him.
“You’ve been in here for six hours.”
“Studying.”
“You’re drawing skulls in the margins.”
“It’s called multitasking.”
You lean over to look at his notes anyway.
Which is your first mistake.
Because Zeke’s handwriting should not be attractive.
And yet somehow it is.
Dark ink. Messy but sharp. Chemical equations scrawled between doodles and annotations.
You hate that your stomach flips over things this stupid.
“Did you eat today?” you ask.
“One coffee.”
“That’s not food.”
“Disagree.”
“You’re going to die of malnutrition.”
“That’d be dramatic.”
“You are dramatic.”
Zeke finally glances at you then.
And there it is.
That look.
The one that always makes your pulse stutter.
Fond amusement mixed with something warmer. Softer.
Dangerous territory.
“You bring me food?” he asks.
You pull a granola bar from your bag and toss it at him.
His mouth twitches.
“Domestic as hell.”
“Shut up.”
But he eats it.
Because despite all his attitude, Zeke has always accepted care from you in quiet little ways.
Letting you steal his jackets. Handing you cigarettes to hold while he fixes things. Falling asleep against your shoulder during movie nights.
Trusting you with the soft parts of him no one else gets.
It’s been like this for years now.
And neither of you have done a damn thing about it.
You meet Zeke freshman year of university entirely by accident.
You’re carrying too many books.
He’s carrying coffee.
The collision is catastrophic.
“Oh my God—”
“Jesus Christ—”
Coffee goes everywhere.
Including all over his black shirt.
You stare at him in horror.
Because unfortunately you know exactly who he is.
Everybody from Herrington High remembers Zeke Tyler.
Especially after senior year.
Especially after everything that happened.
Zeke looks down at himself slowly.
Then at you.
Then at the books scattered across the ground.
“…you good?”
You blink.
“You’re asking if I’m good?”
“You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I threw coffee on you!”
“Yeah, but now you look traumatized.”
You stare at him.
He stares back.
Then suddenly he snorts.
Actually snorts.
And you laugh in sheer startled relief.
That’s how it starts.
Not dramatically.
Just accidentally.
Then somehow you keep ending up around each other.
Same campus coffee shop. Same library floor. Same late-night study sessions.
And somewhere between shared notes and sarcastic arguments and midnight drives, Zeke becomes your person.
Your best friend.
Your favorite part of every day.
Which would all be very lovely if you weren’t desperately in love with him.
By junior year, your friends are sick of hearing about him.
“You’re telling me,” your roommate says one night, “that he drove forty minutes at two in the morning because you said you were stressed?”
“He was already awake.”
“He brought you fries.”
“He likes driving.”
“He gave you his leather jacket.”
“It was cold.”
“He literally looks at you like you invented happiness.”
You bury your face in a pillow.
“Oh my God.”
“You’re both idiots.”
Probably.
Definitely.
But there’s a problem.
Zeke flirts naturally.
With everyone.
Not maliciously.
It’s just woven into him.
The smirks. The eye contact. The teasing voice.
And while you know you matter to him—you know that—you can’t tell if it’s different.
Can’t tell if you’re special or if this is simply how Zeke loves everyone.
So you stay quiet.
Because losing him would hurt worse than wanting him.
Three weeks before finals, Zeke disappears into stress mode.
Which means: less sleep, more caffeine, and a concerning tendency to mutter chemistry terms under his breath like a mad scientist.
You find him one evening occupying an entire back corner of the science library.
Papers everywhere.
Laptop open.
Half-empty energy drink beside him.
And—
You stop walking.
Oh.
Oh no.
Zeke is wearing glasses.
Thin black frames sliding slightly down his nose while he reads through an article.
Your brain immediately blue screens.
Because somehow this changes everything.
He looks softer like this.
Still handsome. Still dangerous-looking in that unfair Zeke Tyler way.
But softer.
Human.
Intimate.
Like you’re seeing something private.
Your heart does a genuinely painful little flip in your chest.
You stare too long.
Way too long.
Zeke senses you before he sees you, glancing up lazily.
Then he freezes slightly.
Because you are openly gawking at him.
“…what?”
You continue staring.
This is terrible.
You need to recover immediately.
Instead, what comes out is:
“Holy shit.”
His eyebrows lift.
“What?”
“The glasses.”
Zeke touches them automatically, suddenly looking weirdly uncertain.
“Oh. Yeah.”
You are still staring.
“Zeke.”
“…what?”
“You look insanely hot.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Zeke blinks at you.
Once.
Twice.
Then leans back slowly in his chair.
“…insanely hot.”
You realize what you said approximately three full business days too late.
Shit.
Abort mission.
Abort mission immediately.
You laugh too loudly.
“I mean—not that you aren’t normally hot—wait, no, that’s worse—”
Zeke is staring at you now.
Really staring.
Like the world just tilted sideways.
Your face burns.
“I’m gonna go actually.”
You turn instantly.
A hand catches your wrist before you make it two steps.
“Whoa, sweetheart.”
That nickname always ruins you.
You refuse to turn around.
“Nope.”
“You callin’ me hot?”
“No.”
“You literally just did.”
“Sounds fake.”
His grip tightens slightly—not controlling, just enough to stop your escape.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.
“You think I’m hot?”
You finally look at him.
Big mistake.
Because now he’s wearing glasses and looking at you like that.
You are not God’s strongest soldier.
“You cannot ask me that while looking like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like a hot librarian people would risk their lives for.”
Zeke stares.
Then laughs suddenly.
A full, startled laugh that makes nearby students glare at both of you.
You want the floor to consume you.
“Oh my God,” you mutter, covering your face.
“This is incredible.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No the hell you aren’t.”
He tugs gently until you sit down beside him.
Your face is still burning.
Zeke looks unbearably pleased.
“You think about me like that?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
You groan.
“This is so embarrassing.”
“For you maybe.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely am.”
His grin fades slightly after a moment though, softening into something more careful.
“You really think I’m attractive?”
The question catches you off guard.
Because beneath the teasing there’s genuine uncertainty there.
Which feels impossible.
“Zeke,” you say slowly. “You have to know you’re attractive.”
He shrugs.
“People flirt.”
“People probably walk into traffic because of you.”
That earns another laugh.
But his eyes stay fixed on you.
“And you?”
Your throat tightens.
Danger.
Dangerous question.
You try for humor anyway.
“I’ve been dealing with your face for years. It’s exhausting.”
His expression shifts.
Subtle.
But enough.
“You’ve been into me for years?”
There it is.
The trapdoor opening beneath you.
You stare at him in horror.
Zeke goes very still.
“Oh my God,” he says softly.
You immediately stand up again.
“Nope.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Nope.”
“You’re in love with me.”
“I’m transferring universities.”
He catches your wrist again before you can flee.
This time when you look at him, he’s not teasing anymore.
He looks stunned.
Almost breathless.
“Say that again.”
“I literally would rather die.”
“You’re in love with me?”
Your face burns hotter.
“You wear glasses one time and I ruin my whole life.”
Something warm and disbelieving spreads slowly across his face.
“You’re serious.”
You laugh weakly.
“What gave it away?”
Zeke stares at you for another long second.
Then suddenly stands.
And because he’s tall and broad and entirely too close now, your brain stops functioning.
“You absolute idiot,” he murmurs.
Your brow furrows.
“…excuse me?”
“I’ve been in love with you since sophomore year.”
Your heart stops.
Actually stops.
The library disappears around you.
Noise fading into static.
“What?”
Zeke smiles helplessly.
Soft.
Crooked.
Beautiful.
“I thought I was being obvious.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“Yeah, but I drive forty minutes at two in the morning for you.”
Oh.
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you.”
Your eyes sting unexpectedly.
Zeke notices immediately.
“Hey.”
“You idiot,” you whisper shakily.
“Right back at you.”
You stare at each other for one suspended moment.
Years of almosts hanging between you.
Then:
“You really like the glasses?” he asks quietly.
You laugh through the emotion clogging your throat.
“They’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Good.”
He reaches up, slides them off—
and gently sets them on top of your head.
“There,” he murmurs. “Now everybody knows you’re the reason I wear ’em.”
Your heart nearly explodes.
“You cannot say things like that to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll marry you.”
The words slip out accidentally.
Silence.
Then Zeke’s eyebrows lift slowly.
“…you plannin’ on askin’ me out first?”
You stare at him.
Then burst into helpless laughter.
He joins in immediately, forehead falling against yours.
When he kisses you, finally, after years of dancing around it, it feels inevitable.
Warm hands on your waist. His smile against your mouth. The soft sound he makes when you kiss him back harder.
The entire library could’ve caught fire around you and neither of you would’ve noticed.
When you finally pull apart, slightly breathless, Zeke rests his forehead against yours again.
“So,” he murmurs.
“So?”
“You gonna keep starin’ at me every time I wear glasses now?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
“And for the record?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve always been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Zeke smiles like that sentence alone could keep him alive for another century.
Then kisses you again before you can say anything else.
Zeke weaponizes the glasses almost immediately.
Which is exactly the kind of terrible behavior you should have expected from him.
The first incident happens three days after you start dating.
You’re sitting cross-legged on his bed in his apartment, surrounded by open textbooks and empty takeout containers while rain taps steadily against the windows.
Or rather—
you’re studying.
Zeke is “studying,” which apparently means lying on his stomach beside you while occasionally contributing chemistry facts between doodling tattoos he wants in the margins of his notebook.
“You’re distracting,” you complain for the fourth time in ten minutes.
“You’re weak-minded.”
“You just spent five minutes drawing a skeleton smoking a cigarette.”
“It’s art.”
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s emotionally layered.”
You snort and return to highlighting your notes.
The bed shifts.
Then suddenly—
A pair of glasses lands directly on top of your textbook.
You stare down at them.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
“No.”
Zeke’s voice is lazy. “No what?”
“You do not get to just casually put those on in the middle of an argument.”
“They help me see.”
“They help you cheat.”
A grin pulls at his mouth as he slides them on anyway.
And there it is.
That devastating transformation.
God.
It should be illegal.
The black frames sit low on his nose while he looks at you with smug amusement, dark hair falling into his eyes slightly.
You physically feel your train of thought derail.
Zeke notices instantly.
The bastard.
“Oh,” he says softly, delighted. “That’s real bad for you, huh?”
You look away immediately.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“You’re manipulative.”
“And yet.”
He tilts his head slightly.
You make the mistake of looking back.
Immediate regret.
Because now he’s doing that thing where he peers at you over the top rim of the glasses while pretending to read something.
You nearly swallow your tongue.
“Oh my God.”
His grin widens.
“You were winnin’ the argument a second ago.”
“There is no argument anymore.”
“Interesting.”
“You fight dirty.”
“Baby, I haven’t even started fighting dirty yet.”
You throw a highlighter at his face.
He catches it without looking.
Infuriating.
After that, the glasses become a recurring problem in your life.
Mostly because Zeke discovers very quickly that you completely lose the ability to function around them.
And Zeke Tyler is, above all else, a menace.
Case one: The Coffee Shop Incident.
“You stole my drink.”
“I ordered first.”
“You stole it faster.”
“You weren’t drinking it.”
“I looked away for two seconds!”
Zeke shrugs lazily from across the coffee shop table, taking another sip of your iced coffee.
“You hesitated. Survival of the fittest.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You literally committed theft.”
“Call the cops.”
You narrow your eyes.
He narrows his right back.
Then—
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Zeke reaches into his jacket pocket.
And pulls out the glasses.
Your stomach immediately drops.
“No.”
“Oh, I think yes.”
“You’re evil.”
“Probably.”
He slides them on while maintaining direct eye contact.
Your brain exits the chat.
Completely.
The barista behind the counter watches with visible amusement as you physically stop mid-sentence.
Zeke leans back in his chair smugly.
“There it is.”
“I was speaking.”
“Past tense.”
“You can’t just use your face as psychological warfare.”
“And yet it keeps workin’.”
You hate that he’s right.
Worse—
you hate how pleased he looks every time he flusters you.
Like he genuinely enjoys being able to affect you this much.
Which, unfortunately, he absolutely does.
“You’re staring again,” he murmurs.
“I’m trying to stay angry at you.”
“And?”
“…it’s difficult.”
“Cute.”
“Shut up.”
He smiles into your stolen coffee.
Case two: The Party Disaster.
You and Zeke are at one of the off-campus houses near the university.
Music loud. Too many people. Sticky floors.
Typical college nightmare.
You’re halfway through explaining to someone in your sociology class why capitalism is psychologically corrosive when Zeke appears beside you carrying two drinks.
And glasses.
Of course glasses.
Your sentence dies instantly.
The guy you’re talking to looks between both of you slowly.
“…did she just short-circuit?”
Zeke hands you your drink without taking his eyes off you.
“Yeah. Happens sometimes.”
Your mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Zeke’s smirk grows.
The asshole knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You okay there, sweetheart?”
The sociology guy starts laughing.
“Oh my God, you’re gone.”
“I hate both of you.”
“You’ve been staring at him for like thirty seconds.”
“Can everyone stop perceiving me?”
“No,” Zeke says easily. “This is fun.”
You glare at him.
Which would probably be more effective if your face wasn’t burning.
He leans down slightly toward your ear.
“You think they look hot?”
Your knees nearly give out.
“You are the worst person alive.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
Your traitorous face, unfortunately, is saying: please kiss me immediately.
Zeke looks deeply satisfied with himself.
Case three: The Study Group Ambush.
You arrive late to the library because your professor kept everyone back after class.
You’re frazzled. Tired. Annoyed.
And then you spot Zeke at the table.
Glasses on. Sleeves rolled up. Pen between his teeth while reading over notes.
Your soul leaves your body instantly.
Your friend Mia watches the entire thing happen in real time.
“…wow.”
You blink. “What?”
“You looked at him like a Victorian man seeing ankle.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Zeke glances up at the sound of your voice.
And smiles.
Immediate destruction.
“Hey baby.”
Mia chokes on her drink.
“Baby?”
“Oh my God,” you mutter.
Zeke looks between both of you innocently.
“What?”
Mia points at him. “You. Stop doing… whatever this is.”
“What’s ‘this’?”
“That weird eye contact thing.”
Zeke looks at you again.
Then slowly pushes his glasses higher up his nose.
Your brain fully blue screens.
Mia slaps the table.
“THAT. THAT THING.”
Zeke starts laughing.
You bury your face in your hands.
“This relationship is humiliating.”
“Counterpoint,” Zeke says, “it’s hilarious.”
The problem is:
the glasses don’t just make him hotter.
They make him softer too.
More intimate.
You start noticing little things.
The way he rubs his eyes after studying too long. How concentrated he looks reading journal articles. The faint line between his brows when he’s focused.
One night you find him asleep at his desk.
Glasses crooked. Head resting on folded arms. Laptop still open.
Your chest physically aches at the sight.
Because no one else gets this version of him.
Most people still see the high school reputation.
The dangerous boy. The burnout. The dealer.
They don’t see this.
The exhausted biochem student working himself to death for a future he never thought he’d have.
The man who carries your favorite snacks in his backpack.
The boyfriend who kisses your forehead every time you’re anxious.
The person you love so much it terrifies you sometimes.
You walk over quietly and slide the glasses carefully off his face.
Zeke wakes instantly anyway.
Reflexes.
His eyes blink open slowly.
Then soften when he sees you.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“So are you.”
He reaches for you automatically.
Even half-conscious.
Your heart melts every single time.
You step between his knees and let him pull you close.
“Tired?” you murmur.
“Mhm.”
“You’ve been studying for like eight hours.”
“Organic chemistry is attempted murder.”
You smile, brushing messy hair back from his forehead.
Without the glasses, he looks younger.
But still devastating.
Always devastating.
“You’re pretty,” you whisper before thinking.
Zeke looks up at you sleepily.
“Yeah?”
“Very.”
A soft smile tugs at his mouth.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, hands settling on your hips, “I started wearin’ the glasses around you ‘cause I thought maybe you’d think I looked stupid.”
You stare at him in genuine horror.
“Zeke Tyler, are you insane?”
He laughs quietly.
“Little bit.”
“You look offensively attractive.”
“Offensively?”
“Yes. It’s a public safety issue.”
That sleepy smile widens into something warmer.
Something softer.
He tilts his head back to look at you properly.
“You really love me, huh?”
The question is teasing.
But underneath it there’s still wonder there sometimes.
Like he hasn’t fully adjusted to being loved this completely.
You cup his face gently.
“So much it’s embarrassing.”
His eyes go unbearably tender behind lowered lashes.
“Good,” he says softly.
“Good?”
“Means I’m doin’ my job right.”
Then he tugs you down into his lap and kisses you slow and deep until you forget what you were talking about in the first place.
Which—
in hindsight—
might’ve been his plan all along.
GUYS PLEASE OMG!
A Seungmin ff where he doesn't like when y/n visits the company for lunch breaks. He lies and gives her some excuse.
But then y/n speaks to Hyunjin's gf and figures out Seungmin is lying so she surprises him with lunch one day. They both eat in the canteen but Seungmin stays mostly quiet and wants to finish the "date" quick.
I think they speak and y/n feels bad that Hyunjin incites his gf over to watch him practice and stuff but then Seungmin explains that he gets all distracted and shy with her around and can't focus.
WHAT WAS THIS?! IT WAS SO SWEET OMG!
.
You're still you.
Choi Seungcheol x Reader
Genre; Fluff, heavy conversation (maybe).
Characters; Choi Seungcheol, Y/n. Brief mention; Lee Chan (Dino)
Summary; When a conversation with your mother about your cycle makes you think a bit too much, Seungcheol can't help but notice the changes.
Warnings; Entirely about pcos, mentions of anxiety & not being able to have kids.
(Completely self insert 🙏)
Main Masterlist Svt Masterlist
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When you'd been feeling down these days, Seungcheol couldn't pin down why. It wasn't your period, he knew because you hadn't complained. Wasn't family because he spoke to your mom just two days ago. Exam? A possibility. But it was different than stress.
You looked anxious but also composed. Like something was definitely going on but you were sure you could handle it.
He knew you were strong and could get through things yourself, and he tries to let you fight yourself when you want to. But this particular time was eating away at him.
"Baby?" Seungcheol asks walking over to your seated form on the sofa, two cups of tea in his hands.
He takes a seat beside you, setting the cups down on the small coffee table turning to you as you hum in response, looking back at him.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?" He questions, eyes searching your face for any flicker of reason.
"Yes, why do you ask?" You turn in your spot too, facing him. A look of concern on your face but something else tugging on your nerves.
"You just seem off. Like not normal, it's not stress or anything, right?" He continues, picking his words carefully, knowing you'll tell him eventually.
"I guess it's a kind of stress." You shrug not wanting to make it a big deal.
He furrows his brows, leaning in, a silent ask for you to continue.
"I'm about two months late on my period." You blurt seeing his expression change from shock to understanding to confusion.
"But we haven't..."
"No we haven't. And this is a medical issue, not a kid. I haven't cheated Cheol, I would never." You reassure.
"What is it then?" He asks leaning back, traces of dread and confusion still lingering over him.
"I think it's pcos.. I'm not sure though." You speak before the thoughts completely take over his mind.
"Why do you think that?"
"It happened once early on in the year, during finals, I didn't get my period for two months.. Initially I thought it was stress but then I spoke to mom and she said it runs in the family and now I keep thinking about it."
He nods along listening to you, a hand slipping around your shoulders pulling you into him. "Are you concerned for anything in particular?"
"Well, pains but also kids?" You send out the question, mostly to yourself. "I know I barely talk about children and it's never serious but since I spoke to mumma, I feel.. What if I can't have kids?"
Seungcheol sighs, not annoyed but understanding. "I know it would change things, but it also wouldn't hun."
You pull back to meet his eyes, unable to understand the words he just said.
He meets your gaze, endearingly huffing at the crease between your brows. He straightens up a bit before speaking.
"So what if you can't have kids? You're still Y/n, you'll still grow and learn as life comes. You'll still do your activities, your work, your emotions, your relationships. I'm not saying you shouldn't, you have every right to feel sad, but that's not all to life."
You nod resting your temple on the side of his arm, shoulders deflating a bit. "That's true, would you mind?"
"Me? Baby, this is a medical problem, as far as my emotions are concerned, you do not have to worry. And I'll be with you, you know that."
You relaxed into him, heart feeling lighter. And he noticed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.
"Plus, you should get tested before worrying, what if it's something else?"
"That's possible. I just feel a certain way,"
"And I hope you can talk to me for anything."
"I can, I just need to think for myself first."
"You know I love you, completely."
"I love you."
"Not completely? Not my teasing side? I'm not what Chan describes baby, I swear." He pouts playfully, lightly tugging on your nose.
"Hey!" You swat at his hand, smiling a bit, your chest lighter now. "I believe Chan,"
"Betrayal!" He gasps, clutching at his chest dramatically.
That makes you laugh, finally. He immediately pushes you down on the sofa with a bear hug and covers your face in kisses, making your cheeks heat up. "You can't believe Chan!"
"Nuh uh! He's sooo right!" You laugh breathless.
"Y/n! I'm gonna kill Chan!" He laughs too, his face burying in your neck. (Sorry Chan, he catches strays everywhere.)
Your breathing slows down now, Seungcheol moves down to kiss your stomach softly. "I really do love you. Don't worry baby,"
Your chest constricts for a moment, from the overwhelming influx of love from him. You softly thread your fingers in his hair, "Thank you baby, I love you too."
.
[Chan: Why tf am I catching strays?!]
//
Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Sitting on Bucky's lap. It starts because there's no where else to sit. It's a bit awkward at first and then over the course of the evening it becomes comfortable. Eventually, over months, you start sitting on Bucky's lap all the time, even when there are seats available. The team give you guys so much shit. Which wouldn't be a problem if only he wasn't so damn in love with you.
The first time you sat on Bucky Barnes’ lap, it was entirely accidental.
Which was probably the only reason either of you survived it.
Avengers movie nights had become a weekly disaster.
Tony insisted on hosting them despite nobody actually wanting to watch movies in the same room as Tony Stark because he talked through every important scene and paused films to explain things nobody asked about.
The common room was packed already by the time you arrived.
Sam and Steve had claimed the larger couch. Natasha was sprawled across an armchair with the kind of elegance that made normal sitting look embarrassing. Clint occupied an entire loveseat by himself despite not needing nearly that much space.
And Bucky—
Bucky sat at the far end of the sectional couch looking deeply regretful about agreeing to participate in social interaction.
You smiled automatically at the sight of him.
Because you always did.
Unfortunately, every remaining seat was taken.
You frowned slightly, scanning the room.
“There’s nowhere left.”
“Sit on the floor,” Sam suggested immediately.
“You sit on the floor.”
“I was here first.”
Tony pointed toward Bucky without looking away from the TV.
“Tin Man’s got room.”
The entire room went briefly quiet.
Because technically yes, there was room.
Bucky occupied one corner of the sectional entirely alone.
But sitting beside Bucky Barnes and sitting on Bucky Barnes were two catastrophically different things.
You looked at Bucky hesitantly.
He looked back.
For one terrible second, neither of you said anything.
Then Steve—traitor that he was—shifted slightly farther into Sam’s side.
“Looks full here.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Coward.”
Steve smiled innocently.
Natasha looked deeply entertained already.
“You could always sit in Barnes’ lap.”
Bucky choked on absolutely nothing.
You stared at her in horror.
Natasha raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“What? Efficient use of space.”
“You are a menace.”
“Thank you.”
Bucky still hadn’t spoken.
Which somehow made this worse.
You glanced at him carefully.
“…Would that be weird?”
Bucky’s eyes widened slightly like he hadn’t expected you to genuinely consider it.
Truthfully, neither had you.
You and Bucky weren’t exactly touchy.
Not because you disliked each other.
Quite the opposite.
There was just always this… awareness between you.
Every accidental brush of hands lingered too long. Every moment standing too close felt charged somehow.
And now everyone was looking at him expectantly while you stood awkwardly beside the couch.
Bucky swallowed once.
Then muttered:
“I mean… if you want.”
Natasha immediately smirked.
“Oh, he’s doomed.”
“Romanoff,” Bucky warned.
But his voice sounded rougher than usual.
Your heart beat stupidly hard as you carefully lowered yourself onto his lap.
At first it was incredibly awkward.
Not because Bucky made it awkward.
Because he went completely motionless.
Like if he moved too suddenly he might combust.
You tried very hard to ignore how warm he was beneath you.
Which was difficult.
Super soldier body heat should honestly count as a weapon.
Your back pressed lightly against his chest. One of his thighs bracketed yours naturally. His metal arm rested rigidly beside you like he was terrified to touch you accidentally.
The room immediately erupted.
“Oh my God,” Sam whispered dramatically.
Clint pointed at Bucky.
“He looks like somebody held him at gunpoint.”
“He does,” Natasha agreed.
Bucky glared at all of them.
You were trying very hard not to laugh.
“This is fine,” you said weakly.
“No it’s not,” Sam answered instantly. “Barnes forgot how to breathe.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”
Bucky finally looked down at you.
Your eyes met.
And suddenly the teasing faded into background noise for one dangerous second.
Because he looked…
Overwhelmed.
Not upset. Not uncomfortable.
Just intensely aware of you.
You smiled slightly before you could stop yourself.
Bucky’s expression softened immediately in response.
Then, cautiously, his flesh hand settled against your side.
Not gripping. Just there.
Steadying.
Your stomach flipped violently.
“Oh, he’s touching her now,” Clint announced.
“Everybody shut up,” Bucky muttered.
The movie finally started after that.
And slowly, impossibly, the awkwardness faded.
Because sitting with Bucky felt…
Nice.
His chest warm against your back. The low rumble of his voice when he occasionally commented quietly. The way his hand shifted absentmindedly against your side whenever you laughed.
At some point during the movie, you relaxed fully against him without even realizing it.
Bucky noticed immediately.
Every muscle in his body softened.
Like your trust physically melted tension out of him.
By the end of the night, his metal arm rested loosely across your lap while your head leaned comfortably against his shoulder.
Nobody missed it.
Especially not Natasha.
“You two are revolting,” she informed you both pleasantly.
You lifted your head sleepily.
“What?”
“You’re cuddling.”
You looked down.
Oh.
Bucky’s arms were around you.
Fully around you.
At some point that had happened without either of you acknowledging it.
Your cheeks warmed instantly.
Bucky looked down too.
But instead of pulling away—
His grip tightened slightly.
Just slightly.
Like he didn’t want you moving.
Natasha’s smile turned positively vicious.
“Oh, this is going to get worse.”
It did.
Very quickly.
The second time you sat on Bucky’s lap, it was deliberate.
The common room was crowded again.
There were other seats available this time.
You ignored them automatically and crossed straight toward Bucky instead.
He looked up from his book immediately.
Eyes tracking you instinctively.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Hi.”
Then, without really thinking about it, you settled into his lap naturally.
Like it was normal now.
Bucky went still for exactly one second.
Then his arm wrapped around your waist automatically.
Comfortably.
Like his body had already memorized yours.
Sam stared openly from across the room.
“No.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“There are literally empty chairs.”
You looked around.
“…Oh.”
Bucky’s chest rumbled quietly behind you.
A laugh.
“You can move if you want,” he said softly.
But his arm tightened infinitesimally around you when he said it.
Liar.
You smiled slightly.
“I’m comfortable.”
Bucky’s entire posture relaxed immediately.
Sam pointed dramatically.
“Did everybody see that?”
Steve looked deeply amused over his book.
“It’s pretty obvious.”
“What’s obvious?” you asked suspiciously.
“The fact that Barnes is one missed nap away from carrying you around in a baby sling.”
Bucky flipped him off without hesitation.
You laughed so hard you nearly slid sideways.
Bucky caught you instantly.
Strong hands gripping your waist securely.
“Careful.”
His voice dropped lower when talking directly to you.
Softer too.
Natasha noticed everything.
Of course she did.
“You know,” she mused one evening while watching you climb into Bucky’s lap during a briefing despite several empty seats nearby, “at this point I think she just likes making you malfunction.”
Bucky looked at her flatly.
“She’s sitting.”
“You stare at her like she invented oxygen.”
Your face immediately burst into flames.
Bucky looked mildly alarmed now too.
“I do not.”
“Barnes,” Clint said. “You literally stopped listening to Fury because she fixed your collar.”
Bucky frowned.
“It was crooked.”
The room erupted instantly.
You buried your face in his shoulder laughing while Bucky glared at everyone over your head.
Which honestly only made it worse.
Because now his hand was rubbing absentminded circles against your back.
Possessive. Comforting.
Intimate enough that Steve quietly hid a smile behind his coffee mug.
The problem was that nobody realized how bad it had gotten for Bucky.
Not even you.
Because somewhere between movie nights and briefings and lazy afternoons tangled together on couches, sitting on his lap had become second nature.
You did it constantly now.
Reading reports. Watching TV. Scrolling through your phone.
Sometimes you sat sideways across his thighs while talking to the others. Sometimes you leaned fully back against his chest while he wrapped both arms around you automatically.
Bucky never complained.
Never hesitated.
In fact, he started unconsciously making room for you before you even crossed the room.
Like some part of him expected your weight settling against him now.
The terrifying thing was how much he needed it.
Because every time you sat with him, the world quieted.
The noise in his head softened. The hypervigilance eased.
You grounded him without even trying.
And Bucky—
God.
Bucky was so deeply in love with you it physically hurt sometimes.
He knew exactly when it happened too.
One rainy afternoon in the tower.
You’d fallen asleep on him during a movie.
Curled against his chest with one arm looped lazily around his neck.
The others had long since filtered out of the room, leaving only the soft sound of rain against the windows.
Bucky looked down at you sleeping in his lap.
At your relaxed face. Your soft breathing. The absolute trust in the way you melted into him without hesitation.
And suddenly it hit him with horrifying clarity.
Oh.
Oh no.
He loved you.
Not casually. Not halfway.
Completely.
The realization should’ve terrified him.
Instead it just felt inevitable.
Like he’d been falling for you slowly every single time you smiled at him across the room. Every time you chose his lap over empty seats. Every time you trusted him enough to curl into his arms like it was the safest place in the world.
Bucky brushed a strand of hair carefully away from your face.
You stirred slightly against him.
His chest tightened painfully.
“Jesus,” he whispered to himself.
“What?”
Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin.
You blinked sleepily up at him.
Still half asleep.
Still warm and heavy in his lap.
Bucky stared at you.
Then sighed softly through his nose.
“Nothin’.”
You narrowed your eyes lazily.
“You’re doing the overthinking face.”
“I don’t have an overthinking face.”
“You absolutely do.”
Your fingers drifted absentmindedly along the back of his neck.
Bucky nearly stopped breathing.
“You okay?” you murmured.
There was so much genuine concern in your voice.
So much affection.
And suddenly Bucky couldn’t do it anymore.
Couldn’t keep swallowing the feelings down every time you curled up in his lap smiling at him like he mattered.
His hand slid carefully against your waist.
“You know,” he said quietly, “most people don’t sit in their friends’ laps this much.”
You blinked slowly.
Then your expression changed.
“Oh.”
Bucky’s stomach dropped immediately.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No,” you interrupted softly. “No, I just…”
Your cheeks warmed visibly.
“I thought maybe you liked it.”
Bucky stared at you.
“You thought maybe—”
“You always hold me.”
“Because I like holding you.”
The words slipped out too fast to stop.
Silence.
Then your eyes widened slightly.
Bucky closed his eyes briefly.
Great.
Perfect.
But when he looked back at you, you were smiling.
Small. Soft. Almost shy.
“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m kind of in love with you.”
Bucky’s entire brain short-circuited.
“You—what?”
You laughed quietly at his expression.
“I figured that was obvious.”
“To me?”
“Yes?”
“Doll, I thought you just really liked sitting down.”
You burst out laughing fully then.
The sound hit Bucky right in the chest.
God, he loved you.
You cupped his face gently.
“I love sitting with you because it’s you.”
Every protective wall Bucky carried cracked apart instantly.
He kissed you before he could overthink it.
Slow at first. Careful.
One hand cradling your jaw while the other tightened around your waist instinctively, keeping you close in his lap.
You kissed him back immediately.
Warm and certain.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
Both of you breathless.
“You know,” you murmured softly, “I’m still gonna sit on your lap constantly.”
Bucky’s mouth curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen from him.
“Good.”
Then he kissed you again just as Sam walked back into the room.
Sam stopped dead.
Looked at the two of you tangled together on the couch.
Then groaned loudly.
“Oh, come on.”
*giggling*
GUYS PLEASE HELP ME AGAIN. THANK YOU 🤧
Harry Potter oneshot book on wattpad. I can't find it for the life of me.
(A) There is a chapter with Pansy and y/n, pretty sure it's a Slytherin common room thing and Draco and Blaize are also present and amazed.
(B) l remember one chapter, it was my favourite. George Weasley smut chapter. Reader and George are virgins. They're at his house and they do it for the first time.
1. George is totally amazed by the boobs. First he's shy but yeah
2. There was a scene where he fvcks reader against the wall in the hallway (no one gets caught)
3. Lastly, they're on his bed and reader is on top. Reader gets tired, right? And they like lay on top of George but he keeps thrusting up to finish.
.
forever and ever and ever
— the morning after bsf!soonyoung drunkenly confesses to you.
ⓘ paring. soonyoung x f!reader. genre | tags: friends to lovers, drabble, fake texts, fluff, mini-series. warnings. alcohol consumption, lots of crying, kissing. word count. 2.6k+. → read part one here.
━ This is part of my series 500 follower special. Technically not mandatory reading but for it to fully make sense, I’d recommend checking out part one first.
ʚ A/N: This one doesn't have texts, it's just written parts.
The bar is loud, dimly lit, and sticky with the kind of Friday night energy that promises bad decisions and regretful stories.
You know there’s a baseball game going on because Soonyoung told you earlier, long before he poured his heart out to you, practically buzzing with excitement through the phone as he explained that everyone was heading to this bar to watch it together. He even invited you, but since you were supposed to work late, you declined, not expecting your evening to shift so suddenly or to find yourself walking into the exact place you said no to just hours earlier, just to pick your best friend up.
You push the door open, not sure exactly what you’re walking into, and you spot Mingyu immediately—all 187 centimeters of him waving frantically at you from across the room. Next to him, Joshua sips from his glass, entirely unbothered, offering you a lazy wave and smile.
The place is absolutely packed. Bodies squeezed shoulder to shoulder, voices raised over the blaring commentary from the TVs, the clatter of glasses behind the bar barely audible beneath it all. The air is clouded with the scent of fried food, beer, and something vaguely woody from someone’s cologne nearby.
You spot Seokmin and Seungkwan sandwiched between a couple of dudes close to the biggest TV in the bar, both of them in matching jerseys, looking like they’ve been there for hours, cheeks flushed from a combination of beer and yelling, arms flailing as they half-celebrate, half-coach the team from afar like the players on the screen can hear them.
The rest of the boys are scattered around the bar. Some near the pool table, others by the bar counter, a few more huddled around the TV. You spot each one easily, laughing, drinking, caught up in the noise of the place.
All of them… except the one you were actually looking for.
“Y/N!” you hear someone call out over the noise, your name slicing through the low hum of conversation and music.
You turn your head to the left corner, finding Joshua pointing at the lump of sparkly tiger print collapsed on the table right between Jeonghan and Chan.
Kwon Soonyoung.
“Ain’t no fucking way,” you murmur to yourself, eyes wide in disbelief.
You weave your way through the crowded bar, brushing past elbows and half-finished drinks, offering Seungcheol and Wonwoo a small, polite smile as you pass by them. Seungcheol nods in greeting, and Wonwoo flashes you a knowing smirk, but you don't slow down to talk to them.
Soonyoung’s head rests on the table, arms crossed, eyes shut. He looks peaceful, though completely unbothered by the music, the TV and the loud sound of voices. Sleeping like an angel. A very intoxicated, overly dramatic angel.
Jeonghan rises from his chair without a word, his expression the perfect mix of sympathy and amusement. He gives your shoulder a firm, almost solemn pot, like a soldier sending another off to war, and leans in just enough to mutter, “Good luck,” before disappearing into the crowd with the casual ease of someone who knows exactly what kind of chaos you’re walking into.
Chan follows right after him, and you are left alone, staring down at Soonyoung and his sparkly, tiger-print disaster of a state, wondering how your night had managed to take this turn.
“Soonie,” you say softly, nudging his shoulder as you sink into the seat beside him.
He groans, barely lifting his head from the table. “Go away, Chan, I’m in mourning,” he mumbles, voice muffled against his folded arms.
You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head before asking, “For what, honey?”
Soonyoung pops his head up so fast he almost hits your chin.
“Y/N?!” he exclaims, eyes wide and glitter catching in the light like he’s part raccoon, part pure alcohol incarnate.
“Hey, tiger boy,” you smile at him. “Calm down before you give yourself whiplash, will you?”
His eyes widen in horror, then immediately scrunch like he’s about to cry again.
“Oh noooo,” he whines, dragging the last syllable as he buries his face in your arm. “I wasn’t ready. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I had a dance planned.”
You blink, startled. “A dance?”
Soonyoung groans louder against the sleeve of your jacket. “I was gonna get backup dancers and everything. Jihoon said no but I think I could’ve convinced him…”
You try to hold back your laugh, but it escapes anyway as you brush a strand of hair off his forehead. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You say that now,” he sniffs, “but just wait. The choreography was gonna slay.”
“Oh, coming from you, I believe it,” you say, running your fingers gently through his hair.
The movement seems to breathe life back into him. His shoulders relax, his grip on your arm softens, and he lets out a content little sigh that’s half dramatic, half heartfelt.
“You get me,” he mumbles, leaning fully into your side like a sleepy child. “You really get me.”
You chuckle, brushing a few stray strands of glitter-coated hair from the back of his head. “Unfortunately for both of us, I do.”
Soonyoung looks up at you again, eyes glassy and sincere.
“I love you,” he says, suddenly quiet. “I didn’t mean to tell you like that. But I do. I love you so much it makes me stupid. Which is saying something, because I was already halfway there.”
His voice cracks at the end, trembling with everything he’s held in for far too long. And then he’s crying again. Not loud or messy, just soft tears running down his cheeks, ones that make his eyes look even smaller than they are, lips wobbling as the truth spills out of like it’s been waiting for this exact moment to break free.
Your chest tightens. “Soonyoung…”
“I meant every word, Y/N. I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine. And not just when I’m drunk and pathetic like this. I mean always. Forever and ever and ever.”
You can only stare, heart caught somewhere between aching and soaring. His voice wavers, but his eyes don’t. They stay locked on yours, shining with tears and conviction and that unmistakable Soonyoung kind of love as a goofy smile appears on his face.
Then he adds with a teary laugh, “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”
You hold his face between your hands, wiping away the tears streaming down his face. “I love you too, idiot,” you whisper, and lean down to kiss his cheekbone.
Soonyoung freezes, eyes wide, like he’s trying to reboot. Then slowly, a smile spread across his face, crooked and amazed.
“Wait,” he says, blinking the tears away. “Did we just get engaged?”
You laugh. “Let’s start with sobering you up first, Romeo.”
“Okay,” he nods enthusiastically, wobbling slightly as you help him up. “But I want matching rings eventually.”
“Eventually.”
Soonyoung now leans against your car like it’s the only thing holding him up, which, to be fair, it is.
You stand in front of him, arms crossed, trying not to smile at the way his tiger-print shirt is halfway tucked in and his cheeks are flushed a warm, rosy pink from the drinks, embarrassment long gone now.
In fact, it was so far gone that during the long minutes you spent trying to convince him it was time to go home, Soonyoung had managed to climb on top of a table, declare to you, and the entire bar, that he was very much in love with you, and then proceed to propose.
Twice.
The first time was with a cocktail napkin he had folded into a ring. The second time, he forgot the words halfway through, cried a little, and then asked if anyone had a real one he could borrow. The crowd cheered, encouraging him. You wanted to disappear into the floor.
Now standing in the parking lot, just the two of you, Soonyoung blinks up at you with wide, sincere eyes, so full of hope it makes your chest tighten.
“Y/N,” he says solemnly, swaying just a little. His eyes are wide, glassy, and a little desperate. “Kiss me.”
It’s not a question. It’s not even really a request. It’s a plea, whispered into the space between you like it’s the only thing holding him up, besides your car. Like kissing you might fix everything that’s ever been wrong with his world.
That’s exactly what you feel about him. But you’re not doing that right now.
“You’re drunk, Soonyoung.”
“I’m in love.”
“You’re also very drunk.”
He steps close, or more accurately, he stumbles forward like gravity is personally invested in his love life. You reach out and steady him, your hands curling gently around his arms to keep him upright.
Soonyoung leans into your touch instantly, like your grip is the only thing pinning him to the ground. His eyes search yours, wide and open and impossibly vulnerable.
“So what?” he says, pouting. “I know what I’m saying. I’ve never been more sure of anything. In fact…” He pauses, eyes narrowing in dramatic determination. “I might be too sober.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So now you need more alcohol to kiss me?”
“No, wait—no. I didn’t mean it like that.” Soonyoung frowns, frustrated. “I mean, I want to kiss you right now. Please? Just one? Tiny little kiss? Like—” He holds up two fingers, squinting between them. “Like this small. Honestly, you might not even notice.”
“Soonie,” you say gently, pressing a hand to his chest to steady him more, “you’re gonna want to remember it.”
“I will remember it,” he insists. “I remember everything when it comes to you. Like your birthday. Your MBTI. Your blood type. And how you take your coffee. And that time you wore those SpongeBob and Patrick socks thinking they were a pair but they weren’t.”
You blink, caught off guard by the memory.
“You said it didn’t matter because they were best friends anyway.” He smiles faintly, a little proud, a little wrecked. “See? I remember the little things. Because you matter that much to me.”
You bite your lip, trying to ignore the way your heart’s doing backflips in your chest. “Still no.”
He slumps dramatically against the car’s bonnet. “This is the worst night of my life.”
“You literally just confessed to your long-time crush and she came to pick you up like a cheesy hallmark rom-com. You’re doing fine.”
“But there’s no kiss.”
You laugh, shake your head, and brush his bangs away from his forehead. “You’ll get your kiss, Soonyoung. But not like this.”
He squints at you. “Promise?”
“Promise,” you nod.
He closes his eyes, content. “Okay. But when I’m sober, I’m kissing you so hard, you’re gonna think I was drunk again.”
You grin. “I look forward to it.”
You’re in Soonyoung’s kitchen and you hear a thud from the hallway that leads to his bedroom, flowed by the softest, most pitiful groan.
You peek around the corner to find him staggering into the living room like a man at war with his own apartment walls.
His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction gravity allows it. One sock is missing entirely, the other hanging half-off his foot like it’s given up. And, of course, he’s still wearing that ridiculous tiger-print shirt from last night, the collar stretched, glitter clinging stubbornly to the fabric and his skin.
Soonyoung blinks at you blearily, like he can’t believe he just woke up to you in his kitchen, then breaks into a crooked grin.
“Morning,” he croaks, voice still rough with sleep. “Am I dead? Or do you just look this good in the afterlife?”
“Oh, you’re very much alive,” you say, holding out a glass of water and some painkillers.
He tilts his head to the side slightly and grimaces immediately like it weighs a hundred pounds. “Barely, actually.”
Soonyoung lifts the chair from the kitchen table as calmly as possible, as if the possibility of dragging it would cause a near-death experience to his brain. You set the glass on the table next to him, and he eyes you warily.
“Did I… do anything stupid last night?”
You smirk, sitting next to him. “Define stupid.”
His entire face goes pale. “Oh no.”
“You told me you were in love with me like a hundred times. Then did once again while standing on a bar table with people cheering you on.”
He groans again, long and dramatic, before dropping his head against the table with a heavy thud, burying his face in his arms, falling right back into the exact same position you found him in last night at the bar.
“Oh my god.”
“You also proposed.”
“I DID WHAT?!”
“Twice,” you add, a teasing tone in your voice. “Second time was slurred and had a few tears, but still legally binding, I think.”
He peeks at you with one eye, his ears and neck bright red. “You said no to the kiss.”
You smile. Of course that is the only thing he remembers. “Because you were drunk, Soonyoung.”
“So I get another chance?”
You pause, leaning against the back of the chair. “Depends. You still feel the same way, or was it just the alcohol speaking?”
Soonyoung sits up quickly, cradling the water like a lifeline. He reaches out to grab your hand and you let him intertwine his fingers with yours.
“Y/N… I wasn’t drunk when I fell for you. That’s been happening for half my life. The drinks just… took the filter off and gave me the courage.”
You bite your lower lip, cheeks heating up.
“I still mean everything I said,” he adds softly. “I love your laugh. Your face. Even the way you get mad at me when I’m being stupid on purpose. I love you.”
You don’t say anything at first. You just sit there, looking at him, really looking.
At the way his eyes, still puffy from crying so much last night, flick up to meet yours with a kind of quiet desperation. Hopeful but terrified. At the way he’s trying not to breathe too loud, like the sound might scare you away. At the way his hand twitches between you on the table, like it’s aching to reach out, to grab your face and kiss you breathless, but doesn’t want to push your boundaries.
Because he’s Soonyoung. And as much as he loves loudly, this—you—he’s afraid to break.
So you make it easy for him.
You lean in. Slowly.
He freezes. Eyes wide, mouth parted just slightly like he’s not sure if this is really happening.
And then you kiss him. Softly. Just once, testing the water, tasting the moment, letting him feel the answer he was too scared to ask for out loud.
When you pull back, he’s staring at you like you just put the stars in the sky. And that’s when it hits you: he has always looked at you like that. You were just too caught up in your own mess, your own fears, to see it.
“Holy shit,” Soonyoung whispers, breath catching. His eyes shimmer with something that looks a lot like awe, like he still can’t believe you’re real. “You kissed me.”
“So…” you whisper. “Still want that kiss?”
He blinks. “You mean that wasn’t it???”
You laugh, grabbing the collar of his ridiculous tiger shirt and pulling him back in.
“No,” you murmur against his lips. “That was the preview.”
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Hobi: half the fun of owning cats is the random scavenger hunts. like, where are my little friends sleeping today?
Hobi: are you in the laundry basket? under the bed? have you curled up behind the shelf, on top of the cabinet, inside a shopping bag? have you discovered a secret portal to another dimension and gone on an adventure with a tiny dragon? where are you, kitty cat?
No one talks about how embarrassing it is to do absolutely anything as a fat person. And I mean, anything.
. ˚ never a burden
requested by @dandycharmer : I was thinking, pure fluff, if reader is on the bigger side/chubby going on a roadtrip with svt but there aren't enough seats so someone has to sit on another's lap. Everyone thinks the reader should, as they are the "smaller" coompared to some of them, reader is insecure and refuses but then maybe Mingyu or Coups or Dk brush you off and pull you in they're lap. I love your writing btw, so fluffy💞.
pairing: mingyu x gn!reader
genre: mutual pining, fluff, comfort, pre-relationship, implications of chubby!reader, road trip (planning)
word count: 2118
warnings: none
notes: thank you very much for requesting! not edited.
Like with most events, this entire trip was Seungkwan’s idea.
"We should stop getting Seungkwan to do all the planning whenever we go anywhere," Mingyu grumbles, coming to sit next to you on the floor of the kitchen. You hum in agreement, listening as Seungkwan yells at the others in the living room about packing and food and clothes and whatever. He's always yelling, really.
It's a thirteen-member road trip that he's currently planning. Well, a thirteen-member road trip plus you, because you'd foolishly told Seungkwan that you were free when he asked you whether you were doing anything this weekend. And, as a result, you'd become part of his event-planning craze, hiding on the kitchen floor and waiting for him to inevitably find you and scold you over your toothbrush choice or something.
You’re sitting tucked away between two corners of kitchen drawers when Mingyu comes down to sit beside you on the tiled floor, and it’s a bit of a squish because even though it fit you quite comfortably, it’s not made for two people and he’s, well, a big man.
Automatically, you try and shuffle away from him, something that’s become habit lately whenever he steps too close to you. You hate yourself for doing it, for distancing yourself from one of your closest friends, but if it means that he won’t be able to feel your skin heating up and your pulse racing through your veins when he comes near, then so be it.
But the moment you try to move away, Mingyu wraps an arm around your shoulder, effectively trapping you against him.
It’s difficult to hide a crush when your crush is an incredibly clingy person.
“Where are you going? There’s barely any space here. You’re going to smash yourself against the drawers,” Mingyu says, and his arm settles around your shoulder, comforting, warm.
It’s a hot day. But you let Mingyu keep his warm arm around you, settling into the comfortable embrace, feet cold against the tiled floor.
“You’ve been avoiding me these days,” he says, out of nowhere, and you try not to tense up in surprise that he’s noticed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He hums disapprovingly. “No, you do. I think this is the first time I’ve managed to pull you into anything resembling a hug for weeks.”
“That’s not true. You hugged me yesterday,” you point out, but Mingyu just shakes his head. He’s pouting at you now, and he looks so sad and adorable and you feel a little bad. Damn your stupid feelings.
“That was a group hug. That doesn’t count, you know that.” He tilts his head to the side, and the action makes him look a little like a dejected puppy. “I haven’t been able to hug my Y/N in ages, you know? That makes me feel really sad.”
Your heart flips in your chest (he called you his—) but you push down the giddiness, smiling and attempting to brush it off. “Oh, well, I’m sorry. You can hug me tomorrow. Maybe.”
Mingyu huffs, but he doesn’t say anything else, and there’s silence in the kitchen, the faint echoes of Seungkwan’s shouts echoing throughout the entire apartment.
“I think Seungkwan is horribly disorganized,” you murmur after a little while in an attempt to change the subject, heartbeat still thrumming throughout your entire body. You’re used to it now, though. The buzzing feeling whenever Mingyu is near, the slight floatiness of your consciousness when he smiles or talks ot stands close to you. It never really goes away.
That makes Mingyu laugh, and the sound makes your heart jolt in your chest. “Tell me about it. We’re meant to leave in half an hour, actually, and Joshua has only just woken up. He hasn’t even packed yet.”
There’s a crashing sound from the living room, and both of you collectively wince. The entire apartment is silent for several seconds before everyone explodes into a cacophony of noise, and you can’t quite tell if Seungkwan is screeching or crying.
“Why are you here?” you ask Mingyu, because instead of holding Seungkwan back from kicking the others like he normally does, he’s sitting next to you on the kitchen floor, the arm around your shoulders still firmly keeping you by his side.
Mingyu quirks a grin, squeezing your shoulder once. “Was going to find my lovely Y/N, wasn’t I? You disappeared without a trace, so of course I had to find out where you were.”
You tilt your head, confused. “Why? Was someone looking for me?”
Mingyu just looks at you and smiles.
“You two!” Seungkwan’s voice suddenly rings out, and both of you jump, Seungkwan’s disapproving face looming over you from the other side of the counter. He’s leaning across the top of it, on his stomach, and he sounds a little strained when he says, “Come out. Both of you. We’re leaving now, whether Joshua has enough pairs of socks or not!”
He hops off the counter, dashing off to go somewhere while Joshua yells in the distance for Jeonghan to share his socks with him while the other steadfastly refuses.
You and Mingyu both look at each other.
“Well, looks like we’re setting off on this delightful roadtrip,” you sigh, and Mingyu chuckles, getting up.
“Looks like it.” He extends a hand for you, and you take it, after a brief hesitation. His palm fizzles against yours, bright pink and warm, and you hope he doesn’t notice how anxious your very fingers are when they touch his. “Where are we even going?”
“Somewhere,” Seokmin says, popping his head out of the living room as you walk past. “Seungkwan keeps saying it’s a surprise, but I think it’s because he hasn’t planned that far ahead yet.”
“I definitely have!” Seungkwan yells indignantly, and he’s standing in the hallway with the car keys in his hand and several bags piled around his feet. “And for your information, we’re going round to Seungcheol’s place first. Everyone else has gone to his apartment, for some reason, so we’ll meet them there and then get going.”
Joshua emerges from his room, arms laden with bags, Jeonghan behind him carrying absolutely nothing. “Okay, but where are we going after that?”
“He doesn’t know, obviously,” you say, and Seungkwan shakes his head.
“Sure. Now come on, let’s get everything loaded into the car and get going.”
Seokmin is practically skipping out of the door the moment he opens it, bouncing on the balls of his feet and pestering Seungkwan to give him the (Joshua’s) car keys so he can put away his stuff.
It’s a gorgeously bright day outside, and you squint in the sun, the heat of the late morning hitting your skin almost instantly. It’s nothing compared to the warmth of Mingyu’s touch, of course, but it’s pleasant all the same.
A hand comes up to cast a shadow across your face, shielding your eyes from the sun. Mingyu grins, holding his bags in one hand, the other in front of your face.
“You look like a vampire who’s never seen light before,” he says, and mimics the squinty-eyed, scrunched-up face that you were making just a few seconds prior. It makes you roll your eyes, pinching him in the side, dumping your own bags in the car trunk. He follows you around obediently, trying his best to keep your eyes shaded even as he continues to tease you. It’s a little adorable, actually.
It does nothing to cease the fluttering of your heart, though.
You’re trying to bat Mingyu’s hands away, annoyed when they keep coming too close to boop your nose when Seungkwan suddenly pauses in his frantic flitting around, staring at the car in deep concentration.
“You guys. We have a problem.”
“Oh no, another one?” Jeonghan says, but Seungkwan doesn’t even pay attention, still frowning down at the car.
“Joshua’s car only fits five people,” Seokmin pipes, leaning out of the shotgun seat to inform them. “We don’t have enough seats for all six of us. Someone’s going to have to sit on someone’s lap.”
“Ah. Well, what do we do?” you ask, looking at Mingyu. Mingyu just looks back, not saying a word, and everyone else is looking at you too, and that’s when you realise. “Oh. Oh, no. Guys, no, I can’t.”
“You’re the smallest out of all of us,” Seungkwan says, and you rapidly shake your head. “Y/N, it’ll only be until we get to Seungcheol’s apartment. Then we’ll split off into more even groups, ‘cause there’ll be Seungcheol’s car, Minghao’s car and Joshua’s car. Just for now? Please?”
“No, I can’t,” you say, hugging your arms around yourself. “It’s just… I’m too…” You cringe, embarrassed, insecure. “Am I not a little too… heavy for that?”
Jeonghan pffts, and Joshua shakes his head fervently. But you’re looking at Mingyu, and Mingyu is looking back at you, and his expression shows that he’s never even thought something like that, even for a second.
“You’re fine, Y/N,” he says, and he’s speaking gently and firmly at the same time, reassuring and determined all at once. “Why would you even think you’re too heavy?”
“Well,” you start, and your cheeks are hot, and this heat has nothing to do with the sun, still bearing down on all of you. “I mean, my thighs? I’m not exactly, like, the skinniest person ever…”
“And we’d never want that,” Mingyu interjects, eyes wide and clear and serious. He holds out his hand. “Come on. You can sit on my lap. It’s okay.”
You hesitate, just like how you hesitated earlier in the kitchen, but again, you take his hand anyway, and again, his fingers fizzle with warmth as they come into contact with yours.
“Great!” Seungkwan clasps his hands together. “Let’s get going then. We need to start this trip as soon as possible. We’re already an hour behind schedule.”
“What even was the schedule to begin with?” Mingyu mutters to you as he walks you to the car, and it makes you chuckle a little because he’s right. There seems to be no actual schedule.
When Mingyu opens the car door and gets in, though, the laughter dies away, and you feel apprehensive once again. You try not to think about it too often, but your weight and the way you look is a huge insecurity of yours, and the fact you have to sit on Mingyu’s lap? This is not helping those insecurities go away. Suddenly you feel like a big, heavy thing, and you kind of don’t want to go on this trip if it means you have to inconvenience Mingyu like this.
Mingyu notices you pausing, notices the thoughts and fears running through your head.
“Y/N?” He looks up at you, and smiles, opening his arms. “Come on. It’s okay. Just until we get to Cheol’s place, yeah?”
“I mean…”
“No, no, none of that,” Mingyu says, and then he’s reaching out for you, pulling you into the car and securely into his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, firmly, and rests his head on your shoulder. “Look? You fit so perfectly in my lap.”
And you kind of do. He’s spreading his legs a little, making it slightly more comfortable for you, and with his arms and his warmth surrounding you so reassuringly, skin buzzing sweetly at every point of contact between you two.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, smiling up at you, and even his eyes are warm. Warmer than Seokmin’s beams, warmer than the sun itself.
“You’ll never be a burden for me, Y/N,” he says, and even though Seungkwan is still bustling around outside and Joshua is bickering with Seokmin in the front of the car and Jeonghan is complaining at having the shotgun seat stolen, the world goes silent for you and all you can see and hear is Mingyu.
Mingyu grins wider, and it makes you smile too. He reaches up and pokes your cheek, cooing softly. “Look at you, my lovely Y/N. So sweet, so adorable.”
You swat his hand away, cheeks heating up. “Aw, stop it. You’re so sickeningly sweet.”
That makes Mingyu laugh, leaning back in the seat, tightening his arms around your waist. “Only for you. Only ever for you.”
And even when you get to Seungcheol’s apartment and kick Jeonghan out into Seungcheol’s car so there’s more space, even when you’re sitting next to Mingyu rather than on him, Mingyu is still smiling at you, so softly and sweetly and you’re smiling back, heartbeat thrumming through your veins.
Damn. Looks like you’ve fallen for him even more than before.
AHHHHHHHHH WAIT I READ THIS AGAIN AFTER SOOO LONG!!!
Chat is it okay if I cry when I think about when I asked my mom to get me a frock at the age of 8 and she said no, and when I complained that my sister got to wear one she told me to lose weight first, I was 8 by the way.
Also it's been 12 years and the only constant in my life is the fact that I want to lose weight. So yay!
Common aesthetic;
You friend posts a photo dump and you look completely ugly and fat asf in it and now your day is ruined. You can't even go on insta.
Yay ✌
GUYS!
Is there old man yaoi of Alfred and Commissioner Gordon??
Please tell me if so, I'm CURIOUS.
