#with every song picked to precision | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carlislefiles · 9 days ago

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domesticated | nanami kento ╰►nanami was born to be a husband—measured, attentive, impossibly good with his hands—but more than that, he was born to be your husband. he keeps a bullet journal, folds your laundry with surgical precision, and makes you tea just the way you like it. and as sure as you are that he’s perfect, he’s still determined to prove it to you, every single day. 7.3k words

a/n: a couple nights ago, I plagued my dash with thoughts of housewife!nanami and I will continue to do so forever and ever. if there are no nanami stans, I'm dead...but who am I kidding, there will always be nanami stans. gonna have to fight all of you for my man :[ also I'm thinking of doing a part two to this.....maybe like a sunday type vibe where reader has the day off....let me know your thoughts on that. warnings: embarrassing amounts of fluff, kissing, cussing, brief allusions to sex.

the alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m. sharp. it always does. nanami never changed it, never wanted to. that hour—early, quiet, untouched—was his. a small thing, a leftover ritual from a life that used to feel like it belonged to someone else. once, it meant gritting his teeth, dragging himself into suits and subways and glass towers built by people who didn’t even know his name. another day. another spreadsheet. another serving of silent resignation to a world that didn’t care. it’s hard to believe he lived like that. harder still to believe he accepted it.

he doesn’t like to think much about the man he used to be before he met you. it’s not that he’s ashamed—he knows those years carved him into the man he is now. and now, well...now he’s yours. and that changes everything. because back then he was exhausted. hollowed out. sore in places he didn’t know could ache. and now...

now he’s something else entirely. now he’s a teddy bear stuffed with love and golden light. now he’s weightless, floating from room to room with no burden but joy. now he’s a sunbeam slicing through dusty blinds—warm, unhurried, soft at the edges. now he’s a worn sweatshirt straight out of the dryer. the favorite. the one that always gets picked. now he’s a breath finally released. a pause between footsteps. the part of the song that makes you close your eyes. now he’s a well-read book with creased spines and scribbled margins—flawed, loved, and endlessly reread.

he’s happy. deeply, undeniably happy. the kind of happiness he used to believe was just propaganda. nobody was really this content, were they? and yet. and yet. and yet. nanami kento is living proof.

he moves to shift under the blanket, but then he remembers: you’re here. pressed close. your arms looped around him, soft and certain. you’re holding him—again. and he lets you. he's always been a big spoon kind of man. still is sometimes. there’s something steadying about it, something protective. now though, he indulges you. indulges himself, too. years ago, maybe a younger version of him might’ve thought being held like this made him look weak. that version of him was a fool. now, being cradled by your smaller frame feels like the highest honor. a sacred trust.

he has irrational fears sometimes—irrational but persistent. little thoughts that creep in at 6:02 a.m. when the world is quiet enough to let them whisper. that maybe you’ll leave one day. for someone else. someone who knows your favorite candle scents without being told. someone who cooks your comfort foods without asking. someone who loves you the way nanami does. but those thoughts don’t last long. they can’t.

because every morning, no matter how you fell asleep or what kind of day you had, nanami wakes up like this: in your arms. somewhere in the middle of the night, without fail, you always roll over and reach for him. it’s never intentional. it’s never showy. it’s just instinct—your body choosing him over and over again. and it sparks something in him every single time. besides, nanami doesn’t think anyone else could love you like he can. not really. he’s made it his life’s work. his calling. and no one else gets to touch that.

you’re still asleep. peaceful. you’ll stay that way for at least another thirty minutes if he lets you. he always tries to. sometimes you stir, bleary-eyed and half-dreaming, whining for him to stay just a little longer. and every single time, he does. without hesitation. he’ll curl back around you, press slow kisses into your hairline, trace half-shapes against your back through the fabric of your sleep shirt.

he’ll watch you. just for a little while. just until the next breath, the next blink, the next alarm. because there is no word—no language—for the way he feels about you when the light is just beginning to bleed into the room and your arms are wrapped around him like he’s your home.

he would stay there forever. but duty calls. eventually, he has to slip out of your arms. you make a soft noise of protest in your sleep, half-whine, half-murmur, and he stills for a moment—just to watch your face settle back into peace. then he tugs on a worn t-shirt and pads downstairs, still in the pajama pants you love so much.

the infamous ones. the soft navy plaid pair, a little threadbare at the waistband, stretched just enough in all the right places. you claim they’re evil. you swear they cast a spell on you. you’ve clung to his back like a koala over them, muttered threats into his neck, taken full bites out of his shoulder muscle, a woman possessed. he claims he wears them because they’re comfortable. “worn in,” he says with a shrug. but the truth? nanami is a simple man. a man of taste. and if wearing a particular pair of pajama pants means you ogle him like he’s a limited edition photo card, then yes—he will wear them every damn morning for the rest of his life. is it so wrong to enjoy being desired by your wife?

he never really considered himself…attractive. he knew what he looked like. tall. built. decent face. good hair, on good days. but that wasn’t rare. plenty of men fit that description. what made him special? according to you? everything. you say he’s ‘the hottest man in the entire fucking world.’ and while nanami still finds that declaration hard to believe, your constant, shameless, adoring attention has slowly started to rewire something inside him. he doesn’t flinch at compliments anymore. doesn’t second-guess the way you look at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world. he’s learning to believe it. to believe you.

the kitchen is still dark when he steps in, and he keeps it that way for the most part—only flicking on the light above the stovetop. you’re a deep sleeper, but he’s always careful. gentle. quiet. always respectful. the espresso machine kicks to life with a low whirr, a noise that would’ve startled you awake in the beginning. now? you’ve learned to tune it out. it’s part of the soundtrack of your mornings. a promise in mechanical form.

before nanami, your mornings were bleak. he knows. he’s seen the evidence. you used to crawl out of bed like it was punishment. pour bitter, watery coffee into a chipped mug and pretend it helped. eat a protein bar that tasted like packing material. maybe a questionable piece of fruit if you were feeling ambitious. lunch, if it existed, was often cold leftovers. a bag of chips. a vending machine soda. nanami clocked those bad habits early on. but it wasn’t until you lived together that he could finally do something about them.

now, breakfast is an event. your coffee is never just coffee—it’s the best thing you’ve tasted that day. every morning. he experiments. plays with flavors like he’s crafting love letters in liquid form. homemade blueberry syrup. chocolate cold foam. cinnamon and nutmeg dusted on top just the way you like. he’s memorized your preferences, your allergies, your little quirks. he rarely makes something you don’t like. not just because he’s perfect, but also because he pays attention.

most mornings, he keeps things simple—something warm, something satisfying, something you can eat quickly but meaningfully. a sit-down breakfast is non-negotiable. even on your busiest days, he insists on it. you protest sometimes. you’re in a rush. but he always slows you down. this morning, he’s feeling a little indulgent. leftover homemade butter. pancakes, fluffy and warm. chocolate spread. whipped cream. a handful of fresh berries arranged just so, like a café plate.

you’re going to whine. complain. say he went overboard again, that he doesn’t need to spoil you like this. that you would’ve been fine with toast. he won’t have it. spoiling you is his mission. his hobby. his calling. the high he chases every day. the utter bliss it gives him, knowing he's taking care of you and satisfying you, is like a narcotic. no, better than drugs. nobody even needs drugs, he thinks. they just need a wife. too bad he has the best one, huh?

he moves around the house like a whisper. clean. efficient. at ease. the space is warm, soft, lived-in. he decorated, of course. you squealed when you saw it—pointed out the little touches that screamed nanami. the minimalism, the elegance, the occasional absurd indulgence (like the handcrafted ceramic fruit bowl that cost more than your cart battery when it fizzled out). he cleans constantly. you praise him constantly for it. you love the fresh sheets, the gleaming sink, the way he folds the towels just right.

he doesn’t care much about the structure itself. but what it represents? that matters. this is a home. one he built with you. one he wakes up in and thanks the stars for. he’s had money. he’s lived in a penthouse before—cold, glassy, and forgettable. but this house? this ordinary, wonderful house? this is the dream.

and speaking of dreams—he still can’t believe how lucky he got with yours. you work for a media group. graphic design. a career he could never do, but one he respects deeply. you make good money. more than he ever did. and that doesn’t bother him. not even a little. if anything, he’s proud. stupidly, ridiculously proud. you could afford to work less. but you love what you do. you light up when you talk about projects and deadlines and clients who “get it.” he loves that. loves you.

whatever makes you happy. that’s his mantra. his north star. happy wife, happy life. happy wife, happy life. happy wife. happy wife. happy wife. and you are happy. endlessly. still, he questions it sometimes. your happiness. it creeps in on the stairs as he heads back up with a warm mug of tea. iced coffee is coming—it’s non-negotiable, your fuel—but it’s not warm, and you are always so cold in the mornings. cold and grumbly, buried beneath the covers like a goblin in a hoard of soft blankets, protesting life and light and everything in between.

he gently shakes you awake. a groan. a flail. you throw the covers over your head and threaten to go feral. if you don’t get up now, you’ll be rushing. he knows it, and so, as gently and patiently as ever, he coaxes you into sitting. there’s a quiet apology in the way he touches you—soft fingertips at your wrist, a thumb brushing your temple. he presses a kiss to the crease between your eyebrows, then ghosts his lips over your eyelids like a benediction.

this used to trouble him. all of it. when he first moved in, this—you—was a source of constant, gnawing doubt. if waking up early made you this miserable, then you shouldn’t do it. he would’ve kept working every day of his life if it meant you could sleep in forever. his pretty, sleepy, grumpy wife. as long as she was happy. but he knows now. that’s not what you want. not what you need. and nanami is good—painfully good—at knowing the difference.

you sit in bed, blinking slowly. your hair a mess. his warm presence anchoring you like gravity. it’d be so easy to curl back up and drift off again. but you can’t. you won’t. you’ve got things to do, and you’re already shifting upright. your eyes open—and there he is. the love of your life in the flesh, holding your favorite tea in one hand and looking at you like you invented sunrise.

you’re a strange pair, really. half your life is spent in a slow, sweet argument about how incredible the other one is. you tell nanami he’s everything. he tells you you’re perfect. you shower him with praise; he worships the ground you walk on. it’s silly. it’s true. it never gets old.

he hands you the tea without a word. ginger and lemon, naturally. you curl your knees up to your chest and sip, bleary-eyed, not ready to speak yet. he just watches you, something aching and fond tugging at the corners of his mouth. then he moves around the room—quiet but efficient. he flips on soft lamps, avoiding the harsh overhead light you hate. of course he remembers that. he remembers everything.

“what do you have going on today?” he murmurs, his voice the low, calm timbre that makes you feel safe even in chaos. you mumble something about a meeting—ceo of another media group, something high-profile. they want you to design a billboard. then you’ll be in your office most of the day. there’s that frustrating nonprofit commission you’ve been chewing on. you sigh, already tired. but excited, nonetheless.

nanami already knows all of this. of course he does. but he still asks. because he wants to hear you say it. you’re not naturally forthcoming. you’d rather listen than talk, and rambling feels like overstepping. you get embarrassed. feel like a burden. he adores when you ramble. top five favorite things. maybe number one.

your voice, soft and lilting like a melody. the way your brow scrunches when you explain something complicated. the unfiltered rage you hold in your soul for adobe. that one coworker who “should legally be banned from computers.” your excitement over color theory. your pride in your designs. if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t say it. so he asks. every morning. every night. every chance he gets. just to hear you talk. just to make you smile.

eventually, you slip out of bed, tea finished, and make your way to the bathroom. your morning routine is precise. mouthwash, brushing, flossing, double-cleansing, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. like a dance you’ve rehearsed. nanami watches, leaning in the doorway, equal parts enchanted and reverent. he loves this about you. these little rituals. these ways you care for yourself.

yes, he lives to care for you. would happily do everything for you. but he treasures these moments when you do it for yourself, too. and you’re used to his affection by now. at least, mostly. he’s worn down your flustered protests, your half-hearted deflections. even when you mumble “you’re being too nice,” cheeks pink, he never stops. there’s no such thing as “too nice” for you. you deserve everything. he’ll give you everything. and then he’ll find a way to give you more. for now, he settles for a kiss on your cheek.

he stays nearby while you do your hair and makeup. watches, quietly admiring, as you transform. he finds something unspeakably beautiful in it—this act of femininity, of self-care, of artistry. it stuns him, every time. you’re so pretty. and he gets to watch. (he’ll watch you at events, too. galas. weddings. fundraisers. you, dolled up and radiant, chatting easily with someone across the room—and he just stares. eyes full of nothing but awe. “you are so beautiful,” he’ll say for the billionth time. "I could stare at you all day.”)

when you finish, you meet him in the closet. he’s already dressed—business casual, of course. slacks, loafers, a soft button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to the forearm, collar open just enough to make your heart skip. he doesn’t wear the full suits anymore, not unless the occasion demands it, but the polish is still there. he can’t help it. decorum is in his blood.

he’s laid your clothes out on the bench by the mirror. slacks, a soft t-shirt, your favorite warm cardigan. comfortable, professional, just the right amount of cozy to help you survive a long day. you smile a little at the sight. he always remembers what you like—what makes you feel like you.

and then, the final touch—he pulls your heels down from the shelf. the black iriza pumps with the red soles. you don’t even have to ask. he kneels without a word, sliding them onto your feet with a reverence that makes your chest ache. his hands move with the same tenderness he uses to handle fine china or you when you're sick—like the smallest gesture carries all the love in the world. he meets you at your lips. it’s not quite chaste, but not quite enough to start anything either. a kiss meant to ground you. linger. set the tone for your day.

you give him a peck on the cheek in return and step back. he watches as you grab your purse, a cute little thing that holds next to nothing. “doesn’t it match my shoes perfectly?” you coo, spinning once in the mirror. nanami nods solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching. indulging you, as always. adoring you, as always. indulgent; smitten. pleased. you say that he spoils you with his praise. but you’re not spoiled. not to him. you’re treasured. treated as you should be.

back in the kitchen, you raise an eyebrow at the breakfast. you shoot him a mock-glare and sit down. no protests today. not out loud, anyway. you’re feeling pampered again; overindulged. and you’re sure he’s done too much. but you know better than to say it—because if you do, you’ll get The Lecture™. the one where he insists this is nothing, that you deserve every sunrise, every meal, every ounce of tenderness he can possibly offer. that spoiling you is the bare minimum, and it’s his honor to do it.

so today? you just eat. quietly. gratefully. and nanami watches, content beyond words. this—you—are all he’s ever wanted.

breakfast is a sweet, simple ritual—one of nanami’s favorite parts of the day. a quiet, shared slice of time before the world starts demanding things from the two of you. he’s already eaten (he always eats early), so while you sit at the bar, nibbling through your pancakes and trying not to rush—because you know it bothers him—he turns to your lunch. some days it’s leftovers. on those days, he makes you vow—swear on our marriage, he’ll say with a solemn expression—that you’ll microwave it properly, and actually eat it. but today, you’re in luck. today, he’s making your current hyperfixation meal: a stacked sandwich, piled high with all your favorite toppings, neatly layered on his homemade focaccia.

nanami was always a good cook. phenomenal, really. but his bread? his bread should be on display in glass cases, under soft lighting, guarded by museum security. he doesn’t share his recipes—what would be the point? no one could replicate them anyway. sourdough, ciabatta, baguette, rosemary focaccia. every loaf tailored to your tastes. he bakes for you more than he eats it himself now—not because he doesn't enjoy it, but because he enjoys you enjoying it so much more.

your reactions are what he lives for. the way your eyes widen like you’ve just tasted heaven. the soft, delighted groan that leaves your throat after the first bite. the dramatic proclamation that this one is the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your life, even if you said the same thing yesterday. he shrugs off the praise on the outside, but inside, it settles warm and heavy in his chest. he stores it away. cherishes it.

once the sandwich is wrapped and tucked lovingly into your lunch tote, it’s time for nanami’s least favorite part of the morning—sending you off to work. he heads out to the garage to turn on your car. always does. makes sure the seat warmers are on, the vents are blowing gently, not too cold. stepping into your car always makes him a little dizzy—it’s the smell. concentrated amounts of you. your perfume, your lotion, your very presence soaked into the upholstery. it’s intoxicating.

he lingers there for a moment, eyes closed, just breathing you in. but there’s still time left in the routine, and he won’t waste it. you’ve finished rinsing your plate in the sink by the time he’s back inside. he tuts disapprovingly as he comes up behind you. “what did I say about doing the dishes?” he murmurs, already plucking it from your hands.

you pout up at him, mock wounded. “can’t help it. felt like contributing to society today.”

“unacceptable,” he replies dryly, kissing your cheek. “that’s my job.” you don’t fight him. you know better. nanami’s house rules are immovable forces of nature.

he double checks that your wallet is tucked into your little purse, the one that holds absolutely nothing of practical value but “matches your shoes so well,” as you put it. he slings it over your shoulder, leads you out the door, opens the car for you. you stop him there. plant him against the frame of the door. grip his collar and pull him down into a kiss that curls his toes. and then, wickedly, as his lips part just slightly, you drag your tongue over his bottom lip and murmur against it: “oops. must’ve had some whipped cream on me still.”

he stares at you like you’ve punched him in the brain. pink starts crawling up his neck, staining his ears, his cheeks. his lips part again, just barely, like he might ask for more. you only giggle, smoothing your thumb across his flushed jaw before pressing one last kiss to his lips. every time you touch him like this, it’s as though he’s starved for it. like the barest flicker of attention from you has to sustain him for weeks. like he still can’t believe you’re real.

you shower him in love and kisses and praises, and he soaks it all up like he’s afraid one day, you might run out. as if being loved by someone like you is a miracle he hasn’t earned, but somehow still gets to wake up to every morning. once, nanami read a quote that said, "I don’t argue with my wife’s decisions—because I'm one of them.” it was supposed to be a joke, but it was the god-honest gospel truth to nanami. he considered framing it. tattooing it on his arm. maybe carving it into the headboard. because you choosing him? that’s a daily gift he never takes for granted.

he watches you slip into your car, watches the way your hand waves lazily as you reverse out of the driveway. watches until your taillights disappear down the street. and then he lingers in the cold morning air just a little longer. the scent of your perfume still clings to his shirt. the ghost of your kiss tingles on his lips.

eventually, he shakes it off. there’s bread to make. floors to sweep. emails to answer. he’s got things to do. just as he’s locking the door behind him, something catches his eye on the kitchen counter. your lunch. you’d forgotten it. of course you did. he exhales slowly through his nose, already imagining the soft lecture he’ll give you later about rushing and forgetting things and the vital importance of eating lunch. but for now, he just picks it up with a quiet sigh and a shake of his head. looks like he has lunch plans after all.

—

the rest of nanami’s day, much like his morning, is timed—methodical, efficient, and executed with care so precise it almost feels reverent. early on in this new dynamic, when you had finally—finally—worn him down enough to convince him to quit his job, nanami had struggled with an unshakable guilt. he felt…lazy. like he wasn’t contributing to your shared life. as if quitting the corporate world had somehow made him lesser.

you had nearly smacked him across the head when he confessed that. nanami kento? lazy? not contributing? he was the single most productive person you had ever met. you reminded him, loudly and passionately, that not every contribution needed to be measured in income or tasks completed. that there was deep, meaningful work in taking care of the life you'd built together. that he had always deserved softness, too.

he still had his moments of doubt. but now, he channeled them into what he could control. order. care. precision. he kept a bullet journal—the kind that could convert a disorganized soul on sight. it was pristinely kept: straight lines, color-coded tabs, neat boxes to check off with a smooth black pen. unlike your own journal, which was...more interpretive in nature. your diary had concert tickets and fruit stickers tucked between pages, long-winded odes to nanami’s biceps scrawled next to rants about fictional characters and lipstick swatches. his was a blueprint for the day. yours was a fever dream. and yet he loved it—loved you—so deeply he didn’t dare change a thing.

his emotions didn’t need pages. he had you. his heart belonged in the way he folded your socks. today’s list was written last thursday. he’s already ahead of schedule. he starts upstairs, stripping the bed of sheets and the three extra blankets you required to feel comfortable. he throws them in the washer with your favorite lilac-scented detergent. he preps the next load before the first one even starts, separating laundry with care bordering on scientific. the previous night’s load, already dry, is folded and put away with mechanical precision. your blouses are ironed, sleeves crisp and ready for the week ahead.

while in the closet, he notices a pair of your heels—scuffed. he doesn’t hesitate. out comes the polish and buffer. by the time he’s done, they’re immaculate. he dusts the bedroom. cleans the bathroom. reorganizes your skincare and makeup for ease of access. the candle in there—burnt down to a stub—is replaced with one of your favorites: citrus and basil, a fresh brightness even in the dead of winter. the paperback on your nightstand, left open and face-down with its spine bent (a sight that used to make him wince), is now neatly bookmarked and placed beside your pillow.

nothing escapes him. every corner of your shared home is touched by his hands, cleaned and maintained and tended to with quiet, devoted affection. he doesn’t consider it "work." this is care. this is love, made manifest in folded sheets and citrus wax.

he moves to the kitchen next. washes the breakfast dishes. wipes the counters. sprays lavender mist into the air and lights another candle. before he met you, before he moved in with you, nanami never imagined living like this. his concept of a “successful life” was sterile and metallic—money, penthouse, cold glass towers. but the first time he stepped foot into your place, with its stained-glass lamps and chaotic blanket nests and dangerously excessive candle collection, something in him shifted. this wasn’t just a place to live. it was a home. and now, it was his home. and just like he took care of his wife, nanami took care of his home.

later, he works out. of course he does. it keeps him grounded, focused, sane. you fawn over the results with a delight that still manages to surprise him, like you don’t expect him to blush anymore when you bite your knuckle and ogle his arms. he runs in shorts that you once called “illegal” and a t-shirt that sticks to his back. sometimes he runs shirtless. not in public. he has standards—and no audience but you is worth the scandal.

saturdays are his favorite. when you run with him, taunt him, throw yourself on his sweaty back with zero shame. when you lick salt off his collarbone and call him “dangerously edible.” he laughs. he’s also suffering. in a good way. he shakes the thoughts away. focus.

he heads to the farmer’s market, cloth bags in hand, route already planned in his head. he stops by the bakery stand to talk flour ratios and rises with the vendor, who recognizes him by name now. he pauses at the humane society tent. doesn’t linger. you’ve been begging for a cat lately. he’s trying to stay strong. then he sees a fluffy calico curled up in a little ball. he looks away immediately. nope. not today. he is not getting a cat today. he steels his resolve and walks home.

more laundry. more journaling. he plans meals for the week—one of his favorite rituals. he lets himself feel a little smug. everything is under control. until he walks into the kitchen and remembers. your lunchbox. still on the counter. he sighs. picks it up. you’d texted him only five minutes earlier: "I forgot my lunch :[ I was so looking forward to that sandwich.” silly, silly girl. of course he’s going to bring it to you.

he drives over with a small smile and zero annoyance. if anything, he’s grateful for the excuse. you meet him at the curb with a radiant grin, hopping into the passenger seat like he’s your getaway driver. you’ve taken off your cardigan, and your hair’s been pulled up, exposing your neck and arms and that glint in your eye that always makes his pulse skip. and the heels. those damn heels. he has to focus very, very hard to not to stare. but he does anyway.

you devour the sandwich right there, humming your approval with every bite. he hands you the water bottle from the cupholder. “drink,” he says gently.

you groan, “ugh, why do you have to be so responsible all the time, kento?” but you’re smiling, and he’s helpless against it.

he shrugs. “one of us has to be, sweetheart.”

you make a pleased little sound and lean against his shoulder. he allows himself to bask. twenty minutes in your presence is enough to refill him for the rest of the day. you’re a goddess, and he’s your humble servant. he’ll take crumbs. he’ll take your leftover lip gloss and soft laughter and “accidental” thigh brushes when you shift in the seat. you kiss his cheek before hopping out. he doesn’t start the car until you’re out of sight.

he turns to the passenger seat. it still smells like your perfume. then he sighs, spots the lid to your water bottle left sitting in the cupholder, and smiles. old habits die hard. you will forget something everywhere you go. he’ll scold you about rushing later. for now, he’s just happy.

when nanami returns to the house, it’s still home—but still, without you in it, it feels hollow in a way he tries not to think too deeply about. the air is quiet. still. you’d only just kissed his cheek twenty minutes ago, but already, he misses you. he tells himself not to dwell. still, the ache settles low in his chest, familiar and persistent. he doesn’t like being idle, not when he starts thinking too much. not when his thoughts turn to things he doesn’t want to name—irrational worries about not being enough, about you waking up one day and deciding this isn’t what you need anymore. you work so hard, after all. you make things happen. you move the world. and he...keeps the spice rack alphabetized.

you’ve never said anything to make him feel this way. on the contrary—you’re painstakingly kind, endlessly reassuring. you’d never be disappointed in him. never shame him for slowing down, for stepping back, for choosing a life that’s softer, more deliberate. but old wounds whisper, and nanami is a man who has always been his own harshest critic.

what he doesn’t understand—what you’ve tried to tell him a hundred times in a hundred ways—is that you need him now. that somehow, you lived an entire life before him, but you can’t remember how. that your husband taking care of you, anticipating your every need, keeping your life from falling apart in all the ways you don’t have time to see—that’s what gets you through the day. how did you ever survive without him? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t let himself linger on that either. instead, he works.

he deep-cleans the stovetop and the oven, scrubbing every crevice with focused determination. he pulls out the spice rack and reorders it—alphabetically, then by cuisine, because he’s a perfectionist and you love that about him. he’s printed custom labels for everything: cinnamon (ceylon), smoked paprika (hungarian), za’atar (imported). he wipes down the insides of drawers, then fixes the loose one that’s been catching lately. he replaces the kitchen faucet filter and oils the front door hinges. updates the home maintenance log tucked neatly into a drawer.

by the time he starts prepping sourdough, the sun’s slanted low across the floor. it filters through your stained-glass lamp and turns the kitchen gold. this recipe’s new—something he found in a baking forum he checks occasionally. different hydration ratio, different shaping method, new blend of flours. a hint of citrus in this one, something he knows you’ll love. it won’t be ready until tomorrow—good sourdough can’t be rushed—but he smiles as he preps it. he can already picture you breaking off a piece with your fingers, humming in approval. the thought alone makes him light up. nanami is quietly, blissfully happy. and he has you to thank for that. and thank you he will.

he starts dinner next—something you’d offhandedly mentioned craving earlier in the week, half-asleep, your voice muffled against his chest. you probably don’t even remember saying it. he does. of course he does. he listens like that. cares like that. knows you like that.

he times it perfectly. dinner will be hot and plated at exactly 5:30 p.m.—early, yes, but nanami insists on an early evening for your sake. he wants you in bed by 9:00 sharp on weeknights. you hate mornings. you don’t need to be more sleep-deprived. not if he can help it.

now, finally, he allows himself to sit. he sinks into the couch with a book—something dense and intellectually satisfying, a translated work of eastern european literature with tiny font and no chapter breaks. he’s got one of your throw blankets draped over his lap, soft and mismatched against the clean, minimal lines of the living room. he reads. he also checks your location. not obsessively. just...periodically. casually. he tells himself it’s practical. safety-oriented. (he’s lying. he just misses you.) he checks the time. he reads a little more. checks again. his finger taps the edge of the page, eyes drifting to the soft glow of his screen. you’ll be home soon.

he’s stirring the soup on the stove when he hears the garage door shut, then the sound of the front door opening. “namiii, m’home,” you call, voice lilting through the house. it makes his chest ache, in the best way. you sound so lovely. so tired. so his. he could cry, just from the way you say his name. and silly girl—he already knew you were home. he clocked it the second you left the office. still, he abandons the pot on the stove and strides to the front hall.

he meets you at the door, takes your purse from your shoulder and hangs it neatly. then he bends down and kisses you until your knees go soft and your sighs melt right into his mouth. you always make those sweet, airy noises when he kisses you first, like you’re surprised every time. he could do this for hours. sometimes, he does. but for now, he pulls back and drops to his knees—again—a quiet echo of this morning’s ritual. he slips your heels off, cradles them delicately in his hands, and then lifts you into his arms before you can protest. you squeal, whining with a sleepy pout, "I can walk up the stairs, nami…”

you always call him that when you’re sleepy. he loves it. but still—he just clicks his tongue, shakes his head. “let me.” he’ll take care of everything for his billionaire wife. after all, you’ve made him the happiest little househusband in the world. he’d do anything for you.

he sets you down gently in the bedroom, tucks your shoes into their rightful place in the closet, and fetches your favorite comfy clothes. you’re starfished on the bed, face-down, groaning into the freshly washed sheets like they’re heaven. he starts the shower—hotter than he can stand, just how you like it—and presses a kiss to your temple.

“dinner will be ready when you’re done,” he murmurs. he loves when you’re freshly showered. loves knowing he’s taken care of you, start to finish. you work so hard. you give so much. and now, he gets to make you clean and full and soft.

sometimes you eat at the table. on warm nights, out on the balcony. when you’re sick or sad, he brings dinner to the bed and ignores how it messes the sheets. he’ll wash them again anyway. but tonight? tonight, you’re affectionate. you tell him you missed him. that it didn’t matter that you saw him at lunch—because you missed him before that, and after that. you curl up in his lap while you eat. spoonfuls of warm soup, every bite met with praise: so good, incredible, he’s a genius, a chef, a miracle worker.

this is the part of the evening where you praise him endlessly. he used to try and cut you off, tell you he was just doing what needed to be done. that you deserved it. that it wasn’t a big deal. he doesn’t stop you anymore. not when your voice is that sweet. not when you pepper kisses across his face and tell him how good the house smells, how excited you are for tomorrow’s bread, how you need a vacation just to spend every waking second with him. you call him handsome, strong, perfect. you say you’re desperately, stupidly, irremediably in love with him. he squirms. he blushes. but you’re not teasing. you never are. that’s what makes it worse. you’re sincere. honest. brutally so. and you won’t let him wriggle out of your arms without hearing it.

after dinner, while he’s still tucked into the chair, you slip away—quiet as a mouse but not quiet enough. you make it all of five minutes into doing the dishes before he appears in the doorway, arms folded, already displeased. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to. he walks over, firm but unhurried, and before you can launch into your rehearsed defense—“just a few plates, I promise, nami, let me help—”—his hand closes gently around your arm and turns you. you barely register it until your cheek is pressed into his chest, until his warmth surrounds you like a blanket you didn’t know you needed.

and just like that, you’re undone. your shoulders slump. your arms go limp. your whole body sighs in defeat—but it’s a sweet kind of surrender, the kind that only he can pull from you. all at once, you're smaller. sleepier. soft and warm and in love. he smells like spices and soap. the soft cotton of his shirt holds your temple. his fingers are moving slowly across your back, soothing little circles. you cling to him out of habit, cheek smooshed against his sternum, the tension melting from your limbs.

“this is a dictatorship,” you mumble. he hums. noncommittal. he knows it is. you’ve called it that before. “you’re gonna get burnt out,” you say, quieter now, words thick with sleep and guilt. “you’re gonna wear yourself out doing everything…”

his chin rests against the top of your head. "I won’t.”

“you could let me do some things,” you say, even softer. "I can wash a dish, y’know. fold a towel. vacuum. occasionally.”

his arms tighten just slightly around you, like he’s afraid you’ll try to wriggle away. "I know you can,” he says. “but I like doing this for you.” you try to argue again, but he shushes you gently with a kiss to your hairline. “let me take care of you,” he whispers. “just tonight.” it isn’t just tonight. you both know that. but you nod. because the truth is, you don’t want to fight him on it. not really.

it’s his devotion that tames you. his steadiness. his quiet pride in being the one you trust enough to collapse into. and it always gets you like this—pliable, drowsy, obedient in a way you aren’t for anyone else. you press your forehead harder into his chest like you’re trying to fuse into him. and oh, how he loves that. how he craves it. he rocks you slightly as he finishes the dishes. you stay wrapped around him the whole time, arms slung around his waist, your head bobbing with every slow sway. the sounds of running water and clinking porcelain fade into a background lullaby. rosy-cheeked. hair slightly tangled. a sleepy, beautiful mess. “you’re gonna spoil me,” you murmur, avoiding his loving gaze.

he brushes a speck of dust off your collarbone, kisses your temple. “that’s the plan.” you huff and roll your eyes and…you believe him. because with nanami, love isn’t loud. it’s offered. it’s kneeling to take off your shoes. it's soup on the stove and tea by the bed and holding you steady when you’re too tired to hold yourself up. it’s never asking you to earn it. and your soft, trusting surrender? that’s the gift you give him back.

he lifts you up onto the counter like a child, still damp from your shower, skin warm and lotioned, hair pulled back, fuzzy socks on your feet. he cleans the kitchen around you while you swing your legs, watching him. he preps your coffee setup for tomorrow, gets out your favorite breakfast tea. he thrives in this.

and the whole time, you tell him everything. your meeting. the nonprofit update. the best and worst parts of your day. he listens, attentive and quiet. he sees your tiredness and tries not to let guilt creep in. this is what you want. what makes you happy. you’ve told him that a million times.

you go on a walk. the sun is still hanging on, soft and golden. you ask about his day now. he tells you—about the farmer’s market, the old man he chatted with, the cat he saw loitering around the humane society’s tent. you beg for the cat. promise him the world if he lets you bring it home. he almost gives in. he will, eventually. “...I'll think about it,” he says. he’s been thinking about it. he’s always thinking about what you want and how he’ll find a way to give it to you.

back home, you smell like lilacs and wind. he heads upstairs to grab your book and favorite blanket while you brew tea. normally he’d insist on doing it for you, but you’re focused, content, and he can’t bear to interrupt. you bring him a cup of his usual—unsweetened chamomile. yours is sugared and creamy, bright and warm. just like you, he thinks. you hand him his cup with a smile that nearly undoes him.

then you both tumble to the couch, legs tangled. your feet over his lap. book in hand. forehead resting on his shoulder. you read like that for a while. your eyes start to close. eventually, you whine—don’t wanna go to bed yet, wanna spend more time with him. but he’s heard this before.

he takes your cups to the sink and guides you to the bedroom—not carrying you, not tonight. you’d fuss and push at him, and he doesn’t want to risk the tears. you cry sometimes when you’re too tired and he overwhelms you with love. he can’t take that. it breaks him. so he’s gentle. calm. steady.

he changes into your favorite pajama pants and cradles you close. your hair is dry now. he runs his fingers through it. presses kisses to your temple. whispers sweet little things. how much he loves you. how proud he is. how you’ve given him everything he never dared hope for. you always say he does more for you than you do for him. he ignores that. he doesn’t believe it. you give. every day. every hour. and he will spend the rest of his natural life giving it all back.

he’ll make you sourdough french toast in the morning. ginger-lemon tea. it’ll be a new day, and it will be good. he holds you tight as you fall asleep, tracing your back exactly how you like. you’re out within minutes. he stays awake just a little longer, arms around you, nose tucked into your hair. when the alarm goes off in the morning, your arms are wrapped around him. just like always.

screaming crying throwing up. nanami is my husband, I scream as they carry me back to my white, padded room.

675 notes · View notes

starktonyx · 1 month ago

Text

Moral of the story - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 5.6k

Requested by anon: John Walker x reader based on the song Moral of the Story by Ashe . They used to be married with no kids, after tfaws she left him only to come across him during the events of thunderbolts. John attempts to reconnect with her as he never stopped loving her.

Description: You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

Tags/Warnings: Language. So much ANGST. John being an emotional rollercoaster. Shame rooms. Lots of fighting and regret.

Note: This turned out longer than expected but I loved writing this (my angsty heart is thriving) I'm currently obsessed with this man so expect more about him.

Masterlist

John Walker liked to think he always had the answer to everything. Or at least, most of the time. His brain ran on tactical planning, constant gears grinding with strategy and precision. He was the guy who accounted for every variable, every angle, every possible risk.

But right now? He had no idea how the hell he'd ended up in this situation. Out of all the threats he could've anticipated, out of all the variables he could've ever considered, he sure as hell never expected one of them to be named Bob.

Yes, Bob.

The weird guy that popped out of nowhere, in a bunker buried in the middle of nowhere.

That clean slate Valentina had promised him seemed to be slipping from his fingers by the minute. It was the last thing he could afford himself to screw up, with all his past failures clinging to him like heavy chains.

And yet here he was, stuck with the blonde he'd been sent to kill, a phasing assassin, and Bob.

Middle of fucking nowhere.

"Come on Bobby, you missed legs, arms and torso day" John mocked him, as he pulled him out the elevator shaft they were using to escape.

But the moment Bob's hand touched his, the world around him melted into a black shadow as it shifted around him.

The once warm air went stiff, cold.

When he turns around, he's suddenly back in his bedroom. Those godforsaken walls he once shared with you.

He takes a step forward, his pulse accelerating, and he's met with a scene his mind only replays when he isn't punching someone, when it gets too quiet.

And the first thing he sees, is you.

The ghost of you standing by the bedroom door in front of him, arms folded tight over your chest like they were the only thing holding you together.

It was too quiet, almost, the only sound being the zipper of a duffel bag his past self had thrown onto the bed.

"You're leaving already?" you past self broke the silence, voice so soft it barely reached him.

You didn't sound angry. You didn't even look like you had the energy to fight, not anymore.

John takes a step forward, watching how his past self didn't even throw a glance your way. The prick was too busy yanking dirty clothes from the bag and swapping them out for clean ones.

"You just got here" you mumbled, quieter now when he didn't answer.

John remembered this moment differently. He remembered you nagging, picking up a fight. But standing here now, watching like some unwilling spectator in a memory he didn't want to relive he really saw it, saw ... you.

Staring at him with glossy eyes, looking like not one single bone in your body wanted to fight him that day. You just stood there, still hoping that somehow this time it would land, that he would listen.

"Yeah, well" He muttered, eyes locked on a dirty torn off pair of boots he needed to get rid off. "Val needs me again. You already know how it fucking goes."

A quiet sob was caught in your throat. He saw now how you tried to swallow it, like you'd done a hundred times before.

"I haven't seen you in weeks, John. Is it really that easy for you to leave me? Every goddamn time?" you said quietly.

And fuck, he cursed when he heard it, it didn't even sound bitter. It was desperate, tired.

He scoffed, and let out that bitter, dismissive laugh he always pulled when he didn't want to feel anything. "Jesus Christ, are we doing this again?"

He didn't stop packing, like the answer to all his problems was hidden in a pair of socks rather than just turning around to look at you.

"Doing what, John? You choosing to leave every time instead of fucking talking to me?"

There it was, the anger he remembered.

"Then yes, John, we're doing it again. It's always your need to feel important. Like if you're not out there 'saving the world' you're nothing in here" you finally snapped. The ache in your chest made your words feel sour as they left your mouth.

That's what got under his skin. He saw it in the way his past self stiffened, jaw tightening with that same goddamn temper he could never quite control.

"You think I like doing this? You think I like risking my ass every time to come home to this? To another one of your guilt trips?" He's yelling at this point, throwing the holster in his hand back in his bag.

You looked like you'd been slapped.

"This?" you repeated stunned, pointing at yourself with your hands. "You mean me? I'm this'"

He turned to the door then, finally. But not to deny it, or to apologize or to even spare one single glance at you. It was to grab a jacket hanging on the doorknob.

He didn't say anything. Just grabbed his duffel bag and tossed it over his shoulder like the argument was some inconvenience he could just walk away from.

He keeps pretending to ignore you when he walks past you by the door, but a hand pressed to his chest stops his getaway.

"This is the last time I'm asking you to stay" You warned him. The lump in your throat betrayed you, what you wanted to sound firm came out like a child plea.

He didnt even flinch. He brushed it off and kept walking, thinking he'd come back home in a day or two, bring some takeout and fuck it out like always.

"Jonathan..." Your voice sobbed his name as he made his way to the front door.

Yet still, he never looked back. And neither did you.

That was the day you gave up on him. He remembers coming back a few days later, your favorite takeout in hand, only to find a half empty closet, empty drawers.

An empty home.

And now? Now it burned him watching it from the outside. Watching you blink away tears while he was too busy being an asshole.

His eyes burned, as his heart clawed its way up into a painful knot his throat.

He snaps back to reality when Yelena calls out to him. All eyes watching him, but his were locked in the tempting elevator's dark void.

What the fuck are you doing, John?

They’ll see right through your bullshit.

"Im fine" He said, a little too quick for comfort.

But with a plastic smile plastered on his face, his mask falls back into place like muscle memory.

Once again, how the hell did he end up in this situation?

And because karma seemed to have fun making John Walker's life even more miserable, he'd ended up tied in a half collapsed gas station.

Hostage to none other than Bucky Barnes.

Naturally, he just couldn't help himself to mock Bucky's absurd political position. Though in his defense, the bastard kept gettting on his nerves. They already knew each other, so why was Bucky being such an idiot about the whole Bob situation?

So John did what he always does. He fucked around and, as usual, found out.

"Yes. I know you, John" Bucky’s tone was calm, but the hint of a smirk hid behind his words. "And you've made your choices. I know it's been hard since your wife left you, but that is no one's fault but yours"

The cruel words rolled out his tongue like he's been waiting to throw them in his face since he found him in the blown up limo they'd use to escape.

John just stares at him for a second, then his eyes drift to a particular paint chipping spot on the wall.

Yelena turned towards him, lips parted in surprise.

'I've got a gorgeous wife waiting for me at home' she remembered him saying it back in the bunker.

Liar.

Yelena had believed him back there. She knew a thing or two about John Walker, having read his file, recalled your name and picture being printed out next to 'affiliations'.

Must've been exhausting carrying that rage for two, was her first thought, but she wouldn't say it out loud. Not when he was giving her that kicked puppy look.

Cause he didn't shy away from her eyes, didn't say a thing. All he could do was give a small, tight shrug that said it all: add it to the fucking list of things I've screwed up.

Yelena didnt press further.

He was grateful for that, and for Ava being too busy bickering with Alexei to pester him any further about the matter.

But then, Bucky's stance shifted.

"Shhh" he hissed, hand going up to his lips. Alexei and Ava immediately stopped talking.

In a different occasion John could've laughed at the sight of Bucky Barnes looking like a guard dog about to bite, but if he was tensing up like that, it couldn't mean anything good for anyone. So he listened.

That's when he heard it too. An almost undetectable soft thump, but his enhanced hearing catches it. It was the slight creek of metal, straight above them.

"Someone's on the roof" John said at the same time as Bucky.

Everyone looked up. But before anyone could think about what it could be, the ceiling exploded.

The roof came crashing down in a cloud of smoke and ash. The room burst in chaos between shouting and coughing, debris flying everywhere as a smoke grenade rolled past their feet. All John could see was the flicker of Yelena's widow bites glowing blue as the haze blinded the room.

Then, a pair of boots landed hard on the floor.

He hears some struggle between Bucky and the unknown intruder, and then a thud of heavy metal hitting the floor. It must've been Bucky's arm slamming against the concrete.

Someone had taken him down.

"I'm not here for you" the intruder said, a woman's voice muffled by a mask.

John instantly frowned. Even with the sound of debris falling down and the fighting in the room that muffled voice sounded familiar to him.

"I don't care" Bucky growled back.

The fight went on, blows landing hard and fast. Whoever she was, was determined to take him out.

But Bucky was the fucking Winter Soldier.

John feels Yelena drop next to him, then what must've been Ava falling unconscious as well, as the smoke hit their systems.

"Lena!" Alexei shouts.

"Okay now, what the fuck is going on?" John choked out, coughing.

He hears the fight halt for a second when he spoke.

The intruder recognized the voice. His voice.

You recognized his voice.

Bucky got the upper hand at the distraction, catching your wrist mid swing. He slams you to the ground with a quick motion, pinning you down with his knee and pressing his metal hand against your throat.

You gasped, struggling, eyes wide with fear under the mask. Next thing you knew his gun was pointed at your head.

As the dust cleared enough for John to see the scene, his face turns to horror.

He sees the mask, and immediately knows.

You're about to get blasted into next week by Bucky.

"Bucky–Stop! Stop! It's Y/N!"

John broke his cuffs in one go, his arms fighting against the bent rod holding him back.

Bucky froze, confused. He ripped off your mask, and there you were, gasping for air. Still beneath his knee, throat red where his hand had been.

"Shit" Bucky breathed, when he recognized you. But before he could lift his weight off you, John tackled him to the ground.

The girls jolted back to consciousness at once. Coughing as they sat up.

"What the hell is going on?" Yelena rasped, seeing John on top of Bucky and you standing beside them.

"Man come on, I didn't know it was her!" Bucky snapped, twisting beneath John to shove him off.

You sat up in your spot on the floor, coughing, one hand still braced against your throat.

And then you saw him, that voice you heard. God, it had been years.

"John?" you said, voice hoarse. You wished it really wasn't him.

He pried his eyes off Bucky without loosening his grip, and half turned to you.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me" You curse, a hand covering your face.

It was really him.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the pain. "Get off him you idiot, I'm fine"

John didn't argue. Just got up and backed off, hands on his hips.

Everyone stared at him like he'd just grown second head. Why didn't he protest?

Bucky immediately got to his feet, annoyed, brushing dust from his shirt.

"So ... who even are you?" Ava asked. She was still tied up and this was getting annoying.

"Y/N Walker," Yelena replied, the name burned into her memory from that file.

"That's not my name anymore," you snapped, too fast, too sharp.

John's jaw clenched, eyes going back to that same chipped spot on the wall.

"Wait, you were his wife?" Ava asked, incredulous. "What, Steve Rogers wasn't available?"

Bucky bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something.

"Ava..." Yelena warned, voice low.

As much as Yelena might've loved to take a jab at Walker herself, she didn't, his expression had left a feeling on her chest that stuck to her more than it should've.

"No but really, where'd you even find this guy?" Ava pressed on, like the idea of you marrying John Walker had personally offended her.

You turned slowly, your glare enough to shut her up for half a second.

"Give me a fucking break, Ava. When you're young, you fall in love with the wrong people sometimes." you snapped, without even thinking.

The words tasted like regret as soon as they came out. And you knew the way John stiffened meant they landed like a blade on him.

His gaze burned the side of your head.

If he'd only looked at you like that then.

"Is no one going to mention she tried to kill Mr. Soldier?" Alexei chimed in, at least the drama was interesting.

"I wasn't going to kill him," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "I just needed to knock him out long enough to get rid of you—"

You pause, the pieces clicking together.

"Goddammit. Valentina." You muttered under your breath.

That bitch. She'd really sent you to kill your ex husband without even telling you. What is he going to think about you? That this is what you'd turned into?

"Wait–you work for Valentina now?" John asked, like the words physically hurt, like he couldn't believe that's the path you had taken.

"It's not like that, John," you sighed, suddenly aware of how many eyes were watching. "I was angry at everything. At you. I figured... if running helped you escape your life, maybe it would help me too."

He didn't speak, but you saw it in his face. The guilt, the disbelief.

Had Val gotten to you the same way she got to him?

"She told me she lost a facility to some rogue agents" you explained, more to yourself than to anyone else.

"Yeah" Yelena cut in, "Because she tried to kill us."

You blinked. And suddenly, it all made sense.

You turned back to John.

“She didn't tell me you were one of them."

Your eyes locked on his, for some reason needing him to believe you. To see the truth in you, if nothing else. He barely nodded, but it was enough.

And then, from the corner, Ava scoffed.

"Pfft... perfect family" Ava muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the lie he'd told.

It had been perfect once, you thought. The dates. The proposal. The wedding. The honeymoon. The house with the porch swing.

The high school sweethearts who got married right after graduation because you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

The partying, the late night drives, the making out in parking lots, it was reckless and "romantic", all that was okay as teenagers.

But running wild has a way of turning volatile.

And then suddenly you were grown ups, trying to build a life, a home, a future. But your boy? he only knew how to fight. Maybe for the country. Maybe with you. Maybe both.

That's what he loved, really. The fighting. The heat.

Screaming, slamming doors and then fucking it off was the usual. The real break? Was when there was no more yelling, the unbearable silence.

Silence in a home you thought was built on love. Turns out it was just paper house you burned out.

All that "marry your high school sweetheart, build a dream life behind a stupid white picket fence" bullshit?

Propaganda. Nothing more than that, a fraud.

You weren't perfect, you knew that. Maybe you were even selfish. But was it selfish to want to be wanted?

To want John to look at you like your company meant more than his next mission?

It didn't seem fair.

You thought you had your lives figured out. But then he was made Captain America. You were there when he went to the army. When he lost people. When the world turned its back on him.

But when he got the serum? It was different.

All that pressure. The eyes on him. Expectations he could never live up to, no matter how right he tried to follow the orders.

And he tried. God, he tried. But the weight of it all twisted something in him.

He started carrying it alone like he had to. Like letting you see the cracks would make them real. He stopped talking, started shutting you out.

And in the end, the silence between you became permanent.

So it wasn't the fight, the heat, or that stupid shield what got to you.

It was the quiet between two people who forgot how to ask each other for help.

—

It all happened too quickly. Even for John.

One second you were helping a little boy who fell, the next he saw you dive straight to push Yelena, shoving her away from a collapsed beam.

You barely dodge it.

But now there you were, in the middle of the chaos, standing directly in Sentry's line of sight.

John saw the way your body stiffened. You knew it. And he knew it too.

You made eye contact with him, just long enough to hold the blue of his eyes. That look, carved into his memory forever, like you were trying to memorize his face, like this would be the last time you'd see him.

He was horrified. He wanted to scream. He did scream your name so loud, so broken, it tore through the chaos and made the others flinch. But not even his enhanced speed could reach you fast enough.

One second you were there, and then the next ... nothing.

You turned to nothing more than a black shadow spilling on the ground.

John stopped dead in his tracks, wide eyes staring at the shadow where you stood. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he just saw.

No. This wasn't happening to him again.

The ringing in his ears drowned out the screaming around him.

Not again. Please, not again.

It was Lemar. It was Afghanistan. It was everything all over again.

It was you, gone.

No, this couldn't be real.

He didnt give Bucky enough time to grab him. He didn't even think twice about it. He ran straight into the void, his footsteps so heavy they tore through the pavement, cracking it beneath his boots.

All he knew is that he couldn't fail at another thing in his life.

When darkness surrounded his eyesight, he crashed onto a wall. His ragged breath was the only thing he could hear as he came to his senses, and realized he was thrown into the same memory, that same room he had stepped in before.

"You're leaving already?"

Your voice behind his back startled him, and he whipped around expecting to see you. The real you. But it was your ghost.

"No, fuck that" John growled, marching forward. "I'm not watching this again."

He grabbed the shoulders of his past self who kept stuffing clothes into the bag like it wasn't costing him everything.

"Look at her, you fucking idiot!" He yelled at himself, shaking his body. “She’s right there!”

His past self looks at him with that same smug, distant, uncontrolled anger he used on everyone else.

John barely had time to react before he was spun around and yanked into a chokehold by himself. His arms crushed his windpipe like a vice.

"Should've done that when you could Johnny" Past John muttered coldly.

John fights to free himself from the chokehold, kicking wildly, clawing at his own arms, struggling against his own brutal strength.

He could feel his breath giving out.

"She’s not here anymore, John" You said, and if felt like adding salt to the wound.

This was it. This was the punishment. Watching himself ruin everything and then being choked by the same hands.

And then, it stopped.

The grip vanished. He collapsed onto the carpet, coughing, gasping for air.

The scene resets.

"You're leaving already?"

"No, no, no" He grunts, dragging himself up from the floor, looking around for a way out.

He spins, breathless. "Nice place, Bobby” he mutters bitterly under his breath, looking around like a caged animal.

He slams himself into the wall next to him, bent shield first. Nothing. The plaster doesn't even crack.

I have to find her. Where is she?

"Come on, baby. Where are you?" He spins again, searching for something, anything. A door, a window, a crack in reality.

His eyes catch on two mirrors standing side by side against the far wall. They shouldn't be there, they weren't before.

Both reflecting something different from what they were supposed to.

Two different scenes.

He steps towards the first one and sees those fucking pillars. The blood stain on the concrete. The day Lemar had–no. He turned his face away violently, he'd save that one for his nightmares.

He turns his eyes to the other mirror and catches the sight of an office. Your lawyers office.

He finds a silhouette across the room, watching the scene unfold on repeat. It’s you. The real you.

He puts his bent shield in front of him and pushes through the glass, landing hard in a new memory.

The crash doesn't startle you. You stand frozen, eyes glazed, watching the scene replay again, the end of your marriage looping in front of you like a broken film reel. Your back is to him.

John doesn't move forward, he can't.

He feels like throwing up when he sees it. The mahogany walls. The glass table. That goddamn vanilla air freshener like this wasn't the worst moment of your lives.

The moment he signed the papers.

You were separated by that long glass table. You sat beside your lawyer, hands fiddling in your lap, eyes glued on him. He was across from you, beside his lawyer.

And worst of all, his past self doesn't look at you. Not even now.

He just sat there, head hung low as he fiddled with the corner of the page. Your fresh signature next to his empty spot mocked him.

He'd told himself that day he couldn't take your angry eyes. But looking now he sees the truth. You weren't angry. You were grieving.

Hoping he'd just meet your eyes one last time. Like maybe if he did, you could still fix it. Maybe he'd remember how he used to look at you, like you were everything.

Like he still had some love left for you.

The pen next to the papers laid untouched for too long. He was dragging it out.

"We just need your signature, Mr. Walker, and we'll be settled" your lawyer said. Her voice slices through the tension like a knife.

It made him flinch, of course she was in a rush. For her, it was another Tuesday. For you, it was the end of the world.

And for him, it was losing the love of his life.

He gathered the guts to finally reach for the pen, signed with one quick stroke, and tossed it back onto the table. The glass cracked where it fell.

Then came the screech of his chair, echoing off the polished floor, and the sound of his boots walking away.

The scene restarts.

John takes a shaky step forward. "Hey" he whispers, voice rough. You flinch. "It wasn't supposed to end like that"

"You just ... wouldn't look at me" You reply, your back still turned away.

"I couldn't" He blurts. "I couldn't see you not wanting me anymore. Wanting to end it all"

You spin around, voice breaking with anger. "Look at my face, John. Did I look like I wanted to end it?–I waited. I thought if you just looked at me, maybe we could salvage something. But you didn't. You never did"

He can't speak.

God, he'd thought about that day a thousand times. About every way he could've stopped it, every word he should've said. But right now? that you're in front of him, sobbing and shaking, he was speechless, too ashamed.

"I tried to be there for you. After the captain America mess, Lemar, the government turning their back on you" You cry, remembering all the shit they put him through. "But you kept pushing me away, like being out there was the only place you mattered. Like having me wasn't enough for you."

"It wasn't like that" he said, shaking his head. "After everything I ruined, the field was the only place I felt like I was doing something right."

You cut him with just one line.

"I'm sorry our home didn't feel like that to you."

The pain in your voice hits him like a train. His pathological need to feel useful, needed, like his skills still held some value, had already taken so much. Then he gave it the last thing that still loved him. You.

"I used to think I knew everything about you" you whisper, shaking your head. "But then you got the serum and it turns I never really knew you. God, I really tried to."

You wipe your eyes, and John feels the earth drop from under him.

"I know I made too many mistakes. But it was real" he says, desperate. "You did know me, you loved me as much as I loved you."

He still remembered everything. The way your laughter filled the room after he made a stupid joke. The way your hands always found his, in crowds, in private, even in your sleep. The way you looked at him like he was worth saving, even when he wasn't sure he was.

"We were never what they made us out to be" you said, bitter. "We thought we were in love, but we were really just in pain."

You lie. Because it's the only way left to protect yourself.

Because you still remember too.

The way his arms felt around you, safe, strong, like the world couldn't touch you as long as he held on. The rasp in his voice when he was half asleep, mumbling nonsense against your neck. The way he made love to you like it was the only way he knew how to say I'm still here.

And the way he looked at you, like you were the one good thing in a world that had taken so much from him.

But you also remembered when it started to change, when the look in his eyes started to fade. The never ending fighting. How the conflict just kept escalating, becoming bigger than it should've.

And it hurt like hell.

He wants to punch a wall. To throw himself into that void he'd seen earlier. He sees right through you, he knows you're lying. He knows you remember as much as he does.

And the scene kept playing behind you, over and over.

"No" He snapped. "We loved each other. I loved you. I still fucking do."

He points at himself with both hands, and that's when you see it.

A glint of silver poking out under his left glove. His wedding ring.

And that's what breaks you.

Because you can't answer. You can't admit you still love him too, not after all he's done. Not when he still wears the symbol of a promise he broke.

He steps forward, hesitating and you turn your face away, but he doesn't stop, not this time. Cause all you ever needed was for him to stay, to fight for you the same way he fought out there.

And now? He would crawl to the ends of the earth if you asked.

So he keeps walking, until he's in front of you.

Your hands cover your face as the sobs tear out of your chest, and his arms wrap around you without hesitation. One hand on your back, the other pulling you into him as he rests his chin on your head.

Your cries break against him.

How could he have hurt you like this?

You don't know how much time passes as he holds you. How many times you heard the pen crack the glass. All you felt was the pressure of his arms wrapped around you.

And slowly, your sobs soften. All that's left is the quiet shake of your chest against his.

"I'm sorry" his voice cracked the silence. This time, he means it with everything he has left in him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because what do you even say when the apology comes years too late? When the damage has already carved itself into the walls of who you are?

So you just stand there. Wrapped in arms that used to mean home. Sinking into a chest that once felt like safety. Trying to remember how it used to feel.

And maybe that's the tragedy, that after everything this is the closest you've felt to him in years.

And it wasn't enough, not now not ever.

“Please…” he breathes, his voice scraping at the back of his throat. “Please, just… let me try to make things right.” his voice cracks, it’s raw.

And for a second, you freeze. Just long enough to feel it, something you wanted to hear too long ago.

Then you pull away, not harsh, but before he can say more.

You don't want to hear it, not his pain, not his regret, not his late promises.

But his hand catches yours.

“Don’t leave me again, please.” His eyes search yours, desperate.

“John, you left me first” You shake your head, pulling your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if I can fix what I broke. And I know I lost the right to ask for anything from you. But if there’s a part of you, even a small one that still thinks of me when it’s quiet, then let me try. Cause I sure as hell think about you all the damn time”

You look at him, and it’s like he finally lets you see through him. Like he finally opened up the gates he shut on your face all those years ago.

“I was so scared” he admits, eyes looking to the ground. “Of all the weight, of failing, of not being enough for that shield or for you. And I didn’t know how to say it without sounding weak. So I fought everything instead, even…even you.”

“I would give anything just to go back to before I fucked it all up. To that night in the kitchen, when you asked if I still saw you in my future… and I stayed quiet.”

You feel something twist in your chest at that memory, the way his silence echoed louder than any fight you had before.

“I should’ve said yes. God, I should’ve said yes.”

There’s too much in you, too much pain, too much tired, too much history.

But for one second, you let yourself look at him. And it’s just your John in front of you. Bruised and begging.

And maybe that’s what love looks like sometimes.

Just the quiet, broken voice of someone asking for a second chance, even when they know they don’t deserve one.

Your throat feels tight, that fight in the kitchen.

You remember the way you leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to break while your heart thudded like a war drum.

“Do you still see me in your future, John?”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with eyes that didn’t hold an answer.

And now here he was, years later. Begging to rewrite a chapter that had already been printed and bound in the pages of your life.

You take your hand back, gently this time.

“You always had perfect timing” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. “Just never when it mattered.”

His hands twitch, like he’s ready to beg, to reach, to hold on, but you shake your head.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” you whisper. “What is left of us, or if there’s anything left at all.”

His silence says more than words ever could. You let it stretch for just a second too long.

You meet his eyes, steady, unwavering.

“I need you to understand that I’m not her anymore. I’m not the girl who built her life around you.”

He nods slowly. He’s not the same guy who did that to you either.

You take a breath, slow and shaky, fingers lifting to the collar of your suit. For a second, you hesitate, then pull it down just enough to reveal a chain.

A ring dangles there, silent and gleaming like a ghost.

His breath hitches like you just knocked the air out of him. His eyes drop to the ring, and for a second, he forgets how to stand.

You still have it, you didn’t discard it, you carry it with you.

Just like he does.

“You kept it…” he says, barely above a whisper.

His voice cracks like a fault line, and your chest tightens because you weren’t supposed to make this harder. You were supposed to walk away and leave no room for what ifs.

John takes a slow step forward, not touching you, just standing close enough that you can feel how badly he wants to.

“Can I…” His voice falters. “Can I still try?”

You say nothing, just looked at him. Really looked at him.

The dark under his eyes, the tired weight in his voice. The ache of someone who finally understood the cost of his actions.

You bit your tongue. You wanted to say yes, that was the worst part.

And maybe that’s the moral of the story. Some mistakes get made, that’s alright, that’s okay. In the end you choose what you think it’s better for you.

Even if sometimes it meant to throw yourself back again into what once destroyed you, because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only thing that can put you back together.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━ comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

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theosang3ls · 2 months ago

Text

Crawling back to you

inspired by Hozier’s version of “Do I wanna know?”

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

summary: Mattheo is your new neighbour who quickly becomes obsessed with you and finds rather creative ways to talk to you

warnings: mentions of blood, fluff

A/N: in my mind every single song by Hozier is Mattheo coded. I had so much fun writing this! English is not my first language! Hope you enjoy reading this!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You stood quietly over Mattheo, his left palm bloodied and trembling ever so slightly beneath your touch. The harsh scent of disinfectant clung to the air between you as you dabbed at his wound with a cotton pad, each movement slow, deliberate, and tender. Your fingers moved carefully, reserved in their precision, as though he were made of fragile porcelain and might shatter under the weight of anything more. The sting of the antiseptic hitting his torn skin made Mattheo hiss under his breath, his jaw tightening—but the pain barely registered compared to the storm of emotion twisting in his chest.

He couldn't take his eyes off you. There you were: utterly focused, lips pressed into a firm, concentrated line, your brow slightly furrowed as you worked. Your hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, a few loose strands falling across your cheeks, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost otherworldly. You were breathtaking, ethereal, and completely unaware of just how beautiful you looked like that—lost in the task of patching him up with a quiet determination that made his heart ache.

Since the moment Mattheo had first seen you, since his gaze had landed on your soft, unassuming figure in the hallway of your apartment block, something inside him had shifted. You had smiled at him— just a polite, neighborly smile—but it had been enough to snare his thoughts entirely. He hadn't believed in fate, not until the day he realized he'd moved into the unit just two doors down from yours. And now, sitting on your worn-in couch, his injured hand in yours, it felt like the universe had led him here with purpose. You were kind, graceful, quietly radiant— a walking contradiction to the chaos that often lived inside him. And he wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you'd let him.

"You're all patched up," you murmured, voice soft as you smoothed the final fold of the bandage over his palm. Your touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, gentle and warm. Then you looked up at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Can I get you anything else?"

Mattheo's heart stuttered. That smile—god, that smile—was enough to make him weak. He felt something in his chest unravel. "Just a glass of water," he replied, offering a smile of his own, the kind he didn't give to many. It felt unfamiliar on his face, but it bloomed easily in your presence. You nodded and rose from the couch, heading toward the kitchen, your silhouette briefly disappearing into the dim light.

As you turned the tap and filled the glass, you finally summoned the question that had been sitting on your tongue since he first stepped into your apartment. "You want to tell me how you got that?" you asked, voice casual, but laced with curiosity as you leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed.

Mattheo hesitated. His mind spun quickly through the easiest lie, one that wouldn't spark more questions. "I broke a jar," he said finally, tracing absent circles over the bandage you had so gently applied just minutes before. "Tried to pick up the glass, tripped a little. Guess I wasn't being careful."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and offered him a look that made him simultaneously want to laugh and squirm. "Nice story," you said, chuckling slightly. "Now tell me what actually happened."

Mattheo pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, his features twisting into a playful expression. "Are you implying that I'm lying to you?" he asked, tone exaggeratedly wounded, though there was amusement glinting behind his eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," you shot back, your smirk deepening, your eyes dancing with the challenge.

And just like that, something unspoken passed between you—a shift in the air, a charge that neither of you fully understood, but both of you felt.

"What makes you think I'm lying, hmm?" Mattheo asked, his voice smooth and low, edged with amusement. He cocked a brow, a smug little smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth—a smirk you'd seen far too many times in the hallways, in the elevator, in passing glimpses at your mailbox. You hated that it affected you the way it did. Hated how your pulse picked up every time you caught sight of him. How your breath always stalled for just a second too long.

There was something about him—something magnetic and consuming. Maybe it was his unwavering confidence, or the lazy way he always seemed to lean against doorframes like he had nowhere to be, like he had all the time in the world just to look at you. Maybe it was those dark curls, often tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed, or those impossibly deep brown eyes that made it hard to look away. Or maybe it was the small scar on the bridge of his nose—a subtle imperfection that made him all the more perfect. Whatever it was, he left you flustered in a way you hadn't been in years. You weren't the type to get distracted by someone so easily—but Mattheo was an exception, and your thoughts betrayed you constantly because of it.

You pushed yourself off the edge of the counter where you'd been leaning, suddenly aware of how close he still was, and walked over to hand him the glass of water. As you did, your fingers brushed his, sending an uninvited jolt of electricity through your veins. "One," you began, coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I didn't find a single shard of glass when I was cleaning your hand. Two, that cut's far too straight to have come from a broken jar. And three..." you looked up at him, your gaze unwavering, "we live close enough that I would've heard something shatter in your apartment. But I didn't."

Mattheo's eyebrows rose, genuinely impressed. He hadn't expected you to pay such close attention—to every sound, every detail, every flicker of inconsistency in his words. God, it only made you more irresistible. The way your voice held firm, the way that one loose strand of hair curved down your cheek—he was hopelessly enamored. "Aren't you a bright one," he teased, the words curling out of his mouth like a purr. His gaze locked onto yours, heated and steady.

You tried to hold it, really, you did—but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable. It made your stomach flip, made your throat tighten. You hummed in response, barely audible, before quickly turning away and heading back toward the kitchen. You didn't need anything from there—not really. But the nearness of him, the way your skin still tingled where his hand had touched yours—it was too much. You needed distance. Space to think. Space to breathe. Because if you stayed too close, for even a moment longer, you might do something stupid— like lean in and kiss him.

"Care to explain how it really happened?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now as you fiddled absentmindedly with a spoon left out on the counter.

Silence.

You glanced over your shoulder, expecting a response—but he was still watching you, like he was drinking you in. Your heart jumped at the intensity of his stare, and something twisted in your chest. You narrowed your eyes slightly, thinking through the details. That kind of wound—clean, precise—it hadn't come from glass. It looked like the kind of cut a blade would make. But... how the hell did someone slice the inside of their palm like that?

And then it hit you.

"Oh my god..." you whispered, eyes widening slightly as you turned to face him fully. "Did you... cut yourself, Mattheo?"

Your voice softened on his name, barely more than a breath—but it stopped him cold. The way you said it, laced with concern and a quiet, blooming anger, made something primal shift in him. He could barely handle how it made him feel.

He grinned, far too casually for what he was admitting to. "Only so I could be taken care of by my favorite neighbor," he replied with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks flushed instantly. Heat rose to the surface of your skin, betraying your every effort to remain composed. You hated how easily he disarmed you—hated even more how much you liked it.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. Your body betrayed you with silence, and that was all the confirmation Mattheo needed.

"Are you turned on?" he asked, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle that wrapped around your spine like silk. "What? No!" you blurted, your voice too quick, too defensive.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. "Now look who's lying."

And then he stood up.

You should have stepped back—your mind screamed at you to create space, to run before it got worse—but your body stayed rooted in place as he crossed the room in long, confident strides. Each step toward you made the room feel smaller, warmer, heavier with unspoken tension.

His hand came up gently, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a featherlight path across your skin. Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded. You looked up into his eyes—god, those eyes—and felt like you might melt right there.

"Tell me," he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dipping into something low and intoxicating. "What is it that turns you on, hmm?" Your gaze faltered again, flicking downward in a futile attempt to escape the intensity. But his other hand rose, cradling the other side of your face, holding you in place with a kind of softness that made your knees weaken. "Don't shy away from me now," he whispered, eyes searching yours.

And for a moment —just a moment— the world stopped spinning. You couldn't breathe. Or maybe you were just too aware of every breath, every inch of space between your bodies—what little was left of it. His hands framed your face with such reverent gentleness, as if you were something sacred, something fragile. His thumbs moved slowly across your cheeks, tracing invisible paths that left your skin tingling in their wake. And his eyes... god, his eyes were devouring you—full of heat and curiosity and something deeper, something almost tender.

He leaned in just slightly, just enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your lips, and it took everything in you not to close the distance.

"I mean it," he said softly, voice low and husky, as though the air between you wasn't already heavy enough. "Don't look away."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Your heart thundered against your ribs, your lips parted ever so slightly, and time stilled around you. The kitchen disappeared. The world fell silent. All you could feel was his touch and his gaze and the way every part of you leaned toward him like a tide being pulled by the moon.

"Say something," he whispered, his lips barely inches from yours.

But you didn't need to. Because in the next heartbeat, you closed the space between you.

Your lips met his—tentative at first, like a question you didn't know how to ask—but the moment they touched, everything else unraveled. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your cheeks, pulling you closer, grounding you in the softness of his mouth against yours. He kissed you like he'd been waiting forever—slow, deep, savoring every second like he never wanted it to end. You felt his breath hitch, the way he exhaled into the kiss, like you'd stolen the air from his lungs and he didn't mind one bit.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. And maybe you did—because kissing Mattheo felt like falling. Like diving headfirst into something dangerous and beautiful and completely out of your control.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he'd thought about this a thousand times and none of those daydreams came close to the real thing. His hands slid down, one settling lightly on your waist, the other brushing the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads touched, and your noses brushed. His eyes were still closed for a moment, as though committing every second of the kiss to memory.

You didn't say anything right away. Neither did he. You just stood there—hearts pounding, breathing each other in. "I knew it," he murmured finally, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "You were turned on." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, brushing his lips against yours again in a teasing ghost of a kiss, "you kissed me."

You didn't argue.

Because you already knew you'd do it again.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: this was so cute I loved writing it! Hope you loved reading it as well!

!Reblogs, Likes and Comments are highly appreciated¡

masterlist

…until next time lovelies💋

#slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #mattheo x reader #mattheo fluff #fluff #written by ria

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fangatic · 5 months ago

Text

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

[PLEASE READ] edit to add: i realise that this post has been reblogged far and wide and that there is not a lot i can do about it now, but this is me trying anyway.

posting examples from the fic about my issues with its repetitive structure was careless of me, and i apologise to those of you who read it and became insecure about your own writing style. as someone who has worked with ai in academic settings, it's incredibly difficult for me to explain to you how the tone and structure of ai-generated fiction works and how, after reading enough of it, you can simply just tell. i do also realise that this is an incredibly weak argument, which is why i didn't include it when i originally wrote this post.

all that to say: there is an enormous difference between "beginner's writing" and ai writing. being repetitive as a new writer (or a seasoned one who just likes using repetition) is so normal. as is flowery/purple language. i've read hundreds of books and fics and the difference between these traits in ai-text and actual works is starkly clear. please don't feel anxious over the examples i've used in this post.

again, i apologise for any distress i have caused.

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

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slutzforbueckers · 3 months ago

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we’ll never have sex— p.b x f!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warning: fluff

synopsis: when going live with paige turns into your singing to her in front of thousands of people.

a/n: i hope you guys like this. i wrote it in like 30 minutes :)

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

paige was sprawled out on her bed, propped up against the pillows with her phone balanced in her hand. she was live on tiktok interacting with her fans, you laying down next to her with your head barely in view. kk, morgan, and kayla where scattered around the room as well, doing their own thing.

“is that y/n?” paige read from the comments. she nodded her head and nudged your shoulder, turning the camera so they could see you. “say hi, y/n.”

you turned your attention to paige’s phone, smiling at the camera and waving your hand. “hi, y/n!”

paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the little smile that tugged at her lips. now you were both paying attention to the live, reading comments and sharing side eyes at the more ridiculous ones. you hardly ever joined when the girls went live, you’d rather just say a quick hi and go back to the background. but since you started to post yourself more you got more comfortable being in the light.

the feeling of the bed shaking cause you and paige to look up. kk had jumped on the bed and poked her up into view of the live. she squinted as she read some of the comments, one in particular catching her eye. “tell y/n to sing. yes, y/n sing us a song.”

you had posted a clip of you singing a cover of a song and ever since then the comments were always asking you to sing whenever you got on live. everyone’s attention was on you now, kayla and morgan turning their heads to encourage you to sing. you started to protest and shake your head, saying you couldn’t sing, but eventually you gave in with a smile.

“okay okay! i’ll do it.” you moved off the bed and picked up your guitar you kept in paige’s room. paige moved and set her phone up on her dresser, sitting down on the floor and calling everyone else to sit with her. you sat down in front of her, pulling your guitar into your lap and playing a few chords to get started. the chat exploded, messages flying in rapid succession about how good of a singer you were, how you played so well and how paige was lucky you were her girlfriend. you laughed as you found the right tune and shook your head. “you guys are relentless.”

“oh hush, you love it.” paige nudged your leg. the room went quiet, a subtle shift in the air as you began to sing. your voice was love at first, almost tentative, before finding its rhythm, smooth and honeyed with that slight rasp paige loved so much.

depollute me, pretty baby. suck the rot right out of my bloodstream.

paige watched in awe, her her heart stuttering as the sound of your soft voice traveled through her head. she watched as your fingers moved effortlessly over the string, your touch precise yet gentle. you closed your eyes as you started to get more comfortable.

oh you kissed me just to kiss me, not to take me home. it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know.

you opened your eyes and looked up, locking eyes with the girl in front of you. paige swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. you weren’t just singing— you were singing to her. the weight of that realization settled deep, making her chest ache in the best way. the softness in your voice, the slight furrow in your brow as if you meant every single word— it was almost too much for paige.

you look perfect, you look different. i don’t wonder about your indifference.

she barely noticed the way her hands had curled into the fabric of her hoodie, gripping it like it was the only thing grounding her. you played effortlessly, your fingers plucking each note with precision, your voice weaving through the melody. paige felt herself leaning in slightly, drawn forward by an invisible force.

if i said you could never touch me, you’d come over and say i looked lovely.

oh you kissed me just to kiss me, not to make me cry. it was simple, you are sweetness. let’s just sit a while.

your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering down to paige’s mouth for the briefest second before returning to her eyes. the unspoken tension between you and paige was thick, the kind of thing that make your pulse pound in your ears whenever you were near each other. everyone and everything else had disappeared, you were lost in her eyes and unspoken words.

the last chords rang out softly, followed by the sound of your voice.

come and kiss me, pretty baby. like we’ll never have sex.

silence stretched for a moment, heavy and charged, before the sounds of cheers and laughter filled the room but you weren’t still stuck in the bubble you had made around you and paige.

“i feel like i just witnessed something way too personal.” morgan declared.

“yall are literally so in love, it makes me sick.” kk groaned.

paige blinked like she was just coming back to reality. she took a deep breath, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks. “that was…”

“yeah?” you smiled, placing your guitar aside and stretching your leg out to nudge hers with your foot. paige rolled her eyes, but it was useless— her smile gave her away. “alright, i think that’s enough emotionally vulnerability for one night.” you laughed and moved out of view of the camera, sitting beside paige and leaning into her.

“oh, now you wanna be shy?” kayla teased. “girl, you were just serenading paige in front of like, thousands of people.”

you just grinned and shrugged your shoulders. “what can i say? she’s my muse.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #sub!paige bueckers #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers x fem!reader fluff

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joeyfranchise · 6 months ago

Text

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

pretty paper

husband!joe x fem!reader

summary: you need joe’s help wrapping presents… what better way to get him to comply than asking him to unwrap you after?

warnings: 18+, MDNI. p in v, wrap it before ya tap it!! oral (m. & f. receiving), hair-pulling (slightly), spanking.

word count: 2.5k.

note: merry christmas eve 🎄only one more fic left of fic-mas! it’s been fun. title is from the song pretty paper by willie nelson, but the lyrics don’t really apply here. hope you enjoy this one!

you were going to make joe wrap christmas presents with you.

sure, he’d probably be tired from practice and from the game earlier in the week, but you needed help. it was a blessing and a curse that gift-giving was one of your outgoing love languages.

you’d always been told you were thoughtful and a good listener, and that’s what really helped you pick the perfect gifts for your loved ones. you made a mental note every time someone mentioned something they liked or wanted to you, and then you were really able to let that shine through in moments like these, holidays or birthdays.

the issue with this being your outgoing love language was that you were a bit of an overzealous shopper - you just didn’t know when to stop. you had a mountain of presents to wrap now, and it was going to take you forever, unless you enlisted joe’s help.

you concocted the perfect plan to get him to help you.

you knew precisely when he’d be home, and you planned to have every gift sitting in the den, along with wrapping paper, tape, scissors and bows. you would cook him dinner, offer him to go take a shower if he didn’t at the facility, and then the begging would start. you knew he’d deny you, but you didn’t care. you were prepared to bring out the big guns.

about an hour and a half before joe was set to arrive home you headed upstairs to take a shower, washing your hair and quickly yet carefully running a razor over the parts of your body you wanted smooth.

you got out when you were satisfied, quickly wrapping a towel around your body, and then one around your hair. you lotioned up, put on deodorant and a spritz of perfume, and then you applied a thin coat of mascara.

you dried your hair halfway before getting frustrated with how long it was taking, and you thought half dry would be good enough anyway, so who really cared.

you checked the time on your phone and realized you only had about forty-five left. you quickly padded over to the bedroom and dropped your towel in the dirty hamper before opening your top drawer.

you pulled out the brand new lacy red lingerie set, admiring all the pieces as you laid them at the foot of your bed. you slipped the thong on first, pulling it up and making sure it felt right and was snug in all the right places.

the garter was next, you stepped into it and pulled it up to your waist, positioning it perfectly. you put the bra on last, fastening it on the tightest option to make sure your cleavage looked just right and that you were spilling perfectly over the cups, just a bit like you wanted. you walked to your closet, admiring yourself in the floor length mirror. you looked damn good.

inside the closet you grabbed the last pieces of your attire. you slid on a pair of red thigh-high stockings that had bows just at the top, and you fastened your garters to them.

next you slipped a pair of old gray sweats on, followed by your favorite band tee. you had to play it cool with joe to get this to work, so the most everyday inconspicuous outfit option was the best choice.

once you were satisfied with how you were dressed, you lugged all of the gifts downstairs, placing them on the floor and on the couch. you ran back up to grab the other essentials and then placed them on the coffee table before heading to the kitchen and starting dinner.

you decided on making steak and a few different vegetables, that way it wouldn’t take so long and it’d still be a pretty good dinner. you cleaned your hands and started cooking, seasoning the meat well before tossing it in the pan. you started the vegetables next, and then you washed your hands before grabbing your phone and turning on your favorite playlist to jam while you cooked.

joe arrived home exactly on time, and as he walked through the door you saw him look over at your set-up in the den, giving it a side-eyed glance.

he walked into the kitchen where you were and immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into him and pressing his lips to your forehead. you laid the spatula you were holding down and then wrapped your arms around joe’s torso for a tight hug.

“dinner looks and smells great.” he says. he sounds tired, but he doesn’t seem to be in a bad mood. you’ll take that as a win.

“go ahead and sit down. i’ll make you and plate and then we can eat and after you shower maybe we can watch a movie or two.” you say, knowing that’s not what you want him to do.

joe sits at the dining table, his gaze fixed on you. “i showered before i left, so… i’m good.” you bring his plate and yours to the table before grabbing drinks for yourselves.

he thanks you as you hand over his silverware and starts eating immediately, as do you. you don’t do much talking during dinner, but you never really do. a comfortable silence settles over the room, and you and joe both are content being near each other.

he helps you clean a bit when you’re done eating and then he heads into the den with you on his heels. he side-eyes the presents and wrapping paper again.

“do you have some elaborate plan to get me to help you wrap these or something? tryin’ to butter me up with dinner?” he asks, turning to face you. he pulls you into him again and runs a hand through your hair as he smirks down at you.

“it’s not gonna work, i’m not helping you wrap these.”

he’s still smirking as he speaks to you again. fine, time to bring out the big guns.

“that’s fine. just sit down on the couch and pick a movie. i’ll start wrapping.”

joe sits on the couch and you sit on the floor. you keep your eyes trained on him as he scrolls through the endless holiday movie selection before settling on a mutual favorite, the santa clause.

“this good?” he asks, his eyes still focused on the screen. “perfect.” you answer. you take a small present and a roll of the paper and carefully measure it before cutting. you wrap it up nicely and add a little bow to it, along with writing the recipient’s name in cursive on the top. joe gives you a little glance, but he doesn’t move to help you and he doesn’t say anything.

“ugh. it’s hot in here.” you complain, pretending to be warm. you fan yourself dramatically with your hand. joe looks over at you puzzled. “it feels pretty good to me, you’re hot?”

“burning up actually. i’m just gonna…” you start, your fingers tracing the hem of your shirt. joe stares at you, eager to see what you’re about to do. you lift the shirt over your head in a fluid motion, tossing it in the corner. his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

you lock your gaze with his and he licks his lips before speaking, his voice almost coming out as a croak. “is-is that new?” he asks, leaning forward. his feet are now on the floor rather than propped on the couch, and his elbows rest on his thighs, just above the knee.

you’re still sitting cross-legged on the floor facing him, but you lean back and hold your weight on your hands behind you, giving joe the full view of the lacy red bra and what it’s doing for your cleavage as you toss your hair over your shoulder. he can’t resist, he comes down off the couch and leans over you, taking one of your breasts in his hand while attaching his lips to your neck.

“ah-ah.” you tut, pushing him off. “you only get to unwrap me and the rest of my pretty paper if you help me wrap these gifts.” he rolls his neck and moans as he leans back, the noise sending a thrill straight through your core.

“there’s more? it’s a whole set?” he asks, making no effort to hide the fact that his gaze was lingering on your barely covered chest. “it’s a set.” you say, smiling to yourself.

you knew this would work. now, was bribery okay? not always. but if it meant you got help wrapping these presents AND to fuck your husband afterward… it seemed like it could be okay, just this once.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

joe was wrapping presents like a mad man. they all looked pristine, too. it figured that he’d be great at wrapping presents considering his whole job mostly revolved around his hands, but you were impressed.

once you promised him he’d get to unwrap his present after this, he wouldn’t stop wrapping them as fast as he could and handing them off to you for labels and bows. there were two gifts left to do and you each took one, cutting your paper and taping them up all nice and neat. you placed them into the neat stack and let out a contented sigh before looking back at joe. he was smirking, but you knew he was playing cool. that hard tough exterior was ready to crack any moment.

you stood from the floor, stretching out your limbs, your arms held up over your head. “goddamn.” you heard joe mutter. your fingertips slipped into the waistband of your sweats, pulling them down your legs quickly. you stepped out of them as you stood exposed in front of joe. his mouth hung open as he took in the sight of you, your lacy red lingerie set and thigh high stockings.

“this is the best present i’ve ever received in my life.”

“wanna unwrap me?” you tease, stepping closer to him. you grab his right hand and place it on your breast before grabbing his left and placing it right on your ass. “fuck.” he moans, bringing his lips back to your neck. his tongue leaves a hot, wet trail along the column of your throat as his hands knead your breast and ass, and your hands tug at his hair as you softly moan at the pleasure.

joe breaks away from kissing you to grab your hand and lead you down the hall to your shared bedroom. once inside he starts shedding his clothes quickly, and although it’s not the sexiest way to go about it, you’re still ready to jump his bones. you can see his cock straining in his boxers as you step toward him again. you trace your fingertips along the waistband and he shudders.

you pull his boxers down quickly and fall to your knees in front of him, lightly wrapping your hand around his cock. slowly, you lean forward, taking the tip into your mouth and giving it a small suck. you pull off and trace your tongue along the line of his cock before taking it fully back into your mouth and bobbing your head.

what you can’t fit into your mouth you work with your hand, and joe’s fingers dig into your scalp as he tugs at your hair. you look up at him through your lashes and you moan, sending the vibrations straight through his length.

joe pulls you off and helps you stand, guiding you toward the bed quickly. you get up and lie on your back, watching joe as he stalks toward you like predator to prey. he crawls over you on the bed and unfastens the garter from your stockings so he can pull the thong off you, and he tosses it to the floor.

you spread your legs for him confidently, showing off your glistening folds and the wetness that has spread to your thighs. joe moans again, leaning forward. “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, you know that?” he asks before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your clit.

your response back is a moan, and you instinctively want to close your thighs around joe’s head, but he holds them open with his large hands. he licks a long languid stripe up your core, licking and slurping as he devours you wholly. his mouth teases you all over, licking and sucking you as you grip the bedsheets with white knuckles.

after what seems like forever he stops, and you whine from the loss of contact as he crawls up your body. you look down and you can see that he’s still rock hard, his cock red and angry.

“that’s enough, princess. i gotta fuck you now.”

“please, joe.” you beg, scratching your nails down his back. his large hands grip your hips and roll you over, and you arch your back as his hands pull your hips into the air. he teases you with the tip for a few seconds before sliding into you fully.

“fuuuuuuuuuuck.” you draw out, your hands fisting the sheets again. joe stays still, but his large right hand comes down hard on your ass, a loud crack sounding through the room. you hiss at the contact and squeeze around him.

joe pulls back fully before gripping your hips and slamming into you again, his pace immediately rough. your moans and cries reverberate through the room as joe slams his hips into you. he watches your ass bounce against him as he fucks you from behind, the sight enough to make him cum almost immediately.

your fingers find your clit as joe continues fucking you, and you rub tight circles over it as joe works you to the edge. “i’m close, joey.” you warn, and he smacks your ass again as he nails you with a particularly hard thrust. that’s all it takes to send you toppling over the edge, your orgasm rushing over your body, heating your skin as if you’d been soaked in hot water or coated in hot wax.

joe cums soon after, you can feel the hot white strands painting your insides as his fingers bruise your hips from their strong grip. he pulls out and you wince, rolling over as you watch him plop down next to you. neither of you say a word for a few minutes, you need to catch your breath. your eyes are heavy, but joe makes a sudden movement that startles you.

he goes back down to the foot of the bed, positioning himself between your legs again as he begins to pull off one of your stockings.

“what’re you doing?” you ask him, his mouth trailing slow kisses up your ankle and calf. “look at all this stuff you’re still wearing,” he says, planting a kiss to your inner thigh. “i only got your panties off.”

his eyes rake over your heat again as he watches his cum drip from your swollen cunt. “i’m not anywhere close to finished unwrapping you yet.”

photos and dividers used are not mine. all cred to owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @yomamaslays4lyfe @gazebotori

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bangchansdirty-slut · 9 months ago

Text

My Dopamine

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!Giselle x Member!Bttm! Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Giselle wrote "Dopamine" about you and couldn't help but express what the song is really about when you asked her.

More: Masterlist

A/n: I couldn't stop listening to Dopamine by Giselle and Roses by Jaehyun while writing this. I might be obsessed with these songs. Also, should I write fan fiction based on the other members' solo songs?

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Giselle sat on the couch on the stage, the lights dimming around her as the music began to swell. The audience, a sea of waving lightsticks, was entranced by the opening notes of her solo performance. She took a deep breath, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. This was the moment she had been waiting for, a chance to showcase her own voice and her own story. As she opened her mouth to let the lyrics flow, she thought about the inspiration behind the song. Her eyes searched the shadows offstage, finding the familiar figure of Y/n, who was watching her intently.

The words of "Dopamine" spilled from Giselle's lips, each syllable a declaration of the intense passion she felt for her secret lover. Her rap was sharp and precise, the bass vibrating through the stadium as she spit verses filled with desire and lust. She knew Y/n would recognize the subtle references to their clandestine encounters, the way she spoke of her body as if it were a sacred text that only the two of them could read. The chorus hit, and Giselle's gaze held steady on Y/n, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she sang about the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she was Giselle's dopamine fix.

Backstage, Y/n felt a rush of heat as the realization dawned on her. Her eyes widened as she watched Giselle perform, her cheeks flushing at the explicit nature of the lyrics. She knew that the other members and the staff wouldn't catch on, but for her, it was as if the song was a love letter played out for the world to see. Her heart raced, her breath shallow, as she listened to the words that painted a vivid picture of their secret moments together. The crowd roared their approval, and Y/n couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement and exposure at the same time.

After the concert, the members of Aespa made their way back to their hotel. The energy of the show still pulsed through their veins as they chattered about the performance, but Y/n remained quiet, lost in thought. When they finally reached their hotel room, she turned to Giselle, her eyes searching for any signs of embarrassment or regret. Instead, she found only a smoldering gaze that sent a bolt of desire straight to her core. Giselle's smirk grew wider as she leaned in, her voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down Y/n's spine. "You know that song was all about your delicious body, don't you?"

Before Y/n could respond, Giselle closed the distance between them and pushed her onto the bed. With surprising strength, she tugged at Y/n's skirt, revealing the matching set of lacy panties she had picked out earlier. Her eyes gleamed with hunger as she pulled the fabric aside and bent her head to kiss the soft skin of Y/n's inner thighs. "I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore," Giselle murmured, her breath hot against Y/n's skin. "You're my muse, my addiction."

Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head as Giselle's tongue darted out to trace her folds. She had always been sensitive, but with Giselle's expert touch, it felt like every nerve was on fire. Her moans grew louder, filling the room as Giselle's mouth moved closer to the spot she craved. Giselle's hands were everywhere, now they're holding her hips in place as she explored her with a hunger that was unmatched.

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Y/n felt a surge of power. Despite being the one on her back, she knew she had just as much control in this situation as Giselle did. She reached down, her fingers tangling in Giselle's hair, and pushed her face closer to her wetness. Giselle's eyes sparkled with challenge, but she didn't hesitate. Her tongue delved into Y/n's core, making her gasp and arch off the bed. The sensation was intense, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure that had Y/n's legs shaking and her toes curling.

Giselle's ministrations grew more fervent, her tongue swirling and flicking against Y/n's clit with a precision that spoke of countless hours of practice. Y/n's moans grew louder, echoing through the hotel room like a siren's call. She felt Giselle's hand slip up her tank top, seeking out her hardened nipples. The pinching and twisting sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her pussy, and she bucked her hips against Giselle's face. The world outside of their embrace faded away, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of lust and desire.

Y/n's breath hitched as Giselle's teeth grazed her sensitive bud, and she couldn't help but let out a loud cry. The sound seemed to spur Giselle on, her movements becoming more insistent. Y/n felt her orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to consume her. She gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white with the effort to hold on, her eyes squeezed shut as if to keep the intensity within. But it was too much, and she shattered, her body convulsing with the force of her release.

Giselle looked up at Y/n, a smug smile playing on her lips, as the latter lay panting and trembling beneath her. "You're mine, Y/n," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "Every inch of you is my dopamine." She began to strip away her own clothes, revealing her toned body and the matching lingerie she had chosen for the evening. Y/n felt a mix of excitement and vulnerability as she watched Giselle's confidence grow.

They settled into a 69 position, Y/n eager to return the favor. But Giselle's own arousal was a distraction. Her scent filled the air, and Y/n's mouth watered at the thought of tasting her. She tried to focus on Giselle's pussy, but her own need was still so raw and demanding. Giselle's fingertips danced across her clit, sending waves of pleasure through her body, making it impossible to concentrate.

Giselle's moans grew louder as Y/n's mouth worked on her. Her tongue lapped and swirled, trying to mimic the moves that had brought her to the edge just moments before. But Giselle was relentless, her fingers moving faster, pressing harder, until Y/n's world narrowed to the point between her legs. Her hips began to move, grinding into Giselle's mouth, her moans becoming cries.

Y/n squirted again, the warmth of her release coating Giselle's mouth and chin. Giselle pulled back, licking her lips clean with a satisfied smile. "Baby you need to please me too," she whispered,, her voice filled with need. Y/n nodded, feeling the urgency building within her as well. They shifted, and Giselle is now straddling Y/n's face, her pussy hovering just above her mouth. Y/n opened her eyes and took in the sight of her lover, her body begging for more.

Giselle's pussy was a masterpiece, wet and swollen from desire. Y/n eagerly dove in, her tongue darting out to taste her. Giselle's hips began to rock immediately, setting a rhythm that had both of them moaning in pleasure. Giselle's hand found Y/n's hair, guiding her movements, as she worked her own clit with the other hand. Y/n's own arousal grew, her pussy throbbing in response to the sound of Giselle's pleasure.

The taste of Giselle was like nothing she had ever experienced, a heady mix of sweet and salty that made Y/n feel high. She felt Giselle's muscles tighten around her face as she brought her closer to the brink. The scent of their combined desire was intoxicating, filling the room and making it difficult to think about anything but the moment. Giselle's thighs trembled, and Y/n knew she was close.

With a final, desperate thrust of her hips, Giselle came hard, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. She collapsed onto the bed next Y/n, panting and smiling. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with the scent of arousal. Y/n looked up at her, eyes glazed over with lust, her mouth still slick with Giselle's juices.

Giselle came closer and kissed Y/n, the taste of their shared pleasure mingling on their tongue. Y/n's body was still humming with the aftershocks of her own climax, but she craved more. Giselle lets go and stands up, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Let's go shower," she suggests with a wink, her voice husky from the passionate exchange.

Y/n nods, her legs wobbly as she stands. They walk into the bathroom, the tiles cold against their bare feet, the contrast making their skin tingle with excitement. The shower is already steaming up the room, and Giselle steps in, holding out a hand to help Y/n in. The water cascades down their bodies, washing away the sweat and the evidence of their desire. They stand under the spray, kissing deeply, their bodies pressed together as the water runs over their curves.

#aespa #giselle #aespa giselle #aeri #aeri uchinaga #aespa x reader #aespa smut #bangchansdirty-slut #aespa fanfic #giselle fanfic #giselle smut #kpop gg #fanfiction #kpop #girl group smut #giselle x reader #girl group #girl group fanfic

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bvidzsoo · 3 months ago

Text

His car isn't yours

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader x Choi Jongho

☂︎ Warning: cursing, very lightly suggestive, toxic relationship ☂︎ Word count: 16k ☂︎ Rating: nc-17 ☂︎ Genre: angst, fluffy at times, established relationship, dysfunctional relationship, breakup, lovers to exes, strangers to friends to lovers, @cromernet ☂︎ Summary: Mingi had been the man of your dreams...he was, until he wasn't. Perhaps he had always been like this and you just hadn't noticed until now, three years into your relationship. What can you do when you realise the love of your life is seeing other girls behind your back? What can you do when your heart cries out but his doesn't respond...His doesn't, but someone else's does. And he...he is a good guy, he'll treat you right...right? And despite the newly budding love between you and Jongho, all you could think was: It wasn't your car...

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Finishing March with this story is quite jarring after our fluffy March event with Mina ahaha, but I've had this idea for a looong time (precisely ever since Wendy's song came out lol, please give it a listen to get the feels for this oneshot!) and I finally sat down to write it. Writting this felt a little bittersweet, I'm not going to lie, it hits close to home at certain points in the story. I like what I tried to do with this oneshot, so I hope whoever gives it a read will also enjoy reading it. I appreciate your feedback greatly, so don't be shy and share it with me! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy ^^ (but before that, check out the visual board I created for the story!) divider

☂︎ Visual board ☂︎

I'm waiting on this good guy to come pick me up...

The cafeteria was a cacophony of sounds as it was filled to the brim with students; its vastness was less obvious, as there were now few tables left unoccupied. It was warm both outside and inside, so the windows were open to let in the fresh breeze, as well as to air out the various food scents that mingled together. I sighed as I let my head fall back slightly, eyes shifting onto the window behind me. The trees were in full bloom, soon it would be summer, and the break was getting closer and closer. I couldn’t wait to step away from the strenuous studying and the annoying professors for a few months, it was a well-earned rest that both my mind and body were craving. The birds resting on the branches of the tall oak tree outside the window were chirping to each other, their songs filling the space if you paid close attention to them. I smiled to myself as I blocked out the laughter coming from across me, content with detaching myself from everything that was happening around me. I was tired, I hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep after I had stayed up last night to fix a project due today, for which my teammates were unable to take responsibility. It wasn’t surprising, despite being at university, most people still acted like they were in high school. I hated irresponsible people, and I hated even more the fact that I had always been a people-pleaser.

A slight jostle to my left shoulder snapped my attention back to the present, and my eyes slowly trailed towards the man sitting to my left. Our shoulders brushed together as his long arm was draped over the back of my chair, the exposed skin of his arms warm to the touch. Mingi’s cologne was familiar and comforting, and I felt myself smile a little as our eyes met for a quick second. He was in a heated conversation with Wooyoung over something I hadn’t paid enough attention to be able to tell, his leg bouncing up and down. He seemed annoyed for some reason, his eyebrows furrowing every now and then as Wooyoung seemed to be denying something that Mingi was adamant on knowing. I leaned back comfortably into my chair, left hand landing on Mingi’s leg as I softly started tracing patterns into his dark jeans as a way to try and calm his irritated state. Seonghwa, sitting next to Wooyoung, was watching me with a curious glint in his eyes.

“Have you gotten little sleep last night?” He asked when he realised he had my attention, and I sighed, nodding with a pout.

“Yeah, I had to make last-minute touch-ups to a project.” I sighed again, feeling my dry eyes cry out for the eye drops that I had forgotten at home in my haste this morning, “I barely got five hours of sleep.”

Seonghwa’s expression was sympathetic, “Ah, I get it. I’m always so grumpy when I don’t get enough sleep. What were your teammates doing? Did you do it alone?”

Mingi suddenly laughed next to me, and I realised his leg stopped bouncing. I kept my hand on it, though, fingers curling into the rough fabric of his jeans as I felt the need to hold onto something.

“What were they up to?” I chuckled dryly, “Doing something else, I don’t know, everyone ignored me in the group chat.”

“Fucking assholes.” Seonghwa scoffed, and I chuckled as it was unusual for him to swear. His pink hair was getting in his eyes as he was leaning over the table, cradling his box of fried rice with vegetables to his chest as if he was afraid anyone would try and take it from him. Given the fact that he was sitting between Wooyoung and Yeri, the chances of him losing his lunch were high, “Refuse to work with them next time.”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry.” I nodded with an exasperated look on my face as Yeri started giggling, holding her phone out for me to see.

“Look!” It was a video of our friend, Seokmin, drunk and rolling around on the front lawn of a random person. He was cackling like a maniac in the video, cradling something I couldn’t tell to his chest, until suddenly the front porch light was turned on and a man came out looking furious.

“Get off my fucking property before I call the cops on you, kiddo!” The man screamed, pointing at Seokmin before his eyes found the one who was recording. Based on the giggles, the people behind the camera were Yeri and probably Chan as well, since the two went everywhere together. I shook my head with an amused smile as Yeri continued to giggle, pulling her phone away.

“When was this?” I asked, feeling Mingi shift next to me, his thick fingers lightly brushing against my shoulder. His deep voice wasn’t as distracting as it used to be when we first started dating. It used to be hard to pay attention to anyone else if he was speaking. But maybe that had to do with the pink haze that had clouded my mind at the beginning of our relationship. I had fallen hard for him, and I had gotten lost for a quick second until I realised I couldn’t let my emotions dictate my life this much.

“Last night,” Yeri answered, eyes on her phone as she was scrolling through whatever, “You didn’t come out with us.”

Right, the ‘gang’ had gone out to get drinks last night. If I wouldn’t have had to finish that project on my own, I probably would’ve had a little time to join them. There was no reason for regrets or resentments right now, and perhaps I was even glad I missed it as my eyes searched for Seokmin, his head resting on his arms as he snored, the sound loud as his mouth was angled at the table. I grinned in amusement and pushed Yeri’s foot under the table to get her attention. I nodded my head towards Seokmin, and she giggled again, leaning over the table to snap a picture of him. Baekhyun and Minseok were already drawing with a semi-permanent marker on Seokmin’s exposed cheek, snickering at each other quietly so as not to wake their friend. I snorted and shook my head, turning to look at my boyfriend when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. He wasn’t speaking to Wooyoung anymore since he was trying to target Seonghwa’s bowl of rice, whining and pouting at the pink-haired man, who was showing his teeth at Wooyoung like a vampire. Only the hissing was missing, and he’d be almost credible.

I watched as Mingi pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, plump bottom lip between his teeth as his fingers moved quickly. I didn’t manage to get a glance at the name of the username, but when Mingi opened up the chat on Instagram, it didn’t take me long to realise he was speaking to a girl. A lump formed in my throat as my muscles tensed, and I was unable to look away as I watched the screen of his phone. There was a picture from the girl which he had opened already, and a text underneath which said, ‘Did u like what u saw, handsome?’. My jaw clenched and my heart froze for a second as I watched Mingi’s ring-clad fingers type back a quick ‘Not sure, mind showing me again?’. I released a shocked sigh, my heart clenching like it did so very often lately. My skin crawled, and I shifted in my seat to put distance between Mingi and myself, our eyes meeting just as he locked his phone. His expression said nothing as he studied my face for a second, then he smiled. Wide and innocent, eyes crinkling at the corner, crooked front teeth endearing. His nose scrunched as he leaned towards me, looking so happy that one would assume something had happened. But my bones were frozen, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore. My heart squeezed tighter, and I flinched slightly when I felt his warm lips pressing a chaste kiss against mine.

I didn’t close my eyes, not because I didn’t want to but because I couldn’t. The question—the accusation—was on the tip of my tongue, but I just gulped as Mingi hummed in the back of his throat, tilting his head cutely. He looked confused, waiting for an explanation that wouldn’t come as I was unable to find my voice. And despite the way my heart was clenching a second ago, now it had started racing, making my ears ring. I could feel anger lick up my spine, raw and painful, but I ignored it as Mingi’s hand clasped around my shoulder and pulled me back into his side once again. His eyebrows had furrowed just as we both heard his phone buzz on top of the table, screen facing down, but neither one of us looked at it. He pouted, then pressed a loud kiss to my cheek, and I felt numb as he turned back to whatever conversation Minseok was having with the rest of the boys, their voices loud and making my head thump. Seonghwa had been watching us, his expression troubled as he looked at Mingi for a second too long. Our eyes met and I had to quickly avert mine as I felt tears spring into them.

Mingi hadn’t even noticed yet that I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. We had met up this morning to have breakfast before our classes started.

It hadn’t always been like this. All the mistrust and questions had stirred up quite recently, when I had noticed Mingi started lying about where he was and what he was doing. It was an innocent finding. Yeri and I had been discussing sharing our location with each other when she had gone on a date with a guy she didn’t know well, and while I was sharing mine with her, I remembered that Mingi and I were also sharing it. Out of boredom and knowing he was home doing homework, I went and looked at his location. Instead of finding him at home, he was at a bowling alley. It wasn’t like we told each other absolutely everything; that wasn’t necessary. We both had our private lives outside of our relationship, and we were both people who needed privacy and a little time away from our partners—freedom, if you will. So, when I texted him and teasingly asked him what he had been up to assuming he was there with the boys, I was left confused when he answered that he was in bed, watching some shitty movie that came out recently. Not thinking much of it, I had dropped the subject at that time, only to find myself checking his location again days later.

And each time I assumed he was at home or in the garage, fixing up or upgrading his car, he wasn’t. At least not based on the location his phone was showing. So, the mistrust and jealousy had started then because I couldn’t help myself. I rarely asked, and when I did, he’d either very cleverly twist my words and play the victim, or he’d change the topic in such a way that I’d only hours later realise what he had done, and that I still hadn’t gotten answers to his secretive behaviour. It wasn’t right, it felt wrong, and I was hurting the more he hid things from me. Mingi was a handsome guy, I had known that from the start, and I was also aware that due to his charming personality, girls flocked to him all the time. That hadn’t been an issue in the past, I quite enjoyed the fact that he was dating me despite all the attention he was getting…until I wasn’t anymore. Back when we had started finally dating, it had taken us quite a while to get there. The way we had met was by chance at university, on a late afternoon when my car wouldn’t start up. As he was quite into cars and knew how to fix them up, he had offered to help me out without asking for anything in exchange. It turns out, my battery had died and needed recharging, which his BMW e36 was nothing but good for.

And after that, as if the universe wanted us to meet again, Mingi would be everywhere I went. He would be at the library whenever I went there to work on a project or paper, he’d be entering the cafeteria at the same time as me, he’d be at the pub when I went out with my friends, he’d even be at some of the parties I went to, and despite the campus being relatively large, our classes would be held in the same building unlike before. It had started as a small nod of our heads and the polite inquiring acquittances did—like, how was your day or how are you doing—and then it gradually turned into us stopping if we crossed paths to exchange more than just pleasantries, our nods turned into friendly hugs which sometimes lasted for too long, follow requests on Instagram, and then into questions if the other was free to hangout soon. Somehow, it was rather hard to get a hold of Mingi at first. Even though we’d agree on plans, going for a walk or just grabbing coffee, he’d find an excuse for which he couldn’t make it. I hadn’t really thought about dating Mingi at first, but in the end, I fell for his charming personality.

It was hard to say no to him, to not feel your heart race when he absentmindedly fixed your collar or brushed your hair out of your face, to not smile shily when he squeezed you as he hugged you. His eyes had always held an intensity, sharp and dark as they watched you from up close or from afar, his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied you. And it had taken me some time to figure out whether all the teasing coming from his part was merely part of his personality, or if it had meant more than that. Despite being grown-ups, I couldn’t tell whether Mingi was still too young to maturely ask me out. And the fact that he acted with other girls the same way as with me made everything harder and more confusing, often leaving me with a racing but confused heart. After months of dancing around each other, on one faithful evening, we had run into each other while we were both out for grocery shopping and he had offered to take me home. His car was a rich metallic blue, impeccably clean, and the paint job done clearly by a professional, as there were no imperfections to it. The model was an old one, but because it was maintained so well, it had made no difference. The car was longer than mine, the seats comfortable and low, as the car itself was closer to the ground. I had melted into the sporty passenger seat, admiring the interior, which was a mixture of black and dark brown. That evening, however, as we had cruised through the city with the windows rolled down and rock music playing in the background, he had asked a question I never thought I’d hear from him, “Want to be my girlfriend?”

That was three years ago, in our first year of university, and things have changed since then. It wasn’t as peaceful or as pink as it used to be, and I had no idea which way we were headed. I felt a bit nostalgic as the evening breeze was warm, the windows rolled down as Mingi steered the wheel, turning off the main road and onto a residential one as we neared my apartment complex. I tapped my fingers against the handle to the rhythm of the rock music playing through the old stereo, a song Mingi loved and had taken the time to copy onto the CD that it was currently playing from. The lyrics reflected my state of mind, the anger that was simmering just below the surface as I chewed on my bottom lip, sighing loudly as my building came into view. I felt Mingi’s hand grip my thigh, and I pulled my leg away, shaking his touch off. He remained silent, but the volume of the radio was turned down. I refused to look at him as I stared out the open window, heart beating slightly faster when he pulled up in front of the apartment complex and neither one of us made to move.

Another beat of silence passed before he sighed, “Baby, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

My eyebrows furrowed, and I turned my head to look at him with annoyance written all over my face, “Really? You have to ask what’s wrong? Isn’t it pretty fucking obvious?”

Mingi’s eyebrows rose at my aggressive words, and he tilted his head, “No, I—I wouldn’t be asking if I knew, baby. Did I do something wro—”

“Mingi, why the fuck were you flirting all night long with Ryujin?” I snapped, cutting him off before he could piss me off more. And yet, I felt my blood boil as Mingi’s eyes widened, his shoulders pulling up almost defensively.

“What are you talking about?” I closed my eyes to take a deep breath, and pushed his hand away when I felt fingers grazing my cheek, “Don’t deny my touch, you know I hate it—”

“And I hate it when you flirt with girls and let them be all over you despite having a girlfriend, baby.” I sneered, tone harsh and cold as Mingi flinched, acting like what I said was so harsh. I couldn’t deal with his theatrics at the moment and just stared him down, glare deepening the longer he tried to make himself seem innocent. He didn’t say anything right away, just jutted his lips out as he looked at me with sad eyes, making my skin buzz as my heart raced with anger coursing through my veins. Then, almost frighteningly, his expression slipped into something colder, something more detached and irritated.

“What do you want me to say?” He scoffed, leaning back into his seat as his thick eyebrows furrowed, “It’s not like you’ll believe me even if I say I wasn’t flirting with her. You always do this, Y/N, blame me for something that isn’t true and then expect me to give in to you. Don’t you think I’m becoming sick of it? That it hurts me? Do you not trust me?!”

I huffed in surprise, biting back my shout since I wanted to tell him that I didn’t trust him, not even a little bit. When I didn’t say anything because I was trying to gather my thoughts, he raised his eyebrows and gave me an almost expectant look. It only managed to make my blood boil more, so I undid my seatbelt and shook my head at him.

“You know what hurts me? This!” I snapped, grabbing the handle to get out of his car, “The fact that you keep denying and denying your own actions, making me feel like shit for rightfully calling out your behaviour which isn’t okay since you’re my partner, Mingi. But sure, make me the villain again, I’m already used to being the crazy and overbearing girlfriend who is always creating a scene by being jealous and not letting you have fun.”

Something changed in Mingi’s expression as I opened the door, pushing it open with all of my force since it worked a bit harder due to the car being from ‘99. With one foot out of the car, Mingi shifted, leaning over the centre console with something like fear and surprise on his face.

“Stop, wait.” He called out, his fingers wrapping around my forearm as he halted my actions. My jaw gritted as I turned my head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not doing it on purpose, it’s just that…you’ve changed. I don’t understand why that is, and you’re also not saying anything to me, I’m now always scared you’ll blow up in my face.”

My mouth opened in surprise hearing his words, and I had to take a second to reel in his words, to try and remain calm. I was the insane one again, the one acting out without being given a reason. I hummed, feeling all fight leave my body as tiredness overtook it, not in the mood to fight about this again. It wasn’t the first time; we’ve gone out multiple times lately, and Mingi would always find a random girl he’d flirt with, buy a drink for, and sometimes even dance with. But tonight, it had been Ryujin, someone we both knew, and the girl he knows I can’t stand. Before we had gotten together, she was very obviously pursuing Mingi, trying to get his attention anytime they were in the same room. She was all over him and laughing a bit too hard at his jokes, trailing his skin with her fingers suggestively. She was one of the reasons why I never took my dynamic with Mingi seriously, that is, until he asked me out. And given the fact that he had been sneakily texting someone this week, always brushing off the topic or asking whether he wasn’t allowed anymore to have friends, everything just bottled up and burst out of me tonight. I was sick of his behaviour; I was tired of overthinking every little thing when it came to Mingi and me.

“I’m going in,” I said after the prolonged silence, glancing down at Mingi’s hold on me, “Let me go, please.”

He gulped, his eyebrows furrowed, and then I was yanked forward as he kissed me hard, lips pressing against mine harshly. I didn’t want to kiss him back, so I didn’t, and Mingi pulled back when he realised I wasn’t reciprocating it, “I love you, my baby.”

His voice was whiny and sad, his eyes wet with unshed tears, and I nodded, prying his fingers off my forearm. I grabbed my purse from my lap and got out of his car, slamming the door unnecessarily hard. The loud engine of his car stalled, and that told me he wasn’t going to leave until I was inside the building. Unlike other times, I didn’t turn back around to wave at him or send him a flying kiss. My skin crawled where he had touched me, and it was my turn to have unshed tears in my eyes as I entered the apartment. When would he stop this nonsense? And why had he changed so much?

What was supposed to be a fun night out had turned into a sleepless night of question after question whirling in my head while Mingi blew up my phone, forcing me to put it on do not disturb.

Mingi wasn’t the man I had fallen for anymore. Perhaps it had always been there and I had failed to notice it until, or maybe it was something about me which made him act out. Our relationship had been more than lovely. In the past three years that we’ve been seeing each other, I could recall a dozen happy memories. He’d always bring me flowers if we decided to go for a date, we’d take late-night cruises throughout the city, ending up at the belvedere to gaze upon the lights, admiring the view of the river from up above. He’d be gentle and loving, showering me with kisses and compliments any time he could. He used to love to cuddle, he’d often come over just to lie in bed and talk about nothing while I lit a candle and popped some popcorn for us. He was attentive and supportive, always the first person to cheer me on or watch over me while I worked on my project. And yet, what we had, it seems like that wasn’t enough for him. Despite the silent treatment from my side after our argument, he acted like nothing ever happened. He was still his cheery and carefree self, kissing me on the lips as if I didn’t carry resentment for him.

I didn’t bring it up again, so he didn’t either. I could tell he was actively ignoring the giant gap between us, and he made anything he could to fill it with love once again. Taking me to my favourite patisserie store, going to great lengths to get me my favourite flower which only blooms during spring, even missing one day of classes just so that we could go and watch the rally hours away from our city. He was trying his best, and yet, it didn’t seem to help. Even when the words I love you spilled from his mouth, his thrust deep and slow, eyes shining with adoration and shaking with desperation, it still wasn’t enough. I couldn’t unravel in front of him, I came undone under his hands, but it didn’t feel like before. The tears in my eyes weren’t from pleasure but from all the questions tainting my mind, making me refuse his advances the more he pushed. I just couldn’t help but wonder if he’s been cheating on me all this time. He had always been a flirty person, that much I knew. But before, he always made it clear that it was just friendly banter and that he already had someone he loved and cherished. Now, it all felt hush-hush, as if he was trying to hide me from the world. I saw the way girls looked at him, the way they’d approach him so blatantly as if I wasn’t right next to him, and most importantly, I saw the way Mingi looked at them, laughed along with them, and touched them.

The library was cooped up today since exam week was right around the corner, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the stuffy room once I was done catching up with some much-needed studying. My backpack was heavy due to it being filled with textbooks and my old laptop, and my fingers curled around my tall thermos as I sipped on my much-needed homemade coffee. I was all for saving up these days, things were getting too pricey, and Mingi’s birthday was around the corner. I wanted to buy him something unique and long-lasting. Getting to the ground floor, I was just about to turn left and head for the outdoor patio to join my friends, when my eyes caught someone familiar. It was Mingi, his coral-coloured knitted sweater, form-fitting and comfy, making him look all fluffy when he wore it. It was probably one of my favourite clothing articles of his, and he knew this, so he often wore it around me. Today had been colder since it’s been raining for the past few days, and Mingi got easily cold. His backpack was thrown around one shoulder, fingers holding the strap tightly, rings decorating his thick fingers, and his black jeans fit him like a second skin, showing off his good proportions. I smiled to myself, about to call out his name, when I realised he wasn’t alone.

Next to him stood a girl with dark hair, burgundy highlights in it, half-way tied up as her hair looked slightly greasy even from afar. She was thin, a lot shorter than Mingi, and her skirt reached her ankles as a satchel bag sat around her shoulder, brushing against her hip. She wore a black crop top, a cardigan around her frail form as she was saying something to Mingi, hiding her mouth behind her hands as she suddenly laughed. I watched her for a second longer, realising that I knew her. Her name was Arin, and they knew each other. She and Mingi had dated for a month, back when we weren’t very close with each other. Based on what Mingi had told me, they didn’t click, so they never went further than a kiss and a few dates. Despite believing Mingi, I knew it wasn’t just that for Arin. She liked him, it was obvious in the way she looked at him, in the way she carried herself if Mingi was around. They might not have clicked in Mingi’s mind, but to Arin, she still wasn’t over him. And watching from afar, it became clear that whatever they were talking about had Mingi’s attention as he smirked, running his fingers through his outgrown hair. The front strands fell in his eyes, dark and soft to the touch. He licked his lips just as Arin reached out, touching the fabric at Mingi’s bicep and picking something off of it.

Mingi didn’t flinch; he looked down and took a small step towards her, lessening the distance between their bodies. I felt something drop in the pit of my stomach, coiling like when you were cramping up from your period. My fingers tightened around my thermos, and I felt my heart rate gradually pick up as I continued to watch the two. I was standing in the way of those coming down the staircase, and a guy apologised as he bumped into me, so I decided to step aside while I reached for my phone. It was in my back pocket, my hand trembled as I unlocked it without taking my eyes off Mingi and Arin. He was shifting from his left foot to his right, then he started nudging her shoe with his. I quickly opened my messaging app and then clicked on Mingi’s name, ignoring his last message, which I hadn’t read until now. It said, I’m busy all day, but you could come over tonight.

Peeling my eyes off Mingi and Arin, I chewed on my bottom lip and quickly typed out a ‘What are you up to right now?’. I waited, raising my head to look at Mingi again. He was in the middle of reaching out for Arin’s hair, but at the ding of his phone, he smiled sheepishly and looked down, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. Arin watched expectantly as Mingi said something to her, then he unlocked his phone and started typing. I watched the three bubbles appear on my screen and calmed down for a second. Maybe I was overreacting. Mingi was a friendly person; if it hadn’t been like this before, I wouldn’t have become so jealous and worried if I saw him interacting like this with another girl. Maybe I was the issue, maybe Mingi was right all along. I had to fix my problems before I would lose Mingi. The bubbles disappeared and Mingi’s message came through just as Arin peeked at his screen, making Mingi pull his phone towards his chest so she wouldn’t see.

‘I’m in the library catching up on some material. Professor Ahn is after my ass, it’s really annoying. What are you up to, baby?’

At first, I didn’t react. I didn’t know how to. A surprised huff left my lips, and I smiled, feeling my hand tremors worsen as I took a step back to be able to lean against the wall. Then, looking up from my phone to see Mingi’s fingers dance down Arin’s arm forced a hysterical laugh out from my lips. I was frozen, with a racing heart in my throat, and my eyes blurred as I looked down at my phone. What was the purpose of it all? I gulped, pushing off the wall and heading for the exit instead of the back patio, my legs feeling heavy as they carried me down another flight of stairs.

‘Meet me in the parking lot, right now.’ I didn’t look back to see Mingi’s reaction as I pocketed my phone; I couldn’t even see in front of me as my brain worked on muscle memory. I pushed the double doors open, forcing my way through the small opening and hurting my shoulder in the process, but I didn’t register the pain as I turned to the left, headed for the parking lot, which I could see from my spot. People looked at me weirdly as I was trying to regulate my loud breathing, but I felt unable to do so as my heart raced and my hands shook. I didn’t understand anything at this point. Why would Mingi lie to me so blatantly? Did he think I’d get mad at him that he was speaking to Arin? Was I seriously a bad girlfriend, oblivious to my own restricting actions towards Mingi, which drove us to where we were now?

My eyes zeroed in on his blue BMW, and I hurried over, lump in my throat as I paced up and down while waiting for him. There was no guarantee he’d even check his phone again, but I’d wait for him here until his classes were over, then. I had to tell him, I had to ask him, I had to see him. It wasn’t fair that he was treating me like this; it just didn’t feel right. In my distressed state, I failed to notice Mingi approach me as I chewed my nails, eyebrows furrowed. The sky was dark, rainclouds gathered around and were threatening a downpour anytime now. I jumped when I felt arms around me from behind, a chin landing on my shoulder.

“Hi, baby.” Mingi’s voice was husky in my ear, then his plush lips pressed a kiss against my cheek, and I had to tense my muscles to stop myself from flinching away. I gulped, but my throat felt dry. I tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs felt restricted, so as gently as I could, I pried his arms off me and turned around to face him. He was so…Mingi. He was smiling from ear to ear, his beautiful eyes crinkled and making my heart race despite the heartbreak I was currently experiencing. His mole under his eye drew my gaze to it, and it made me wish I could trace it like I had done so before. He knew how much I loved his crooked teeth too, and yet, despite the man standing in front of me being someone I dearly loved once, I failed to recognise him right now.

“Hi,” I greeted, voice tight and breathy. Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed for a second, and he tilted his head, “Did you have a hard day so far?”

He hummed, looking past me in thought before he reached out to intertwine our fingers. He leaned back against his car, and I gulped, feeling my heart race. If he would set himself right while we spoke now, I would forgive him and change myself and the way I’ve been reacting to him lately.

“Not really, but Professor Ahn gave me some exercises in plus to do for his next class.” Mingi rolled his eyes, “He says I’m behind compared to the others, which isn’t true. Wooyoung barely knows shit and he’s not treating him bad like me.”

“Wooyoung doesn’t skip his class as often as you do,” I mentioned, and Mingi pouted, his thumb rubbing my skin.

“Whatever, what about you?” Mingi changed the subject, and I hummed, hand tightening around my thermos.

“It was okay, I’m just tired from studying…” Mingi watched me curiously as I trailed off, preparing myself for my next words, “Sorry for dragging you down here from the…library.”

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed for a second, but then he smiled, shrugging nonchalantly, “Don’t worry, my baby. It was about damn time I got out of that stuffy place. Man, I swear they never open any windows despite everyone being cooped up in there, it’s so annoying. I think I’m developing a headache from all the burnt brain I had to smell in there, freaking geeks.”

He laughed at his own words while my muscles tensed, my heart chillingly slowing down. Somehow, despite the ache in my chest, it’s like I knew to expect this. It hurt, a lot, but a huge part of me knew he wouldn’t tell me the truth. The fact that he was with Arin, laughing and touching each other all up and not in the library, studying.

“I’ve just come from the library, peculiar, I didn’t see you there.” My tone was cold, and I watched as Mingi blanched, his happy expression turning into a careful one. He gulped and chuckled, but it didn’t sound so casual anymore.

“The library’s big, we must’ve missed each other.” Then he tugged on our intertwined fingers, making me close the distance between us, “What a pity, I would’ve loved studying together with you.”

I didn’t have time to react as he leaned forward, eyes watching my face before they fluttered closed, Mingi’s lips pressing against mine gingerly. I felt sick to my stomach as he kissed me with the same mouth that spewed so many lies, but the dam holding itself together in my chest finally broke. I closed my eyes and kissed him back, hard and a little desperate as I realised there was no going back for us. There was no fixing this anymore. I have stopped trusting Mingi, and once my trust was broken, it could never be mended. I fought the tears that threatened to escape my eyes as Mingi hummed against my lips, his taste familiar and once comforting. I knew his body like the back of my hand, I knew what he liked and what he didn’t. I would miss him, that was certain, but I couldn’t let myself break my back for a person who was possibly cheating on me. I pulled away with a heavy heart, taking a deep breath before I opened my eyes. Mingi was already watching me, looking almost afraid as his grip tightened on my hand.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He whispered, low and reluctant as a bike wheezed past us, its engine loud. I gulped, my eyes finding his as I had decided that this was best for me.

“Let’s break up, Mingi.” I said just as quietly, afraid that if I spoke too loudly someone would hear us despite being alone in the parking lot filled with cars. Mingi didn’t react straight away, his eyebrows twitched before they slowly furrowed, his expression twisting into confusion.

“What?” His tone was harsh, raspy and almost aggressive, “What the fuck are you saying, Y/N?”

But I wouldn’t break, not in front of him, “I can’t do this anymore, Mingi. You’ve been lying to me for months and making me the villain, I feel crazy and like I’m overreacting all the time, when I’m not. You don’t tell me where you go anymore and what you do, or with whom you go. We both have our personal lives, and I’ve always respected that, but this is not okay—”

“You say we have personal lives and then flip out over me not sharing every little thing I do, Y/N?” Mingi snapped, releasing his grip on me and I was finally able to step back, “You’re being a fucking hypocrite right now. You are breaking up with me when I was willing to put up with your bullshit for so long? Seriously?”

I ignored the pang hearing those words made me feel, and scoffed, “Fuck off, Mingi, you weren’t even studying in the library! You were with Arin, fucking flirting and touching each other all up in the fucking main lobby of the university where anyone could see you two! I saw you, Mingi! So what the fuck are you even saying here?!”

At my outburst, Mingi froze. His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything as I scoffed, shaking my head at him. He gulped, looking to the side before he faced me again, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Tell me right now, did you cheat on me?”

“What?! No!” His eyes widened, looking stunned by my accusatory question, “I would never! What the fuck do you take me for? Do you seriously trust me this little? I thought we—love each other.”

“Love isn’t enough to keep a relationship going when trust is absent, Mingi.” I snapped, feeling my hands tremble all over again, “If you wouldn’t have lied so much, denying the fact that you were letting other girls be all over you and downplaying my feelings of worry, we wouldn’t be here, Mingi. It’s over, I don’t…I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore.”

“Y/N—”

“No, nothing you say will change my mind.”

Mingi watched with an open mouth as I turned on my feet, stomping away and leaving him standing next to his car as I felt tears in my eyes. My vision was blurry as I headed blindly in the direction of my own car, hands shaking so bad that I dropped the car keys. I crouched down to pick it up, but suddenly all the emotions I’ve been trying to reel in came pouring out like the rain that started pitter-pattering over our heads. I turned into myself as I cried, trying to keep my sobs quiet since the parking lot offered no privacy. Hearing the engine of his BMW e36 only made me sob harder, the screeching of tires making me flinch as Mingi peeled out from the parking lot. He wasn’t even done with his classes for the day yet.

The past week had been rough. I was under the weather most of the time, but my friends were understanding and didn’t push for answers until I was ready to talk to them about the recent changes. It was tough seeing Mingi knowing nothing was tying us to each other anymore. Meanwhile, I felt free like never before with a clear mind, my heart felt heavy as questions tugged at my mind whenever I allowed myself to dwell on the breakup and the reason behind it. It wasn’t easy letting go of someone who’d been a constant in my life for the past three years, but I was sure if I took one day at a time, I could allow the past to be just that…the past. And having a good support system meant the world in these challenging times. Yeri was nothing but a sweetheart, checking in with me often and coming up with activities that not only brought me out of my comfort zone, but created new memories that I couldn’t associate with Mingi. Due to my yearning to spend time with people instead of self-isolating, Yeri managed to bring together our old friend group from high school. It was jarring to see everyone in one place again, but it also felt amazing to catch up with the girls. They were more than eager to bring the team back together, and thus, that’s how I found myself out on a lovely Friday evening.

The pub we chose for our nightly endeavours was a different one we’d usually go to, just to make sure there were zero to almost none chances of us running into Mingi and his friends. From what I’ve been hearing from Yeri, Mingi wasn’t taking the breakup very well. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days, with dark circles under his eyes, and his appearance was mostly dishevelled, like he had little regard for his appearance. Something tugged at my heart when I caught a glimpse of him yesterday in the parking lot, shoulders hunched over and face expressionless, but I quickly got out of there before he could spot me. He’d still try to contact me from time to time, but after we’d given our belongings back to each other, I made it clear that I didn’t want him in my life under any circumstances. There were too many shared memories, I could never just look at Mingi and remember him fondly without remembering all the heartache he made me endure.

I blinked at the roar of laughter coming from the table next to ours, glancing over to see about five guys throwing cards onto the round table. They’ve been playing some card game for a while now, rowdy and louder than the rest of the pub. I didn’t mind much, but it was a little distracting from our own conversation with the girls as they were currently busy giggling over Sana’s new crush. We had been discussing politics right before and had gotten too heated, so a subject change was necessary. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for Sana, but I didn’t feel like ogling a man right now, so I didn’t lean over the table to see her phone screen.

“Okay, but his muscles are huge!” Minjeong exclaimed, her eyes round as if she were looking at her most prized possession. Yeri and Seulgi giggled, taking Sana’s phone as they zoomed in on the picture. Joohyun just sighed next to me, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

“They are no better than men ogling women’s tits, huh?” Her question made me burst out laughing, earning questioning glances from our friends. I shook them off and turned to look at Joohyun, my pint of beer empty.

“At least they aren’t making any lewd comments.” I might’ve jinxed that as Sana’s lips parted, a dreamy sigh leaving her mouth.

“Gosh, I wish I could suffocate between his man tits. Do you think he has a huge dick?” Joohyun looked done with Sana as Minjeong screeched, making the table of guys look over with questioning looks on their faces. Our table wasn’t exactly that quiet either, and I hoped they didn’t overhear my friends’ conversation; that would’ve been embarrassing.

“Obviously, he does!” Yeri shared a knowing look with Minjeong, “He’s like…huge everywhere.”

Sana squealed as she hid her red face behind her hands, and we laughed. Joohyun shook her head before unlocking her phone, and I scooted closer to her so that I could rest my head on her shoulder. I was slightly sleepy from the alcohol, but the night was young and I was actually enjoying myself. I didn’t have the time to mop around yet, and all of that was thanks to my friends. Nobody had mentioned Mingi, we hadn’t even been talking about boys until now. Joohyun’s Instagram feed was far more interesting than mine as she scrolled down the posts of celebrities as well as the posts of people she knew, and when she got bored with that, she decided to check out people’s stories. I yawned as I recognised a few faces in one of the stories, they were girls from our high school class.

“Have you kept in touch with them?” I asked Joohyun as she swiped to the next story.

“We speak sometimes, but we aren’t close.” She answered, her tone quiet and almost drowned out by the sounds in the pub. The table behind us cheered loudly again, and I flinched as I wasn’t expecting it. As Joohyun swiped to the next story, my body froze. The username was familiar, too familiar, and so were the people in the video. A girl, Arin, was running away from the person behind the camera, squealing as she held a basketball in her hands. The deep laughter was familiar, and it made me gulp around nothing as I sat up straight, muscles rigid as my hands curled into fists. Joohyun quickly swiped past the video just as the screen was flipped, Mingi’s face coming into view. She shut her phone off and turned to me with a guilty expression on her face.

“I’m so sorry—” I grabbed Joohyun’s hand before she could apologise even further, I didn’t mind. I really didn’t. None of my friends had any obligations to quit their friendship with Mingi, and Joohyun wasn’t even close with him. She only knew him through me and probably had even forgotten that she was following him.

“Don’t, it’s okay.” I said with a small smile as I grabbed my pint, “I mean it, Hyunnie, I don’t mind.”

Joohyun pouted as I stood up, pointing towards the bar, “I’ll get a refill, do you want something?”

She shook her head, still looking apologetic as I hummed, then slid out of the small booth-like space. The bar was just outside, all I had to do was step through the threshold and I’d reach it. The pub wasn’t too big, but it was rather cozy as it was filled with other university students, retro tunes playing through the stereos. The wallpaper was rather chapped, and posters of old bands tried to hide the brick that could be seen due to the tapestry falling off, but I didn’t mind that as it gave the place a certain vibe. The pub, after all, was inside an old house which was modified to fit a maximum of thirty people for busy Friday nights. The line to the bar wasn’t too long, and I passed the time by looking around, observing all the band posters, coming to the conclusion that I really liked this place and would love to come here again. I could only hope the girls shared my sentiment.

As I reached the bar, I placed my pint on the counter and waited for the person in front of me to pay for his drink before it was my turn. The bartender smiled as he noticed me, then wiped off the counter before he pointed at my pint.

“Want a refill of that?”

“Yup, thank you,” I said with a smile, leaning against the counter as the man took my pint, turning around to place it under the keg. Tapping my foot to the rhythm of a Britney Spears song, I read the menu on the wall to see if they had any shots that I could enjoy tonight, however, I was suddenly roughly jostled to the side. I gasped as my hands slipped from the counter, and I would’ve lost my footing if it wasn’t for the arms that were suddenly wrapped around my torso, yanking me back up right. My heart was racing as I turned my head with wide eyes, coming face to face with a…very cute guy. I gulped, speechless for a second as I was still too stunned to speak, now also a bit bamboozled by our closeness and his round cheeks, which looked soft to the touch.

“Holy shit! I’m so sorry!” His tone was light, melodic even, as he exclaimed in horror, his cheeks flushing a dark red, “My friends pushed me, I didn’t mean to knock into you like that. Are you alright?”

I gulped, feeling my own cheeks heat up when the guy’s hands slightly tightened around my waist. I wondered if he hadn’t realised he was still holding onto me, and I opted to ignore the weird uneven thump-thump of my heart, “It’s alright, don’t worry. You caught me, so I’m fine.”

I chuckled a little shyly, averting my eyes as the guy’s round and soft ones bore into my face. He was far from intimidating-looking, yet I felt small in his presence, which rarely happened. He wasn’t too tall, barely half a head taller than me, yet his embrace felt comfortable and warm. Almost as if he had just now realised that he was still holding onto me, he released me as if he had been zapped with a teaser.

“Fuck, I’m sorry about that, too!” He looked on the verge of tears, embarrassment very visible across his features. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I turned my head to hide it, bringing up my hand in front of my mouth.

“It’s okay, thank you for not letting me fall despite being the cause of my almost concussion.” The guy groaned as I looked back at him with a cheeky smile, distracted as my pint of beer was placed on the counter. The bartender looked at me expectantly, but before I could pay for my beer, the cute guy reached out and placed his hand over mine, trapping my hand against the cold counter.

“No, no, let me pay for it.” He said with a sheepish smile, “It’s the least I can do!”

Without mulling over the thought for too long, and since it’s been long since a man bought me a drink, I nodded, “Sure, okay. Are you not getting anything to drink, though?”

He grinned then looked at the bartender, pointing with his free hand at my pint of beer, “I’ll get one of those, too.”

The bartender hummed as he went to fetch a clean pint, then turned his back to us. The cute guy and I looked at each other at the same time, and I allowed my eyes to take in his features. He had sharp and high cheekbones, round, pretty eyes and cheeks that looked pinchable. His lips were curved and almost pouty, a pretty cherry colour, and a nose that complemented his features prettily. His hair was dark and parted in the middle, brushed out of his face and styled in a way that showed off his good looks. There was a light eyeshadow added to his eyes, which only enhanced their roundness, and I realised I was staring as he slowly averted his eyes. Then, he jumped and took a step back, the warmth from my hand disappearing.

“I keep touching you without your consent, I’m really sorry.” He said while rubbing his nape, still not quite looking at me, just in my direction, “I promise I’m not a creep, even though saying that makes me sound like a creep.”

I chuckled as the bartender gave the cute guy his drink too, and he paid with his phone as I decided to wait for him. I didn’t know if he expected anything from me now that he’s bought me a drink, but he didn’t look like that type of person. And at the same time, his energy felt comforting and calm. He glanced at me and looked a little surprised that I was still there, waiting for him. He hid his smile behind his pint of beer as he motioned for me to walk in front of him, and I returned his smile, taking off and leading the way.

“I’m Jongho, by the way.” He said as we walked around the people waiting at the bar, keeping close to one another since the crowd had significantly grown since we had made it to the bar.

“I’m Y/N.” I said with a smile and shook his hand when he extended it, stepping back inside the main room where our tables were, “The girls and I are having a night out, this is the first time we’ve come to this pub. It feels rather cosy and isn’t overflowing with jerks.”

I had no idea why I was running my mouth to a complete stranger; maybe the alcohol had something to do with it, but Jongho didn’t seem bothered by this fact. In fact, he looked almost excited that I didn’t let the conversation die.

“I’m also out with my friends,” Jongho said, sounding just as ecstatic as he looked. It made him really cute and I bit my bottom lip to try and hide the smile that threatened to grow on my lips, “This pub is our go-to place exactly because it’s hidden and doesn’t attract the frat bros.”

I chuckled but felt myself sour at the thought. It’s not that Mingi and his friends were frat bros per se, but at times, they certainly acted as if they were. Before I could allow my mood to worsen as the image of Arin in Mingi’s Instagram Story flashed behind my eyes, I shook my head and focused back on Jongho.

“I’ve been to one too many frat bro-like spots, so this is refreshing, and—” I blushed a bit when I noticed Jongho listening to me closely, paying attention to my every word, “Thank you for buying me a drink, you really didn’t have to.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do after I tumbled into you so harshly.” He said as he looked to the ground, shifting on his feet. I chuckled, but then narrowed my eyes at him playfully.

“I thought your friends pushed you?” I raised an eyebrow just as Jongho raised his head, eyes quickly widening.

“I—well, I—damn,” He groaned, his cheeks flushed again as he almost pouted, “Okay, I actually tripped on the carpet and went barrelling into you.”

I didn’t mean to laugh so loudly, but somehow that was endearing. Jongho’s eyes widened even more before he was giggling, watching me with softness in his eyes. I felt my heart rate pick up just slightly, my skin warming as I remembered the feeling of being in his arms. It wasn’t even bad, no, it was far from being uncomfortable or unwelcome. I gulped; a bit taken aback by my own thoughts as I cleared my throat.

“Well, thank you for being my hero even if you were the cause of my near death.” Jongho huffed, placing a hand on his hip and looking like a father who was about to scold their child. It looked funny as he held the pint of beer in his other hand.

“Now, that’s a bit too dramatic, don’t you think, Miss Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow, and I chuckled, looking off to the side. Talking to Jongho wasn’t too bad, I appreciated his humour and ability to match my energy.

“As long as you don’t hate me for it…” I didn’t mean to say that, but it slipped. I grimaced as I thought I had ruined the mood, reminded of the tantrums Mingi would throw anytime he thought I was too dramatic for his liking. But, instead of giving me a weird look, Jongho leaned in just slightly, a mischievous look dancing in his round eyes.

“I could never hate a pretty girl like you. Besides, if I’m free of charge for almost giving you a concussion, I think we’re even.” He winked and I snorted, looking down at my pint of beer as Jongho grinned to himself, standing up straight again. I didn’t know what to say to that, feeling slightly weird that a man who wasn’t Mingi had called me pretty, but at the same time, it had felt nice. Not knowing how to respond to his flirting—since it felt too soon to be mingling with other guys—I was just about to say goodbye to Jongho, but as I turned to look at my table, I was surprised to see unfamiliar faces sitting scattered around. The girls were laughing, cards placed in front of them now too. Jongho seemed to turn in the direction I had just looked in, and made a surprised sound in the back of his throat. I turned to look at him with raised eyebrows, curious as to why he had reacted like that.

“Uh, those are my friends.” He said as he pointed at the unfamiliar faces sitting at my table. My eyes widened as I glanced back at the table before looking back at Jongho.

“Really?” I asked, surprised, “Because those are my friends.”

I pointed at the girls as Jongho and I shared a glance, then burst out into giggles. That seemed to finally catch the attention of our conjoined friend groups, and Yeri’s eyes lit up when she saw me. She was subtle about it as she did a quick sweep over Jongho, but she said nothing as she threw her hand up in the air and waved at us.

“Y/N, you’re back!” She said loudly, grinning from ear to ear, “Guess what? The loud guys decided to join us—”

“You asked them if they’d like to sit with us.” Seulgi corrected, her eyes narrowed at Yeri. I chuckled, amused and not surprised by this at all.

“Yeah, after Hongjoong asked if we’d make a bet with him,” Yeri said as she stuck her tongue out, making Joohyun roll her eyes.

“And you stupidly said yes, he could’ve made you do something stupid.” Joohyun groaned as who I assumed was Hongjoong widened his eyes.

“I’m not like that!” The guy exclaimed as Jongho laughed, nodding to himself.

“He really isn’t,” Jongho said, and it seemed like the other girls finally realised that he was standing with me, “He’s a nerd who won’t shut up about his hyperfixations.”

A guy who had small and sharp eyes snickered, slapping the back of another guy who slightly resembled Jongho, “I thought that was Yunho, not Hongjoong.”

“Eh, they are different sides of the same coin.” Another guy said with a shrug as the guy who was called Yunho pouted, elbowing the sharp-eyed in the ribs. Jongho sighed next to me, then looked at me just as I glanced at him.

“My friends are embarrassing.”

“You know we can hear you, right?” The same sharp-eyed man deadpanned, and Jongho just shrugged. To my surprise, the next person who spoke up was Sana.

“Is he the guy you said was getting himself a drink at the bar?” Her face read mischief, and I gulped, subtly shaking my head at her. I hoped she wouldn’t say anything embarrassing or crazy. Hongjoong nodded, beckoning Jongho over, “Would you look at that? It looks like he and Y/N already know each other!”

“Right,” I quickly said as I sat down in my previous seat, surprised when I realised Joohyun actually sat close to the man with sharp and small eyes. She felt my questioning gaze because she shrugged, pointing at the cards in her hands.

“We’re playing a team game.”

“So, you and the new guy are now a pair!” Sana quickly said, elbowing another guy whose name I didn’t know to hand us cards. Jongho and I looked at each other as he shrugged, then he sat down next to me with a small smile on his lips.

“Well, howdy partner?” He clinked his pint of beer against mine, and I laughed, taking a large gulp of my beer so that Jongho wasn’t the only one doing so. I ignored the looks my girlfriends gave me as Jongho and I huddled close together to start strategizing about our winning plan. It felt nice being in his presence, and he was a funny person that I felt like I’d get along with really well despite not having known him for long.

Thoughts of Mingi and Arin were the least of my worries as the night progressed, my tummy aching from how much I’d laughed in Jongho and his friends' presence, a pleasant buzz from the alcohol warming my body like none other. I was grateful I had decided to go out tonight.

I had overslept this morning and completely missed an important class. I groaned as I rubbed my eyes, dry and heavy from lack of sleep. I sighed as I reached over for my phone, hand knocking into the small lamp on my bedside table, almost knocking it over. Since my phone was on do not disturb, I had missed Yeri’s desperate messages asking whether I was deliberately skipping first class or if it was the result of oversleeping. Well, I chuckled as I typed back that it was the result of not going to sleep at a reasonable time. I knew it would bite me in the ass in the morning, but I had decided to brave through another chapter of the manhwa I was reading, only for that chapter to turn into another one, then another one, and another one, and—yeah. Getting ready once I sluggishly dragged myself out of bed was easy, as I had to be on time for my next lecture, where I had to present the term paper I had finished a few days ago.

Over the weekend, after having met the group of friends at the pub, I felt like I could breathe again. It’s like the dark cloud hovering over my head had dissipated, not as menacing as it used to be. That didn’t mean, however, that Mingi was completely forgotten. I couldn’t simply forget him in the span of a few hours or days, hell, possibly even months. He was too deeply etched into my being, a part of my soul which I was now trying to slowly remove. Saturday had been fine, almost fun, but yesterday had been a nightmare. My heart was heavy, and I was on the verge of bursting into tears anytime. I couldn’t even let my cat cuddle me because it reminded me of the times Mingi and I would lie in bed and beckon her over, giggling as she nestled in between our bodies. We’d often joke around and say that’s what our future would look like once we had kids, because yes, at some point in time, I had sincerely thought Mingi and I would never part ways. That he was the one for me, my partner in crime and life, forever my soulmate. But I was wrong, and Mingi wasn’t with me anymore, and he’d never be no matter how hard he tried begging his way back.

As I had brushed my teeth, my phone buzzed, and thinking it was Yeri, I opened the message without looking first. I froze for a second as I looked at the screen, somehow not surprised to see that Mingi was trying to reach out again. I had asked him to leave me alone before, I had even threatened to block his number, but it seemed like he didn’t care. I sighed as my eyes ran over the text messages, toothbrush hanging from my mouth.

Good morning, I’m sorry to text you again…

I met up with Yeri in the parking lot

We spoke

She told me you went out on Friday

How was it? Did you enjoy yourself?

Did you…meet someone?

I miss you, baby

Can we speak? Will you please answer me? I have something to tell you.

It’s important, I promise!

I know you’re reading my messages, baby, it’s saying ‘read’

I feel like…I upset you

Did you see my story on Friday night? It was nothing, I swear

I was in the park when Arin ran into me, and we just…hung out afterwards

Baby, can you please stop ignoring me?

Y/N?

I fucking hate this, please.

I sighed, putting my phone to the side as I spat the menthol paste into the sink, turning on the faucet again. My eyebrows were furrowed as I looked at myself in the mirror, jaw clenched tight. I was irritated by Mingi’s insistence, at this point, I just wanted him to understand that we weren’t getting back together. What more did he need? Did he think I wasn’t hurting just because I broke up with him? I scoffed and splashed my face with cold water, the cleanser softening my skin once I was done washing up. My phone buzzed again, and I groaned loudly, mentally preparing myself to shut Mingi down for once and for all, but I paused. A friend request was the first notification that showed up, before my phone buzzed in my hand again, and a message request came through. My eyebrows furrowed as I read the familiar username, clicking onto the Instagram notifications with mild curiosity. Choi_jongho had sent me a friend request along with a text message that caught me off guard. I accepted his request without much thought as I left the bathroom, then headed for my wardrobe as I read his texts.

Hi. Good morning, actually! Uh…I hope this isn’t weird, or anything…I asked Yeri what your username was, that’s how I know, I promise I didn’t creepily stalk you or something!

Now that makes it sound terrifying, doesn’t it? I’m not a stalker, I swear to God!

So, I think I’m done embarrassing myself. I just wanted to ask if you got home safely on Friday? Was the cab driver creepy? I can beat him up next time or something (I promise I’m a gentle soul!)

I’m starting to realise that since we aren’t yet friends and I’m blowing up your phone, this is really fucking weird and annoying…hope you don’t hate me yet!:D

I chuckled as I reread Jongho’s texts, my grin wide as I leaned against my closet door. I didn’t think his messages were weird or annoying; on the contrary, he was just as funny and endearing as in real life. After Jongho and I had partnered up for the card game, we quickly hit it off. While strategizing, we also figured out that we both loved listening to sappy ballads when we were feeling under the weather. Jongho loved cats, and he wanted to adopt his friendly neighbourhood cat, which would sneak inside his flat anytime it could, and he was more than elated to hear that I had a cat. Then, Jongho confessed that he wanted to become a singer before he found a new passion in life, so he was now just this cute guy walking around with a jaw-droppingly good voice—and I knew that because he had shown me videos of his singing at around our third pint of beer. I also found out that he wasn’t a light-weight, but the tipsier he got, the redder his cheeks became, hiccupping from time to time as he smiled a gummy smile and laughed melodically and loudly. One thing we both geeked out about—with Yunho joining our conversation when he overheard our excited rants—was the manhwas we read and were planning on reading.

Good morning, Jongho. Don’t worry, I don’t yet think you’re a creep or a stalker…that might change soon, depending on what you’ll be saying with a sober mind now. I got home just fine on Friday, thank you for asking! As for the driver, he was a sweet old man who offered to play whatever songs we wanted on the ride back. (And a gentle soul who knows how to fight? Sign me tf up!)

And that wasn’t it all. Morning had been a long time ago, and yet, Jongho and I were still talking. Although our replies came a bit slower as I was at university and he was at his part-time job, it didn’t feel awkward, and there wasn’t even one second which felt strained or weird. Speaking to Jongho came naturally for some reason, he was a very warm and playful person who understood my humour and was more than eager to return the snarky comments. I was enjoying myself, it helped me disconnect from the fact that my heart froze before it started racing, my body chilling at the sight of Mingi’s car in the parking lot. I tried to ignore the fact that I walked around campus like I was walking on eggshells, looking over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure I wouldn’t run into Mingi. It didn’t help that we also had classes in the same building, so I resorted to staying on my floor rather than wandering around and risking the chance of running into Mingi. I had spotted Wooyoung and Seokmin this morning; they both smiled at me as they waved, and I was glad that neither tried to approach me. I didn’t want to speak with them, I knew they’d go running to Mingi.

Lunch break was over, but Yeri and I didn’t have another class for the next two hours, so we decided to lounge around on campus, find a good spot where we could pass the time. I had just gone to the bathroom to wash up, my hands still wet as I left the restroom, drying my hands on my jeans. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I smiled, about to reach for it, but a sudden presence in front of me made me pause. I froze as I was face to face with Mingi, whose eyebrows were furrowed. His hair was cut, gone were the long strands framing his face, now the sides were nothing but a buzzed cut as the shorter strands fell over it. I remained silent as Mingi stared at me, opening his mouth, but he said nothing. My phone buzzed again, and I flinched, my muscles tensing as Mingi sighed, reaching forward. I hid my hand behind my back when he tried hooking his pinkie with mine, making his face contort into confusion.

“Hi.” He finally said, tilting his head as I didn’t look him in the eyes, but rather past him. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Why was he trying to make this hard for both of us?

“How are you?” He asked, and I sighed, jaw clenching as I finally looked at him.

“I’m fine, what do you want?” I asked, voice impassive and snappy. Mingi’s shoulders slouched forward, and he looked helpless for a second.

“Can’t I talk to you anymore?” He asked with a whine, and I sighed, taking a second to gather myself.

“No, Mingi, you can’t.” I didn’t want to raise my voice as people passed down the hallway, “We’re done, when will you understand that? I don’t want anything to do with you anymore, I told you already. Can you please respect my wish and just let go?”

“You want me to just let go of three years of our relationship?” He snapped, looking angry all of a sudden as he stepped closer, I didn’t move back, “Are you fucking kidding me, now? I thought you’d get over it. What do you mean you’re breaking up with me? Did you ask me beforehand? Did we discuss it? I don’t want this, I—”

“Did you or did you not cheat on me?” Mingi froze, eyes widening. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into his body, making chills run all over my skin.

“I told you I didn’t, will you finally drop it?!” He hissed, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in me.

“No, I will not let it go. If you didn’t cheat on me, why were you speaking to other girls behind my back?” I raised my eyebrows, tired of having this conversation again. It’s like Mingi didn’t want to understand what the real issue between us was.

“I told you already—”

“That you did speak to other girls, so what the fuck do you want?” I huffed, prying his fingers off my body, “If you text me one more time, Mingi, I will block your number too.”

“Like you blocked me on Instagram, yeah.”

“Glad you noticed, it was about damn time.” I snapped before walking around Mingi, hearing him scoff loudly before the men’s restroom door was slammed shut loudly. My heart raced as a bitter taste entered my mouth, and I stopped walking, taking a deep breath as I felt my phone buzz again. I felt horrible. I didn’t want to fight with Mingi so much, I didn’t even want to see him anymore. He wasn’t the only one who was struggling with this breakup, I also missed him, I also wanted to talk to him and give him one last chance to fix things. But it wouldn’t work, I just couldn’t overlook all his lies anymore. There were too many questions whirling in my head, and even just the thought of another woman in his vicinity infuriated me. It wasn’t healthy anymore, and Mingi had to see that too. My phone buzzed again, and I closed my eyes before I fetched it, chewing on my bottom lip. I wasn’t surprised to see the picture of the cat Jongho was taking care of, a small black kitty. It looked adorable looking up at the camera curiously, and I chuckled, tears in my eyes. I sniffed and tried to hold in the tears, refusing to cry at university while I was looking at a cute kitten picture just after my ex-boyfriend made me feel like shit.

Look at her, she’s a gem

Her eyes are so cute, they remind me of yours, actually…not that I’m comparing you to a cat!

I just got home, finally, what’s up with you?

I took off again out of fear of Mingi coming out of the restroom and finding me in the hallway as I typed back a quick answer to Jongho that I was waiting for my next class to start, lounging around with Yeri. He sent me a cookie recipe as an answer, saying he had made a bet with San and that both of them had to bake twice a week something they didn’t like.

You don’t like cookies?! Jongho, are you a monster?!

I went down the stairs as I felt my nerves calm a little, less tense now that I was speaking to Jongho again. It’s not like Mingi wasn’t lingering in the back of my mind, his words ringing in my ears, but it was easier to focus on Jongho’s texts right now. They served as a good distraction.

Even if I’m a monster, I am not the Cookie Monster!

I chuckled under my breath as I was heading towards Yeri, about to tease him, when Jongho’s next message came through quickly.

Hey, ignore me if this is too sudden. But would you like to grab some coffee tomorrow? In the morning, if that’s okay with you. I don’t have work tomorrow and my classes are in the afternoon.

I froze, my heart thumping weirdly. Tuesday’s used to be Mingi and I’s go-to days to have breakfast before our classes. It somehow felt wrong to just…replace it by grabbing a cup of coffee with Jongho. But then again, Mingi and I were done, I wasn’t doing anything bad by meeting up with Jongho. He hadn’t specified that it was a date, which I would be highly uncomfortable with at the moment, and despite knowing Jongho for a short period of time, it truly felt like he just wanted to hang out before our classes. I gulped, ignoring the whispers telling me that I was betraying Mingi by agreeing, but in the end, I pressed send before I could overthink it.

Sure, but I have to get to uni by 11 am!

The evening was warm as Jongho’s shiny black Jeep rolled down the residential street, traces of a smile still lingering on his lips. Today has been amazing. We’d gone to a river and had a small picnic with homemade sandwiches and lemonade, which was way too sour. Jongho cringed even just at the mention of it, and I giggled as I smeared more blueberry jam on top of my cub sandwich. The weather was lovely this time of the year, and with exam season over, I was finally at ease again. The thought of not having to go to classes as well as face people I didn’t want to made the tight knot in my stomach uncoil, my days now filled with lazing around the house unless Yeri dragged me out for whatever reason. The library Jongho worked at was looking for more employees, so after Jongho’s recommendation and encouragement, I decided to apply for the job. I had made plans of going overseas before the summer break would be over, so a little pocket money wouldn’t hurt my wallet.

I hummed along to the song playing on the radio, Jongho’s quiet singing just as marvellous as when he was belting out high notes at the karaoke bar. The basket was in the backseat together with my purse, so my hands were free as I fiddled with my fingers, gazing out the window. The sun was setting, casting orange hues over the sky, and I sighed as I allowed my tired muscles to melt into the comfortable seat of Jongho’s car. The Jeep was spacious and expensive. Jongho took great care of his car and prided himself on how clean it always was. I liked how the engine wasn’t too loud nor rambunctious, or how Jongho’s aim wasn’t to show off but to have a comfortable and long-lasting ride. Sure, the car parts were expensive now, but as the years passed, the model would become less and less worth as much as initially. Not that Jongho cared about that, he was financially secure due to his well-off family. I smiled when I felt Jongho’s warm palm land over mine, and I flipped my hand so that we could intertwine our fingers.

The process of forgetting Mingi and leaving him in the past was slow and sometimes excruciating. Not much had passed since I put an end to our relationship; it would soon be somewhere close to two months. Not that I was counting. He’d still show up at times, bringing flowers to my house and asking whether I’d like to take a walk with him for ‘old times' sake’. I never wanted to, though, and I never accepted the flowers. Anytime I saw a blue car, my heart would lurch in my chest and make me wipe my head around to look for the model, for the brand, just to make sure it wasn’t Mingi. I can’t deny that my heart is still numb in his absence, that I don’t mull over all the what ifs in the safety of my bedroom, late at night when I should be asleep. Sometimes, all of it becomes a big mess in my head, in my heart, making me nauseous as I’d have to call or text Yeri or one of the girls to distract myself and stop myself from giving in and unblocking Mingi. He was doing well from the glimpses I’ve caught of him, but due to Yeri still hanging out with the rest of the boys, Wooyoung would often tell her that Mingi had turned to unsafe solutions to take his mind off me. I knew he was sleeping around now; it was a hard-to-miss fact when the campus wasn’t huge enough to drown out the rumours and the whispers.

But amid the storm in my head and heart, the rays of a warm sun were slowly breaking through the rainclouds. Jongho was by my side; he was here for me more than any of my friends had been, and I am grateful to him. If Jongho weren’t here, I probably would’ve handled the whole ordeal a lot worse and given in to the urge to just forgive Mingi, just one more time for the sake of memories and those three years we’ve spent together. Jongho was a great guy, he truly was everything I didn’t know I needed. He was attentive and careful, he liked to listen to my stories and he loved to entertain any far-fetched idea I might get, and he just…understood. He never pried and he never pushed or prodded, he allowed me to process things at my own pace, making sure he was there if things got too dark and too hard to handle on my own. He was a sweet soul, and he was warm. Sometimes I wondered if being engulfed in his embrace is what it would feel like hugging a domesticated bear. Jongho loved to live, and he had a special talent of wrapping you up in his happiness, in his joy, making you forget you even knew what sadness felt like.

We have never put a name to our relationship, because I wasn’t ready to date yet. I still saw Mingi in certain habits of other people, I still heard his voice in my head, I still couldn’t wipe his smile out of my mind, I still couldn’t forget the way his hands felt on my body, his cologne familiar and comforting, his eyes warm and making you feel like you were the only person in the room when he looked at you. I missed his proximity and I missed how comfortable and easy everything had been with him, and yet…when I looked at Jongho, I couldn’t dismiss the way my heart would start racing, the flush of my cheeks or the inexplicable desire to let him hold me until he became sick of me. We had started dating, that much we had established, but we weren’t together yet. I had no idea when it would happen, and I didn’t want to think about it for now. Seeing his car parked in my driveway still made me gulp harshly, Mingi’s blue BMW so vivid in my mind that I’d flinch away from the window and leave the house with disdain. And it wasn’t even Jongho’s fault that I was feeling this way.

“We’re here.” Jongho’s quiet voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I hummed, squeezing his hand as my heart felt suddenly heavy. Mingi and I had never done a picnic, I had just realised. I chuckled under my breath, feeling a little bittersweet, because today had been one of the happiest days of my life. Jongho and I hadn’t even done anything big, just sat on a blanket while we ate whatever we had packed from home, then lay down on said blanket and cloud gazed until a small spider crawled on Jongho, making him panic before I took it off him, “Are you okay? You’ve gotten really quiet, love.”

My heart fluttered at the endearing petname and I hummed, facing Jongho as I nodded, “I’m fine, just lost in thought, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” He chuckled, turning his body to face me as he pushed the stray strands of my hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear, “Are you tired? You look tired.”

I chuckled as I nodded, stifling a sudden yawn, “Yes, I’m quite sleepy. Being out the whole day drained me.”

“Right, me too.” Jongho giggled, “I feel like a child again, the last time I was out and about for this long was…many years ago.”

“Now, don’t dramatize, Jongho.” I teased with a laugh, and Jongho huffed, playfully rolling his eyes, “Thank you for the picnic today, I had so much fun.”

Jongho grinned, his smile cute and endearing, and I had to stop myself from pinching his pink cheeks. He was so easily lovable, sometimes I had no idea why my heart wasn’t filled with love for him.

“I’m glad! Because I also had a lot of fun—except for when that spider crawled on me, that was terrifying and disgusting.” Jongho shuddered as I snorted, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I never thought I’d see the day Choi Jongho is afraid of something.”

“Love, I told you, bugs are the only thing on this Earth that will scare me.” Jongho shuddered as he said this, and I squeezed his hand, leaning over and pressing a kiss against his cheek without thinking first. His skin was soft and warm, turning redder by the second. He froze, and I said nothing as I pulled slightly back, gulping nervously. I didn’t mean to suggest anything by kissing his cheek, but he was too cute not to do so. Silence stretched on as Jongho’s eyes searched my face, and I looked down, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. I wasn’t ready to devote my heart to Jongho yet, and here I was, leading him on and playing with his feelings. Was I better than Mingi? No, I was almost even more terrible compared to him.

“Y/N,” Jongho said quietly, and I felt him cup my cheek. He raised my head as he smiled at me softly, “It’s okay, stop thinking so much and so hard. You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, right? If you need more time…to get over Mingi, I’m here. I’m willing to wait, I actually—I just really want to wait because I feel many things for you and I don’t want to lose you.”

That didn’t help as the guilt spread more through my chest, but I made sure he couldn’t read my expression just yet, “I appreciate that, Jongho, I really do. But are you willing to live in the shadow of the man I loved so much?”

“Yes,” Jongho’s answer was instant, “Of course, I am. Because I know it’ll be worth it in the end. We can be just friends, we don’t even have to go on any more dates. I’ll be content to just have you in my life, however way you want me.”

I huffed, sad and a little weak, but nodded my head, “Thank you. You already mean a lot to me, Jongho, I just need to…let go, for good this time.”

Jongho nodded, smiling gingerly as he caressed my cheek, and I returned the small smile. Knowing that I couldn’t live like this forever, that I shouldn’t let my heart break over a man that doesn’t deserve me anymore, I decided to give Jongho a real chance. I leaned closer, making sure my intentions were clear as his eyes widened slightly, but he closed the distance between us when I fluttered my eyes shut. It was a small peck on the lips, but it was enough to make my cheeks flush and my heart race wildly. That was all I needed as confirmation that I would be eventually over Mingi for good, that I was ready to leave the past behind. I pressed another swift kiss against Jongho’s lips before I pulled back, grinning at him as Jongho chuckled while shaking his head.

“Need help carrying that basket inside?”

“Now that you asked, yes.”

A letter to you, who will never see this:

Love can be innocent, fiery and passionate, gentle and constant, but love can also be painful and destructive, draining and so, so damaging. Loving you was all of these things. It had started as an innocent, unassuming crush, very childlike and unserious. But the more I saw you, the more I heard you, the more I listened to you, the more I spent time with you…it started turning into something more, into something I couldn’t define but desperately chased after. It was you whom I was chasing, your attention and your affection, it was you whom I wanted from the very beginning. It was mutual attraction, I know it was, but somewhere along the blurry lines of casual friendship and flirtatious, playful words, it turned into something malicious on your part. You wanted me, but you didn’t actually want me. You liked my attention, you liked how easy it was with me, you liked that you could see it on my face—in my eyes—that you had my affection. You wanted that, not who and what I was. You didn’t like my opinions, you didn’t like the fact that I stood up for myself, and you didn’t like the fact that I didn’t let you walk all over me. You wished for a mellow girl, a girl who would do anything for you, who would hand you the world, who would break her back to abide by all of your wishes.

I wasn’t that girl, and I’d never be that girl.

It started with a fleeting glance, with your voice always around me, with your friends surrounding me without me even realising it. It started with casual banter and the fact that I liked that you could mirror me: my behaviour, my words, my actions, my attitude. It felt like you understood me, that you saw me for who I was…but oh, was I wrong. This story actually started on a very cold Friday afternoon when we were both frozen and in desperate need to warm out numb limbs, our icy toes, and our refuge had been the cafeteria. We had known each other from those fleeting glances, from hearing about each other from others’ conversations, yet then, there in that cafeteria, we had sat at the same table. We talked like we knew each other since forever, we laughed, and we teased each other because that's how we were. Easy-going and playful, rarely meaning the things we said. But then…when you left…you did something that made my heart flutter. You hugged me, and I didn’t like to be touched. You stood up, paused, then turned around, pointed at me and said, “I will hug you”. I was confused, I didn’t know how to react for a second, but I rolled with it. No boy had said that before, and now, much time later, I realise that’s how you were. Physically affectionate and good at love bombing. So, we hugged, but if I knew you’d damage me the way you had, I would’ve never let you touch me. I would’ve never sat with you, and I would’ve never bothered engaging with you.

After that, everything is just…unimportant. Whatever happened between us is for us to know. You were mean and bad, you know you used me and I know it too, but we can’t reverse time. And even if we could, I wouldn’t want to reverse time because I was so enraptured with you back then that I’d let you do everything you had done to me all over again. I can still vividly remember the way you made me feel, the way you made my skin crawl if I wasn’t the object of your attention, the way you made me anticipate every moment I knew I’d be in your presence. Thinking back now is just silly, how lost I was, how desperate I was to finally love and be loved. It’s silly and perhaps even embarrassing, I recognise that, but if anything…you had taught me another lesson. A lesson that losing myself wasn’t worth it, not when the man of your desire wouldn’t give himself to you fully. And I had learned this lesson, don’t you worry, I’d never let a man destroy my mental health as much as you had done…so thank you for that, it was a valuable lesson.

There were good and bad moments, moments I sometimes still fondly recall despite all the suffering I endured due to you. I realise, sometimes, I was too in my head to realise I might’ve been making up things, and yet, you were always feeding into these delusions. So, if they were truly just in my head, how come you could see them and make them worse? Questions and questions that would remain unanswered, because if I’m being frank, I can’t even look at you anymore. I don’t want you, but I do resent you…And I think I will for a very long time. Or at least until I’m old enough to barely remember your name, memories of us lost somewhere deep in my subconscious.

As for how this story ends…I think we all already know. Our story has long ended, there’s no more us, no me and you in the same sentence. As for that girl whom you played while playing me as well, I hope she can trust you like I never would’ve. I hope, for her own good, she lives a blissfully unaware life by your side, loving you unconditionally for as long as you need her to. And despite feeling stupid and silly sometimes, if I hadn’t meant anything to you, you surely wouldn’t have completely wiped me from your life. You made sure there were no traces left of me, even though I removed myself, once I realised there was no use in hanging onto this anymore, and I hope you regret driving me away every single day. We would’ve worked if you had taken me more seriously, but at the end of the day…did I want us to work? You checked off everything I liked and wanted in a man, yet that wasn’t enough. I hate the idea of you ever reading this, because you do not deserve to know the full extent of my true feelings for you, but if you do stumble across his letter one day…hear this:

I don’t wish you the best. Don’t ever again come near me.

...No, his car isn't yours

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13uswntimagines · 9 months ago

Text

Safe Harbor (Alessia X Singer!R)

Summary: R is a very famous singer at the end of a very long, very crazy tour. Alessia is there to take care of her.

Warmings: Established D/s dynamics. The use of Daddy, and Collars. No smut.

You knew that you were living a dream.

You knew that millions of people would trade everything to be in the position you were in.

They would do anything to have stadiums scream their name and for their songs to play on the radio for the world to hear.

You had been plucked out of obscurity after you unsuspectingly played a bar in Leeds in front of Ed Sheeran when you were 16. A year and a half later you had taken Billboard's Hot 100 by storm, broken the record for most weeks at number one by a new artist… twice, and you were opening for Taylor Swift’s 1989 tour.

That had just been the beginning.

Now you were on your 3rd world tour, selling out stadiums for yourself, with one of the best-selling albums of all time.

It was… crazy that a kid from Maidstone who barely had enough to eat growing up had thousands of people screaming your name every night, singing your lyrics back to you like they were anthems.

Your music was raw, personal. Painfully autobiographical.

Your fans picked apart every lyric, dissecting your words with obsessive precision. The heartbreak, the loss, the fear woven into every track—they clung to it like it was their story, too. Before You Go, Say Something, Thinking Out Loud—each song became a window into your soul. And they were desperate to see more.

It was why your first album had gone platinum overnight, and every album after it had debuted at number 1.

They resonated with your honesty, and that’s what made people fall in love with it.

You had expected that part.

What you hadn’t expected was that they hadn’t just fallen in love with the music—they had fallen in love with you.

The girl with the sunny personality, and the commanding stage presence. The girl who smiled brightly at every meet-and-greet, made them laugh at every interview, and always took time to meet fans, even after long days in the studio or on music video sets. They built you up as their idol, their friend, their fantasy. They flirted with you in meet-and-greets before you were 18 and treated you like you belonged to them. Like they were entitled to every part of you.

At some point, you became an enigma—Y/N Y/L/N, the nine-time Grammy winner. The infallible pop star. The face that was painted on the side of billboards, and smiling in Colgate commercials.

At some point, just Y/n failed to exist to them, and you liked it that way.

You did well to dodge their invasive questions, running interviewers around in circles, and answering fans with witty remarks to avoid answering. And over the years (and through 4 albums), you only got better at preventing the fans from learning anything of substance about your private life. The only glimpses they got were through your music, and you liked to keep it that way.

You did your best to keep it that way.

The only time you let them get close, let the world peek behind the curtain, was during the piano set of your concerts.

It was dubbed the surprise song set by the fans even though 2 of 3 songs never changed. It was where you sang your most emotional songs, and where you let yourself be vulnerable. Open. Real.

Tonight was no different. Or at least, you were trying to convince yourself of that.

You sucked in a long breath, your fingers tracing the black and white keys as the final chords of Bruises echoed through the stadium, curling off the walls and over the crowd. Their energy buzzed around you, rolling like an ocean wave.

You could feel it crashing against your chest, adding to the adrenaline bubbling through your veins.

You took another deep breath, the air catching in your throat as you tried to control your breathing enough so you could talk. So you could give your signature speech before revealing the night's surprise song.

Maybe tonight was different.

You felt more… exposed.

More… vulnerable.

This year was nothing short of a whirlwind. Eighty sold-out shows across the U.S. in the summer, followed by another thirty in Europe and the UK. Three back-to-back number-one singles—no small feat—only knocked from the top spot after 18 weeks by Taylor Swift herself.

It was amazing and incredible and exhausting all rolled together.

You dearly loved your fans, their passion, and their devotion, but you were drained.

Your eyes slid closed, allowing the bone-deep weariness to cut through the buzz from the crowd for just a second as you pulled your fingers from the keys, briefly rubbing the leather braided bracelet around your wrist as you reset for the next song.

It was the closest thing you’d had to your girlfriend's touch in nearly 2 months, and it wasn’t nearly enough. One soft touch from her would make it all melt away.

One touch and she would take away the burden of control that had plagued you since you started the tour.

You would finally be able to let go and just be.

There were only 6 songs left and then you would be with her, your lighthouse on rocky seas. Your anchor on stormy nights.

You took another deep breath.

It was the last show of an incredible year, and you had something very very special planned.

Something no one would see coming.

Your eyes blinked open as the crowd noise dipped, and you painted your signature smirk on your face as you leaned back toward the mic.

“So Wembley, how are we feeling?” You asked into the microphone, smiling widely at the roar from the audience that met you. “Fantastic,”

You brought your fingers to the piano, letting them dance delicately across the keys. They had no particular rhythm, though they were in the key that your surprise song would be in.

You wanted to avoid giving the surprise away yet.

“So you know, I was thinking about what song I was going to play tonight, trying to figure out which one would be the perfect end to such an amazing tour,” You couldn’t help the little laugh that left you as the audience got impossibly louder, cheering out an indistinguishable mix of song titles that you had yet to play on this tour. You paused for a long second, feeling their cheers only grow, popping your in-ear monitor out for effect.

It was endearing really, how into it they got (especially when you found out that they had created an entire fantasy league about what version of your outfits you would wear and what songs you would sing). They made it easy to pretend like you were having the time of your life instead of fantasizing about what you would be doing in 40 minutes.

You shook your head, popping the monitor back into your ear and your fingers returning to the keys, letting their chants fill you up, and drive you forward.

“And I was talking to one of my favorite people,” You continued, starting to pick out a tune that was a bit closer to the song you were going to play. “Now you all know I don’t normally take requests, but this being the final night of the Eclipse World Tour, and with such special guests in the audience I couldn’t quite say no,”

Your eyes instinctually found Alessia as you hit the opening chord, and though you could see her expression you could feel her gaze burning into you.

Seeing through you.

Even surrounded by people, her attention was the only one you craved.

“It’s a song I haven’t played for a long time, so I’m going to need your help.” You continued, Never breaking eye contact with her. “Will you help me tonight Wembley?”

The crowd roared in approval, and goosebumps erupted on your skin at the sheer energy they projected at you. It filled your chest and fueled your fingers as you finally hit the signature piano riff that opened the song.

You flashed the crowd your signature smirk, all essence of yourself slipping beneath your on-stage persona.

And when you opened your mouth to sing the first line; it felt easy. It felt right.

Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands

Closed your eyes and trusted

Just trusted

*****

Watching you perform was magic.

It had always been magic.

Whether it was a show in Wembley in front of 100,000 people, or one when you were small with a guitar the same size as you, Alessia had always been mesmerized by you. Even before the two of you were old enough to put names to what you were feeling.

It didn’t matter that she had seen you play thousands (hundreds of thousands) of times, nor that this was not her first time attending one of the shows on this tour.

She leaned forward on the barricade separating the VIP tent from the Floor sections as you began to play the piano break.

“She’s incredible,” Leah said, leaning closer to Alessia to be heard above the crowd. “They’re eating out of the palm of her hand,”

Alessia hummed. “She is,”

The audience was glued to every move, every breath you took on stage. She was too, and so were all of her teammates.

What made it even better was that you were hers, and she got to enjoy you from her favorite seat in the house.

They hadn’t originally been slated to be in the VIP tent.

Viv had organized the tickets, picking an area on the 2nd balcony because they were the only ones left. Alessia had gone along with it, only mentioning to you that 800$ was crazy for a 2nd tier balcony ticket in passing.

You had sleepily agreed, cursing Ticketmaster and reminding Alessia of the 10-hour meetings you had endured when your fans crashed the site during pre-sale. You hadn’t said anything about it since, so she assumed you had forgotten.

You did not forget.

There had been a team waiting to escort them when they arrived, and you had made sure the tent was loaded with all of their favorites. You had also refunded the tickets, and given them away to 23 fans outside of the stadium.

You liked to do things for her. It was a way for you to serve her even from a distance, and she enjoyed telling you how good you were afterward.

She definitely had plans to do that tonight.

She leaned forward on the barrier as you got to the final chorus.

There was a reason this spot was always her favorite to watch the show from, and why she had been hesitant when they escorted her and her friends to the tent.

They were close to the stage. Close enough that Alessia could see the cracks in your carefully crafted facade.

She could see the dark circles under your eyes, and how your smile never met your eyes. She could see the slight curl of your shoulders, and how you kept twisting your bracelet tightly around your wrist.

She could see the command you had of the crowd wearing on you, and just how in your head you were.

All of her instincts told her to protect you. To wrap you up, and take the reigns so you could just exist without thinking. So you could submit and know that she would take care of you.

And sure, her teammates had caught glimpses of the dynamic between the two of you, but you both liked to keep the heavier aspects to yourselves.

It was harder for her to do that when she had watched the toll this tour had taken on you, and knew just how close you were to being able to let go.

“Is it just me or does she look shattered,” Katie asked as the song came to an end, the final note ringing around the stadium as your eyes once again closed and you sucked in air through your nose.

Alessia didn’t take her eyes away from you. “Not just you,”

She followed the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and how your fingers silently fluttered over the keys before you began to play again.

“She’s barely slept at all this week because of end-of-tour meetings,” Alessia continued as you began picking out a new tune. “And she’s been co-producing an album that comes out next month, so she’s barely had time to think, much less do anything else.”

Leah hummed from her other side. “I’m just surprised you haven’t stepped in yet.”

Alessia made a low sound in the back of her throat.

It was… complicated.

While Alessia had rules that you followed (even while you were on tour) to help protect both your physical and mental health, you both had boundaries when it came to your careers.

She understood that you had responsibilities and that sometimes you had to prioritize work to make everything run smoothly. (She also secretly relished watching you in boss mode, knowing that you would be kneeling at her feet later.)

The agreement you had was that she would only interfere under 2 conditions. First, if you crossed the Limits the two of you had agreed upon years ago without communicating with Alessia first. Second, if you asked.

“Tonight I will,” Alessia said as your eyes opened and you leaned back towards the microphone, your fingers dancing along the keys.

“Since we have the incredible women of Arsenal in the audience tonight, I think there’s one more song we have to do before continuing the show,”

The audience roared in response.

Your smile was charming, even as your eyes danced vacantly across the screaming fans in the pit next to the small stage that held your piano.

Alessia could imagine the edits that would be online later, the people swearing that your expression was solely meant for them. They would think the way you twisted your bracelet was to show them how much you liked the copies they wore.

She shook her head.

The chords under your fingers changed, shifting into another familiar tune.

North London Forever

Whatever the Weather

You pulled back from the microphone, tilting your head to the sky as the fans picked up the song all around you.

The stage lights swelled around you, illuminating the crowd as they sang for you. Your fingers deftly played the background music for the song.

She could understand why it was a tradition for you. Why you always added North London Forever to the last show of your tours, especially when you ended in London.

And my heart will leave you never

My blood will forever

Goosebumps erupted on her skin as the crowd of 100,000 sang the rest of the chorus, and pride swelled in her chest, replacing her worry for just a moment.

You wouldn’t have done a sing along if you were too far gone.

Your relationship was built on trust, and Alessia trusted that you were ok for now. She would step in when the show was over, and you were ready.

****

“Thank you London,”

The final notes of Shut Up and Dance pounded through the stadium.

You held your arms out wide, as if to physically soak in their cheers as the stage lights dimmed, leaving only one shining against your back, silhouetting you for the audience In a perfect replica of your album cover. Then everything went dark, and the platform you had been standing on lowered so you were under the stage.

“Great show Y/n,” Your tour manager, Aubrey, said as you stepped off the lift, the crowd noise barely fading.

You nodded in response, your tongue suddenly feeling too heavy in your mouth to form words. it felt like you were trying to think through an old television with terrible reception, the images staticy and broken. Fatigue settled into your bones, heavy and cold.

A soft robe was draped over your shoulders by one of the production crew, and you twisted the bracelet around your wrist until the edges cut into your skin.

You focused on the pain, letting it ground you as you put one foot in front of the other and allowed your team to guide you from beneath the stage.

your security team flanked you the second you were out from under the stage, acting like a protective wall.

“You need to rehydrate.” Steve, your head of security said, pressing a blue Gatorade into your fingers.

They instinctively closed around the bottle, and Steve nudged you again to get you to bring it to your lips.

“Small sips kid,” Clint added from your other side, as the third member of your security team, Natasha, made eye contact with Steve

You tried to follow their directions, but your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped the drink.

You felt Powerful.

You felt… floaty.

It was so… weird. It usually took you hours to come down from the high of a show, and devolve into… whatever this was.

To finally give in and call your girlfriend for help.

You had been… reluctant to bother her in the last few weeks.

She had been busy with international friendlies, and you didn’t exactly like exploring your dynamic while you were separated.

Dropping into sub space was hard for you on a good day, guided by Alessia‘s firm but comforting presence. Doing it while the two of you were doing long distance was a painful impossibility.

The few times it had actually worked were misery for you. Like your brain was made of broken glass and no one was there to help you knit the fractured shards back together.

Even with her voice on the other end of a video call, it had been brutal.

You had put it off, and put it off, and now it seemed that your body wasn’t going to give you a choice.

“I’ll be back.” Natasha said, turning on her heel as Steve shifted to shield you from the people buzzing around backstage.

You didn’t even acknowledge her, blinking slowly as cling helped you bring the bottle of Gatorade to your lips.

“Take deep breaths.” Clint said gently. “We have to get to the tunnel.”

You tried, but it was like you were under water, or sucking air through a straw.

You were crashing, and you still had to face the public one last time before you could let go.

You swallowed hard, forcing the fog in your brain away and your signature smirk on your face.

It would satisfy the people waiting for you to make your way out from behind the stage and into the safety of the stadium halls, away from prying eyes.

“Let’s go.” You muttered, pushing the Gatorade back towards Steve.

It took all of your strength just to utter the word, and you knew it would take every bit of mental fortitude you had to wave at the fans as you passed.

But it was required.

It was the least you could do for the people who bought obstructed view seats. A thing you had done for every one of your other shows. A thing fans would absolutely notice if you didn’t do it.

It didn’t matter how much you didn’t want to.

“Let’s do it.” Clint agreed, positioning his hand on the small of your back, while Steve did the same on your other side.

You straightened and squared your shoulders.

You could do this one last act for your fans. Then you could let go.

*******

“That show is incredible,” Beth said, leaning against the VIP barricade. “I don’t know how she runs around like that for 3 and a half hours,”

“A lot of cardio,” Leah shrugged. “She released a whole behind the scenes video of how she trained for the tour.”

“That video felt staged though.” Viv said. “She was very different then she usually is with us, or you Less,”

The English striker hummed. “She likes to keep separation between her professional life and her private life.”

“Makes sense.” Katie agreed. “Did you see how many people had braided bracelets in all different colors?”

“I did.” Alessia nodded, her eyes trailing across the area near the stage, looking for your personal assistant. “But they have no clue what hers actually means. You all know her, but the fans just know the idea of her. It’s easier to keep it all separated.”

It was strange that she hadn’t seen your assistant yet. That she hadn’t come to retrieve her and the team.

Chloe was usually waiting at the VIP tent to take her backstage before the last fireworks of the show had even finished.

It had alarm bells swirling in her brain.

“It’s kind of amazing how confident she is on stage.” Beth agreed. “It’s like she’s 2 different people.”

“Sometimes she is.” Alessia trailed off spotting a different redhead coming around the stage. Your security instead of your assistant.

It was hard to wrap her head around the dichotomy between your loud, confident persona on stage and the quiet girl she knew you were, and as your career grew, that difference had only gotten larger.

Her eyebrows furrowed as Natasha approached them, nodding towards her friends before meeting her eyes. “I need to borrow you, please,”

Katie whistled. “Get it Lessie,”

“Gotta get that post concert energy out,” Kyra snickered, and the tear erupted into laughter behind her.

She shot a glare towards her cackling team. “Of course,”

Natasha was a part of your personal security. She didn’t need words to convey that you needed Alessia, and you needed her now.

“Alone please,” Natasha said, her eyes flickering towards the girls who tried to exit the tent with Alessia.

The laughter stopped around them, and Alessia nodded once, turning back towards the team.

“We’ll catch up with you lot tomorrow?” Alessia said, authority that the team rarely heard leaking into her tone. “We can do lunch, or maybe Dinner.”

Leah stepped forward and nodded, knowing this was not the time to argue with her. “Tell y/n thank you for the tickets and that we send our love,”

“Go take care of your superstar,” Beth nodded towards Natasha.

“I will,” Alessia nodded, stepping out of the tent.

She meant it.

You had taken care of yourself for most of the tour. It was her turn now.

******

You didn’t remember how you got to your dressing room. You didn’t remember waving to the fans, smiling widely and sending them hand hearts.

one second you were backstage, and then you blinked and Steve was gently closing the dressing room door behind you.

You paced the room, pushing the dark robe off of your shoulders. You didn't know what to do with yourself.

It was too warm and too cold. The dress shirt you wore on stage was too soft and too scratchy. Your mind was racing too fast and moving too slow all at once.

your breathing hitched, and you brought your trembling fingers of one and to your lips to prevent the sobs threatening to bubble out. The other tugged useless at your collar, trying to get air. This was not normal. It was rare you dropped, let alone this hard or this deep.

It was like quicksand, sucking you into the chaotic spiral deeper, faster, with more force the more you tried to fight it. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, and your brain was going to rip itself apart trying to untangle them.

You were in free fall, plummeting faster than you ever had before with no net to catch you. You had put it off for too long, and now you had no choice.

You knew you needed to do something, but making the decision of what you should do felt impossible.

You were done making decisions for the foreseeable future.

The sound of the door clicking open and shut again was nearly drowned out by the buzzing in your ears, but you Instinctively turned towards the presence that entered.

The air shifted around her as she stood in front of you like a mirage, immediately capturing all of your attention. For just a split second, your racing thoughts went quiet, and you were wholly consumed by her presence. It crackled like a warm fire on a cold day, or like a lightning storm over the sea. You couldn't decide.

You didn’t want to decide.

And you knew you didn’t need to.

Alessia- No, your Daddy was here and she would take care of everything.

Her gaze swept over you, taking in every twitch of your fingers against the buttons of your shirt, and the tremble that snaked its way across your shoulders and down your spine. You felt naked, despite the clothing scratching at your skin.

She crossed the room in 3 long strides, her hands catching your wrist before you even registered that she had moved.

”That’s enough, little one.” She said, keeping her voice gentle despite the command clear in it. “You’ve done so well, and I’m so proud of you, but I’m here now.”

She carefully unwound your fingers from here they were tearing at your shirt, placing them on her hips before deftly undoing the buttons. “I’ve got you. Just take deep breaths for me, love,”

You tried, but it felt like it was stuck in your throat, trapped by the inhuman sound now bubbling past your lips.

She carefully slid the thin material of your shirt from your shoulders, and you met her eyes.

The sob you’d been holding in finally broke free, your knees weakening as the weight of it all hit you. But before you could completely crumble, Alessia’s arms were around you, pulling you into her chest. Her scent, her warmth, everything about her surrounded you like a safety net.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, and she rested her cheek on the top of your head. “You’ve done so well, you can relax now. I’m here with you and I’m not going anywhere,”

Her other hand ran soothing circles on your back, easing the prickles on your skin like the world's best Aloe. “Just breathe, love.”

Her comforting touch seeped past your skin, settling deep into your bones. It eased the knotted panic in your chest, and dulled the sharp, frantic edges of anxiety that raced through you.

“That’s it little one,” She cooed, her grip on your firm and unyielding. It was tether to reality. An anchor in the crashing storm that was your mind. A lifeline when you were being pulled beneath the tide.

“You’re safe. You’re here with me, and I will always keep you safe. Just relax,”

Her voice was as steady as her grip on you. Commanding in a way that couldn’t be ignored, but soft enough that it didn’t bristle your sensitive instincts. It was a mixture that only Alessia seemed to be able to achieve. A tone she could modulate to perfectly match the situation.

You melted into her chest, nodding weakly as your tears slowed. Your entire body shuttered with each inhale, and hitched with each breath you blew out.

You were moving past the uncomfortable phase of the drop where your brain felt like a shattered glass mirror, fractured and sharp, and into the lapping warmth that only Alessia seemed to be able to bring you.

Alessia’s hands continued their slow, comforting path up and down your back, her breath even and calm, giving you a rhythm to sync your own to.

“That’s it, little one,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl for me. You’ve done so well. Just let it all go.”

You whimpered.

It felt too raw, too exposed. But Alessia knew—she always knew.

Her fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes were soft, but her tone left no room for argument.

“Look at me.” She said, using a finger to gently tilt your chin up. “You’ve done so well being in charge. You’ve run this entire tour, and made so many people happy. I’m so proud of you, but you can let go now. Let me be in charge for a little while,” She capped the statement with a gentle peck to your lips.

You tried to lean in to continue the kiss, but she pulled away.

“Later,” She promised, and you nodded once, sinking back into her chest.

You understood that she didn’t like to start anything while you were like this unless it was well discussed beforehand. While there was any chance that you couldn’t consent, or feel like you could remove consent.

You weren’t sure how long she stood there and held you, rocking gently from side to side and scratching your scalp. Long enough for the storm in your chest to mellow and for your brain to slowly begin knitting itself back together, grounded in the gentle pressure of your girlfriend. Your daddy.

“Let’s get cleaned up and then we can go home,” She said, when you pulled back enough to look at her. “Do you want your collar?”

you nodded against her chest, kissing gently under her chin.

“I need a verbal response, little one,” She said, dominance leaking into her tone to help you wade through the thick fog coating the crevices of your brain.

It took you a long second to think of the words, and another to push the fog in your mind back enough to actually verbalize them.

“Yes Daddy,” You said, frowning at how horse and garbled your voice was.

she hummed, carefully maneuvering you back towards the door. One hand stayed securely wrapped around you as the other reached into the bag you hadn’t seen her enter with and pulled out your soft, brown leather collar.

You hadn’t seen it since you left for tour, and just the sight was almost enough to send you back into a drop.

“Easy,” Alessia murmured, guiding you towards the couch that existed in all of your dressing rooms. She sat you on the edge, and kneeled in front of you so she was slightly shorter than you.

She trailed her hand down your arm to the bracelet around your wrist, carefully unclasping it and tucking it into her pocket. She then brought the soft leather of your regular collar to your neck, gently buckling it closed, making sure it wasn’t too tight.

Your shoulders immediately relaxed, the full weight of her claim settling on you.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” She said, catching your hand and standing you up. You went with her easily, leaning your weight on her as she led you to the bathroom.

The way she undressed you both and got you settled into the warm water of the shower was familiar, routine even.

You could feel yourself settling as she washed your hair, and cleaned your body of the sweat from the show.

She touched you like you were delicate, but not like you were fragile, and it was everything you needed to wade back to reality.

By the time she was using a towel to dry you off, and slipping one of her old UNC sweatshirts over your head you felt almost like yourself again. Your thoughts didn’t hurt anymore, and you were more grounded then you had been.

“Kneel for me,” She said softly, settling herself on the couch, and placing a pillow at her feet.

You hummed, and did as she asked, letting her guide you to lean back on her legs.

You sunk into the warmth of her sweatshirt, surrounded by the scent of her perfume as she toweled off your hair and braided It for you.

The rhythmic movement of her fingers through your hair and the feeling of safety and Alessia that encompassed you were enough to have your eyelids drooping.

You blinked heavily at the knock that sounded on the door, and the blonde head of your head of security poking his head in.

Steve didn’t look at you, steadfastly keeping his eyes on Alessia. “Miss Russo, we have the car ready whenever you are ready to leave.”

“Thank you, Steven,” She said softly, authority still dripping from her tone. “We’ll be out in a few minutes,”

He nodded and closed the door quietly as he exited.

“You’re all done, little one,” Alessia said, rubbing gentle circles in your shoulders, as you leaned further into her, your eyes sliding closed without your permission.

They only opened when she shifted behind you, and you turned to look at her sleepily.

She smiled gently at you, unable to stop herself from leaning in and pressing a quick peck to your lips.

This was her favorite version of you, soft and sleepy, unguarded and completely trusting. It was the version that only she got to see, and she was honored that you had chosen her to be your safe place.

”Alright little one,” She said, her finger hooked into the O-ring at the front of your collar, tugging lightly as she stood. “Let’s go home,”

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #Safe Harbor Universe

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